The Bootlegger

Isaac Bell saw Marat Zolner climbing a ladder up the back of the wheelhouse, racing the fires. He reached the flying bridge and stood for a long moment, a graceful shadow against the flames.

The wind bent the pillar of fire. An explosion blew the ship’s bow apart. Water rushed in and she settled rapidly to the bottom of the cha

“Wow!” said Asa. He had a huge bruise over his eye.

“Think you can swim to shore?”

Brooklyn seemed closest. Bell tried an abbreviated backstroke with one arm. Before they got a hundred yards, a little boat with a big engine pulled alongside, and Isaac Bell looked up into the wrinkled face of Ed Tobin’s uncle Do

“I was coming by with a load of oysters,” he said. “Thought you could use a lift.”

“In return for which,” said Bell, “you want me to talk your so-called oysters past the cops.”

“That was Robin’s idea. She thinks we’ll get top dollar in Manhattan.”

A taxi pulled up to the St. Regis Hotel.

Isaac Bell stepped out, soaking wet, his mustache singed, his face and hair glazed with ash and salt and grease and blood. Asa Somers staggered after him in dripping rags.

The doorman waved them away. Burly house detectives blocked the steps.

“Buzz my wife,” said Bell. “Tell her I’m coming up.”

“Wife? Who’s your wife?”

“Mrs. Isaac Bell.”

“It’s Himself!”

The house detectives escorted them solicitously to the elevator. Bell stopped dead when he saw a newspaper.

MAMMOTH HURRICANE PUMMELS SEABOARD

NEW YORK SPARED WHEN STORM SHIFTS EAST

STEAM YACHT FOUNDERS OFF BERMUDA

HEIRESS FEARED DROWNED

Bad luck? Or divine retribution? It seemed, Bell thought, harsh punishment for falling in with the wrong crowd.

“Poor Fern,” said Asa. “She was so nice.”

“I’m not sure Fern would like to be remembered as ‘nice.’”

“Fräulein Grandzau liked her.”

“So did I,” said Bell. “I’ve always liked characters.”

Bell led Asa down the carpeted hall to Marion’s door.

He was suddenly aware that every bone and muscle ached. His left arm throbbed like a burning stick. He could feel the sea pounding, as if he had never left the boat, and could hear the Libertys roaring in his ears.

“Almost home, Asa.”

He squared his shoulders and knocked.

A peephole opened. A beautiful sea-coral-green eye peered through it and grew wide.

Bell gri

Marion flung open the door. “You’re all right!”

“Tip-top.”

She threw her arms around him.

“Look out, you’ll get dirty.”

“I don’t care… Who’s this?… Oh, you must be the brave Asa who saved Joe. Come in. Come in, both of you.”

Pauline was behind her, bright and perfumed in a thick terry robe.

“Asa, are you all right?”

Asa swayed and caught himself on the doorknob. “Yes, ma’am. Tip-top.”

“Go take a bath.” She pointed down the hall. “There’s a robe on the hook.”

Joseph Van Dorn was waiting in a wicker wheelchair. Dorothy stood beside him, her eyes at peace.

“You look like hell,” he greeted Bell in a strong voice.

“You look better,” said Bell. “Much improved.”

“Hospital sprung me. That’s something.” Van Dorn hauled himself to his feet, steadied himself on the arm of the wheelchair, and reached for Bell’s hand. “Well done, Isaac. Well done. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Wait until you get the bill for my airplane.”

“Airplane?”

“And you’ll want a new bow and motors for the agency express cruiser. Don’t worry, you can afford it. Texas Walt is raking it in hand over fist out in Detroit.”

“He’s still in business?”

“At least until we get the Coast Guard contract back.”

Bell turned to Pauline. “Is Ed O.K.?”

“Ed’s fine. They stitched him up. It was a vein, not an artery… Isaac, I must speak with you.”

“What’s up?”

“Marion has given me a wonderful idea.”

Bell glanced at Marion. “She’s good at them.”

“I want to take young Asa for my apprentice.”

“To Germany?”

“With his parents’ permission, of course.”

“I believe he’s an orphan.”

“All the better. So am I. Isaac, make it so.”

The chief investigator of the Van Dorn Detective Agency turned to its founder.

Van Dorn said, “Your call.”

Bell locked eyes with Pauline and shared a private smile. “Based on how your apprentice handled a machine gun this afternoon, you might consider allowing him to carry a small pistol.”

“All in good time,” said Pauline. “Thank you, Isaac. And thank you, Marion.”

Van Dorn eased himself back down into his wheelchair and rolled toward the door. “We’re shoving off. Dorothy wants me home in bed.”

They agreed to talk in the morning. “Afternoon,” Marion corrected them. “Late afternoon.”

A freshly scrubbed Asa Somers appeared in a bathrobe with Band-Aids plastered on his brow. Pauline spoke quietly to him and they headed out the door.

“Alone at last,” said Marion. “Is your arm all right? You’re favoring it.”

“Just a little sore. Where are they going in bathrobes?”

“I got them a room upstairs.”

“One room?”

“The hotel’s packed because of the storm. It has twin beds, I think,” she added briskly. “They’ll work it out.”

“Good idea.”

“Now, what about you?” Marion asked. “What would you like?”

“I could use a drink.”

Marion said, “I’ll join you.”

“And a hot bath.”

“I’ll join you.”