Passion's Promise (25 page)

It was taking forever to open the doors. The cabin was hot and stuffy. Other people's bags bumped her legs. Children started to cry. Finally, they swung open the doors. The crowd began to move, only imperceptibly at first, and then in a sudden rush, the plane blurted its contents like toothpaste onto the ramp. Kezia pressed through the other travelers, and as she turned a corner, she saw him.

His head was well above all the others. His dark hair shone, and she could see his eyes from where she stood. He had a cigar in his hand. His whole being wore an air of expectation. She waved and he saw her, joy sweeping his face, and carefully he eased through the crowd. He was at her side in a moment, and swept her high off the ground in his arms.

"Mama, is it good to see you!"

"Oh Lucas!" She grinned in his arms, and then: lips met in a long, hungry kiss. Paparazzi be damned.

Whatever they saw, they could have. She was finally back in his arms. The other travelers moved around them like water around rocks in a stream, and there was no one left by the time they moved on.

"Let's get your bags and go home."

They gave each other the smile usually exchanged by people long used to sharing one bed, and took the escalator down to the baggage claim, her small hand clasped firmly in his large one. People caught sight of them and watched them go hand in hand. Together, they were the sort of people you notice. With envy.

"How many bags did you bring?"

"Two."

"Two? We're only staying three days." He laughed and gave her another hug. And she tried not to show the flash of pain in her eyes. Three days? That was all? She hadn't asked him before. But at least it was that much. At least they were together again.

He plucked her bags from the turntable like a child snatching furniture out of a dollhouse, propped one suitcase under his arm, grasped the other by the handle in the same hand, and kept his other arm around Kezia, squeezing her tight.

"You haven't said much, Mama. Tired?"

"No. Happy." She looked up at him again, and nestled in close. "Christ, it's been such a long time."

"Yeah, and it won't ever be that long again. It's bad for my nerves." But she knew it might be that long again. Or longer. It might have to be. That was the way his life was. But it was over now. Their three-day honeymoon had just begun.

"Where are we staying?" They were waiting outside for a cab. And so far, so good. No cameras, no reporters; no one even knew she had left New York. She had made one brief call saying that she was taking two days off from the column before she'd call in to report. They could run some of the extra tidbits she hadn't had room for in the column that week. That would tide them over until she got her mind back on Martin Hallam again.

"We are staying at the Ritz." He said it with grandeur as he tossed her bags into the front seat of a cab.

"Is that for real?" She laughed as she settled back in his arm.

"Wait till you see it." And then he looked worried. "Baby, would you rather stay at the Fairmont or the Hun-tington? They're a lot nicer, but I thought you'd worry about . . ."

"Is the Ritz more discreet?" He laughed at the look on her face.

"Oh yeah, Mama. It sure is discreet. That's one thing I like about the Ritz. It is
discreet!"

The Ritz was a large fading gray house in the heart of the mansions of Pacific Heights. It had once been an elegant home, and now housed castoffs; little old ladies and fading old men, and circulating in their midst the occasional "overflow" of houseguests from the sumptuous homes nearby. It was an odd mixture, and the decor was the same: crooked chandeliers with dusty prisms, fading red velvet chairs, flowered chintz curtains, and here and there an ornate brass spitoon.

Luke's eyes danced as he led her inside toward a twittering old woman who hovered nervously at the desk. She wore a cup of braided hair over each ear, and her false teeth looked as though they would glow in the dark.

"Good evening, Ernestine." And the beauty of it was that she looked like an Ernestine.

"Evening, Mr. Johns." Her eyes took in Kezia with approval. She was the sort of guest they liked.

Well-dressed, well-heeled, and well-polished. After all, this was the Ritz!

He led her into a decaying elevator run by a tiny old man who hummed "Dixie" to himself as they rose, swaying, to the second floor.

"Usually, I walk. But I thought I'd give you the full show."

A sign in the elevator announced breakfast at seven, lunch at eleven, and dinner at five. Kezia giggled, holding tight to his hand.

"Thank you, Joe." Luke gently patted his back and picked up the bags.

"Carry the bags for you, sir?"

