Chapter 5
Chapter 5: The Pinkerton Detour
Mellie eagerly rushed back to Alvin's room to tell him that a “Mr. Pickering” was there to see him. Enthusiastic about having a customer off of the street, Alvin trotted into the lobby of the boarding house, wiping his hands with a towel. He had been careful to wash the photography chemicals off of his hands before coming out, just in case he might meet someone who would expect to shake hands. In post-war Missouri, men were often content to just keep their distance when introduced. So he never knew what to do, and came into every introduction ready to read the customer's comfort zone. “Yes Sir, what can I do for you?”
“I was told that you were a decent camera man, what's your name?” The man stuck out his hand, open and expectant.
“Grew up in the business...” Alvin gladly shook hands. “Just getting back into into it. Name's Alvin Payne. Do you need me to write that down?”
“No, no, well my name is William Pinkerton , and I'm with the Pinkerton Detective Agency.” As he talked, Mellie almost swooned to the floor in the hall where she was eavesdropping. “I'm here in Kansas City on a case- and I need a few tintypes made.”
“Yes sir- I'm quite familiar with your agency. Sounds like we can do some business.”
“Perhaps. How portable is your operation? You see, I need them made over at the city jail, would it be possible for you to bring your equipment over there and set up a makeshift studio?”
Alvin suddenly began to get uneasy. Pinkerton could not know that the young photographer had just sworn off his budding law enforcement career. Maybe he could think of some excuse and get out of it. But Pinkerton was not there to hear excuses.
“We've done it before,” Pinkerton explained, “actually many times, usually the camera is set up in a cell, and the prisoners are brought in one at a time with a deputy in charge. You will be completely safe.”
“Oh, it's not that I am afraid.”
“Excellent! Can you come today- even this morning? I've already cleared it with the Marshal.”
“I guess so, Mr. Pinkerton, I have heard of you. I knew your agent in Plattsburg- Stewart Bacon.”
“Really! How did you know him?”
“Well, let me get my equipment and hook up my mules and I will go with you to the jail, and we can talk all about it.”
“Excellent!”
Alvin could not believe he had folded so easily. But the more he looked at Mr. Pinkerton, the more comfortable he felt, realizing that this was the very man whom Stew had worked under. It felt good to once again be in sync with the rhythms of Pinkerton time.
Alvin's adventure at the Kansas City jail was an eye-opener. His small-town police experience had not prepared him for a big-city jail, with jailers and desk deputies and matrons for female inmates. The place seemed so much more machine-like, and serious than the simple marshals' crib in Plattsburg. What opened Alvin's eyes wide however was the impressive arsenal of rifles and ammunition in store, and the fairly tight security there. Nobody was going to ever escape from there. He imagined that if he were to work in such a place, he might feel much less vulnerable.
The project took all morning, since each exposed tin had to be processed immediately, requiring many trips back and forth between the cell and the steps of the jail where he parked the wagon. He was pleased with his primitive makeshift “darkroom,” actually a sealed steamer trunk covered with rainslickers. But Alvin never remembered his father getting roped into these kinds of marathons. Still, he was able to capture the inmates on tin with relative ease and efficiency, and Pinkerton seemed pleased with the way his scheme played out, except the counterfeiter he was most interested in refused to cooperate. Not wanting to cause a riot, Pinkerton just waved the deputies off, and excused the man, who looked more like the town drunk. “He doesn't have many years left to raise hell anyway,” Pinkerton reasoned. Then he turned towards Alvin.
“So... Payne, tell me how you knew our intrepid detective Bacon, God rest his soul.” Pinkerton could not ask a question without sounding as if he was conducting an interrogation. But the gold coin he put in Alvin's palm softened the inquiry. Alvin straightened up from his tripod adjusting and looked a bit off-guard, surprised at the generous payment. He had actually been lost in the moment, a creative artist with his craft. Suddenly he had a twenty dollar gold piece. Life got different.
“I was his liaison in Plattsburg I am- was Corporal Payne. You might...”
“PAYNE! Of course, I didn't make the connection. What in the HELL are you doing here? In a whorehouse no less!” Pinkerton seemed confused, and somewhat irritated.
“Mr. Pinkerton, Stew's death killed my desire, and it made me sick. Sick in my heart, in my stomach, I never wanted to go through that again. I was distraught, physically, emotionally, and maybe spiritually. So I changed professions.”
“I see. That's too bad. I heard good things about you from Stew.”
