I caught DeForest halfway between the office and his home, quickly falling into position well behind him on the opposite side of the street. It was the perfect distance to track his movement with little fear of being discovered. I was already starting to congratulate myself when I realized he was taking a different direction, not headed home at all.
His figure, half a block more distant now, scuttled down an alleyway in the gathering dark. He was peeking furtively behind him—or was it my imagination? Did he suspect being followed? Or was I just on edge, too nervous, reading intent into his actions based on my own fragile state of mind? I hadn’t thought about what I would say if I was caught out. I thought about it now. Perhaps, in the end, the truth would do. But how much better it would be if I didn’t need it.
A handful of turns later, in a commercial district with few lights and even fewer signs, he ducked into a basement-level doorway and vanished. Afraid that if I delayed, I would lose him, I plunged inside, arriving into almost total darkness.
While my eyes adjusted, I ran my fingers along the wall behind me to steady myself. Having something to touch made darkness less disorienting—a hint I’d learned from DeForest himself. The thought almost made me lose my nerve, but having begun the adventure, I wanted to see it through. Besides, now I wondered—what was this place, and why would he come here?
Once I could see more than shadows, I scanned the room quickly. First, to find DeForest. All depended on his position; I would need to choose mine accordingly.
I located him at the far end of the bar, sitting alone, signaling for the barman with a single upraised finger. I ducked back to avoid being seen. He didn’t look in my direction, but I played it safe. The breeches I’d chosen were the right color to help me blend in with the men around me, but I knew there was more to being a man than the clothes. I tried my best not to cock my hip, not to fold my hands, not to do anything that might give me away as a woman. I leaned back against the wall as casually as I could.
His drink arrived. He curled his fingers around it but did not put it to his lips. I lingered at the edge of a crowd, half a dozen men playing billiards, as if I were awaiting my turn in the rotation. It was an unusually dark room, and the game seemed to take a very long time, with no sense of urgency. I could tell something was afoot, but it was impossible to know what, and all my investigative energies needed to be saved for the more important task. I pulled the brim of my hat down over my eyes and watched.
DeForest sat for a quarter of an hour, sipping only once from his glass. He scanned the room frequently, making me nervous. Perhaps he had figured me out and was killing time here, making me wait, as a punishment. Perhaps he would stride over any minute and inform me the jig was up. I could only watch and wait, without looking like I was doing either. I felt a little frisson of excitement. I’d come to practice surveillance, and that’s exactly what I was doing. A long career as an operative would put me in a position like this a thousand times. Rehearsal couldn’t hurt.
Finally, a blond man slid onto the stool next to DeForest’s. He ordered a drink. They looked at each other but not quite with recognition. A quick glance. I saw something odd in the way the new man positioned his body, not straight ahead but angled slightly toward DeForest’s, that made me wonder. Not friends, not strangers. Something else.
A terrible thought crossed my mind. They could be exchanging intelligence. Pinkerton had forbidden working with criminals to support our cases—it was in the Code—but it must be a daily temptation for the operatives infiltrating gangs. Perhaps DeForest had given in to temptation. Worse, he could be tipping off a gang that we were coming. We all knew well that there was far more money in evading justice than delivering it. Had he stolen the gold-and-emerald snake ring, planning to fence it, and changed his mind? Was it only one of many things he’d stolen?
There was a discussion, then a decision, and the two men moved off, leaving their drinks on the bar. Like a shadow, I moved with them. Through the crowd next to the pool table, toward a warren of rooms in the back. I backed off, moving more slowly and lingering with the others, so as not to draw suspicion.
After a decent interval, I edged closer to the hallway where I’d seen DeForest and his companion disappear. There were several rooms in the back, with curtains drawn across each doorway. I peeked through the first, and it took every mote of my self-control not to exclaim in shock.
Two men were there, their faces pressed close together in a kiss.
I’d never seen anything like it. I had heard such gal-boys existed, that there were men who treated each other like women, but I had never imagined I’d see such a thing with my own eyes.
And then I thought about DeForest and realized with a sick feeling in my stomach that his purpose here, while fully illegal, was not criminal in the way I’d thought.
Yet I’d come this far. I needed to know for sure.
I pressed myself close to the wall, remaining as close as I could to invisible, and peeked through the next curtain. I saw a smudge of bare flesh and looked away before I could see more. There had been two hats on the floor, and neither was DeForest’s. That was enough.
Behind the third curtain, I saw him. He and the other man were seated side by side on a small couch, facing away from me. They leaned on each other, toward each other, with their heads bent over their laps like schoolboys looking at a turtle.
I couldn’t—and didn’t—linger. A tiny alarm at the back of my brain began to clang louder and louder. Every moment I stayed put me in danger of being discovered. I had to leave, and finally, feeling my feet and my mind heavier than I could have imagined, I did.
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