Dancing With Shadows. Lynne Pemberton
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Luther.’
Luther was smiling as Jay slid into a chair. He began the ritual of ex-cons everywhere. ‘You been out long?’
‘Just a few days, but it seems like years. Hell, it feels strange after all that hoping, waiting, longing for a normal life on the outside. Living through movies and books doesn’t exactly prepare you for the real thing, does it? I wake up in the middle of the night convinced I’m still in the pen, waiting for the familiar sounds, and it takes me hours to get back to sleep – if ever. Some days I feel like I’m acting, like this is not real life and I’m going back inside when it’s over. Weird. I suppose it’s going to take a long, long time. I’ve been locked away for a quarter of a fucking century.’
Silently Luther nodded, he’d heard the same story too many times, from too many friends encountered on the outside. He let Jay continue.
‘Thank God I started to write; when I think back I don’t know what I’d have done without that as an escape. My sales are doing well, so my agent tells me. According to him, I’m the Hemingway of the nineties, and – check this – Hollywood is interested in Killing Time.’
‘Geez, man, you’re doing good! Fucking great, Jay. Waddya say I look after security on the set. Uh?’ Luther laughed.
A waiter approached and Jay ordered coffee, eggs sunny-side up, bacon and toast.
‘So how have things been for you, Luther?’
‘Not so good, buddy; but then …’ He pointed to his temple, ‘You’ve got a great brain, man. I got no muscle up there. I think when Randy Lewis knocked me out in sixty-eight, I left a whole heap of brain cells on the canvas and forgot to pick ’em up.’
Grinning, Jay said, ‘You working?’
‘Kind of.’ Luther paused, sipped his coffee, then said, ‘I was straight for three years.’ He stuck three fingers in the air. ‘Worked as a kitchen porter, room service waiter, and a cab driver. I was real straight, man; no shit. I met a woman, a good woman. A great-looking broad with a good job, a duty manageress in the St Regis Hotel.’ He whistled. ‘Legs, like you’ve never seen legs! Long enough to be continued. And an amazing butt, big and beautiful. Oh yeah, and the face of an angel. Believe it or not, Jay, this incredible chick fell for Luther Ross. Can you imagine? She’s crazy about me. It’s enough to send anyone straight. So we get ourselves an apartment together. Not a bad place on the lower Eastside. Shirley, she does it up real smart – white sofas and white cotton sheets. I ain’t never slept on cotton like that … yunno? White folk cotton. Anyway I have the best time of my life – I mean the best, man. And just when I’m telling myself it can’t get any better, Shirley goes and quits on me.’
He clicked his fingers with a loud snap, lowering his head at the same time. ‘Big C, man. First it’s in her right breast, they take that away. Then they find some more of the shit. But this time they don’t operate cause it’s gone into her lymph glands, and spreading fast; like fucking weed, man. She was dead within six months.’
Luther took a deep breath and there was a long pause until Jay said that he was sorry.
Luther looked into the bottom of his empty cup. ‘I knew it couldn’t last.’
The eggs and bacon arrived. Jay took one look at it, and pushed the plate to one side.
‘I lost it after that. Did some drugs, went a little crazy, got in touch with a couple of old contacts. I’ve done a few odd jobs. Nothing big, I’m getting too old for the really heavy stuff. Just small heists. Clean. Easy. In, out. It pays the rent.’
Jay bit into a slice of toast as Luther looked at the discarded plate
‘You not eating?’
‘I just lost my appetite.’
‘I ain’t lost mine, you mind?’
Jay pushed the plate in front of him. ‘Be my guest.’
Luther sawed into a strip of bacon before speaking again. ‘So whaddya need, buddy?’
‘I need a wire job on Senator Todd Prescott’s house. I don’t want to hear what the senator has to say, I’m more interested in what his wife is up to.’
As Jay slid a photograph of Kelly across the table, Luther let out a low whistle. ‘Ouch! I sure know what I’d like to say to this babe.’
Jay nodded but made no comment. He was afraid his voice would betray him. ‘I need a neat job, and I need it done now. I know from the press that the senator’s away campaigning from next week.’
Egg yolk trickled from the corner of Luther’s mouth as he looked at the photograph again, then pointed at Jay with his fork. ‘It’s a hot gig, heavy security; high risk, I’m not sure.’
Jay’s eyes narrowed. ‘That’s why I want you. You’re the best.’
Luther’s grin confirmed to Jay that the big man’s ego had kicked in.
‘How much?’
‘I’ll pay you three grand,’ Jay said, knowing Luther would ask for five at least.
‘Come on, man, this is a senator’s pad; they can be mean bastards, as mean as the mob when they get upset.’
‘OK, five,’ said Jay, knowing Luther would have asked for ten if he’d offered five thousand bucks in the first place.
‘Five, plus expenses,’ urged Luther.
Jay nodded and held out his hand, aware as he did so that Luther was wondering if he’d asked too little. ‘OK, five plus expenses it is. We got a deal?’
Luther wiped his right hand on the table top, before holding up a meaty paw in front of Jay. ‘Am I allowed to ask why?’
Jay trusted him. ‘I was in love with this woman.’ He pointed to the photograph. ‘So was the man I’m supposed to have murdered. She was very close friends with two other women; she still is. At the time of my trial I had a hunch they were hiding something. It’s only a hunch, but I’ve got to start somewhere. Kelly seems as good a place as any.’
Jay’s eyes had not left the picture of Kelly and Luther had noticed. ‘You sure that’s all it is, man?’
Jay seemed dazed. ‘It’ll do for starters. You on or not, Luther?’
‘What do you think? Gimme five for five, man.’
Jay slapped palms as he was told, ‘We should be on line this time next week.’
Both men smiled.
Weston woke up at six-thirty a.m. with a hangover. She rarely had headaches, in fact she’d been ill on only half a dozen occasions in her entire life. ‘Weston’s as strong as an ox,’ her father had been fond of saying. ‘Kane genes! Gets it from me.’ Sinclair Kane was still bragging about his own consistent good health when he dropped dead of a coronary thrombosis at sixty-five. Weston missed him more than she would have believed possible. She had lost count of the times she’d longed to speak to him again. Her father was the only man she’d ever loved and long before realizing she was a lesbian, she’d known with a certainty that scared her that he would remain so.
The phone rang and she staggered to the bathroom, allowing the answer machine to intercept the call. As she threw up she vowed never to drink champagne again; well, at least not two bottles on an empty stomach. She spoke to her reflection, ‘Oh God, you look about a hundred.’
Not a pretty sight, she thought as red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes stared back at her out of a face the same colour as the white marble of her vanity basin. Her stomach made an odd gurgling sound, and she braced herself as a wave of nausea swept through her body. I wouldn’t care if the bitch had been worth