“I appreciate that sir. And anyway I'm glad we got to meet in better circumstances.”
Alvin saw a window of opportunity to clear his mind, which he thought might never present itself, and he took a chance. “Detective Pinkerton, I wanna tell you something that I was afraid to tell before. When I was serving with Stew, I had utmost confidence in your organization and a lot in my own. But when they killed Stew, I did not know anymore who I could trust. And your agency was slow to investigate his murder, or at least that was the way it seemed. So I left there with a lot on my mind- and I wanna tell you now, if it would do you any good, that the law in Plattsburg was compromised.” Pinkerton had a pained look on his face as he listened, something that he was not very good at.
“Can you be more specific?” He demanded. “That doesn't tell me anything I don't already know.”
“Absolutely, I was contacted after the lynching by a representative of the gang... and they barely let me get out of there alive, but I was able to piece some details together- and more since I left.”
“Go on...”
“Sir, there was and probably still is a mole in the Sheriff's Department, and I think I met him at the lynching. Later he showed up suspiciously when I was contacted by a cousin of the James boys. His name is Cleetus Head. And someone told me he has put a contract out on me. I can't prove it, but he would be one to watch- as well as the owner of the boarding house where Stew lived. They know everything that is going on in Clay County, anything to do with the Jameses.”
“We knew about Col. Head." Pinkerton countered, "But up until now we have considered him to be an informant- not a suspect. And what you say surprises me. Perhaps the suspicious behavior you observed was just a person who was another operative like yourself... Do you have any evidence?”
“No Sir, I do not. And that is why I have said so little about it... but at least now you know that you cannot trust anyone in Plattsburg.”
“Yes, well, you may have noticed, we did not send anybody else in there... and it was probably smart for you to have left there. They probably would have killed you eventually.”
“I felt rotten about it at the time. In fact, I felt downright low, like a beaten down cur dawg.”
“No Payne, you got out with your life. I've been there many times. You cannot fight evil from the grave. You practiced manly discretion; it's not only the better part of valor, it's the only part that keeps you in the hunt. When you take too many chances, you end up dead, like your friend. Put it behind you, maybe this way you will live to see justice done.”
“Thank you Sir,” Alvin said, still unconvinced, “I appreciate your comments, but somehow I still can't accept them. There is something that punctures your confidence and your self-respect when you walk away after a buddy is murdered, and you do absolutely nothing.”
“I understand Payne. But what good would it have done to have stayed and wrangled with them and gotten killed doing the brave thing? Then there would have probably been two dead men. And dead men can't help me. You can help Stew... maybe avenge his death, having left when you did... so quit the self-flagellation. Stay focused on the target, and achieving it."
“That sounds like something Stew would have said.” Alvin said with misty eyes.
“Well, that encourages me. At least when we taught him that, it was then transmitted to you. You will be more able, having gone through what you have; Stew's training, then witnessing the awful price paid by lawmen for hubris. Don't take what happened as a defeat. Take it as a lesson, and then go get the sonzabiches.”
“Yes Sir.”
“And Payne, it's no accident that we ran into each other. You may have left Plattsburg, but something tells me that you'll never get away from what happened there. You're not through with that case yet. I promise you, the opportunity will present itself, if you are alive to react to it- that case is not dead by a long shot, and neither are you.”
"I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Pinkerton."
“Good, and you could do great service for law enforcement providing photography on the frontier.”
Alvin stood at attention, and for a moment he was back on the force, listening to the orders of a superior. He nodded, thinking to himself, this was exactly where he was headed. But he had not considered Pinkerton's point. “Really- how so sir?”
“Well, Payne, you've been a policeman, how valuable is a good likeness of a dangerous criminal to you, especially if you know he might be in your jurisdiction?”
Alvin smiled with concession. But they had very few photographs of criminals in Plattsburg to educate their eyes. “It could be very useful,” he agreed, “but probably not possible, and even if it was, not feasible.”
“It would be if you were already there. Setting up a tent studio; making portraits of the townspeople. We have been discussing this very thing for months. Wichita, Hays City, Dodge, are filling up with the dregs of society- murderers and thieves on the outskirts of civilization. They kill and rob, and then change towns. We are always trailing them like hounds with a cold scent. If someone were to go in there, before their crimes, catch them casually and make a good image of them, it would be waiting for us when we begin our investigation. And with your police background, my man, you are perfect!”
“That sounds interesting- I would just take extras of suspicious characters, and then sell them to lawmen when they come looking for a certain outlaw who might have posed. It could actually be pretty lucrative.”
