Chapter Text
Albert wasn’t usually one for contracts. Portraits of ruffled couples and their primped-up children didn’t interest him. Neither did advertisements for curious products, newspaper articles, or prospecting aids, but he was getting desperate. His stomach growled loudly as he peered down into the empty bowl of oatmeal that’d cost him his last ten cents. Perhaps he should change his plans and do a couple proper photography jobs before heading west in search of the geese. He’d been excited to see the reach of their wingspan in person but continuing the trip with no money wasn’t an option.
He was confident he had a customer in Mr. Jackson up the road from town, but he could deal without Ms. Jackson fawning over him the whole time, nor the threats that would follow from her mister. Or maybe Doctor Bernard, a young doctor with a bit too much interest in his own face. Even the curious fisherman who always asked for Albert to take outlandish pictures of his aquatic conquests in various poses would do- it wasn’t his job to ask questions. He just needed money.
So when a sharply dressed man cornered him at the edge of the Strawberry saloon and slammed a wad of cash down, Albert almost forgot to ask the premise of the job before reaching out for the means to a better supper.
"I've heard you've been skulking about in the woods with your camera the last couple days. I trust you're talented?" It was a rather abrupt introduction, but Albert couldn't help the fluttering in his chest- ‘talented’ was not the word most critics used, usually criticizing his unusual subject matter rather than complimenting the technical skills that went into the work.
"I wouldn't say I was skulking Mr.-"
"Milton."
"Right, Mr. Milton, a pleasure. I was just preparing for a little trip out to capture some geese, but if you have a job in need of a photographer, perhaps I could be of use." He forced himself to silence as the man's face twitched, "what can I do for you?" The man gestured to the chair and sat when Albert nodded his permission.
"Well, Mr. Mason," he paused, a slight glimpse of teeth shining through his thin lips at the surprise on Albert’s face. "I was just thinking you have all the right talents for a project of mine. You see, I’m looking for something particularly evasive."
"And what is that? If you don't mind me asking."
"A man. Men to more specific."
Albert didn't quite know how to respond to that, infinitely less interested in the job. He’d hoped the recognition came from one of his various little photography exhibits. But the wad of bills was still piled neatly between them tauntingly, a twenty-dollar bill on top. That was food for two weeks or a few reels of film for his travel bag.
"Hmm, well I suppose if you describe the man, I can see what I can do. But you see Mr. Milton, I’m a wildlife photographer- I’m more suited for tracking down bears or… I don't know, sparrows, than men."
"I understand. Doesn't hurt to try though, does it?” Milton smiled at him, but the intensity of the gaze did nothing to ease his growing discomfort. "Do you make much money photographing wildlife?" Albert willed himself to stop fidgeting with the hem of his vest. The man continued, "seems to me the demand for such a thing would be limited, most folk wouldn't choose to bring such wild images into their homes, would they? Snarling wolves and bears are hardly appropriate topics of conversation at the dinner table."
"Well I disagree there, but it certainly depends on the person. I’ve found there are some like-minded indivi-" he was cut off abruptly, the man now leaning into his space from across the small table. His head was shaved bald, his suit crisp enough that the man almost looked like a particularly stern store mannequin. His words cut through the happiness of the inn.
"That looks like an awfully nice camera Mr. Mason. And that vest too, very fashionable. I always thought someone with a job like yours would be hardly getting by, but you look quite distinguished."
"Thank you?" He responded. His vest wasn’t anywhere near new, but he supposed it had been nice at some point.
"Almost makes me think you make your money other ways." Albert swallowed and tried not to react. New York was a world away- the unpaid loans lost in distance and name surely. "Where are you from then? You don't look like most men from these parts. You hold yourself differently. Talk differently too." Albert was suddenly very aware of his own rigid stance and clothing, so at odds with all the ranchers and townsfolk in the saloon. A couple of them were staring at the spectacle even now.
"Boston. Born there and followed my dreams out west like so many before me."
"Huh, that’s not what my records say. Could of sworn they said you were a New York man... ah well, must be my mistake. But you see, I’m usually pretty good about these things, lots of experience in my line of work."
"And what would that be?" Albert finally managed to get out, the wavering in his voice impossible to hide. He picked up his cup, putting the glass in between the two of them, only to realize it’d gone dry. He needed some water, or better yet some gin.
