shallow steps and slammed into a young woman, sending her and the small leather case she carried flying.
The man hit the icy pavement, scattering the grey sacks he was carrying. His pistol skimmed along the sidewalk, stopped only by the left boot of the young woman he had knocked to the ground. She, not a damsel of faint heart, hid the weapon under her voluminous skirts.
When he raised his blood-scraped face, she had only a few seconds to make a mental photograph of his visage with its big red moustache and the strange beard that followed the line of his jaw, before a second man, sacks swinging from his shoulders, raced down the steps, pursued by a collection of men yelling, “Stop! Thieves! Police!”
The second man cursed his fallen companion with, “Stupid arse.” Turning, he fired into the hollering crowd streaming down the steps after him. Howls of pain erupted. Fearing for their lives, people scattered, falling, scrambling away from the gunfire. Two victims lay bleeding near the entrance to the bank.
The first villain scrambled to his feet as police whistles piped. “Sorry, Butch.”
“Sundance, you goddam clumsy fool.” Butch sported a pencil-thin, black moustache and took in the situation with hard, black-button eyes.
The young woman sitting on the sidewalk stared, noted the drawling western accents.
“Seen enough?” Hard Button Eyes pointed his still smoking pistol at her, changed his mind, and swung one of his heavy sacks smack into her head, knocking her flat. “Come on, Sundance. Coppers.” The miscreants calling each other Butch and Sundance took off, losing themselves in the bustle and traffic around Union Square.
The bells of an ambulance sounded, and, seeing that the robbers had escaped, people crouched on the steps of the bank, giving aid to the two wounded men.
“Here, ma’am, let me help you,” A clean-shaven fellow with deep blue eyes squatted beside the fallen woman. The blow had knocked the wind out of her. He tilted his derby back and helped her sit up.
She reached under her skirts and pulled out the pistol.
The man held up his palms. “Hey, hold on there, Missy. Don’t shoot. I’m no thief, just plain old Robbie Allen, good Samaritan.”
“Is she okay, Robbie?” another man asked. This one was wiry built, tall, also clean-shaven.
The woman tried to clear her head. She looked again at this new pair. Two gentlemen. Had the first two returned? No. What was she thinking? This pair was very different from the first. Perhaps it was the fall that confused her.
“You okay, ma’am? Do you want me to take that firearm?” The man called Robbie made a quick survey of the area. Everyone seemed to be either clustered on the steps of the bank with the wounded, or running off towards Union Square in pursuit of the robbers.
“No, thank you, sir. The thief dropped it. I know someone of authority who’ll be very interested in seeing it.” As she tucked the gun into the leather pouch still attached to the shoulder of her coat, the small movement causing a stab of pain in her knee.
“Ma’am?” Both spoke at once.
Robbie said, “You’re hurt.”
“No!” The pain sharpened her mind. The robbers had called themselves Butch and Sundance. Was that possible here in New York?
At that moment the young woman remembered her Kodak camera. She’d been holding it before she was struck. Spying the Brownie among the refuse in the gutter, she said, “I’ll be obliged if you’ll help me to my feet so that I can retrieve my camera and see what damage has been done.”
The man called Robbie stood behind the woman, holding her elbows. Once standing, the pressure on her injured knee caused more pain. The young woman flinched. Her knee wouldn’t hold her and, as much as it troubled, even embarrassed her, she had to lean against the stranger, while his friend squatted near the gutter and dusted the refuse from the camera with the side of his sleeve.
“That’s my friend Harry, ma’am. He’ll bring your camera.” Now that he had a better view, Robbie liked what he saw. “Pardon me.” He reached down and straightened her hat.
She wished he’d stop fussing at her. She raised her right hand and readjusted her hat. Her dark hair had come loose from its roll and lay on her shoulders.
Though she had a bright red bruise on her chin, Robbie saw that she was a beauty. “Ma’am, I do believe you’re having trouble standing. Not that I mind a pretty lady leaning on me.”
Her face flushed. “I