“Good then, you think about it. I will inquire of the main office whether we are ready to embark on this. It will be expensive, but will save us lots of time- and maybe even lives. I'm glad you can see the benefit, and damn glad we have met!"
Alvin was intrigued but not convinced. “But sir, it seems like a huge gamble, many outlaws would not willingly pose...”
“That is where you are wrong Payne, your skepticism is appropriate whenever discussing criminals, but many outlaws are arrogant and vain, and have lady friends in every town, who are begging for a likeness. A cheap tintype would be a perfect solution for them. Your job would not just be taking the pictures- it would also be quietly creating the demand for your products; Deliberately making photographs of the women associated with these men, who will give them to these fellows and want a photograph of them in return. This is a common exchange among lovers. And you will be next door making your services available- like shooting ducks in a barrel!” They chuckled together. Alvin liked what he heard, and he loved Mr. Pinkerton's confidence.
“Sounds easy- the way you describe it. But would the Pinkerton agency make this scheme worth my while? There would be consid...”
“We'll see-” Pinkerton interrupted. He never tolerated verbal jousting. “Why don't you check on the cost of one of those cameras that take multiples, and I will consult with my associates. Say, there's a camera downtown at the jewelry store, I was thinking about buying it myself; setting up a portable photography system. But I learned a long time ago Payne, do what you do best, and let others do what they do best- and you'll save time and money in the long run. Anyway, that camera looked like it was almost new to me, you might go check it out.”
Alvin smiled real big, the way things seemed to be working out. “Don't have to, I have already purchased one- I should have offered you that service today.”
“Humbug! I wish I had known, but boy, you're going to be a natural!”
Alvin grabbed his gear and hauled it out of the jailhouse, and placed it in his buckboard. About that time, a beautiful two-seat carriage pulled by matching bay geldings trotted up, and Mellie was driving it. “Hey cowboy!” She hollered with affection.
He looked back at Mr. Pinkerton who was coming out of the jailhouse, watching in disbelief. His expression showed that he did not want one of his men publicly cavorting with their kind. “Oh well,” Alvin sighed. “Easy come, easy go.”
He had enjoyed shooting the breeze with a Pinkerton man... He wasn't sure, but he was getting kind of used to the city; the excitement, the variety, the schemes for the future. With any luck, he could make some money, and make himself useful in the unfolding frontier.
When he got to the boarding house, he was feeling pretty good about himself as he skipped up the steps like a teen-aged boy just let out of school for the summer. He walked down the hall with a sure step, kind of like he owned the place. As he set down the tripod in his room and stood it up, he glanced in the mirror. Who was that man in the glass, whom he had just faced? Was that a new him, restored and finding a purpose? Yes, he thought, it was. And it felt good.
Like most men, whenever they began to feel “full of themselves,” they headed to a saloon or billiard hall. It was no fun feeling good by yourself. Money in the pocket was money to burn. Alvin stepped into the dark hall to make a run to the nearest bar. He needed to find some fellows in this busy town to drink a beer with. Sim was way too young, and probably out hustling a buck himself, so he might as well find a new social circle. He might be in Kansas City for longer than he planned, if he was to strike a deal with Mr. Pinkerton. Then again, he might soon be on the road.
As he rounded the corner into the main parlor, Mellie met him, as if she had been waiting for him. “Here, take this, she ordered, as she stuck a brass token in his palm. “Sissie wants you to take her picture- You're not doing anything, why don'tcha go right now?”
“I was going out for a beer...”
“No need, I'll get you one here. FREE, and you can go take that picture, and sip your beer too.” Alvin found all of this accommodation suspicious, and yet irresistible. She went behind her bar and drew up a foamy, dripping, frozen chalice, and handed it to him, licking her fingers and chuckling as he took it with a look of wonder. As he went down the hall to Sissy's room, she hollered gaily, “That token will buy you beers anywhere in town- or whatever you want. ANYTHING!”
Alvin did not miss the emphasis on her last word, and instinctively knew that he might be being set up, but he went ahead though, to keep the peace with his landlady, the free meals and his inexpensive living situation. He got to Sissie's room and rapped his knuckles on her scarred door, right on the place where years of knocking had worn the paint off down to the wood grain. “Sissie?”
