Passion's Promise (27 page)

"Call the cops . . . you fucking . . . whatcha got, a radio in your pocket, motherfucker? Listen, man, I'm having dinner with a lady and I don't dig being tailed night and day, everywhere I go. It makes me look bad, got that? Nice and clear?" And then he gasped. Luke's victim had removed both of Luke's hands from his lapels and delivered a swift punch to his middle all in one flashing gesture.

"That'll make you look worse, Johns. Now how about going home like a nice boy, or you want me to run you in for attempted assault? That'd look good to your parole board, wouldn't it? You're just fucking lucky they don't get you with a murder beef one of these days." There was hatred in his voice.

Luke caught his breath and looked up into the man's eyes. "Murder? They'd have a bitch of a time sticking me with that. A lot of things, but not murder."

"What about the guards at Q. last week, or don't they count? You might as well have killed them yourself, instead of having your punks do the job." The conversation was  still carried on in an undertone, and Luke lifted one eyebrow in surprise as he stood up slowly and painfully.

"Is that to what I owe the honor of your company everywhere I go? You're trying to stick me with the murder of those Bulls in Quentin?"

"No. That's not my problem. Not my detail. And believe it or not, babyface, I don't like tailing you any more than you like having me on your ass."

"Watch out, you may make me cry." Luke picked up a glass of water from the table and took a long swallow. "So what's with the tail?" Luke put down the glass and watched him carefully, wondering why he hadn't punched the man back. Jesus, he was getting soft . . . dammit . . . she was changing everything, and that could really cost him.

"Johns, you may find it hard to believe, but you're being tailed for protection."

Luke answered with a shout of cynical laughter. "How sweet. Whose protection?" "Yours."

"Really? How thoughtful. And just who do you think is going to hurt me? And just exactly why do you care?" He looked doubtful; they could have thought of a better story. "I don't care, and that's upfront, but the assignment is to follow you until further notice and keep my eyes open for assailants."

"Bullshit." Luke was angry now. He didn't like the idea. "Is it bullshit?"

"Sure it is. Oh, what the fuck do I know?" That was all he needed, with Kezia around. Shit

"The word is that some of the hothead left-wing reform groups don't like your trip, don't like you floating in and out of then: scene like some kind of visiting hero. They want your ass, man."

"Yeah? Well, let's put it this way: if they ask for it, I'll call you. Till I do, I can do without company."

"I could do without you too, but we don't have a choice. Nice place for dinner though. Great egg rolls."

Lucas shook bis head with a look of restrained aggravation and shrugged, "Glad you liked it." He paused for a long moment in the doorway then and watched the man who had punched him. "You know something, man? You're a lucky motherfucker. You'd hit me like that some other time and I'd have pulverized you. And enjoyed it"

They eyed each other for a long moment and the other man shrugged and folded his newspaper.

"Suit yourself. But that would buy you a one-way ticket back to the joint. Save us all a lot of trouble if you ask me. But anyway, watch your ass, man. Somebody's out to get you. They didn't tell me who, but it must've been a hot tip because they had me out on the street an hour later."

Luke started to leave the booth then, and suddenly turned with a question in his eyes. "You guys tailing anyone else?" That might tell him something.

"Maybe."

"Come on, man, don't tell me half-assed stories without telling me the restl" There was fire in his eyes again and the other man nodded his head slowly.

"Yeah. Okay. We're tailing some other dudes."

"Who?"

The cop heaved a slow sigh, looked at his feet and then back at Luke. There was no point playing games, and they both knew it And he felt that he had already pushed Luke as far as he should, farther possibly. Lucas Johns was not a man you played with. He looked up slowly, and reeled off the names expressionlessly.

"Morrissey, Washington, Greenfield, Falkes, and you."

"Jesus." The five of them were the all-time heavies in prison agitation. Morrissey lived in San Francisco, Greenfield in Vegas. Falkes had come out from New Hampshire, but Washington was local and the only black in the group. All radicals of a kind, but none of them heavy left-wingers. They just wanted to fight for their ideals, and change a system that should have died years ago. None of them had wild illusions about changing the world. Washington took the most flak from those who opposed them. The black factions thought he should be fighting with them; he wasn't enough of a rebel for them. But Luke thought he was the best of both worlds.