"Just an investigator of sorts. I work with the Pinkerton Detective Agency." Albert blinked back, unsure if this was his chance to throw himself on the ground and beg for mercy. But perhaps this man had no proof and was just fishing.
"Okay, yes. That must be a real fascinating job! Fascinating... what are you doing out this way then? Not looking for geese I expect…" he trailed off, not counting on a response. At least there were too many people in the saloon for the man to get away with anything too indecent. But perhaps that came later, after an embarrassing public arrest. He could just run, of that he had plenty of experience. There had been that bear out North, and the rancher who’d mistook Albert’s photographic enthusiasm over a gopher for untoward glowering aimed at his nearby daughter. He was shocked out of his thoughts by that unpleasant face shoved closer, voice even fiercer.
"Right now I'm investigating an absolute monster." Albert went pale, he wasn't that bad- the loan shark had been much more monstrous and crueler than he ever could be. Hell, the interest rate had been so ridiculous that he’d pretty much asked Albert to skip town once accepting it. The dead associate of the man was unfortunate, but it hadn’t been his fault, nor his doing.
"You don't say?"
"I do. This man and his friends have killed, raped, kidnapped, pillaged across this region- destroying everything they touch like a bunch of barbarians, making life even more difficult for hard working individuals like me," be paused and looked Albert up and down calculatingly, "and you. Seems to me you'd earn a lot from accepting my offer. Or lose a lot by refusing- I've got lots of friends out east, as you know."
Albert had just about sweated through his shirt and was feeling faint. "What exactly do you want from me Mr. Milton? Pictures of this man? I’m hardly an investigator like yourself, just a lowly naturalist. "
"I’ve got three names for you. I need you to find their whereabouts and document their actions for the next few weeks. I want pictures of every person in their camp as well, everything they bring in, every late-night piss." Albert had more than a few questions, but he held his tongue and waited for Milton to continue. "I don't care how you do it, but I need it done, and soon. And if you see any acts of violence or other degeneracy, please don't spare your film. That is just the kind of material that will earn you your wages. We need a felony conviction for every last person there, not just the three I’ve named."
"You want that many pictures? Because that could take some time. And sometimes they can be a bit loud, or bright if it’s nighttime- usually the more stealth oriented portions of my outings end quite abruptly."
"I trust you'll figure something out."
"Yeah, alright. I suppose I could try; you’ll be paying of course?” Maybe that was pushing it, but film was expensive, and he still needed enough for his own travels and food. The stack of bills seemed to taunt him from between them. “I don’t mean to offend, but I simply don’t have that amount of film on my person.” The other nodded at the request for supplies.
“This stack here is yours when you finish the job, but I’ll help you get some more supplies as we go. After you show a little proof that you’ve found them.”
He sighed, feeling entirely captured by the money and the threats alike, not too keen on becoming this man’s own little bloodhound, but unsure how to escape it save fleeing the state entirely. If he played along, he’d have an easier time escaping. “What are the names?"
"Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Arthur Morgan. Try south of town, they usually aren't as sneaky as they think they are."
"But why me? You just recognized me?"
“Not completely, but you were fast enough to confirm my curiosity. Not much of an outlaw.” His heart sank, shamed and nervous in equal amounts. “And why not you? I came all the way up here in search of monsters and demons and you all but fell onto my plate, talents perfectly aligned to my needs. You could run, but why bother? I don’t personally care much if you take off, but someone else will just collect you and deliver you to the proper hole without the slightest chance of redemption. Some might not even bother to keep you alive for the handoff, and from the sound of it your family might even count it as a mercy.” The sanctuary this man implied if he complied was clear, but Albert didn’t hold much trust for men, hadn’t in some time.
“Well alright then,” he said again, waiting for a dismissal, still undecided whether he’d fall in line as easily as this man seemed to think he would. The seconds passed awkwardly, neither man saying anything, Albert staring down at the empty glass and willing it to fill. Milton extended a hand to him and after another awkward paused he shook it, trying not to flinch at the vice grip crushing his hand.
"But Mr. Mason, please do mind yourself. These men are sure to murder you should they find out your intentions, likely after treatment much worse. Not to be crude, but if they catch you, if may be easier to just blow your own brains out on the spot."