Meredith Bevan. That's my name, worn out from the years of use in the papers. But not as a criminal, no, never the straight-laced Meredith. I'm a reporter. Specifically, one for the New York Herald Tribune. 753Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqb6Q4iag2o
I'm not a criminal. You see, I'm the one who covers the criminals. The ones who need a story. One of my main informants is Josephine Banfield. A real-life female Pinkerton agent. They've always been more open to girls. Black people, too. I'd wanted to be exactly like Kate Warne when I grew up. 753Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuN8Bv9huWr
Then I found my calling. Writing. It's rare for people like me to even know how to write, but I learned. It's rare for girls to know how to write, too. But we made sure I had schooling. Anything we had to do, to make sure I could become a reporter. 753Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmXIjNiyDDw
I used to write fake newspapers. I'd give them to whoever came to our house. We all thought it was a good idea, it helped me practice my English. And now, with the articles I write, you'd never think I wasn't from here. It's my savior. If I can trick people, then I have hope. 753Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF6aMyqADu7
The people I write about are often odd. Some are criminals. Well, most of them are. They're the only real people. Everyone else is fake. It isn't too hard to tell who's fake, and who's not.
In example, the angry Pinkerton agent that comes up to your desk is rarely fake. No, Mrs. Josephine Banfield means business. She's almost scary. She's one of the boys, and it isn't hard to see how she commands respect. The lady's a genius! She's what I want to be. What I need to be. 753Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJGB51uJGsF
And she's my friend. Men practically trip over their feet to say hi to her, and yet she chooses to spend time with me. I think she feels a kind of..respect, I guess. I covered the story when the gang leader, Widow, killed her brother. 753Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡROfvoy5nA2
The women in the papers, too. I'd like to meet them, one day. Of course, that'll only happen if one of them finally gets caught. I don't know if I'd like that. Yes, it'd be good, and the streets would be safer. But...why ruin the identity behind the mask? They're gods among men. 753Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsFMnLPbHDw
I wish I could meet them. Even if just for a split second. To confirm that they're real. I mean, they must be. But..it'd be nice to have something tangible. To know that they really are themselves. 753Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNteMNiwcjg
They'd hate me. I'm the one that publishes all the stories about them, I write them. Yet, my curiosity..I desperately want to meet them one day. That'd be a dream come true. 753Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9nU7gtnpId
If dreams even come true, I guess.
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