"You're tailing Frank Washington?"

"Yeah." The plainclothesman nodded.

"Then you better tail him good." The other man nodded knowingly, and Luke turned his back and left Kezia was waiting nervously at the front door.

"Are you all right?"

"Of course I'm all right. Why shouldn't I be?" He wondered if she had heard something, or worse yet seen. Remarkably, no one had walked by during the brief fracas and the waiters had been too busy to notice the intensity of the subsequent exchange.

"You were gone for so long, Lucas. Is something wrong?" She searched his face but found nothing. "Of course not, I just saw someone I know." "Business?" Her face had the intense look of a wife. "Yes, silly lady, business. I told you. Now mind your own, and let's go back to the hotel." He gave her a fierce hug and walked her out into the night fog with a smile. She knew something was amiss, but he covered it well.

There was never anything she could put her finger on. And Luke was going to see that it stayed that way.

But the next morning over breakfast there was no mistaking that something was very wrong. She had awakened him this time, after ordering a sumptuous breakfast for them to share. She shook him gently with a kiss after the tray had been delivered to the room.

"Good morning, Mr. Johns. It's time to get up, and I love you." He rolled over with a sleepy smile and half-opened eyes, and pulled her down to kiss him.

"Sure is a nice way to start the day, Mama. What are you doing up so early?"

"I was hungry, and you said you had a lot to do today, so I got up and got organized." She sat on the edge of the bed with a smile.

"Want to come back to bed and get unorganized again?" "Not until after breakfast, hot pants. Your eggs'll get cold."

"Jesus, you're practical. Such a cold-hearted woman." "No. Just hungry." She patted his behind, kissed him again, and got up to take the covers off their breakfast. "Boy, that smells good. Did they send up the paper too?" "Yes, sir." It was neatly folded on the tray, and she picked it up and unfolded it, handing it to him with a small curtsy. "At your service, monsieur."

"Lady, how did I live without you before?" "With difficulty, undoubtedly." She smiled at him again and turned to pour him a cup of coffee. When she looked up she was shocked by the expression on his face.

He was sitting naked on the side of the bed, with the newspaper open on his lap, and tears starting down his face, contorted with anger and grief. His hands were clenched in fists.

"Lucas? Darling, what is it?" She went to him hesitantly and sat down next to him, searching the headlines quickly to see what had happened. It was the main feature in the paper:
Ex-Priest Prison
Reformer Shot and Killed,
The killing was thought to have been done by a radical left-wing group, but the police were not yet sure. Joseph Mor-rissey had been shot eight times in the head while leaving his house with his wife. The photographs on the front page showed a hysterical woman leaning over the shapeless form of the victim. Joe Morrissey. His wife was reported to be seven months pregnant

"Shit." It was the only sound she heard from Luke as she ran a hand gently around his shoulders, with tears running from her own eyes. They were tears for the man who had died, and tears of fear for Luke.

It could have been Lucas. "Oh darling, I'm so sorry." They seemed such empty words, for what she felt.

"Did you know him well?" He nodded silently and then closed his eyes. "Too well." "What do you mean?" Her voice was a whisper. "He was my front man. Remember, I told you I never go into the prisons, and no one can pin anything on me?" She nodded.

"Well, they can't pin anything on me because of guys like Joe Morrissey. He was a chaplain in four of the joints before leaving the priesthood. He stuck around with some of the hard-core reformers after that. And he fronts for the heavies. Mostly me. And now ... we killed him. I killed him. Goddamn fucking . . ."

He got up and walked angrily across the room, wiping the tears from his face. "Ke-zia?"

"Yes?" Her voice was a frightened little sound from across the room.

"I want you packed and dressed right now. And I mean
right now.
I'm getting you the hell out of here."

"Lucas . . . you're afraid?"

He hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "I'm afraid."

"For me? Or yourself?"

He almost smiled then. He was never afraid for himself.

But this was no time to get her involved. "Let's just say I want to be smart. Now come on, baby. Let's get moving."

