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  Preacher put out his cigarette. “Is that what you really want?”

  Ali Elijah dropped his eyes. “No.”

  “Then why don’t you go to join your family?”

  There was an anguish in Elijah’s voice. “Because I got a record, man. The pigs’ll come after me and the shit’ll fly all over them again. I sent them there to keep that from happening.”

  Preacher shook his head. “I don’t understand it.”

  “What’s there to understand, man?” Ali Elijah asked. “I’m just a grunt, I did all the dirty work, I’m the one the pigs is got a make on. The generals laid back and got all the glamour. Now, they tell me, the revolution is moved into another phase. The negotiating table. They goin’ to work it all out there, then everything will be A-okay. But right now they want me to lay low. Don’t do nothin’ to upset the apple cart. I’m nothin’ but a big embarrassment to them.”

  “I’m sorry,” Preacher said.

  “Nothin’ for you to be sorry for. It’s not your problem.”

  “The problem I brought here wasn’t yours either but you’re helping me with it.”

  “That’s different. There’s nothing you can do with mine.”

  “Maybe,” Preacher said. “But you can stay at the Community with me until you have a chance to think things out and decide what you’re going to do next.”

  “What would your friends think?” Ali Elijah asked. “Most commune people don’t like blacks.”

  Preacher met his eyes. “We’re all children of the same God.”

  Ali Elijah was silent.

  “You don’t have to make up your mind right now,” Preacher said. “Just stick it in the back of your head. You’ll be welcome whenever you come.”

  Elijah nodded, then turned and took a carton from the floor next to him and placed it on the desk. “I got everything you want right here.”

  It was almost one o’clock in the morning when Preacher slowly drove the truck down the street in front of the store on the ground floor of the House of Soong. He gestured at the doors. “They’re the ones we have to blast open.”

  Elijah looked at them. “They heavy, all right.”

  “I said they were,” Preacher answered. “We have to get them open with the first pop.”

  “We’ll do it,” Elijah said confidently. “I had a hunch so I got me some extra charge.” He gave a short laugh. “We’ll blow the shit outta them.”

  “I don’t want anyone hurt,” Preacher said, turning the pickup at the corner.

  “Anybody in there?”

  “Two men that I know of.”

  “They anywhere near the door?”

  “I don’t think so,” Preacher answered. “Usually they’re in the back, but I can’t be sure.”

  “We’ll blow them from the hinges then,” Elijah said. “That way the side walls will take the shock and the doors will fall out into the street.”

  Preacher glanced at him. “Do you have enough to do that?”

  Elijah laughed. “I got enough to take out the whole side of the building if you want.”

  “There’s an alley that runs alongside the building to the street behind. I’ll park the pickup under her window.”

  “Three stories on a rope ladder is a long way. I hope she’s fast. If she’s not we’re goin’ to have half the cops in Frisco crawling up our ass.”

  “I hope so too,” Preacher said. He turned the pickup into the alley and cut the motor and the lights. “We get out here and push it the rest of the way. I’m not taking any chance that someone’s goin’ to hear us.”

  “Shit!” Ali Elijah said. “I thought it all sounded too easy.”

  Silently the small truck rolled down the alley. Preacher squinted up at the building. Finally he held up a hand. Elijah came around to his side and looked up. Preacher nodded and gestured. They walked back down the alley to the street behind. He looked at his wristwatch under a street lamp. It was a quarter to two. “I have to make a phone call,” he said.

  There was a telephone booth on the corner across the street. Preacher went inside and dropped a dime in the slot. Quickly he dialed Barbara’s number.

  “Hello.” Her voice was hushed.

  “Preacher,” he said. “Everything okay? You alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do exactly what I say,” he said quickly. “Wear slacks and flat shoes. No heels. No matter what happens downstairs don’t panic. Wait at the elevator door until I get there. Got it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just remember that all you’re going to hear is a lot of noise. There’s no real danger. Just wait for me.”

  “Yes, Preacher.”

  He came out of the telephone booth. Silently they walked back up the alley to the pickup. He held out his arms and Elijah slipped the rolled rope ladder onto his back over them. He then pulled the black ski mask over his head. “I’ll hold the grenades until you wire the door,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “As soon as the door is down, we lob in the grenades. I’ll go in as soon as the Chinamen in there come out, and you get back to the pickup.”

  “What if the chinks don’t come out?” Elijah said.

  “Then I’ll have to take them.”

  “Won’t work,” Ali Elijah said shortly. “You’ll lose too much time. I take them. You go up the elevator.”

  Preacher looked at him. “Okay. But no killing.”

  Ali Elijah grinned. “I’ll just cool them a little.”

  Preacher nodded. He checked his watch. Two o’clock. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Eleven

  They came out of the alley and waited until an automobile rolled down the street past them. Preacher looked up toward the hill. The street was empty. He nodded to Elijah. “Just one more thing,” he whispered. “As soon as I get inside, you get back to the pickup and keep the motor running.”

