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“You’re right,” said Bell. “She is disappointed in him. There’s something in the angle she holds her head.”
“You should be a detective . . . Where are you going?”
Bell’s reply was a terse, “Don’t follow me.”
The man he had observed at the bar moved quickly to escort Fern and Prince André out of the speakeasy. Bell followed. A thug in a topcoat, who Bell had noticed lounging under the electric canopy earlier, blocked a newspaper photographer trying to snap a picture of Fern and the prince. Moving to stop Bell, he put a hand on his arm.
“Save yourself trouble, mister. Go back inside while you have teeth.”
The tall detective knocked him to the pavement.
But by then the bodyguard—Bell had no doubt anymore he was that—had shut Fern and the prince’s car door. The chauffeur stepped on the gas and sped into busy Lenox Avenue. The bodyguard faced Bell, took in his partner on the sidewalk with a swift glance, and opened his coat to show his pistol. “Want something, mister?”
Bell opened his own coat, closed a big hand around his Browning, and started toward him. But late-night revelers were swarming the sidewalk, and loaded taxis were hauling up to the curb.
The Packard carrying Fern Hawley and Prince André cut in front of a trolley and disappeared. The bodyguard helped his partner stand and they left in a taxi, leaving Isaac Bell to wonder whether they were guarding the wealthy young woman or her pampered gigolo who looked thoroughly capable of guarding himself.
• • •
IN THE LIMOUSINE, Marat put his arm around Fern.
She turned her face away. “The bank’s closed.”
“Bank? What bank?”
“It’s an expression. It’s the way a girl says she’s not in the mood.”
“Since when?”
“Since . . . I have the heebie-jeebies about Yuri.”
“The bank did not appear to be closed to Isaac Bell.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Marat. He’s a detective. That’s all we need.”
“You were falling all over him.”
“He’s married.”
“Do you ask me to believe that would stop you?”
“It would stop him—don’t you know anything?”
They rode in silence until the car stopped in front of her town house. The driver jumped out. Marat Zolner signaled through the glass not to open the door.
“Now what?” said Fern.
“How long will this bank be closed?” he asked.
“Not forever. I just need a little time.” She patted his hand. “Don’t worry, it’ll be O.K.”
“We have much to do. You keep asking about the revolution. The revolution requires intense focus. Nothing should distract from it. Therefore, we will do the following: You will stay here while I’m away. Use the time to think. I’ll send for you once I’m established. If you want to come, you’ll come.”
“Where are you going?”
“I told you. I am expanding our operation. I am ready to
take Detroit.”
