A Bright Tomorrow (26 page)

What had been intended as a gesture of thanks became something quite different. Allie's lips were softer than Owen had dreamed, and when she put her hands behind his neck, pulling him closer, a shock rippled through him. The firm curves of her body being pressed against him stirred old hungers. He drew her closer, his lips falling on hers hungrily as she surrendered to his embrace. The clean fragrance of her hair and the smoothness of her hands caused him to linger, and he was aware that she was returning his kiss with an intensity of her own.

It was a kiss of loneliness, for both of them had been cut off from much that others had known, and as they clung to each other, both Allie and Owen were reaching out to satisfy a vague but intensely strong need to share themselves with someone.

Finally Allie pulled back, trembling. “Owen—” There was such a brokenness in her tone that he knew she was weeping. He himself was shocked by the emotion her kiss had evoked, and he stood there in the darkness, knowing they had crossed some kind of boundary. Never again could he think of her as he had since the first day he'd seen her in the hobo jungle.

“You're not a little girl anymore,” he murmured.

Allie took his hand in hers and held it to her cheek. She had been shaken fully as much as Owen, but now a great happiness filled her, welling up like a fountain. She had loved Owen for so long and now at last she knew that he saw her as a woman.

“It's cold out here, Allie,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “Let's go where it's warm. We need to talk.”

Allie looked around at the hazy shoreline, then said in wonder, “I think I'll put this in with my collection of good memories—the first time you kissed me—” She giggled, adding, “But not the last!” Then she began to run, holding to his hand tightly.

T
he call, which came only five hours before the fight, caught Nick completely off guard.

Earlier in the day, he had gone back to see Rocco and assure him that everything was set. “The Kid is goin' along, Rocco. We're covered.”

Rocco had been doubtful, but Nick had talked convincingly, and finally the man had shrugged. “Okay, Nick. I'll take your word for it.”

Nick stared at the squat figure. “You give me your word, Mr. Rocco? No rough stuff?”

“My word, Nick.”

Nick was so relieved he had not noticed the glint in Rocco's hooded eyes and had left with the pressure easing.
I'll dope Owen up just before he goes into the ring
he decided.
Just enough to make him sluggish. He can't win against Spears unless he's in top form.

On his way back to Owen's apartment, Nick had stopped by a drugstore and picked up a small bottle from the thin, balding druggist, who had warned, “About four drops of this will do the job, Nick. That's enough to slow a guy down. If you really want to put him out, give him six drops…but no more than that.”

Letting himself in, he had found Owen lying on the bed, reading a newspaper. Looking up, Owen greeted Nick. “Hey, listen to this. Says here there's going to be the first aeronautic show ever put on here at the Garden on the 25th.” He smiled and shook his head, adding, “Won't Joey be in hog heaven over that?”

“Yeah, he sure will.” Nick hesitated, then asked, “You feelin' all right?”

“Sure, Nick.” Owen put the paper down. “What about Rocco?”

“I talked to him,” Nick said quickly. “He said he'd hedge the bets. Just go in and do your best, Kid.”

Owen got up and came to put his hand lightly on Nick's shoulder. “That took a lot of nerve, Nick, facing up to Rocco like that.”

Nick couldn't meet Owen's clear gaze, so he moved away to take off his coat. “Just get it off your mind. And when this bout is over, me and you are gonna take a little trip.” He found a smile. “You've told me a thousand times about that farm of yours in Arkansas. What about if you take me there? Maybe I can milk a cow or somethin'!”

Owen was delighted. “Sure, Nick, we'll do that. You'll love it!” Nick was relieved when Owen seemed to forget about Rocco. He sat back and listened as Owen rambled on, marveling at how the big fellow seemed to lack any nerves whatsoever.
If I was gonna climb in a ring with a guy who could scramble my brains,
he thought,
I'd be looney!

It was the phone that interrupted Owen's tale about how he'd bagged his first deer. Nick started at the suddenness of it, but Owen merely lifted the receiver and said, “Hello?”

An instant change came over Owen, and Nick knew something awful was happening. Owen's lips thinned. “I don't believe you—” He paused and stared at Nick while he waited, covering the receiver to whisper, “It's one of Rocco's men. Says he's got Allie, that he'll kill her if I don't—” he broke off, listened, and his face grew pale. “Allie…don't worry! It'll be all right—” He halted, listened hard, then said, “Look, I'll do anything, but don't hurt that girl!”

