The Abduction of Smith and Smith Read online

  The Pinkerton met him in an empty office, formerly occupied by a lawyer. Seated at a large wooden desk, the Pinkerton adjusted his waistcoat, attended to aiming a small torch at the bowl of his pipe, then said, “Mr. Smith,” without looking up.

  “What do you have for me, Mr. . . .” Archer thought a moment. “Forgive me. I almost called you ‘Mr. Pinkerton.’ But, of course, that is not your name.”

  “Pinkerton will do just fine. My own name is for family and friends. And even if I bother to tell them, I am always Pinkerton to my clients.” Archer had already accepted that, not feeling up to dueling wits or verbal jousting. He grew weary at the thought of it. “Indeed,” said Archer. “So what do you have for me?” Archer had already met with the Pinkerton a few days prior and told him what Cora had said about Jupiter’s heading west.

  The Pinkerton got his pipe good and prepped and sent a fragrant cloud through the anonymous lawyer’s office. “The darkie’s headed out West.”

  Archer shifted in his seat. Anger and fatigue weighed on him. “Forgive me, sir, but I do believe I have already provided you with that information.”

  “Indeed you have, Mr. Smith.”

  “Forgive me, once again, if I fail to see the sense in providing you with payment as well as information. I assumed our relationship would be quid pro quo.”

  The Pinkerton smiled a grin of smoke. It came out of his nostrils and wisped at the corners of his mouth. “Indeed, sir, we are in agreement. You told me he was headed out West, but through my contacts, I know what route.” There was a long silence between them as the smoke began to cast a hypnotic haze over Archer, with all its spinning, twirling, and dancing. The haze reminded him too much of an opium dream. He was beginning to long for it.

  “Please, Pinkerton. Forgive me if I wish to end the suspense.”

  “He’s headed up the Cherokee Trail with a group of other freed slaves and soldiers.”

  Archer sat up straight, feeling sober only briefly. “I assume, Mr. Pinkerton, that you have your men dispatched to this trail with the intent to seize him . . . with the utmost haste.”

  “You could assume that, Mr. Smith, but you would be wrong.” Archer could see that the Pinkerton was playing games with him—why, he did not know—but his patience was wearing thin. “And why haven’t you?”

  The Pinkerton leaned back and puffed his pipe. “The war is over, Mr. Smith. And you are still fighting battles.”

  “That animal killed my father.”

  “Yes, indeed. And like so many other animals, he has probably already littered the trail with his carcass.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Archer.

  “I do not intend to send my men out into the woods to kill a nigger that may already be dead.”

  “That is not for you to decide. I am paying you to bring this man to justice. He killed my father, a Colonel. The Smiths have been in this country since its founding. I’m giving you good money to find him and bring him to me.” Archer was getting dizzy. He did not know if he looked it, but he felt green.

  The Pinkerton breathed through his pipe so that it flared a bright diamond of fire with only a hint of smoke and looked at Archer with pity. “I should remind you, Mr. Smith, that you have given me no money. Pinkertons take payment upon completion of their duties. With that being said, you should see to yourself, sir. . . . It seems that you have your own demons to wrangle with.”

  “My demons are none of your concern. And since you have proven to be of no help, I shall see to them as I see fit. Good day, sir.”

  “Good day, Mr. Smith. And good luck to you.”

  5

  “Hello, Mrs. O’Connell,” he said.

  “Mr. Dalmore,” said Maggie, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “May I sit?”

  Maggie nodded. “Mr. Dalmore, I feel compelled to remind you that our last meeting began with the same formalities. I lost a great sum from our last dealings,” Maggie said. “I shan’t like to repeat it.”

  Dalmore crossed his legs. “Your money is not lost, it is invested. The concept is more than sound—it is the future. When the right time presents itself, we shall be up and running. It is still a viable concern.”

  Maggie leaned back in her chair. “You and your ships and guns. Haven’t you been paying attention to anything? Railroads are the future.”