"You're leaving too?" She was talking to his back now though.

"Later."

"What are you going to do before that?" She was suddenly terrified. Oh God, what if they killed him?

"I'm going to take care of business, and then get my ass back to Chicago tonight And you're going to go to New York, like a nice girl, and wait there. Now shut up and get dressed, dammit!" He turned toward her with an attempted snarl, but then his face softened as he saw the look of terror on her face. "Now, Mama, come on. . . ." He walked back across the room and took her in his arms as she began to cry again.

"Oh Lucas, what if . . ."

"Shhh . . ." He held her tight and kissed the top of her head gently. "No Vhat if,' Mama. Everything's going to be cool."

Going to be cool? Was he out of his mind? Someone had just been killed! His front man, for chrissake.

She looked at him with shock in her eyes and he pulled her gently up off the bed.

"Now I want you to get ready." Too many people could figure out where he was staying. And Kezia was one gold mine he didn't want in his pocket if someone was laying for him. Maybe killing Morrissey was just a warning. Some warning. His stomach turned over again at the thought.

She started to get dressed while throwing things into her suitcase and casting sidelong glances at Luke.

He suddenly looked so businesslike, so foreign to her, so angry.

"Where will you be today, Lucas?"

"Out. Busy. IT! call you when I get to Chicago. And you're not going to a birthday party for chrissake. Just put on some clothes. Hurry up."

"I'm almost ready." And a moment later she was, looking very sober, with large dark glasses concealing the lack of makeup.

He looked at her for a long moment, tension rippling through his body, and then nodded. "Okay, lady. I'm not going to ride with you. I'm going to call a cab, and get the hell out of here. You're going to wait in Ernestine's office downstairs and wait for a cab with her. She will take you to the airport."

"Ernestine?" Kezia looked surprised. The proprietress of the Ritz didn't look the sort to play nursemaid to grown guests. And Luke was wondering about it himself. But he figured that for fifty bucks she'd do almost anything.

"That's right. Ernestine. Go to the airport with her. And get on the first goddamn plane out. I don't give a shit if it stops fifteen times on the way to New York. But I want you out of here. I don't want you hanging around the airport. Is that clear?" She nodded silently. "It damn well better be, 'cause Kezia, I'm not kidding. I'll tear your hide off if you fool around somewhere.
Get out of this town!
Is that clear? I'm sorry I brought you here in the first place." And he looked it.

"I'm not sorry. I'm glad. And I love you. I'm just sorry your friend . . ." Her voice trailed off and her eyes grew large as she looked at him, and he softened. He took her in his arms again, once more torn between wanting her and knowing he shouldn't take her down with him. But he needed her too much.

"You're quite something, lady." He kissed her quietly and then straightened up. "Get ready to go, Mama. I'm going to tell Ernestine to get you out of here within five minutes, and I'll be calling to check. I'll call you in New York tonight. But it may be late. I want to get back to Chicago before I start playing around making phone calls."

"You'll be okay today?" But it was a pointless question and she knew it. Who knew if he'd be okay?

What she really wanted to ask him was when she'd see him again, but she didn't dare. She just watched with large damp eyes as he quietly closed the door to the room. A moment later she saw him leave the hotel in a cab. And ten minutes later, she and Ernestine did the same. Kezia got very drunk on the flight back to New York.

It had been over a week since she'd left him in San Francisco. Now he was back in Chicago and calling her two or three times a day. But there had been a raw fiber of terror in her gut since she'd left him. He said everything was fine, and he'd be in New York any day. But when? And how was he really? She was aware of a guarded quality to his speech when he called. He didn't trust his phone. And this was far worse than the last time they'd been apart. Then she had only been lonely. Now she was afraid.

She was desperately trying to keep her time, and her mind, as filled as she could. She had even suggested to Luke that she do a piece on Alejandro.

"On that fleabag center he runs?"

"Yes. Simpson says he might have a market for it. I think I'd like to do it. Think Alejandro would agree?"

"He'd love it, and a little publicity might help him get funds."

"All right. I'll get busy on it." Either that or go crazy, sweetie pie.