Part 2, two years later:

Not Enough Chili

Chief Robert Ironside parked his car on Fulton Street, right outside Golden Gate Park. Swiftly he followed the two men who had left the blue van in front of him.

Their names were Faucher and Redman. They seemed to belong to a militant sect who called themselves 'The Proclaimers'.
For about a year the members of this sect had pestered people with their fearmongering and obtrusive propaganda.
Now indications of crimes ranging from theft to abduction had shown up.
Faucher and Redman had criminal records, and they had only joined the sect a few days ago. Ironside didn't know what exactly they were up to – or if they were up to something at all - but his gut feeling told him that he should grab the opportunity and tail them when he saw them leave their meeting place.

Although he was a big man he moved with ease, his strong body entirely under the control of his alert mind.
The two suspects walked into the park, unaware that they were being shadowed.
It was not often anymore that the Chief was out on a stakeout himself, but he still knew the ropes better than anybody in the department. His long career in the navy and as a police officer had given him more hands-on experience than anybody else.
He had to smile. Young ex-Marine Ed Brown for instance had about the same fields of expertise, but he still had a lot to learn, and moreover he always looked as if he had trouble handling his long arms and legs.

Hidden behind a tree he observed the scene before his eyes, people enjoying themselves in the park on a sunny day.

He let his gaze wander over the open space between the trees.
Suddenly he recognized a face, a black youth was milling around … Mark Sanger! Two years ago he and Ed Brown had had a run-in with him.
What was he doing here? It was very unlikely that he was just enjoying the fresh air in the park.
Was there a connection to 'The Proclaimers'? It seemed somehow far-fetched. Mark had not struck him as a particularly religious type. But he might very well be involved in some sort of scheme…

Faucher and Redman entered the M. H. de Young Memorial Museum.

If Ironside did not want to lose them he had to cross the open space. Sanger would see him. But then – he was probably not playing an important part in this case, if any.
Ironside left his hideout and followed the two men.
He spun around when he heard the breaking of glass behind him.
Apparently Mark Sanger had smashed one of the glass globes adorning the lamps in the park! Two uniformed police officers came running by. A group of kids tried to block their path. Other people were shouting around.

This was no accident. Mark had provoked this ruckus deliberately, the Chief was almost sure of that. Why? Was he keeping a lookout for somebody? Did he want to alert them now?

Meanwhile Ironside had reached the museum. He would have to be careful. And yes, he should have taken one of his assistants with him, Brown for instance. Not Eve Whitfield of course, he hated exposing her to danger.

Very carefully he opened the door, expecting an ambush. He was a professional, he would not be surprised easily.

A cry of terror hit his ear. Ironside had too much of a knight in shining armor in him to stay put when he heard the cry of a lady.
He yanked the door to his left open and with one quick step he stood in the room behind it, his service revolver drawn, ready to fire.

He dropped it immediately.
Two guns in very steady hands – the hands of Faucher and Redman - were pointed… not at him but at a baby on a woman's arm… supposedly the one who had cried out.

"I don't know what you want here, but you will not get it," said a third man in the room. He had fifty pounds too much around his waistline, but unlike Ironside not muscles.
His name was unknown to the police. He called himself 'The Enlightened' – the leader of 'The Proclaimers'.

"I recognize you, you are the Chief of detectives of the San Francisco Police, aren't you? That comes handy, that way you can't pursue us. You are quite famous, you know!"

Calmly Ironside stood there and took the scene in.
The young woman with the baby was Mrs. Gloria Hamilton, admired cover of a zillion magazines. Her husband, millionaire Howard Hamilton, was sitting on a chair. Hardly did he risk breathing. The baby had to be their daughter, Claudia, if Ironside remembered well.

So there was a point to the rumors about abductions by 'The Proclaimers'. He was not happy about the way he had found proof of that though.

A fourth man entered, clad in outerwear with the emblem of the museum.

"Hawkins, show these people the way down to the cellar!" commanded 'the Enlightened'.

Ironside's thoughts rotated with lightning speed. Would they be shot? Perhaps not yet, but their chances to escape would be very limited down there.
He would have to try to get away as soon as possible. The criminals would not shoot the child, she was their best hostage. Hamilton was a strong man, built like a weightlifter. Together they could do it…

Redman pushed his revolver into Ironside's back to make him walk towards the stairs.
This was a mistake, he was too close to have control over his potential victim. Ironside knew the move. In a quick spin he turned around, hit the hand with the gun away, then grabbed it and pushed it upwards. The gun discharged, but the bullets went harmlessly into the ceiling.

Ironside wrested the gun out of the man's hand and pointed it at the leader.
"Now call your second jumping jack off!" he barked, never letting the second gunman out of his sight.

But the danger came from a completely unexpected direction.
Shouting "Nooo, they will kill my baby!" Hamilton threw himself at Ironside with his full weight which was considerable.
Ironside didn't fall down but he almost lost his balance and his gun was pushed off target – long enough for Faucher to get a round off.
White-hot pain ripped through Ironside's right shoulder and he lost consciousness.


"Do you know where the Chief is?" Sgt. Ed Brown asked rookie detective Eve Whitfield.

"As far as I know he got a phone call and left about two hours ago. I think it was about that militant sect."

"Thanks," answered the tall Sergeant. He knew about 'The Proclaimers' of course. "Please let me know when you hear from him, will you?"

"No problem," answered the self-confident beauty who had just left the police academy.

"I don't think that Chief Ironside's schedule is any of your business, young man!" said a sharp voice behind them.
The voice belonged to Lt. Greeves. He consisted of six feet of steely muscles, a sharp brain and a ton of ambition.
He hated having to look up to somebody, let alone to a rookie like Brown.
"As far as I know you have still not found out who was behind that burglary on Market Street."

The burglary had taken place just the day before, and it would be next to impossible to identify the masked men who had committed it.
"Swing back there and see that you get to make an arrest!"

Wordlessly Ed left. He had no idea what he had done to the man. The Lieutenant acted as if Brown had killed his pussycat.


Ironside woke up on a very small, hard cot.
The wound in his shoulder made him groan, until he became aware of it. Then he suppressed it.
He tried to reconstruct in his mind what had happened.
He had been shot! Unwillingly his left hand moved up to the injured area. The shoulder had been dressed, but that didn't help against the pain.
Ironside looked around. He was not alone. The caretaker of the museum – he remembered, Hawkins – was sitting at a small table nearby and reading.

When Ironside sat up with an enormous effort he asked: "How are you? Believe me, I didn't want anybody to get hurt."

"Ah, so you are a member of the Salvation Army, I suppose!" grumbled Ironside ironically.
Cold sweat was running into his eyes.

"No, Sir, that's an error, the Salvation Army is on the wrong path. They will perish on Judgment Day. Believe me, only members of 'The Proclaimers' will be saved."