He listened for her response, hoping she was not there, as he sipped the ice cold beer. The door quietly opened, and there stood Sissy with a genuine smile, and not much else. She was standing directly in the sunlight from her window, and her thin white gown illuminated her like a lantern mantle, showing her female form underneath. Alvin tried to act as if he did this every day, but he had not taken anything but standard groups and couples at Mellie's, and mostly in the main parlor.
“How do you like my room?” She asked, knowing full well he was already entranced. She wanted to hear it from his mouth... and commence with her scheme.
“Its... magnificent.” Alvin admitted. “Mellie said you wanted me to make your portrait- you want it made in here?” He sipped his beer to appear at ease. She took it away from him.
“Sure... don't ya think its nice in here- with all the light. Mellie said she would give you a token- do you know what it was for?”
“I can guess- you want to trade services... and she was sending one of her tokens, for me to give to you, so the house is paying for some reason. And the token makes sure the transaction is recorded- goes towards your daily quota... and you will be reimbursed for what you traded off. Big Mellie is feeling generous for some reason.”
“Very good! You don't miss anything. Alvin, I um... I really like you, an' I would probably do a trick for you anytime- at least during the off hours. For nothin'- but since I want these pitchers made- and I want around twenty, I was hoping we could trade out some. And Mellie will get half of them. We thought you could use some cheering up.”
“That's very thoughtful of you gals, but Why so many?” Alvin was not going to do it, but her grand scheme made him curious.
“For my best customers- an' there are actually quite a few. And they will have to buy them, so what doya think?” Sissie's bronze-colored hair was flowing, recently brushed and seemed to almost glisten with the sunlight coming through it. She was pretty, and a year of prostitution had not taken away her youth, only stolen her innocence. “I wore these ribbons just for you... the photographs of course.”
“Photographs?” Alvin was fighting all kinds of thoughts, unable right now to even fake coherence.
He sighed deeply... all he wanted was a beer. Now he was in a tight spot. How do you diffuse a comely, well-intentioned prostitute who wants to kindly trade in-kind? “Sissie, believe me, you are killing me with your offer. But I have to refuse the deal... not because it is not absolutely fair- it is a fair offer. But Sissie, I don't have to tell you, we are from different worlds. Your offer means one thing to you- and something entirely different to me.”
Sissie backed up, her face changed, and she swirled around and in one motion her beautiful gown was off and flung to the bed. She stood naked and defiant and shook her hair. “You're tellin' me you're turnin' this down?” She complained incredulously.
“God, you are... scrumptious. But Sissie, you believe sex is a service- I was raised to believe it is a covenant. Do you...”
“A WHAT?” Sissy interrupted, as she was getting angry.
“I didn't think you did- know what that was. Here, sit down on the bed for just a moment, I want you to understand.” Sissy sat down, but only because she needed those tintypes. She covered her breasts in protest, by crossing her arms. At least she had him that much closer... to her destination and her deal. Alvin launched into his best diatribe.
“I believe... that sex is something, well... sacred. Shared between two people who have pledged a special love for one another. And I have pledged myself to someone. I'm saving myself for that covenant... that promise. It's between me and my girl, and God: a promise that we have made to each other.” Alvin looked straight into Sissie's eyes, person to person, mind to mind, like no man ever had before. He was talking to her soul.
“And that will make our sex special every time we have it... because it means something- Something just between us. Something no other persons will ever share with us."
"You make it sound almost... s e x y ." She laughed at the absurdity.
Well...it kind of is. And if you and I were to have a 'roll in the hay' I would think about that betrayal, the great exception that I once made for a business trade, and my breaking of the covenant, every time I had sex with my wife. And here's the real damage it would do, the better you are at your job, the more I would compare it to my wife every time. So that kind of problem means your offer would never be worth it in the long run.
Sissie had to try hard to avoid showing her frustration and an unfamiliar twinge of shame.
“Anyway Sissie, you don't want that I know. It's not you. Or at least I don't think you mean any harm to my future satisfaction with my wife. I like you too, and to prove it, I am going to make the tintypes as a friend- at my cost. Understand Sissie, it's my Faith, what I believe God has designed for every couple, which, if you do not have it, I do not expect you to understand.”
Sissie looked at him, then glanced around the room, looking for words. She was mad, and yet she was falling in love with this strange man. Nobody ever talked to her like that. Spirituality, when you have none, is sexy too. Others just used her. Her body was all any of them cared about. Somehow Alvin was speaking to a deeper part of her, a faint spirit which she thought was dead a long time ago. “Mister, you are so messed up!” She pronounced as she stood, and she laughed. “I kind of understand.” She shook her gauze gown and slipped it back on. Then she turned again to Alvin, unable to resist one last attempt to break him down.
