Danielle Steel - Passion's Promise

They had an early dinner in a Chinese restaurant on Grant Avenue, and Kezia was in high spirits. They were seated in a little booth with a curtain drawn over the doorway and you could hear giggles and murmurs in other booths, and beyond, the clatter of dishes and the tinkling sound of Chinese spoken by the waiters. Kezia loved it, and it was a restaurant Luke knew well, one of his favorite hangouts in town. He had been there the night before she arrived, to tie up the loose ends about the strike at San Quentin. It was an odd thing, talking about dead men and inmates over fried wonton. It seemed immoral somehow, when he gave it much thought, but mostly he didn’t. They had learned to accept what they lived with. The realities of men in prison, and the cost of changing that system. It cost some men their lives. Luke and his friends were the generals, the inmates were the soldiers, the prison administrators the enemy. It was all very simple.

“You’re not listening to me, Lucas.”

“Hm?” He looked up to see Kezia watching him with a smile.

“Something wrong, darling?”

“Are you kidding? How could there be?” She was watching his eyes, and he pushed thoughts of San Quentin from his mind, but something was bothering him. A sense of foreboding, of … something. He didn’t know what. “I love you, Kezia. It was a beautiful day.” He wanted to chase the painful thoughts away, but it was getting harder to do.

“Yes, it was. You must be tired from all that driving though.”

“We’ll get a good night’s sleep tonight.” He chuckled at the thought and leaned forward for a kiss.

It wasn’t until they left that he saw the same face he had seen too often during the weeks he’d spent in San Francisco. As he looked around and saw the man darting back into one of the booths with a newspaper under his arm, it was suddenly too much for him.

“Wait for me up front.”

“What?”

“Go oh. I have some business to take care of.”

She looked suddenly surprised, and frightened by the expression on his face. Something had happened to him; it was as if a dam had broken, or like the moment before an explosion … like … it was frightening to watch.

“Go on, dammit!” He gave her a firm shove toward the front of the restaurant and headed quickly back toward the booth he had seen the man enter. It took him only a moment to reach it, and he pulled back the aged, fading curtain with such force that it tore at the top. “Okay, sweetheart, you’ve had it.” The man looked up from his newspaper with an overdone expression of unknowing surprise, but his eyes were wary and quick.

“Yes?” He was graying at the temples but he looked almost as solid as Luke. He sat poised in his seat, like a tiger ready to pounce.

“Get up.”

“What? Look, mister …”

“I said get up, motherfucker, or didn’t you hear me?” Luke’s voice was as sweet and smooth as honey but the look on his face was terrifying, and as he spoke, he lifted the man from his seat with a hand on each lapel of his ugly plaid double-knit sportcoat. “Now what is it exactly that you want?” Luke’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“I’m here for dinner, Mack, and I suggest you lay off right now. Want me to call the cops?” The man’s eyes were menacing and his hands were starting to come up slowly and with well-trained precision.

“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 their 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 his 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 rest!” 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.”