Nick stood there, his mind reeling with shock. As Owen pleaded with the caller, all Nick could think was,
But Rocco gave me his word!
He knew the man was a thug at heart, of course, but there was a lot of talk in their world about honor—to the family first, and then to friends. You might cut an enemy down, but you never betrayed a friend. It was deeply ingrained in Nick, a code that went all the way back to the old country.

And now Rocco had violated that trust. Rage flared up in Nick, his mind beginning to function again. “What did he say, Kid?” he asked quietly.

Owen swallowed hard, then shook his head. “If anything goes wrong, he said, he'll hurt Allie bad…then kill her.” Owen shut his eyes. “It was somebody named Sonny. He…liked telling me what he'd do to her. And she was sitting right there the whole time he was talking—” Owen suddenly opened his eyes and grabbed Nick by the arm, his fingers a vise, doubling his other fist. “You told me it was all right, Nick!”

Nick made no move to defend himself, which would have been fruitless in any case. Looking up into Owen's blazing eyes, he said evenly, “He crossed me up, Kid.”

Owen loosed his grasp and made a dive for the telephone. “I'm going to call the cops!”

“Wait a minute!” Nick grabbed at Owen. “That's no good! In the first place, you don't know where they're holding her. And even if you did find out, the cops would be too late. Sonny is a killer…but he's smart, too!”

“We've got to do
something
, Nick!”

“Yeah, we're going to do something, all right.” The rage that had ignited in Nick had become a cold, icy determination. “Rocco gave me his word…his word! But he's going to be sorry. I'm going to make him crawl, Owen!”

Owen was alarmed at the raw hatred glowing in Nick's dark eyes. “What can we do? Nick…if anything happens to Allie, I'll—”

Nick put on his coat, then came to stand in front of Owen. “Kid, we've got to work together. You've got to go into that ring. Throw the fight! The girl's more important than any fight…right?”

“Sure, Nick! I'll do it!”

“Make a good job of it, Kid,” Nick warned. “Don't just fall down. Take a beating if you have to.”

“Yeah, sure, Nick…but what about Allie?”

“That's
my
job.” Nick's thin lips turned up in a humorless smile. “If things go right, I'll have her at the Garden before the fight. But if you don't see us, don't worry. I'll get her out, Kid, I swear it!” Nick stared at Owen. “Can you believe me…after I lied to you?”

Owen nodded slowly. There was a deadly quality in his friend that he'd never seen before, though he realized suddenly it had been there all the time. “I know you'll do your best, Nick.”

Nick whirled and left, saying, “Tell Jack what's happened, Kid. He'll know how to do the job!”

Nick went at once to his hotel room, where he opened the top drawer of his dresser and took out the heavy revolver he kept under his shirts. Whipping off his coat, he put on the shoulder holster, inserted the revolver and smiled grimly.
Sonny will be looking for a gun, so I'll give him one.
He reached back into the drawer and came out with a thin stiletto with a six-inch blade. Carefully he tested it with his thumb, nodded thoughtfully, then strapped a paper-thin sheath to his left forearm. He slipped the knife into the sheath, handle facing toward his palm. Then he put on his coat and stood before the mirror.

The revolver made a slight bulge, but the stiletto was invisible. He shot out his left arm suddenly, at the same time reaching over with his right, and the knife appeared in his hand, as if by magic. He did this three times, then slipped the weapon into place, saying aloud, “All right, Sonny, let's see how good you really are!”

The minutes dragged by on leaden feet for Owen as he waited in his room. He paced the floor, forcing himself to remain there, but he'd never known anything like the panic and fear that clawed at him. Once he cried out in helpless rage and struck the wall with his fist, not feeling the pain.
If it was just me I could stand it
…
but not Allie!

The hands of the clock seemed to be frozen, fixed in place. Up and down he paced, and when he'd thought at least thirty minutes had passed, he was shocked to see that only five minutes had dragged by.

After two hours, he finally slumped down on the chair and placed his face in his hands, pushing against his eyeballs. His hands were shaking and nausea rose in him so that he had to swallow the bile that came burning to his throat. Without meaning to, he began to moan and, before he knew it, tears scalded his eyes. He had not wept for years, but now he was not even aware of the tears. A sense of loneliness overwhelmed him as he tried to fight off the thoughts of a world without Allie…and he knew he could never survive it.
If they kill her
…
I'll kill them all
…
and then myself!
Wild thoughts clawed at his mind as he sat there in dumb agony.

And then he knew what Amos and Rose had been trying to tell him. Amos had said,
No man is tough enough to make it on his own, Owen. Sooner or later he winds up with something he can't handle
…
and the man who doesn't have Jesus Christ to call on won't make it!

