Bayview Heights Trilogy (22 page)

She cleaned up while he made his call, then
brought a tray with dessert and coffee into the den. Mitch was
stretched out on a large leather sofa. His eyes were closed and his
arm was thrown over his head. A ripple of arousal went through her
at how sexy he looked. When she set the tray on the low oak table,
he opened his eyes and sat up.

“I’ve got
cannolis
and coffee,” she
told him.

“Smells great, but I think I’ll pass on the
coffee.”

“It’s decaf.”

“Oh, then I’ll have some.”

“You haven’t been sleeping?” Cassie asked as
she bit into the creamy dessert.

He watched her mouth. “Ah...sleeping? Um, no,
not for a couple of nights.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe tonight.”

“Maybe.” He leaned over and wiped something
off her lips. Then he put his finger to his mouth and licked.

Cassie’s stomach somersaulted.

His eyes locked with hers. “Mmm, tastes
good.”

Cassie swallowed hard.

When he reached over to take a pastry, he
winced.

“What’s wrong?”

“My shoulder. When I’m not careful with the
bench press, or if I do too much weight, I wrench it.”

“Which did you do tonight?”

“Both.”

“Listen, I’m pretty good at back rubs. Why
don’t I put this stuff away, give you a quick massage, and then get
out of here. You’re probably leaving early for your ski trip.”

Lazily, he chewed his dessert and watched
her. “A back rub, huh? You’re a woman of many talents.”

Ignoring the innuendo, she finished eating,
then stood, gathered the dessert remains together and went to the
kitchen. She stored what was left in the fridge and returned to the
den.

He was stretched out on his back again,
looking at her with anything but friendship in his eyes. “Come
here, woman.” His voice was low and sexy and drew her to the
couch.

“Woman?” she said, peering down at him.
“Pretty macho language, Captain.”

He tugged on her arm and she tumbled down on
top of him. “Well, Cassandra, you make me feel very...male.” Then
he frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“You also make me feel all sorts of soft and
tender things.” He threaded his hands through her hair and fluffed
it around her shoulders. “You wore it down.” She nodded. “For
me.”

“Mitch, I didn’t come here for this.”

His hands trailed down her back, leaving hot
coals of desire every place he touched. He stopped at her bottom,
where he squeezed her gently. “No? What did you come for?”

“To be your friend.”

He stared at her hard. “All right. You can be
my friend. You can give me a back rub, and then go on home—after a
kiss.” His eyes dropped to her lips. “I want your mouth.”

Cassie’s breath hitched. It left her
altogether when he said, “Give me something else to dream about,
Cass.”

Her senses spinning, she lowered her mouth.
Butterfly soft, she brushed her lips against his. Then she bit the
lower one gently and soothed it with her tongue.

“Oh, God,” Mitch said, his hands clenching
her bottom.

She covered his mouth again, increasing the
pressure in minuscule degrees. His breath started to come fast,
too, and he arched into her.

The kiss went on a long time.

Before it got irrevocable, she pulled back.
“Sweet dreams, Mitch,” she mumbled just as she scrambled off
him.

He gave her a searing look and reached for
her.

She shook her head. “Not tonight. No
decisions tonight. Come on, turn over.”

After a last, long look, he flipped over. And
moaned.

“Your shoulder hurt?”

“Among other things,” he mumbled into the
pillow.

Cassie pretended not to hear him.

“Think you can get this shirt off?”

“Oh, I could get it off, all right.”

She giggled. His answering chuckle warmed
her.

Easing out of the shirt, he lay back down and
buried his face in the pillow. And—miraculously, Cassie thought—let
her take care of him. She kneaded his shoulder, dug her palm into
his spine, his lower back, then up to the deltoid muscles. He
moaned, and sighed—and relaxed. Ten minutes later, he was sound
asleep.

Cassie moved off of him, leaned over and
kissed him on the cheek. She grabbed the big Indian-print blanket
from the couch and covered him. Then she left Mitch’s house,
praying his slumber was restful. After the life he’d lived, he
deserved it.

JOHNNY TOOK THE RICKETY stairs two at a time
down into the Den—the underground hangout of the Blisters. It was
located in the basement of a strip joint on Twenty-Second Street
belonging to Sam “Batman” Jolsen’s uncle. The guy was a sleaze—
always on the fringes of the law—so he didn’t mind the gang using
the cellar for their hangout. His nephew had been arrested
twice—once for larceny, once for sexual assault.

