The Pinkerton Files Five-Book Bundle by David Luchuk

we had not been hired to pursue failed lines of inquiry.
    â€œWe will look for the same item.” He said. “We will not look in the same way.”
    It came as no surprise when Ms. Higgs showed me the contract Robert issued to rogue operative Ernie Stark. Lives were sure to be lost as soon as Ernie Stark was hired.
    *   *   *
    Ernie Stark
    May, 1861
    The giant slave who saved me at Harrisburg had a name. He was called Ray.
    I followed him over the side of the rail platform and broke some toes when my foot smashed against a piece of track. The impact sent me pin wheeling out of control. If I hit the ground spinning, I would have been folded in half.
    Eyes wide, I saw Ray reach toward me from a girder halfway down. The man was so strong that he had caught himself against the frame. I landed on Ray’s huge arm. It was like being hit in the stomach with a piece of timber.
    The impact pulled Ray off the girder. I don’t think he intended to catch me, just break the fall. It was enough to ensure that the forest floor didn’t kill us both.
    Ray carried me back to gypsy quarters and vouch for me as an enemy of the gang that laid waste to the rail depot. With money from my purse, he rented barrio lodgings on a train to Philadelphia.
    We were away. I was broken but alive.
    While I recovered, Ray put a plan in motion. It came together with surprising speed.
    â€œSign this.” He said.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œJust make yer’ mark.”
    Ray handed me a set of papers in legal typeset. I signed. The papers were taken to a man whose face was covered by a web of tattoos. In low light, they changed the appearance of his jaw, nose and brow all shifting as he turned his head.
    This man applied counterfeit seals to the document. Ray slid them into an envelope. He lifted my jacket and cut a pocket into the liner. The envelope was tucked inside.
    â€œI belong to you now.” He said.
    I understood.
    â€œAt Philadelphia,” I said. “I will have you declared a free man.”
    Ray nodded.
    â€œNot just that.” He said. “You’ll teach me . . .”
    â€œ . . . to not be a slave?”
    â€œ . . . to be free.”
    When we arrived, Ray was the perfect supplicant. He cowered under my hand in front of other white men. I was complimented more than once on the demeanour of my slave. Our masquerade convinced the court. Ray was so obviously my property.
    â€œAre you sure you want to set this one free?” The Judge asked. “Not all of ’em can make a go of it on their own.”
    This was the final barb Ray would endure as a slave.
    â€œHe’ll find a way.” I said.
    The papers were notarized. An entry was made in the Pennsylvania register. In the eyes of the law, Ray was free. In his own mind, he had only begun to be so.
    We arranged for him to lease at an apartment in south Philadelphia. It was a dreary place, where a derelict might choose to live. It made no difference to him.
    Ray wanted to acquire obligations. Only a free man could make a commitment.
    It was all financed from my account. Ray was not shy about reminding me that my brains would be lubricating a Harrisburg telegraph machine had it not been for him.
    It wasn’t extortion. He had in fact saved my life. One of the first things you learn as an agent is to pay your debts. Don’t let them linger.
    After fitting him for new clothes, I was tapped for cash. The call from Pinkerton came at a good time. Robert’s idea was daft. I didn’t have any interest in going to prison but I needed money and wanted some distance from my new companion.
    Ray made it clear that I would not break from him so easily. He insisted that I bring the Pinkerton contract to his apartment and explain the legality of it before I signed.
    â€œWe can do the work together.” Ray said.
    â€œThey won’t let you mix with other prisoners. You may be free but you’re still