Luciano's Luck by Jack Higgins Read Free Book Online Page A

Luciano?’
    ‘Frankly, sir, I think I've got well past being surprised at anything.’
    ‘The Nazis have plundered and raped Europe, murdered millions of people. The stories that are beginning to emerge about their treatment of the Jews are past belief and I'm of German stock myself. Have you any idea how that feels?’
    ‘I think so, sir,’ Carter said.
    ‘Oh, no, you haven't,’ Eisenhower shook his head. ‘To beat these people, Major, finish them once and for all, root and branch, I'd shake hands with the Devil himself if it were necessary.’

5
    On his twentieth lap of the exercise yard at Great Meadow, Luciano increased his speed, running fast and free, the best moment of the day when there was an infinite possibility to things. Then, as usual, the north wall got in the way and he had to slow down.
    He walked back through a scattering of other prisoners, acknowledging a greeting here and there, to his usual spot in a corner by the landing where Franco waited with a towel.
    ‘You're getting better each day, Mr Luciano,’ Franco said.
    He had the look of a professional wrestler and the build to go with it, a New York Sicilian who had killed many times on behalf of the Mafia and was serving a double life sentence for murder.
    Luciano caught the towel as Franco threw it. ‘You reach my age, you got to keep in shape. Did you get that book from the library?’
    ‘I sure did, Mr Luciano.’
    He passed it across, an English translation of The City of God by St Augustine. Luciano sat on the step and examined it with a conscious pleasure.
    He was fortysix, a dark, handsome, saturnine man of medium height. The lid drooped slightly over the left eye, relic of an old wound. In spite of the drab prison uniform he was a man to be looked at twice, and not just because of the authority and selfsufficiency that were plainly indicated in the face. There was also that perpetual slight smile of contempt directed at the world in general.
    Franco said, ‘Excuse me, Mr Luciano, but there's a kid here called Walton from D block. He needs a favour.’
    Luciano looked up. Walton was a tall, gangling young man of twentyone or two with flat brown hair and arms that were too long for his shirt.
    ‘What's he in for?’ Luciano asked softly.
    ‘One to three. Liquor store holdup. No previous.’
    ‘Okay, let's see what he wants.’
    Franco nodded to the boy, gave Luciano a cigarette and lit it for him. ‘Okay, speak your piece.’
    Walton stood there, twisting his cap in his hand nervously. ‘Mr Luciano, they say you can do anything.’
    ‘Except sprout wings and fly out of this place.’ Luciano smiled softly. ‘What's to do, boy?’
    ‘It's like this, Mr Luciano. I've only been here two months and my wife, Carrie… well, she's on her own now and she's only a kid. Eighteen is all.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘There's a detective from the eighth precinct called O'Hara. He was one of the guys who pulled me in. He knows she's on her own and he's been pressuring her. You know what I mean?’
    Luciano looked him over calmly for a long moment then nodded. ‘Okay. Detective O'Hara, eighth precinct. It's taken care of.’ He returned to his book.
    The boy said, ‘Maybe I can do you a favour some time, Mr Luciano.’
    Franco said, ‘You will, kid. Now get out of here.’
    As the boy turned away, Luciano looked up. ‘Is it true that liquor store heist was your first job?’
    Walton nodded. ‘That's right, Mr Luciano.’
    ‘And one to three was the best your lawyer could do? He should have got you probation.’
    ‘I didn't really have no lawyer, not a real one,’ Walton said ‘Just a man the court appointed. He only spoke to me the once. Said the thing to do was plead guilty and throw myself on the court's mercy. I didn't see …’
    ‘All right!’ Luciano put up a hand defensively. ‘I'll speak to my lawyer when he comes up Wednesday. Maybe he can do something.’
    The boy walked away and Franco said, ‘Keep that up and you'll have them