  He smiled. “Yes, railroads are good for the country, and many men will get wealthy by them. However, my dear, with ships and guns, one can rule the world. Railroads are not the future, they are the present—another gold rush with iron as a substitute. Now the skies, they are another matter entirely. The skies are the future—but until then the seas will have to do. When they can lay track across the Pacific from here to China, then I will be impressed.”

  “Mr. Dalmore, you are quite the visionary, but your contempt for railroads doesn’t permit you to lie to your investors and allow them to think they are part of a railroad company when, in fact, you have made them unwitting arms traders, while you lay track that will ultimately lead nowhere.”

  “I lose no sleep over the matter, and as long as my investors make money, neither shall they . . . including you, Mrs. O’Connell.”

  “I have no cause for concern?”

  “My dear, the Cressida shall be finished, and she’ll be a fine ship. I have always been frank with you. It pleases me to have someone in my life with whom I can be completely honest. Despite your displeasure, I have noticed that you have kept the secret about the railroad between us. . . . I haven’t even told that idiot Grayson.”

  “Your partner would object to being called an idiot.” Maggie smiled.

  “There’s a good girl. We are in this together. Which brings me to the reason for my visit. A problem has come to my attention,” Dalmore said.

  “What sort of problem?”

  “You’ve heard that Hutchins is still missing?”

  Maggie shifted in her seat. “Missing . . . not dead?”

  “I thought you would tell me. I’ve been direct with you so far; continue to be so with me.”

  “Of course.”

  “Our friend in Chinatown, Mr. Lin, may be involved with Hutchins’s disappearance.” He waited. “Hutchins was behind most of the anti-Chinese legislation, as well as the organized harassment of Chinese workers. The motive is obvious.”

  “Indeed it is. You employ a vast number of Chinese at your shipyard as well as your faux railroad.”

  Dalmore arched an eyebrow. “Yes, Hutchins has been a thorn in my side. He’s got the Irish riffraff thinking that they should earn as much money as regular white men. Please, my dear, take no offense.”

  Maggie blinked slowly.

  Dalmore continued. “Our arrangement for enticing crew has kept costs manageable. No, I’m afraid this affects you as well.”

  “I do not follow.”

  “One of Lin’s men was beaten and he said a great deal.” Dalmore looked around the room. “Is that Negro that works for you—what’s his name? Neptune? Is he here?”

  “Jupiter. No, he is not.”

  “Ah, yes, Jupiter. Probably for the best— He was spotted in Chinatown coming from Lin’s place sometime before Hutchins’s disappearance. Lin’s man said Jupiter was paid a nice amount for the job.”

  Maggie swallowed hard and clasped her hands to prevent them from trembling. “Mr. Dalmore, you speak so disapprovingly of the evils of my business. I assumed that we are in the same business. Are we not?”

  Wood floor planks creaked. Dalmore leaned back in his chair and rolled an unlit cigar between his fingers. “No, Mrs. O’Connell, we are not in the same business. You are in the business of calling attention to yourself, so that a man like me must come to speak to you about your childish mishandlings and give you a proper spanking like the petulant brat that you are. I am in the business of setting the terms and tel
ling you that you have no choice but to follow them. Indeed, Mrs. O’Connell, we are not in the same business.”

  “Well, Mr. Dalmore, you’ve certainly said a mouthful. Would you be kind enough to tell me what these terms are that you speak of?”

  “Someone from your operation needs to answer for this—it shouldn’t be you. I have been known to be magnanimous on occasion . . . the choice is yours.”

  Dalmore left. Maggie stayed in her seat for a while. She noticed that Dalmore had left his hat on the divan. It made her feel spied upon. She caught her reflection in the two-way mirror and spat at it.

  “Clement.”

  The door opened. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Dalmore has left his hat. See that he gets it.”

  “Right away.”

  “Before you go, send up a bottle of whiskey. My mouth feels dirty.”