As he sat there, pondering, he seemed to hear his mother's voice, and a wave of shock ran down his spine. He knew it was not an audible sound, but the memory of it was so vivid he froze. He remembered how she'd held his hand as she lay dying, and he seemed to hear her whisper as she had that night,
Owen
…
don't try to live in your own strength
…
it'll fail you. Let Jesus be your strength
…
trust Him when everything around you is falling down
.

Owen Stuart had always been alone, so he knew well what that was like. Many times he had longed for someone to be close to him. He had found this with Allie, but he realized now that no human being can fully fill the heart of man.

Suddenly he was aware that he was not alone in the room! He knew if he opened his eyes and looked around, he wouldn't see anyone…but the blind fear that had come to destroy him was fading. And he knew it was his time to find God.

Slowly he slipped to his knees and fell on his face. His tears dripped off his chin onto the carpet, and he cried out, “Oh, God…I can't make it by myself! Help me! I need you!”

Owen never knew how long he lay there, crying out for God. But when he finally got to his feet, every trace of the fear was gone, along with all the guilt that had been lurking in his heart for years. He stood there marveling at the peace that had come and said, with wonder in his voice, “You were right, Ma! Jesus
does
make the difference!”

He looked at the clock, then dressed carefully and left the apartment. All the way to the arena, he felt the fear trying to come back. But it was as if he had been placed in a large globe of light, and the darkness and fear and guilt were on the outside. Inside, Owen knew, was that Presence that had come as he lay on the floor, crying for mercy. And as he entered the door of the arena, he whispered, “Lord Jesus…it's all in your hands—”, and he moved confidently toward the dressing room.

Allie did not flinch when the tall, thin mobster came toward her. He had amused himself by tormenting her, kissing her, and yanking her face back cruelly when she tried to avoid him. She had soon discovered that he actually
wanted
her to resist, that it gave him pleasure to hear her cry out with pain. So now she waited passively and, when he put his arms around her, she fought back the revulsion she felt and offered no resistance. He had a feral look, and the strong sickening-sweet lotion he used only made the stench of his unwashed body even more offensive.

Costello, angered at her passivity, shoved her back, cursing. When she struck the wall, the jolt caused her to blink, but she made no sound.

“I hope that pug don't throw the fight,” the gangster grated. “You know what's gonna happen to you if he wins?” He began to tell her horrible things that reflected his sick mind. He paused in the telling only when a knock came on the door.

Costello leapt to his feet, a gun appearing in his hand. “Who is it?”

“It's me, Sonny…Larry. Open the door!” When the door opened, the thick-bodied man pushed through. “It's Castellano, Sonny. Says he's got to see you.”

“What for?”

Larry shrugged. “He won't tell me. Says it's private…somethin' about the fight. You want me to run him off?”

“No, send him up…but shake him down first.”

“Already did that, Sonny.” Larry grinned, holding up a revolver. “He was wearing this under his arm.”

Costello took the weapon. “Send him up…but keep your eyes open, Larry. He may have brought some friends along.”

“Sure, Sonny.” The thick-set gangster moved down the stairs and, when he faced Nick, motioned with a jerk of his chin. “Go on up…but no funny business, Castellano.”

“Hey, no problem, Larry!” Nick slapped the man on the shoulder, got a cold look for his trouble, then with a laugh moved up the stairs. He touched the knife with his right hand, then took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

At Costello's invitation, Nick opened the door and stepped inside. The first person he saw was Allie, standing with her back against the wall. “Hey, doll, take it easy,” he soothed. “Everything's goin' great! Couple of hours and you're outta here.”

“What do you want, Nick?”

Nick turned to face Costello with a smile on his face. The tall man was holding the gun Larry had confiscated earlier, and his steely eyes were guarded. There was no hope as long as Sonny held that gun, so Nick went to a chair and slumped down. “Gotta drink, Sonny?”

“This ain't no saloon.” Suspicion was part of Costello's makeup—a well-honed trait to which he owed his longevity in the violent world he moved in. He kept the gun in his hand, not pointing it at Nick, but ever a threat. Costello, Nick well knew, had the speed of a striking serpent and was fully as ruthless. “Get out, Nick,” he said suddenly, sensing that something was not quite right.

Nick stared at him, allowing his face to register surprise. “Didn't Mr. Rocco tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Why, he wants me to stay here until the fight's over. Then…if it goes right…I'm supposed to take the girl home.”

Costello's eyes narrowed. “He never said nothin' to me about that.”