“Most. Fun’s over. Go home!”
For a moment, Bell thought he had them cowed. Instead, both mobs edged closer. Rocks flew. One grazed his hat. Another bounced off the hood. A third hit the center-mounted searchlight, which exploded, scattering glass. Bell fired inches over their heads, spraying bullets as fast as he could pull the trigger.
Some ran. Others surged forward. He saw a flicker of motion and fired in that direction. A rusty pistol went flying. He sent two more quick shots whistling close to their ears, and his hammer clicked on an empty shell. The mobs were closer, twenty feet away. With no time to reload, Bell shouted for Russo to hold tight and shifted up to third gear.
Two and a half thousand pounds of Thomas Flyer thundered at the mob. All but one man ran. He threw himself at the auto and grabbed at the steering wheel. Isaac Bell flattened him with his gun barrel.
He pressed the accelerator, speeding over rough ground for a quarter mile, and turned onto a dirt track that led toward Ogden. Russo sagged with relief. But when the town hove into view, the Italian asked, “What you want from me?”
“Help with my investigation,” Bell answered and said nothing more until he pulled up in front of a hotel on 25th Street that had a haberdashery on the ground floor. The fact was, he had no idea whether Russo had run from New York because the overcharge that blew up the water mains was an accident, or was sabotage by the Black Hand, or had been laid by Russo himself for the Black Hand.
He led him into the hotel.
The front desk clerk said, “We don’t rent rooms to dagos.”
Bell put a ten-dollar gold piece on the counter and laid his Colt next to it. The gun reeked of burnt gunpowder. “This gentleman is not a dago. He is Mr. Sante Russo, a friend of the Van Dorn Detective Agency. Mister Russo will occupy a room with a bath. And you will send that haberdasher up with a suit of clothes, hose, drawers, and a shirt and necktie.”
“I’m calling the house detective.”
Winter stole into the tall detective’s eyes. The violet shade that sometimes accompanied a smile or a pleasant thought had vanished, and the blue that remained was as dark and unforgiving as a mountain blizzard.
“Don’t if you don’t want him hurt.”
The clerk pocketed the gold piece, the better part of a week’s pay, and extended the register. Bell signed it.
MR. SANTE RUSSO C/O VAN DORN DETECTIVE AGENCY
KNICKERBOCKER HOTEL, NEW YORK CITY
“Tell the haberdasher not to forget to bring a belt. And some shoes. And a handkerchief.”
Bell sat in an armchair while Russo bathed. It had been a long day and night since he left Marion in San Francisco. His wounded neck ached, as did his knees, elbows, shoulder, and hands, from the fight under the train. A knock at the door awakened him. The haberdasher had brought a tailor and a stock boy. They had Russo decked out in an hour.
The blaster marveled at the mirror.
“I am thank-a you very much, Signore Bell. I never look such.”
“You can thank me by taking a close look at this.”
Bell tossed the hollow red tube. Russo caught it on the fly, took one glance, and sat down hard on the bed. “Where you find this?”
“You tell me.”
“Not atta church. Not possible. Nothing left.”
“What do you mean?”
“Big-a bang. Big-a bang ever.”
“Are you saying that this stick could not possibly have been blown clear of that explosion?”
“Not possible.”
Which led Bell to the bigger question. “The sticks you disconnected . . . were they like this one?”
“Same stick. Where you get?”
“What do you mean the same? You just said it wasn’t possible.”
“Not same, same. Same-a . . . marca. Marca!” He pointed at the Stevens name printed on the tube. “Where you get?”
“Same brand?”
“Uhhh?”
“Label?”
Russo shrugged.
“Mark?”
“Si. Marca. Where you get?”
“Mano Nero,” said Isaac Bell.
“Same. Yes. Si. Mano Nero make-a overcharge. Like I say.”
On his way to the Ogden train depot Isaac Bell stopped at Van Dorn’s field office. A wire had come in for him on the private telegraph line, Helen Mills reporting triumphantly, in Van Dorn cipher,
ALMOST PROMOTABLE
LYNCH ARRESTS PENNSYLVANIA GREEN GOODSER
SAME PAPER
Bell wired Mack Fulton and Wally Kisley,
FIND WHO BOUGHT PAPER AND INK
PRINTER’S ROW BRING HELEN
STAY OUT OF AGENT LYNCH WAY
and ran for his train.