They reached the 125th Street station, and Luke held her hand as they climbed the stairs to the street.

“It’s just a few blocks.”

“Come to think of it, Luke, are you sure he’ll be home?”

“Nope. We’re going to the place where he works, and I’m sure that hell be there. You can hardly drag him out of the damn place to feed him.”

Luke seemed broader suddenly as they walked along, and more sure of himself than he had appeared all day. His shoulders seemed to spread, his walk almost rolled, while his eyes kept careful watch on passersby. He was wearing his familiar tweed jacket, and she was in jeans. But this was still Harlem. A long way from home. For her. To him, it appeared to be something he knew. He was wary, but only he knew of what.

“You know something, Lucas? You walk differently here.”

“You’d better believe it. Brings back memories of Q.”

“San Quentin?” He nodded and they turned a corner, as Lucas looked up at a building and stopped.

“Well, baby, this is it.” They were standing in front of a decaying brownstone with a half-burnt-away sign: Armistice House. But it didn’t look to Kezia as though it had been much of a truce.

He let go her hand and put an arm around her shoulders as they walked up the stairs. Two raucous teen-age black boys and a Puerto Rican girl came roaring out of the door, laughing and shrieking, the girl running away from the boys, but not very hard. Kezia smiled and looked up at Luke.

“So what’s so different up here?”

Luke didn’t smile back. “Junkies, pushers, hookers, pimps, street fights, shankings. Same stuff that goes on anywhere in town, in any town in the world these days … except the neighborhood you live in. And don’t get any fancy ideas. If you decide that you like Alejandro, don’t come up here to visit after I’m gone. Give him a call, and he can come to see you. This isn’t your world.”

“But it’s yours?” She was almost annoyed at the speech. She was a big girl. She had survived before Luke. Though admittedly not in the middle of Harlem. “And this is your world, I suppose?” she repeated. He didn’t look like he fit any better than she did. Well, not much better.

“Used to be. But not anymore. I can deal with it though. You can’t. It’s as simple as that.” He held the door open for her and his tone of voice told her he meant business.

The corridor, lined with- faded posters, smelled of stale urine and fresh grass. Graffiti doubled as artwork between the posters, the glass shades around light bulbs had been broken, and paper flowers hung limply from fire extinguishers. A tired sign said “Welcome to Armistice House! We love you!” And someone had crossed out the “love” and written “fuck.”

Luke wove his way up a narrow staircase, keeping one hand in Kezia’s, but the tenseness was leaving him now. The once-upon-a-time street fighter had come for a visit. A social call. She laughed, suddenly reminded of the legends of the Old West.

“What’s so funny, Mama?” He looked at her from his great height as she came up the stairs behind him, light on her feet, smiling and happy.

“You are, Marshal Dillon. Sometimes you’re an absolute riot.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so.” She leaned her face toward him and he bent down to kiss her.

“I like that. I like it a lot.” He ran his hand across her behind as she joined him on the landing, and he gave her a gentle push toward a badly scarred door.

“Are you sure he’s here?” Kezia felt suddenly shy.

“I’m sure, babe. He’s always here, the dumb asshole. He spills his guts in this shithouse. His guts and his heart and his soul. You’ll see.” The name on the door said “Alejandro Vidal.” No promises, no slogans, and this time no graffiti. Only a name.

Kezia waited for Luke to knock, but he didn’t. He kicked brutally at the door, and then opened it at lightning speed as he entered.

“Qué …” A slight Latino man behind a desk rose to his feet with a look of astonishment, and then began laughing.

“Luke, you bastard, how are you? I should have known it was you. For a second, I thought they were finally coming to get me.”

The small, blue-eyed, bearded Mexican looked ecstatic to see him, as Luke strode across the room and threw his arms around his friend.

It was several minutes before Luke remembered Kezia, or Alejandro even took notice, and it was just as long again before Kezia got more than a glimpse of the man, lost in Luke’s bear hugs. There had been a wealth of ¿ Qué pasa, hombre?’s and a fast flurry of Mexican curses. Alejandro’s pure Spanish, and the pidgin Luke had picked up in the joint. Jokes about “twice pipes” and someone’s “short,” and a variety of unintelligible dialects that were part Mexican, part prison, and pure Californian. The patois was a mystery to Kezia. And then suddenly it all stopped, and the kindest smile and softest eyes imaginable settled on Kezia’s face. The smile was a slow spread from the eyes to the mouth, and the eyes were the softest blue velvet. Alejandro Vidal had the kind of face you brought your troubles to, and your heart. Almost like a Christ, or a priest. He looked shyly at Kezia and smiled.

