Free Luciano's Luck by Jack Higgins Page B

in the stove, benches and blankets for those who queued there each night.
    They were a strangely assorted group. Whole families, mother, father, children, who had been bombed out, servicemen on leave or between trains and needing a bed. And then there were flotsam and jetsam to be found in any great city, the unwashed, the destitute, the drunks who could no longer cope.
    Maria and two other nuns stood together behind a trestle table doling out bread and hot broth to the slowly moving line of people.
    Two young soldiers in khaki battledress were arguing at the end of the line. There was a sudden cry, a flurry of blows. Maria went round the table like a strong wind and flung herself between them. The one she was nearest to, a young, red-headed Scot, bit out wildly, still trying to reach his opponent, and struck her in the face.
    Suddenly Luciano was there, looking like the Devil himself. His right hand slapped across the boy's face very fast, his left seized him by the throat.
    Maria had him by the arm now with both hands, exerting all her strength. ‘No, please. This isn't the way.’
    And Luciano was smiling now and released his grip so that the boy fell to his knees. ‘Okay, pretty one. Whatever you say,’ he said in Sicilian.
    There was a sudden buzz of conversation as the crowd came back to life. The soldier stood up and gingerly touched his throat.
    ‘I'm sorry, miss,’ he said to Maria. ‘I don't know how it happened.’
    ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Get your soup and sit down,’ and she turned and went after Luciano.
    ‘It's been a long time,’ he said. ‘The summer of ’thirty-five. How old were you, sixteen?’
    ‘And you,’ she said. ‘You don't change.’
    ‘So you've kept up with what happened to me?’
    ‘Oh, yes, I know all about the great Lucky Luciano whose answer to everything is still violence. And where did it get you? Thirty years in prison.’
    ‘On a bum rap and I'm out now, aren't I?’
    ‘You were my hero that summer when you visited my grandfather, you know that? Robin Hood and Richard the Lionheart rolled into one. When we walked in Palermo and people stopped to kiss your hand, I thought it was a mark of respect. But I was wrong. It was only that they were afraid.’
    ‘What about Don Antonio. You ever hear from him?’
    ‘No.’
    It seemed colder than ever in the chapel and Luciano leaned against the end of a pew as he looked down at her. ‘You still love him, don't you, and that tears you apart because you should hate him.’
    ‘Very clever,’ she said.
    ‘Listen, when I was in SingSing, a psychiatrist gave me all those fancy tests and told me I was below average intelligence. Wrote it on the report. Said I should learn a trade.’
    She was unable to stop the slightest of smiles from touching her lips. ‘That's better,’ he said. ‘You laughed a lot that summer. That's what I remember best. Your smile.’
    She shook her head. ‘Oh, Mr Luciano, what's to become
    of you?’
    ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I'm not making any excuses. I could say Tenth Street was no place for any kid to grow up, but I won't. I made a conscious choice. When people talk to me about the war, I say what war? I've been at war all my life, but I engage in a combat that's nothing to do with civilians.’
    ‘Gangsters,’ she said. ‘Dope-peddlars, thieves, murderers.’
    ‘I know,’ he said. ‘It sounds more like the Old Testament every minute.’
    ‘You don't need to tell me,’ she said. ‘The world can't be innocent with Man in it.’
    ‘And what the hell is that pearl of wisdom supposed to mean?’ he demanded. ‘What do you want me to do, drain the cup? All right, I'll tell you how it is.’
    He walked to the altar rail and turned. ‘We're fundamentally alone. Nothing lasts.’
    ‘God,’ she said. ‘There is always God.’
    ‘Well, if he exists, your God, I wish to hell he'd make up his mind. He's big on how and when. Not so hot on why.’
    ‘Have you learned nothing?’ she said. ‘Has