"No, thanks." But he quietly slipped a bill into the man's hand, and led Kezia down the hall. It was carpeted in dark red, and the walls were lined with elaborate sconces. "To your left, babe." She followed his nod to the end of the hall. "Wait till you see the view." He fitted his key in the lock, turned
it
twice, set down the bags, and then pulled her close. "I'm so glad you came out I was afraid you'd be busy or something."

"Not for you, Luke. After all this time, you must be jok-ingl Well, are we going to stand here all night?"

"Nope. We sure as hell aren't." He picked her up easily, and carried her over the threshold into a room that made her gasp and then laugh. She had never seen so much blue velvet and satin all in one place.

"Luke, it's a riot And I love it." He set her down with a smile, and she looked at the bed with wide eyes.

It was a huge four-poster with blue velvet hangings and a blue satin spread. There were blue velvet chairs and a blue satin chaise longue, an old-fashioned dressing table, a fireplace, and a flowered blue rug that had seen better days. And then she noticed the view.

It was a dark expanse of bay, lit on the other side by the hills of Sausalito, the lights on the Golden Gate twinkling as traffic sped by.

"Luke, what a fabulous place!" Her face glowed.

The Rite. At your feet"

"Darling, I love you." She walked into his arms and kicked off her shoes.

"Lady, you couldn't love me half as much as I love you. Not even a quarter."

"Oh shut up."

His mouth came down gently on hers and he lifted her onto the blue satin bed.

"Hungry?"

"I don't know. I'm so happy I can't think." She rolled sleepily onto her side, and kissed him on the side of his neck.

"How about some pasta?"

"Mmmm . . . sure. . . ." But she made no move to get up. It was one in the morning, her time, and she was content where she lay.

"Come on, Mama, get up."

"Oh God, not a shower!" He laughed and slapped her on the behind as he pulled back the sheets.

"If you don't get up
in
two minutes, I'll bring the shower to you."

"You wouldn't dare." She lay with her eyes stubbornly closed and a sleepy smile on her face.

"Oh wouldn't I?" He was looking down at her, love and tenderness rich in his eyes.

"Christ, you would. You're such a meanie. Can't I take a bath instead of a shower?"

"Take whatever you want, but get up off your ass." She opened her eyes and looked up at him, without moving an inch.

"In that case, I'll take you."

"After we eat. I didn't have time for lunch today and Tm starving. I wanted to wrap everything up before you got out."

"And did you?" She sat up on one elbow and reached for a cigarette. This was
the
opening she had been waiting for, and suddenly there was tension in her voice, mirrored in his eyes.

"Yeah. We wrapped everything up." The faces of the dead men flashed through his head.

"Lucas . . ." She had never directly asked him, and he had not yet volunteered.

"Yeah?" Everything about him seemed suddenly guarded. But they both knew.

"Should I mind my own business?" He shrugged and then slowly shook his head. "No. I know where you're going, Mama. And I guess it's your business to ask. You want to know what I've been up to out here?" She nodded. "But you already know, don't you?" He looked almost old and very tired as he spoke. The holiday atmosphere had suddenly faded.

"I think so. I think I knew without knowing, but then this afternoon . . ." Her voice trailed off. This afternoon? Only then? It seemed years ago. "This afternoon I saw the paper, and the headline ... the San Quentin work strike, that was your doing, wasn't it, Luke?" He nodded very slowly. "What will they do to you for that, Lucas?"

"Who? The pigs?"

"Among others."

"Nothing. Yet. They can't pin anything on me, Mama. I'm a pro. But that's part of the problem, too. I'm too much of a pro. They can never phi anything on me, and one day they're going to screw me royally.

Out of vengeance." It was a first warning.

"Can they do that?" She looked shocked, but not really as though she understood.

"They can if they want to. Depends how badly they want to. Right now, I figure they're pretty pissed."

"And you're not scared, Lucas?"

"What would that change?" He smiled a cynical little smile, and shook his head. "No, pretty lady, I'm not scared."

"Are you in danger, Lucas? I mean real danger?"

"You mean my parole, or other kinds of danger?"

