The Ballad of James McKenna

Day Twelve: Friendship

Day Twelve
         Friendship
Word Count: 1543

1865

The Pinkerton building didn't stand out much from the others. Apparently, that was the point. A lot of their business was undercover, or the kind of work that required more than simple discretion. But still, Jimmy was shaking with nervous excitement as the man next to him--Jeremiah Leary, onetime protector of Abraham Lincoln--pulled the door open and shuffled him into. He reached up and grabbed his hat--his artillery cover, and the only one he had to his name--sweeping it from his head and twisting it in his hands as the entry room came into view. It was spare, but not uninviting, though it was clear that people did not spend much time there. Either they were allowed in and would move on to the inner sanctum, or they would return to the streets; one did not dwell in the Pinkerton building's foyer.

"I'm here for Allan," Jeremiah said, barely sparing a glance at the dandy sitting behind the welcome desk. "Bringing him that mechanicler he heard tell about." Jimmy smiled nervously as the man--maybe five years older than he--nodded, returning his gaze to a gold gilded mirror and a mustache trimmer, no more interested in the eighteen-year-old newbie than Jimmy was in the latest mustache fashions. He kept his face clean-shaven. It was just easier that way. Father had always said the only beard having was a proper beard, and those just got in the way. There was a saying in the army--"Smooth as a mechanicler"--for hardly one in ten had even the barest hint of facial hair, and that one had sideburns.

Jeremiah had a thick beard. It was probably stupid, but Jimmy trusted him because of it. The only beard worth having was a full beard, after all. He led Jimmy up three flights of stairs ("The lift's broken. Main reason we need a mechanicler 'round here, if you ask me. Allan says climbing stairs is good exercise, but some of us think the lift is damned convenient and would rather have it back."), the walls of which were covered in lithographs and even a few photographs. Serious faces stared back at him, their eyes seeming to trace his progress further into the hallowed halls of Pinkerton, judging him, questioning his right to be there. Jimmy ducked into his shoulders and stared at his feet.

"Come on in, boyo." Jeremiah opened the door at the top of the stairs. It read "Allan Pinkerton, Private Eye" in carefully painted letters. Jimmy squeezed his hat again, tracing the stitching with his thumbs, and took a deep breath. This was what he'd traveled to Chicago for. This meeting right here. The chance to become a mechanicler for Pinkerton. Not just a mechanicler, either, but a fully-fledged agent, solving crimes and bringing criminals to justice. It was perfect work. The perfect way to bring a smile to his Father's devastated face again. He might never leave his chair again, but he would know that his son was doing something good for the world. And Father would be proud of him.

All he wanted was Father to be proud of him.

"Don't be so worried. This ain't an interview." Jeremiah's eyes were green, but they often clouded over with a strange sort of gray. They looked a lot like Father's eyes. So Jeremiah had fought in the war as well. It heightened him in Jimmy's esteem. "I as good as told Allan we're taking you on after that little miracle of yours at the great pit."

Jimmy blushed. "It was hardly a miracle. Just doing my duty."

"Doin' a damn fine job of it." Jeremiah grinned, clapping Jimmy on the back. It hurt. Jimmy was a tall young man, and was on his way to getting taller if his Father's family were any indication, but he was slender as a reed. He'd never been a physical lad, preferring to read or to tinker about with his father in their mechanical lab. By the time he was ten, he'd replaced most of the manual labor around the farm with mechanical; their output trebled, and the remaining work was light enough that even the women could handle it. His mind grew strong and fertile, but he'd never been a very robust individual. Never sickly, mind you, but no strapping farmer, either.

Jimmy stepped into the office. It looked more like a library, truth be told, filled with wall-to-wall books on every subject imaginable. Across from him was a window and, in front of the window, was a large cherry wood desk. Sitting at the desk was Allan Pinkerton. He, too, had an impressive beard. Across from Pinkerton, another man sat, cross-legged and holding a top hat, facing away from the door. At Jimmy's entrance, however, he turned, grinning. "So this is the mechanicler I'm to train."

Jimmy gaped. He was a Southerner! And a dandy, at that. And he was supposed to train him? What could this man possibly have to teach him?

"Nate." Pinkerton's voice was not loud, but it carried authority. The young dandy--for wasn't his mustache as impressive as the secretary's, and wasn't he wearing the latest fashions from London?--clamped his mouth shut and nodded. He was twenty-three or four and handsome, the kind of handsome that poets admired and belonged on a plantation veranda. Blonde and blue-eyed, he had strong features and good, straight teeth. He was muscular, too, though perhaps not quite as tall as Jimmy. "You must be James."

Jimmy nodded and licked his lips, shooting the Southerner--Nate--a glare. "Yes, sir. But everyone calls me Jimmy."

"Jimmy, then. Jeremiah here says you repaired the entire Union artillery line at Petersburg. The steam guns and cannons. He also tells me you retrofitted a Gatling for electrical charges. We have a sore need of a mechanicler here. Understand, however, that I cannot employ a man who is not also trained in the basics of investigation, as every man of Pinkerton's is an agent. You will be expected to take on and solve cases for our clients. Your skills as mechanicler will be used on an as-needed basis. The rest of the time, you are simply James McKenna, man of Pinkerton's and private investigator." Allan stopped for a moment, eyes boring into Jimmy's. "Is this acceptable to you? If not, Jeremiah will escort you out of the building and you will be free to pursue whatever it is that will make you happy. I do not force men to join my organization."

Jimmy nodded. "I-I...forgive me, sir. Of course I will join your organization. Any chance to use my skills as a mechanicler is welcome, but I understand that I will be expected to become a proper agent, as well."

Allan smiled and clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Jimmy, this young man is Nathaniel Price. He comes to us from Virginia and he will not only be training you, but he will be your partner during your time here with us."

The young man stood and extended a hand. Jimmy took it warily. Months of war had hardened him a touch to Southerners, but if Mr. Pinkerton and Jeremiah trusted him, then perhaps he wasn't so bad. "It is a pleasure to meet you, suh. I promise to take real good care of you and teach you everything you need to know about our fine organization. Do you have a place to stay here in town?" At Jimmy's shake of the head, Nate grinned. "Well then, you can stay with me for the time being. Don't worry, it's just me and the housekeeper."

"Nathaniel comes from a very wealthy Southern family, which he abandoned just before the war broke out, not believing that the Southern cause would be a victorious one. He has been with us since then." Jimmy looked at his new partner in a new light. Nate's face had turned solemn and, in its lines, Jimmy thought he could see a trace of sadness still churning. Slowly, he nodded, lips tight. "Now. Nate, why don't you show our new recruit around? Take him to the financial office to see Jenkins and then to our mechanical repository. Have Jenkins order him a mechanicler kit."

Nate nodded, his eyes sparkling again. "Well, he must be very good," he drawled, "if he is to get his own kit. And a new one at that."

"The canon at Petersburg should attest to that, Nathaniel," Jeremiah said before turning to Jimmy and holding out his hand to shake. "Welcome to the organization." Then, running his hand though his beard, he turned and stomped down the stairs, leaving Nate and Jimmy alone with Pinkerton.

"Come on, Jimmy. There's a lot to show you." Nate grinned and placed his top hat under one arm and grabbed his cane with the other. "I've got a good feeling about you, James. I think we'll get along famously. Well, we'll have to since we're stuck with one another for the foreseeable future. The best partnerships are often made up of friends, after all."

Jimmy smiled shyly. Nate was very gregarious, something that Jimmy wasn't quite used to. "I'm sure we'll be friends, too," he said, hoping it was true. He'd never really had a friend. It would be good to make one now.