  “I’ll be there,” Elijah whispered. He moved into the shadow of the doorway as Preacher kept walking past the building. Preacher looked up and down the street. It was still empty. He started back toward the doorway.

  Elijah came charging out, almost knocking him down. “Get the hell back!” His voice was hoarse.

  They hadn’t moved more than ten steps when there was an almost muffled explosion. As if in silent slow motion, the doors began to tumble toward the street, the glass windows of the store beginning to shatter and dissolve, falling to the sidewalk.

  “Now!” Ali Elijah said, and snatched two of the grenades from Preacher, pulled the pins and lobbed them in through the non-existent windows. Without losing a beat he grabbed the other two and heaved them into the store.

  A moment later the inside of the store lit up with an unholy eerie red light, and smoke began pouring from the storefront. An alarm went off, shattering the night with its shrill clanging. Right behind the sound a dark-suited Chinese came running from the store toward the firebox on the corner.

  He never saw them standing in the shadows. “You said there were two of them?” Elijah whispered. “That means the other one is still in there.”

  “We’ll find out,” Preacher said grimly. Pulling his ski mask over his mouth and nose, he went into the open doorway and through the first line of smoke and ran toward the elevator in the back.

  The eerie red flare had turned the inside of the building into a giant flickering hell. He was almost at the elevator when the other Chinese came from behind a stairwell. From the corner of his eye he could see the man raising his hand, the light reflecting from the metal of his gun.

  Preacher began to twist away from the man’s aim but even before he could complete his move, Ali Elijah hit the Chinese from the side. The gun clattered to the floor. Twice more, Ali Elijah hit the Chinese as he was falling to the floor. He nodded silently to Preacher and started back to the door.

  Preacher put the key in the lock and turned it. For a moment, nothing happened, then the elevator door opened slowly. Preacher leaped inside and pressed the button for the third f
loor. The door seemed to take forever to close and another eternity to rise but when the door opened again, Barbara was there waiting for him.

  “Come on!” he said, not giving her a chance to speak. They could already hear the sound of the fire sirens as he pulled her through to the bedroom. Quickly he pushed up the window and slipped the rope ladder from his shoulders. He fastened the metal clamps to the sill and threw the rope ladder out the window.

  He stuck his head out the window. Ali Elijah was already standing next to the pickup. He waved and Preacher pulled his head back into the room.

  “Out you go, Barbara,” he said.

  “My bags,” she said.

  “You first,” he said. “The bags can come later.”

  She looked out the window. Her face was suddenly pale. “I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can!” He picked her up and swung her over the sill. “Get one foot on the rope, hold on to the line above you and just go down one step at a time. Like this.” He took one hand and put it on the rope. “Now, move!”

  “I’m frightened, Preacher!” she cried.

  “You’re better off being scared than dead,” he said. He slapped at her hand. “Move!”

  Slowly she began to go down the ladder. It swung limply against the side of the building. He stuck his head out the window. “Hold the rope tight and away!” he yelled.

  Ali Elijah grabbed the bottom rungs and threw his weight on them. She began to move faster now that it felt more firm. Preacher turned back into the room. There were two valises near her bed. He grabbed them and came back to the window.

  Ali Elijah was helping her to the ground as Preacher looked out again. The fire engines were closer now. “Two bags coming down!” Preacher yelled.

  Elijah pushed Barbara out of the way. “Okay!” he shouted back.

  Preacher dropped the first bag. Elijah stepped aside and let it crash to the ground, then picked it up and threw it in the open back of the truck. “Here comes the next one!” Preacher yelled, letting the bag go and climbing out on the ladder without waiting for it to land, scrambling down like a monkey.

  He came off the ladder to hear Ali Elijah’s exclamation. “Shit!” He turned to see the valise, one side split open, revealing neat stacks of bills.

  Preacher picked up the bag and threw it into the cab of the pickup. “No time to play,” he said. “Let’s get out of here!”

  He ran around the pickup and jumped into the driver’s seat while Barbara and Ali Elijah climbed in the other door. He put the truck into gear and they rolled out of the alley, the headlights still out. He turned them on the moment he was on the street. It would be stupid for him to let the police stop him on a technicality now.

  They were ten blocks away before he spoke. “Ali Elijah—Barbara Soong.”

  Neither of them spoke. “We couldn’t have made it without his help,” Preacher said.

  Barbara looked at Elijah. “I’m grateful,” she said. “How can I ever repay you?”

  Elijah grinned. “Easy, dragon lady. With money.”

  “A thousand dollars sound okay?”

  “Five thousand would sound a lot better,” Elijah said. “That there suitcase looks like it’s stuffed with a lot more’n that.”

  “I’m Chinese,” she said. “We never pay the asking price. Twenty-five hundred.”

  Elijah laughed. “That’s real fine with me, dragon lady.”

  She stared at him. “Why do you call me that?”

  “You’re Barbara Soong, aren’t you?”

  She nodded, a light dawning in her eyes. “You mean—is that what they call me?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “You’re supposed to be real heavy.” He looked over at Preacher. “How come you know this lady?”

  “We’re old friends,” Preacher said. “I met her brother in ’Nam.”