“Hello. This rude sonofabitch will probably never remember to introduce us. I’m Alejandro.” He held out a hand and she met it with hers.

“I’m Kezia.” They shook hands with ceremony and then laughter, and Alejandro offered the room’s only two chairs as he perched on his desk.

He was a man of average height, but of slight build, and next to Luke he was instantly dwarfed. But it wasn’t his frame that caught one’s attention. It was his eyes. They were tender and knowing. They didn’t reach out and grab you; you went to them gladly. Everything about him was warm. His laughter, his smile, his eyes, the way he looked at them both. He was a man who had seen a great deal, but there was not a trace of the cynic about him. Only the understanding of the sorely tried, and the compassion of a gentle man. His sense of humor allowed his soul to survive what he saw. And while Luke and he made jokes for an hour, Kezia watched him. He was an odd contrast to Luke, but she liked him instantly, and knew why he was Luke’s closest friend. They had met long ago in L.A.

“How long have you been in New York?” It was the first time she’d addressed him since they’d met. He had given her tea, and then succumbed to gossip and nonsense with Luke. It had been a year since they’d seen each other and there was much to catch up on.

“I’ve been here about three years, Kezia.”

“Seems like long enough to me,” Luke broke into the exchange. “How much shit you gonna take around this dump, AI, before you get smart and go home? Why don’t you go back to L.A.?”

“Because I’m working on something here. The only problem is that the kids we treat are outpatient instead of live-in. Man, if we had a resident facility, I could take this shabby operation a long, long way.” His eyes lit up as he spoke.

“You’re treating kids with drug problems?” Kezia was interested in what he had to say. If nothing else, it might make a good story. But more than the story, she was intrigued by the man. She liked him. He was the sort of person you wanted to hug, and she had only just met him.

“Yes, drug and minor criminal histories. The two are almost always related.” He came alive as he explained the services the facility offered, showed her charts, graphs, histories, and outlines of future plans. But the real problem remained: lack of control. As long as the kids went back on the streets at night, back to broken homes where a mother was turning tricks on the room’s only bed, or a father was beating his wife, where brothers shot dope in the John, and sisters took reds or sold yellows, there wasn’t a lot they could do. “The whole point is to get them out of their environment. To change the whole life pattern. We know that now, but here it’s not easy.” He waved dimly at the peeling walls and amply made his point. The place was in very bad shape.

“I still think you’re nuts.” But Luke was, as always, impressed with his friend’s determination, his drive. He had seen him beaten, mugged, rolled, kicked, laughed at, spat on, and ignored. But no one could ever keep Alejandro down. He believed in his dreams. As Luke did his.

“And you think you’re any saner, Luke? You’re going to stop the world from building prisons? Hombre, you die before you see that one happen.” He rolled his eyes and shrugged, but the respect was entirely mutual. It amused Kezia to listen to them talk. To Kezia, Alejandro spoke perfect English, but with Luke he fell into the language of the streets. A put-on, a remnant, a joke, or a bond, she wasn’t quite sure. Maybe a combination of them all.

“Okay, smartass, you’ll see. Thirty years from now there won’t be a prison functioning in this state, or in any other state for that matter.” She caught “loco” and “cabeza” in answer and then Luke flipped up one finger on his right hand.

“Please, Luke, there’s a lady present.” But it was all in good fun, and Alejandro seemed to have accepted her. There was the faintest hint of shyness about him. Still, he joked with her, almost as he did with Luke. “And you, Kezia? What do you do?” He looked at her with wide-open eyes.

“I write.”

“And she’s good.”

Kezia laughed and gave Luke a shove. “Wait until you see the interview before you decide. Anyway, you’re prejudiced.” They shared a smile three ways and Alejandro looked pleased for his friend. He had known immediately that this was no light-hearted fling, no one-night stand or casual friend. It was the first time he had seen Luke with a woman. Luke kept his women in bed, and went home when he wanted some more. This one had to be special. She seemed different from the others too. Worlds different. She was intelligent, and she had a certain style. Class. He wondered where Luke had met her.