Squinting, Johnny came through the door. Like
rats, these guys dwelled in dim surroundings; it took his eyes a
minute to adjust. It took his nose a little longer. A haze of
marijuana smoke hung in the outer room, underscored by the odor of
unwashed bodies. Some of the Blisters bunked here when they were on
the run or crashing. In the background were the suggestive rock
lyrics of a group aptly named Scumbag. Johnny shook his head,
suddenly aware of how seedy the place was. This was real gang
life—it had little resemblance to
West Side Story
.

Six of the Blisters were there now. Two of
them were new—Johnny didn’t know their names. One of the veterans,
Rocco Palatti, had been at Pepper’s the morning Johnny had been
there with Mitch. All of them were flamed up—dressed in the gang
colors—which meant something was on for tonight. Johnny glanced at
his watch. He’d signed up to work at the clinic on these two days
he had off from school; he had just enough time to see Zorro and
get back before his dinner hour was up.

“Tonto. Hey, man, this is really twisted. You
goin’ with us tonight?” The question came from Wimp, a quasimember,
who was the gofer, the butt of jokes, the wanna-be of the group.
Every gang had one, though Johnny couldn’t understand why anybody
would put up with the torment the guys dished out to him.

“Hey, Wimp. No, I came to see Zorro.” Johnny
scanned the Den. “He here?”

“Yeah, he’s in the back with a chick.”

“He oughtta be done,” Batman put in. “They
been back there twenty whole minutes.”

The group laughed.

Palatti uncurled himself from a chair and
stood up. “Saw you the other day, Battaglia.”

Johnny straightened and looked the punk right
in the eye. “Did you? I don’t recall.”

“At Pepper’s. With a pig.”

“Minding my business now, Palatti? Ain’t got
nothin’ better to do?” Johnny winced inwardly as he fell into the
gang speech pattern.

Before Palatti could answer, the door to the
other room flew open. Out walked a girl. She was about fifteen; her
long hair was dyed a gaudy shade of red and she wore more makeup
than KISS. She strutted to the bar and picked up a beer. Johnny
turned from her, disgusted, thinking of Meg—whose hair was just as
long, but clean and a pretty shade of dark brown. Meg’s huge eyes
needed no cosmetic help—they were deep chocolate and fringed with
thick natural lashes.

She was one of the reasons Johnny was
here.

My Dad will want to know everything about
you, if you come in and meet him, Johnny.

He could just see Mr. Mancini finding out
about the Blisters.

Johnny walked into the back room.

It smelled like sex. Zorro was lounging on a
dirty cot, smoking a joint, dressed only in unsnapped jeans. On his
upper arm was a small bandage that covered the almost-healed wound
Johnny had illegally tended.

Zorro’s eyes widened when he saw Johnny.
“Tonto. Good to see you.” He smiled smugly. “Want me to call
Melanie back in here? We could share—just like old times.”

The thought turned Johnny’s stomach. “I’m not
after a quick lay, Zorro.”

Half stoned on sex and dope, Zorro’s
expression was lazy. “Yeah, what you after? Action? We’ve got some
scheduled tonight.”

“I guessed as much.”

Coming farther into the room, Johnny stood
over his buddy.

“I got something I want to talk to you
about.”

“Sit.”

Johnny pulled a straight chair over to the
cot and straddled it. “I want a favor. Two, really.”

Zorro took a long drag on his joint. When he
blew out a puff, the smoke stung Johnny’s eyes. “I’d do anything
for ya, Tonto. Name it.”

Unbidden, and unwanted, a memory surfaced at
Zorro’s remark.
I’d do anything for you.

After Johnny’s father died, he and his mother
had little money, but each month they managed to scrape five
hundred dollars together for their rent. Once, though, Betty
Battaglia had let one of her boyfriends “borrow” the rent money and
they’d never seen him again. Johnny was panicky that they were
going to get evicted....

“What’s eatin’ you?” Zorro had asked him
right after Johnny discovered what his mother had done.

Embarrassed, Johnny had looked away.
“Nothin’.”

“I’m your best buddy, Johnny, you can tell
me.”

As his face flushed red, Johnny confessed his
mother’s stupidity and his own fears.