  “Of course.”

  “And Clement, make sure it’s Irish.”

  6

  Dalmore had just entered his carriage when Clement caught up to him.

  “Mr. Dalmore . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Your hat, sir.”

  “Oh, of course.” Dalmore eyed the hat suspiciously before accepting it. “Many thanks. Good night to you, Clement.”

  Clement positioned himself between the door and the carriage as if to enter. Dalmore extended his cane and pressed it against Clement’s chest. “Let’s not make a scene,” said Dalmore. “You are fine where you are.”

  Clement stepped away. “Can you see to it that no harm will come to her?”

  “Yes,” said Dalmore, “if she comes to her senses.”

  “This is not what we planned.”

  “No, it isn’t what I planned exactly. I admit things have gotten a bit messy, and I have had to improvise, but I thought your man, Jupiter, would have done the deed. I understand that Lin can be very persuasive—few people deny his requests. I’m surprised Lin let him live.”

  “What will you do about Hutchins’s men?”

  “That Negro will have to be sacrificed. That should appease them.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “There are many ways to quiet a barking dog.”

  Clement watched the streets flow in streams of people. “She’s the strongest woman I’ve known . . .”

  “And she’ll be even stronger when we combine our resources. Richer and stronger.”

  “I see that. It’s what she deserves, and it’s what Mr. O’Connell would have wanted for her. The things that woman has done for me . . . She’s too young, of course, but she’s like the mother I never—”

  Dalmore raised his hand. “I hate to interrupt you, Clement, but I sense a sad story approaching, and I abhor sad stories. Didn’t we all come to this country to escape them?”

  “Of course. I got a bit carried away.”

  “Oh come now, Clement. Sentimentality is ill-suited for a man of your height and width.”

  Clement stayed silent.

  “Clement, forgive my indiscretion for a moment, but I am aware of Mrs. O’Connell’s . . . affection for this Jupiter fellow. I trust that nothing unseemly has happened between the two of them?”

  Clement’s fingers curled at his side. “Maggie is a respectable woman.”

  Dalmore smiled. “Indeed. I trust that once she and I have married you’ll continue to keep your feelings for her under control.”

  Clement looked down, then nodded.

  “Good. I think we are done here.” Dalmore closed the carriage door. “One more thing. Tell me, did Hutchins make a lot of noise or scream at all?”

  Clement stared. “No, he was as quiet as a church mouse.”

  “Imagine that. I guess there is a first time for everything.”

  Dalmore signaled for his driver to move on. Clement watched as it descended a hill and was no longer visible.

  7

  They stopped when the braided man offered Maggie a handful of dried chicken feet. Jupiter watched as she went over to his cart and pointed at the glistening ropes of pig intestines slick with blood.

  “Fresh?” she asked the man.

  He nodded. “Always fresh. I just get today.”

  “Let me think on it. I’ll be back.” Their walk recommenced. “I like to go easy on them,” she said once they were out of earshot. “Turn them down, but leave them with reason to hope. I feel compelled to be polite to them. They make their offers so sweetly.”

  Jupiter squinted at a man juggling what seemed to be at least eight oranges. “Some might call that toying with them.”

  Maggie smiled. “I could be more direct if you would prefer.”

  The eyes were like a fawn’s, and the smile like a viper’s. “No, we wouldn’t want that,” he said.

  “It seems as though you don’t appreciate my attempts at kindness. You’ve been so unfair to me as of late. Continuing on your crusade for absolution and compromising me in the process. That isn’t fair to me.”

  “I think I’ve been more than fair with you, Maggie. Do your dirty work. Line your purse. If you’re unsatisfied with me, just tell me to go.”

  Those eyes again. “If it were only so simple.”

  They passed a small shop. “In here,” she said. A young Chinese boy waited inside and rang a bell when they entered. A lean and polished man in a black smock emerged from the back.

