The Chase (Isaac Bell 1)

With trembling hands, she inserted a sheet of paper in her typewriter and began transcribing Cromwell’s notes for his speech.

AT FIVE O’CLOCK, late in the afternoon, Cromwell stood on the steps of a new three-story redbrick building on Geary and Fillmore Streets, listening to a long and flowery introduction by city mayor Eugene Schmitz, a close friend of Cromwell’s who had benefited from large contributions secretly transferred to his personal account at the Cromwell Bank. A crowd of five hundred people attended the inauguration, along with members of the city’s fire and police departments, political bosses, and over fifty elderly patients sitting listlessly in their wheelchairs.

Cromwell’s own remarks were short and to the point. He modestly referred to himself as a “humble messenger of the Lord” who had chosen to help those who could not help themselves. When he finished, the applause was polite and subdued, befitting the formal occasion. A ribbon was cut at the front entrance and Cromwell was heartily congratulated. He shook every hand that was thrust at him. He made a show of embracing all of the patients waiting to enter the building. Mayor Schmitz gave him a bronze plaque for his philanthropic efforts and announced that, henceforth, April 12th would be known as Jacob Cromwell Day.

Making his way through a throng of well-wishers and admirers, Cromwell reached the parking space that held the Mercedes Simplex. Margaret was already seated behind the wheel, looking lovely in a green wool dress with cape.

“Well done, brother. Another good deed under the Cromwell banner.”

“It never hurts to have friends in high places, as well as the adoration of the foul-smelling rabble.”

“Aren’t we the humanitarian?” she said sarcastically.

“What about your benevolent pet projects that somehow get publicized in the society pages of the newspapers?” he retorted.

“Touché.”

Cromwell moved to the front of the car and cranked the engine. Margaret retarded the spark and set the hand throttle. The engine caught and coughed into a throaty roar. Cromwell climbed into the seat as Margaret advanced the spark, shifted gears, and advanced the throttle. The Mercedes Simplex bounded out into the street between a cable car and beer truck.

By now, Cromwell was used to his sister’s mad driving antics and relaxed in the seat, but was prepared to jump should a disaster rear up its head. “Drive up to Pacific Heights and stop at Lafayette Park.”

“Any particular reason?”

“We can walk the paths while we talk.”

She didn’t question him further. The Mercedes Simplex easily cruised up the hill to Pacific Heights. She turned off Fillmore Street and took Sacramento Street until she reached the park, then stopped at the foot of a path leading into the trees. A five-minute walk took them to the summit of the park, which presented them with a beautiful panoramic view of the city.

“What do you wish to talk about?” Margaret asked.

“I’ve decided to undertake another robbery.”

She stopped in midstride and stared at him in distress. “You must be joking.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“But why?” she demanded. “What have you to gain? You almost got caught in Telluride. Why tempt fate again for no purpose?”

“Because I like a challenge. Besides, I rather enjoy being a legend in my own time.”

She turned and looked away stunned. “That’s stupid.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, putting his arm around her waist.

“I understand that it’s crazy, and that someday your luck will run out and they’ll hang you.”

“Not for a while, at any rate,” he said. “Not while their best agent lies in his grave.”

Margaret remembered the incredible blue-purple eyes and Bell’s arm around her as they danced at the Brown Palace. She seemed to hear her voice from far away. “Bell dead, it’s hard to believe.”

He looked at her curiously. “You sound like you had a crush on him.”

She shrugged and tried to look uninterested. “Oh, he was nice-looking, in a strange sort of way. I imagine other women found him attractive.”

“No matter. Isaac Bell is history.” Cromwell stopped and began leading his sister back to the automobile. “I’m going to fool Van Dorn and all the other stupid peace officers who want me hung. They’ll never suspect I’d commit another crime so quickly, at a bank in a town they’d never suspect. Once again, they’ll be caught with their pants down.”

A tear came to her eye and Margaret dabbed a handkerchief at it, not sure if her emotions were twisted by Bell’s demise or her brother’s madness. “Where this time?”

“Not a mining town payroll,” he said, grinning. “I’ll throw them a curve and hit a town that doesn’t expect me, and leave them frustrated once again.”