“But I really wanted to- you know... feel you inside me.” Alvin picked up his warm beer and drank a little. He could have done without that comment. “I was already feeling you inside me in my mind... and I was soooo jealous of that girl you have... 'PAULine'- or whatever her name is. She's a lucky woman. I hope she knows that.”
“Lucky?”
Sissie shrugged, that was how it seemed to her.
“Lucky? Her first husband was killed by outlaws, hung from a tree in the woods like a coyote; She lost everything in a single moment, the love of her life, all of her dreams. Then she went home to her family, and her father was bankrupt and then he died of a heart attack, and they lost their home and had to move hundreds of miles away-reeeeeal lucky.”
“I had bad things happen to me too.” She countered. “And worse than that! But telling you still wouldn't help, cause you love her. So I still say she's lucky.”
“Maybe, but see, I think I'm the lucky one, because she will have me. And I wouldn't do anything to mess that up, not even pleasure myself with a beautiful woman like you!”
Sissie chuckled, and stood up. She was over it. “So... over by that wall?" She suggested as she pointed an elegant finger. I'd like those nudes in the background.”
“I'll go get my camera..”
Who would ever believe he gave away his service to avoid sex with an adoring prostitute?
“An' give me that token, I get credit for this!” She laughed. Who would believe she was falling for a man who could refuse her sex?
As soon as Alvin escaped, he attempted to clear his head, and he pondered whether he should dare go back to Sissie's room. And as he slowly gathered his equipment, he practiced what he would say and do next, if he was to go back. He was afraid to, and he was afraid not to. He was not ready to move out of the boarding house, but it seemed to him Mellie and Sissie were trying to entrap him, and he could easily see a different, less disciplined photographer living there for forever, caught in a sexual addiction, never quite being able to balance his accounts. If that was Mellie's design, she would be perturbed that Sissie had been unable to close the deal, and he needed to contrive a convincing excuse.
Mellie had mentioned before how she wanted large, full plate tintypes of her girls to decorate the front parlor. It would be a beautiful and controversial addition, and would contribute to her clients waiting more patiently. But Alvin surmised that there was much more to this photographs-for-sex trade than met the eye, and he was not up to the task of avoiding it gracefully.
When he got to Sissie's room, she was gone. He waited a few minutes, and then figured that she could not afford the photographs if she had to pay cash for them... even at half-price, and was too embarrassed to face him or ask for credit. Or maybe she had gone to borrow the money. He shook off his rattled nerves, and headed off to the saloon for another beer. But it might take several to blur what he had just seen and heard.
Mellie had been eavesdropping on the negotiations between him and Sissie, and understanding Alvin better than he understood himself, waved Sissie on to run errands and give her a chance to smooth things over. She was fond of Alvin and loved Simmie, and did not want to jeopardize what had become a bizarre, familial connection with them. As Alvin opened the front door, she caught him by the sleeve.
“Alvin, look here honey, I told Sissie not to try that, she ought'na done that, foolish girl. I think she's sweet on you, don't be peeved with her. But I do want you to make those tintypes for me darlin'. We think the world of you boys... an' you've treated us good, and we aim to treat you boys likewise.” Mellie hoped that the longer she talked, and kept Alvin at the door, the more likely he would not take offense for what had transpired. But Alvin felt like he had to clear the air.
“I appreciate that Mellie. I'm 'specially beholden to ya for motherin' Sim... at least as much as he will tolerate. You girls have treated him better than, well anybody he's ever known. Still- I'm just a workin' man, plannin' on gettin' married. I can't afford to spend any money on anything- and I can't consider any trades- for anything. An' I hope you understand.”
“I do honey. But both of those McAllen girls combined is still unworthy of somebody like you.” Mellie grabbed his face, and before he could back away, she kissed him quickly on the cheek, and when he didn't back away, she planted one on his lips. “I love you boys, and you can take that any way you want to.”
Alvin could not help wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Mellie cried out laughing, as Alvin left like the house was on fire. Still, he understood that her kiss was more special than anyone might think, because prostitutes often did not kiss their clients. That was usually not part of the deal. Kissing meant as much to some whores as it did to any other person. Much of the time, it was still a gesture of true affection.
Then, as he walked down the boardwalk, he realized something else. That fleshy, boisterous woman had actually aroused him, damn her! And he swaggered towards the saloons for relief.
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