"Either."

He knew that she had to know, so he answered her. More or less. "I'm not in real danger, babe. There are some very angry people involved, but the ones who're the most pissed are the least sure I had anything to do with it. That's the way I run those things. The parole pricks won't even try to do anything to me for a while, and by then they'll have cooled off. And any of the hotheads involved in the strike who don't dig my views are too pissy-eye scared of me to even flip me the bird. So, no, I'm not really in danger."

"But you could be, couldn't you?" It hurt to think of it, to
realize
it ... to admit it. She had known that about him from the first. But now she was in love with him. It was different. She didn't want him to be some hotshot troublemaker. She wanted him to lead a peaceful life.

"What are you thinking of? You looked a thousand miles away for a minute there. You didn't even hear me answer your question."

"What was your answer?"

"That I could be in danger crossing the street, so why get paranoid now? You could be in danger. You could get kidnapped for a fat ransom. So? So why go crazy about could I be in danger, or could I not be in danger. I'm sitting here, I'm fine, I love you. That's all you need to know. Now what were you thinking?"

"That I wish you were a stockbroker or an insurance agent." She grinned and he let out a burst of laughter.

"Oh Mama, have you got the wrong number!"

"All right, so I'm crazy." She shrugged in momentary embarrassment and then looked at him seriously again. "Luke, why do you still get involved in the strikes? Why can't you let it go? You're not in prison anymore. And it could cost you so much."

"Okay. I'll tell you why. Because some of those guys make three cents an hour for the work they do in there. Backbreaking work, in conditions you wouldn't let your dog live in. And they have families, wives and children just like the rest of the world. Those families are on welfare,  but they wouldn't have to be if the poor bastards inside could earn a decent wage. Not even a high wage, just a decent one. There's no reason why they shouldn't be able to put some money aside. They need it as much as everyone else. And they work for their bread. They work damn hard. So, we set up work strikes. We design them so that the system we use can be implemented by inmates at any prison.

Like this one. Folsom is going to be pulling almost the same thing, with some minor alterations in style.

Probably next week." He saw the look on her face and then shook his head. "No. They won't need me for that one, Kezia. I did my bit here."

"But why in hell do you have to be the one to do it?" She sounded almost angry and it surprised him.

"Why not?"

"Your parole for one thing. If you're on parole, then you still 'belong' to the State. Your sentence was five to life, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So they own you for life, officially. Right?"

"Wrong. Only for another two and a half years, when my parole runs out, smartass. Sounds like you've been doing some reading on the subject." He lit another cigarette and avoided her eyes.

"I have, and you're full of shit with your two and a half years. They could revoke your parole any time they want to, and then they've got you for life again, or another five years."

"But Kezia . . . why would they want to do that?" He was trying to pretend he didn't know.

"Oh for chrissake, Luke. Don't be naive, or is that just for my benefit? For agitation in the prisons. That's got to be in violation of your parole agreement. You don't need me to tell you that. And I'm not as dumb as you think." She had been doing more reading than he'd anticipated. And this was a tough one to argue.

She was right on the money.

"I never thought you were dumb, Kezia." His voice was subdued. "But neither am I. I told you, they could never pin this work-strike thing on me."

"Who says? What if one of the people you do this stuff with says something? Then what? What if some asshole just gets fed up and kills you? Some 'radical,' as you put it"

"Then we worry. Then. Not now." She was silent for a moment, her eyes bright with tears.

"I'm sorry, Lucas. I can't help it, though. I do worry." And she knew she had good reason to. Lucas was not about to give up his work in the prisons, and he was in danger. They both knew it.

"Come on, Mama, let's forget this and go eat." He kissed her on the eyes and the mouth, and pulled her firmly by both arms. He had had enough heavy talk for a while. The tension between them eased away slowly, but Kezia's fears were not over. She only knew that she was fighting a losing battle if she hoped to make him give up what he was doing. He was a born gambler. She just hoped he'd never lose.

They were downstairs in the lobby again half an hour later.

"Where are we going?"

"Vanessi's. Best pasta in town. Don't you know San Francisco?"