“I’ll get the money,” Zorro said
matter-of-factly. A day later, he’d thrown a wad of bills on
Johnny’s kitchen table.

“Where’d you get this?” Johnny asked.

Zorro smirked. “A rich uncle died.”

“I can’t take money from you,” Johnny told
him. “Especially this much.”

Zorro’s black eyes narrowed on him. “Wouldn’t
you do the same for me?”

Immediately, Johnny nodded. “Of course I’d do
anything for you, Zorro.”

“Then take the dough....”

“So what do you need, Tonto?” Zorro’s voice
brought Johnny back to the present. He drew in a deep breath and
thought about changing his mind. Zorro had always been there for
him. Could he survive without Zorro? Johnny thought of Cassie, and
Mitch and Meg—and his new life. He looked Zorro in the eye and
said, as gently as he could, “I want you to stay away from Pepper’s
and out of Bayview Heights High School.”

All at once, Zorro’s posture tensed. His
sleepy eyes cleared and he looked like a different man. “Why would
you want that?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Why do you care?”

Johnny chose his words carefully. He knew
this wasn’t going to be easy. “I like the school out there. And I
don’t want you causing me problems with it.”

Quickly, lethally, Zorro sprang off the cot.
He circled the chair, pacing in big, solid strides. Johnny knew not
to move, that like a wild bear, if Zorro sensed fear, he’d
attack.

“Ya know, buddy, funny things been happenin’.
First, you start hangin’ out with that teacher chick, and raggin’
on me about her. Then you’re spotted in Pepper’s with a pig. Now
you here wantin’ us to curtail our activities. You turnin’ on your
brothers, man?”

Slowly, Johnny stood and faced Zorro.
Go
forward, not back
, Cassie had said.

“I’m not turning on you, Zorro. I love you
like a brother. But I’m out of the Blisters.”

“Who you kiddin’, man? You been pretendin’ to
be out for months, but you keep comin’ back.” Naked emotion
suffused Zorro’s face. “We family. Those other people, they drop
you as soon as the goin’ gets rough.” He lifted his chin. “I never
have.”

“This has nothing to do with them. I want to
go to college, Zorro. I want to be a doctor.” Johnny straightened,
and saw Mary Margaret smiling at him when he put on a lab coat.
Looks good on you, Johnny. I think you were meant to wear
one.
“I’m going to make it, Zorro.”

“And leave me behind.”

“I...I have to choose.”

At the bald statement, Zorro exploded. His
eyes bulged and the scar on his face stood out white in stark
relief against his dark skin. He didn’t go near Johnny. Instead, he
faced the small table behind him and shoved it over. The thud
brought several Blisters to the doorway. Then Zorro picked up a
chair and hurled it against the wall. The sound of wood splintering
echoed in the underground silence. He upturned a crate, filled with
chains, knives, baseball bats and a few handguns—all instruments of
violence. They clattered to the floor.

Then he rounded on Johnny. “It’ll never work,
Battaglia.”

Johnny didn’t miss the menacing use of his
surname. He started for the door. “I think it will.”

As Johnny reached the exit, Zorro called,
“They usin’ you.”

That stopped him. He pivoted to face his old
friend. “What do you mean?”

“The cop. And the teacher. They gonna take
from you, use you, get what they need, then leave you in the
dust.”

Johnny shook his head.

“You go now, I won’t be here to pick up the
pieces.”

Summoning every ounce of willpower he had,
Johnny turned his back on Zorro. Of anything the other man could
have said or done, those words were the hardest to ignore.

So Johnny deliberately called up Meg’s
innocent face as she gave him a chaste peck on the cheek. He
pictured Mitch Lansing reaching out to squeeze his arm. He recalled
Cassie hugging him hard after he told her the whole story about his
father. The images helped him keep walking.

“You need me,” Zorro shouted from behind
him.

Meg...Mitch...Cassie. He had them. No, he
didn’t need Zorro and the Blisters.

At least, he hoped to God he didn’t.

o0o

MITCH SAT COMFORTABLY on the thick rug,
leaning against a chair. He chuckled as he looked down at his tan
corduroy chinos and dark green sweater. Things had really changed
in the eight weeks he’d been at Bayview Heights High School. Friday
was dress-down day, and though he still couldn’t manage the red
T-shirt and jeans, he’d compromised, even if it had been tough
letting go like this.