1907
Rising from the devastation of a massive earthquake and fire, San Francisco is once again on the move. But a strike by streetcar drivers threatens to halt the Golden City in its tracks. Protests turn to violence and violence leads to death. Soon a young guard is convicted of willfully killing a protester and the public is out for blood.
Jonathan Perris, an immigrant attorney from England, has opened a law firm with an eye toward righting wrongs, and the guard’s conviction may fall into that category. But the talented barrister soon finds his newfound career shaken by a tragic event: the gruesome murder of the beautiful and mysterious Lena Mendelssohn—a woman he’s been squiring around town. It’s difficult to run a law firm when you’ve been arrested for murder.
“A Painful Interruption”
Secure in the knowledge that the boys would stay away, Dove’s strategy was to meet Nora at the car barn and talk her out of her foolhardy action by playing her against her compatriots. He’d explain that Simon and Oscar had not only thrown in the towel but were ready to tell what happened on Bloody Tuesday under oath. She was an intelligent young woman with a lot to offer the world; was she willing to go down for destruction of private property, as well as assault? Faced with such a choice, she would be crazy not to cooperate.
He’d gone over his plan with Jonathan, who’d agreed with his reasoning, and with Cordelia, who hadn’t.
“She’s not going to bend, even to you, Dovey; she is one tough cookie.”
“If all else fails, I’m bigger,” he replied with a grin, but Cordie wasn’t impressed.
“We’ll see,” she’d said.
At ten o’clock on the night of the exhibit, with carpet bag in hand, Dove made his way to the meeting point in front of the car barn. It was quiet as a churchyard. The strike between the carmen’s union and United Railroads had been going on for more than two months, and fatigue had set in on both sides. The daily pickets still showed up, and streetcars were often sabotaged on the road with greased tracks or cut trees blocking their path, but by and large, everyone went to their respective corners at night. The barbed wire that had originally protected the yard and its resident scabs was nearly all gone, a simple chain link fence taking its place. As Nora predicted, even the guard shack was unoccupied. No doubt the shift started near midnight to save a little money.
There was a crescent moon, so in between the street lamps, the light was scarce. A man stood in the shadows by the gate, talking to a young kid before pointing across the street and shooing him away. As he drew closer, Dove realized it wasn’t a man at all, but Nora. She was dressed in men’s clothing, covered by a workman’s jacket, her hair tucked under a cap. She carried what looked like a newsboy’s canvas bag, probably filled with the tools with which to commit her crimes. On some level she hadn’t believed he would bring what she needed.
“Where is everybody else?” he asked innocently.
“I don’t know. I figured most of them would back out anyway.” She pointed to his bag. “But if you’ve brought what I asked for, you and I can do what needs to be done.”
“Here you go,” he said, handing it over.
Nora opened it and looked inside. It was empty. “What is this, some kind of a joke?”
Knowing she couldn’t clearly see his face, Dove used his tone of voice to convey his message. “You know it’s not a joke, and neither is what you’re planning.” He reached out to her in the darkness. “Nora, this is wrong and, in your heart, you know it’s wrong.”
“I know nothing of the kind,” she hissed, shrugging him off and backing away. She’d reached the dim pool of light given off by the nearest lamp and he could see her fury. “Are you playing a game with all this, or are you just a coward?”
“I am someone who knows the law and the penalty for breaking it. You stepped over the line on Bloody Tuesday when you assaulted that guard with a brick, and if you go through with what you had in mind tonight, you’ll be in far worse trouble. If you just—”
“Just what?” she shot back acidly. “Stay on the sidelines? Go to meetings and listen to more theories about the ideal state of the working man? Let the men make the decisions and take the action? I don’t think so.” She was pacing as she vented, but abruptly stopped, apparently putting two and two together. “How stupid am I? You don’t just know someone in the law firm—you work for them, don’t you? My God, you probably work directly with that Cordelia what’s her name—”
“Hammersmith,” Dove said. “And yes, I do. We are trying to save the life of an innocent man, and you can help us do that.”
Despite the shadows, Dove could see how disappointed she was in him. Her face was pinched with bitterness. “I told her that I wouldn’t help her then, and I’m telling you the same thing now, so go to hell, Mr. ‘I just want to learn more about the revolution.’ You make me sick.”
Dove didn’t typically cajole a perp into giving himself up; his style was to simply get the job done. But Nora was different, so he tried again. “I don’t blame you for being angry,” he said patiently, “and I’m sorry for misleading you. But the stakes are very high here and I’m just trying to get you to see reason.” He gestured to her satchel. “I can’t just walk away and let you go through with it.” He reached for the bag, but she deftly stepped away, pulling a knife from her pocket and brandishing it.
“But you’re going to have to. Walk away, that is, unless you want to get hurt.”
My God, Nora’s really going for it. Dove sensed for the first time that Cordelia was right about the young woman’s stubbornness. In fact, she’s gone round the bend.
He began the process of disorienting her, talking to her in a constant patter as he slowly began to circle her, bobbing and weaving, leaning in and retreating. Nora lunged at him in turn, and it crossed his mind that anyone watching them from afar might think they were performing some strange ritual or maybe a dance of the macabre. He’d turned her around several times and at last saw her begin to falter. That’s my girl. He stepped in to disarm her when someone shrieked from over his left shoulder. He turned to see Lucy—sweet, quiet Lucy—pointing a gun straight at him, her arm shaking, no doubt out of fear.
That wasn’t the worst of it, of course.
The worst was that Nora took the opportunity to sink her knife deep into Dove’s chest.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Lucy cried as Dove staggered back. “Nora, what have you done?!”
A native of California, A.B. Michaels holds masters’degrees in history (UCLA) and broadcasting (San Francisco State University). After working for many years as a promotional writer and editor, she turned to writing the kind of page-turning fiction she loves to read. She writes historical fiction (“The Golden City” series), historical mystery (the “Barrister Perris” series) and contemporary romantic suspense (“Sinner’s Grove Suspense.”). All three series are character-linked and all are stand-alone reads.
Michaels lives in Boise, Idaho with her husband and elderly wiener dog, Teddy, who cannot see or hear, but sniffs his way from one comfortable spot to another. In addition to writing and dog-snuggling, Michaels is an avid reader, traveller, quilter and bocce player, as well as a mediocre but enthusiastic golfer.
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