  “Mrs. O’Connell,” he said as he bowed. “I have your order ready.”

  He handed her a black pouch tied with a red string. A smell, strong and medicinal, came from it. “This will keep the sickness from returning.”

  “Thank you,” she said, returning the bow.

  “Always a pleasure,” he said, smiling.

  Jupiter nodded at the man, but he was met with an icy stare.

  “He saved me,” she said, once they were outside, “when doctors couldn’t. They said I wouldn’t live. They were wrong, he was right.”

  “Was he right when he gave you all the opium in Chinatown?”

  “I told him about your concoction. He said I should have come to him first.”

  “I’m sure he did.”

  “I’m loyal to the people that help me, Jupiter. Maybe to a fault. The people I care about are a part of me. You are a part of me. I shall never forget all that you have done for me. Which is why I am giving you this advice—you are a part of me, but if any part of me was to become infested with tumors again, I would not hesitate to cut it out.”

  Jupiter believed her. He thought about the last time he was in Chinatown, about a month ago.

  • • •

  Red lanterns painted with Chinese characters, shelves filled with anonymous containers. The guide led him to a room in back—so dark that Jupiter hesitated to enter.

  “Come,” he said with a smile. “No problems.”

  Jupiter followed him through a long dimly lit corridor. They stopped at a bolted door. Chinese words were spoken, a slot opened, and eyes appeared. The slot closed and the door opened. A large man nodded, and then stepped aside.

  “Please, follow me,” said the guide.

  The room was exquisite. A long mahogany table with roaring lions carved into the legs. Pure jade sculptures, a man riding a horse, almost life-size. Paintings on silk of such detail and color: scenes of tranquil lakes, a battlefield and its bloody aftermath.

  Jupiter heard something in Chinese come from the shadows. It was as if one of the statues had spoken.

  The guide pulled a chair from the table. “Sit.” He and the large man that opened the door went into the shadows.

  They emerged with an old man, small and ancient. So old that he seemed ghostly. Jupiter was reluctant to look at him.

  The old man looked at Jupiter and spoke in Chinese.

  Jupiter looked at the guide, then the old man, and waited for him to
finish.

  “Gao Lin thanks you for coming. He apologizes for the theatrics. Not much could be shared with you outside of this room.” He flashed an innocent smile.

  Jupiter squirmed. “What does he want?”

  The guide turned to Gao Lin.

  Again, Gao Lin spoke in Chinese.

  Even though Jupiter did not understand a word, he felt a growing awareness of the intent. He did not like what he heard.

  Gao Lin spoke for a long time uninterrupted. The guide waited patiently.

  When the old man finished, he nodded at the guide. “These are hard times for our people. We come to this country and offer no malice, just our hard work. We are beaten, killed, and are granted no legal recourse. We are treated like dogs—”

  Gao Lin grunted.

  “Worse than dogs,” the guide corrected.

  “I’ve noticed these things. You speak the truth, but why am I here?”

  “Gao Lin needs you to—”

  Again, Gao Lin grunted, then spoke to the guide smoothly.

  “Gao Lin is asking humbly, respectfully, for your assistance.”

  “How can I help?”

  “There is a man that comes here, and he beat like a savage one of the girls.”

  “Sounds horrible,” said Jupiter. “A man foolish enough to do something like that down here, one would guess he’d never make it out alive. Where do I fit?”

  “We want you to remove him.”

  “Remove him?”

  Gao Lin spoke to the guide and displayed his irritation.

  “Excuse me, my apologies,” said the guide. “We want you to make him disappear. Gao Lin is willing to compensate you for your services.”

  Jupiter smiled at Gao Lin. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t kill for money.”

  The old man laughed. The guide began to speak, but Gao Lin raised his hand. “So you kill for free?” he asked Jupiter in English. “You were a soldier, were you not?”

  How does he know that? Jupiter thought. “I was.”

  The old man nodded. “I only said disappear. He is a problem that needs a solution.”