“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?”

“Not very well. I was here as a child, and once about ten years ago for a party. But I didn’t see very much. We had dinner someplace Polynesian, and stayed at a hotel on Nob Hill. I remember the cable car, and that’s about it. I was out here with Edward and Totie.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun. Jesus, you don’t know this town at all.”

“Nope. But now I’ve seen the Ritz, and you can show me the rest.” She hugged his arm and they exchanged a peaceful smile.

Vanessi’s was crowded, even at ten. Artists, writers, newspaper people, an after-theater crowd, politicians, and debutantes. It was jammed with a fair sampling of everything there was in town. And Luke had been right. The pasta was great. She had gnocchi, and he had fettuccine, and for dessert they shared an unforgettable zabaglione.

She sat back with her espresso and took a lazy look around.

“You know, it kind of reminds me of Gino’s, in New York, only better.”

“Everything in San Francisco is better. I’m in love with this town.”

She smiled at him and took a sip of the hot coffee.

“The only trouble is that the whole city goes dead at midnight.”

“Tonight I think I might too. Christ, it’s already two-thirty in the morning, my time.”

“Are you beat, babe?” He looked almost worried. She was so small and looked so fragile. But he knew she was a lot tougher than she looked. He had already glimpsed that.

“No. I’m just relaxed. And happy. And content. And that bed at the Ritz is like falling asleep on a cloud.”

“Yeah. Isn’t it though?” He reached across the table and took her hand, and then she saw him glance at something over her shoulder with knit brows. She turned around to see what it was. It was only a table of men.

“People you know?”

“In a way.” His whole face had hardened, and his hand had seemed to lose interest in hers. It was a group of five men, with short, well-trimmed hair, double-knit suits, and light ties. They looked faintly like gangsters.

“Who are they?” She turned to face him again.

“Pigs.” He said it matter of factly.

“Police?”

He nodded. “Yeah, special detail investigators, assigned to digging up trouble for people like me.”

“Don’t be so paranoid. They’re just having dinner here, Luke. Like we are.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” But they had dampened his mood, and shortly after, they left.

“Luke … you have nothing to hide. Do you?” They were walking down Broadway now, past the barkers at all the topless bars. But the table of cops still weighed on their minds.

“No. But that guy who was sitting at the end of the table has been on my ass since I got into town. I’m getting sick of it.”

“He wasn’t following you tonight. He was having dinner with his friends.” The group of policemen had shown no interest in their table. “Wasn’t he?” Now she was worried too. Very.

“I don’t know, Mama. I just don’t like their trip. A pig is a pig … is a pig.” He licked one end of a cigar, lit it, and looked down at her face. “And I’m a sonofabitch to throw my bad vibes on you. I just don’t like cops, baby. That’s the name of the game. And let’s face it, I’ve been playing heavy games with the strike at San Quentin. Seven guards were killed during the three weeks.” For a moment, he wondered if he had been wrong to stick around.

They wandered into porn bookstores, watched tourists on the street, and finally ambled onto Grant Avenue, cluttered with coffeehouses and poets, but the police stayed on their minds, however little they showed it to each other. And Luke was once again aware of being tailed.

Kezia tried to lighten his mood by playing tourist.

“It looks rather like SoHo, only more funky somehow. You can tell it’s been around for a while.”

“Yeah, it has. It’s the old Italian neighborhood, and there are a lot of Chinese. And kids, and artists. It’s a good scene.” He bought her an ice cream cone, and they took a cab to the Ritz. It was four in the morning for Kezia by then, and in the arms of her lover she slept like a child. Something troubled her only faintly as she drifted off to sleep—something about police … and Luke … and spaghetti. They were trying to take away his spaghetti … or … she couldn’t figure it out. She was too tired. And much, much too happy.

She had fallen asleep as he watched her, a smile on his face as he stroked the long black hair that rippled past her naked shoulders and down her back. She looked so beautiful to him. And he was already so goddamn in love with her.

How was he ever going to tell her? He slipped quietly out of bed after she fell asleep, and went to look at the view. He had blown it, blown all his own rules. What a fucking stupid thing to do. He had no right to someone like Kezia. He had no right to anyone until he knew. But he had wanted her, had to have her—as an ego trip at first because of who she was. And now? Now it was all different. He needed her. He loved her. He wanted to give her something of himself … even if only the last golden hours before sunset. Moments like that don’t come every day, at most they come once in a lifetime. But now he knew he would have to tell her. The question was, how?


Chapter 18


“Lucas, you’re a beast!” She groaned as she turned over in bed. “For God’s sake, it’s still dark.”

“It’s not dark, it’s just foggy. And breakfast in this joint is at seven.”

“I’ll go without.”

“No, you won’t. We have things to do.”

“Lucas … please …” He watched her struggle out of sleep. His hair was combed, his teeth were brushed, his eyes were bright. He had been up since five. He had a lot on his mind.

“Kezia, if you don’t get off your ass, I’ll keep you on it all day. And then you’ll be sorry!” He ran his hand smoothly from her breast to her belly.