  “Is they anyone’s ass you didn’t pick bullets out of?” Elijah asked.

  “My brother is dead,” she said. “It was Preacher who brought his things home.”

  “Oh,” Ali Elijah said. He was silent for a moment. “Think you can run me home?” he asked. “She can give me the money and we can all split.”

  “No problem,” Preacher said.

  ***

  There was no traffic at that hour of the night and they made it over the bridge to Oakland in less than twenty minutes. Preacher was just about to turn into Ali Elijah’s street when he saw the flashing blue lights. Four police cars and two squad cars were in front of the house. He kept right on going.

  They were back on the bridge before he spoke. “That was a squeal.”

  Ali Elijah, who had slumped down below the truck window and had not come up since he saw the police, grunted. “Yeah.”

  “Got any ideas?” Preacher asked.

  “No.” Elijah was silent for a moment. “Good thing I got my family out of there in time.” He sat up suddenly. “Think something’s happened to them? Maybe they got picked up?”

  “I don’t think so,” Preacher said. “They don’t move this fast. That was a squeal. Somebody wanted you on ice.”

  Ali Elijah was silent.

  Preacher turned off the bridge onto the freeway heading toward the Coast Highway. “What plans do you have now?”

  “Nothing.” Elijah looked at him. “Did you mean what you said? About staying at the Community?”

  “I meant it.”

  Elijah nodded slowly. “Then it looks like you got me.” He began to chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?” Preacher asked.

  “I wonder what your children are going to think when you show up with the dragon lady and a Black Muslim all at the same time.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It was four thirty in the morning when they pulled into an all-night diner on the Coast Highway. Preacher cut the engine and leaned back in the seat. “I think we can all do with some coffee.”

  “Food, too,” Elijah said. “I ain’t had time to get some dinner.”

  Preacher turned to Barbara. “We take the bag with us. How about the other one? Anything valuable in it?”

  She looked at him without speaking.

  “We’ll take both of them,” he said.

  They got out of the pickup, locked the cab and, each man carrying a valise, went into the diner. Two truckers sat at the counter; otherwise the place was empty. The counterman was leaning against the register, listening to the radio, while a tired-looking waitress was setting place mats in the booths, preparing for the morning rush.

  They slid into one of the booths, placing the valises under their seats. The waitress came up to them with steaming cups of coffee and menus. “Morning, folks. Y’all know what you want?”

  “Double order sausages and eggs,” Elijah said.

  “Hash browns?”

  “Lots of ’em. And make the eggs over easy.”

  “Got it.” She looked at Barbara.

  “Strong tea and toast.”

  “Gotcha. Double tea bags.” She turned to Preacher. “And you?”

  “Western omelet. No meat, only vegetables.”

  “Sorry. The mixture’s already set.”

  “Cheese omelet then.”

  “Hash browns?”

  He nodded and she walked away. At the edge of the booth near the window there was a small coin insert for the juke box. The speaker was right at the table, enabling each customer to make his own selection. Three selections for a quarter, the small sign read. Just below that was another sign. Ten minutes of radio for a quarter. He fished a coin out of his pocket.

  “All-news radio’s on seventy-seven,” Ali Elijah said.

  Preacher spun the dial and the newscaster’s voice came unctuously from the speaker. “Police in Los Angeles have definitely come to the conclusion that the murders of Sharon Tate and her friends at her home on Cielo Drive and the LaBianca murders several miles away are the work of the same gang. While the motives for the murders are still unknown, police have determined that the same weapons might have been used
in committing both crimes. The police are expecting a break in the case very shortly. A group of hippies have been seen in both areas over a period of time shortly before the crimes were committed and a police spokesman said today that they expect to have them in custody shortly for questioning. Now, time for a commercial break and when we come back we’ll have the local Bay Area news.”

  “The pigs are the same everywhere,” Elijah said. “It’s always the blacks or the hippies.”

  Preacher didn’t answer, just sipped at the coffee. The waitress came back with the tea and toast for Barbara. “I’ll have the gents’ order in a minute,” she said, leaving again.

  The commercials over, the newscaster came back on. “Police expressed fears that a new outbreak of tong war may soon be imminent in San Francisco’s Chinatown. Shortly after two a.m. this morning, fire bombs were thrown through the windows of the House of Soong, blowing out the doors and the front of the store that occupied the ground floor. Firemen quickly brought the blaze under control. There were apparently no casualties as the store, primarily used as a warehouse, was vacant at the time. An immediate investigation into the cause of the fire was undertaken and the police were called in when fragments of homemade fire bombs were discovered. The House of Soong is the headquarters for the Wong Dip Tong, one of the largest nationwide tongs in America, and is customarily headed up by a member of the Soong family. The last known head of the tong was Charles Duk Soong, who died at the age of seventy-one last year, leaving the post of tong head open since his only son, the logical successor, was killed in Vietnam four years ago. No other members of the family or the tong were available for comment at this time. Firemen estimate the physical damage to the building at about fifteen thousand dollars. The investigation will be continued.”

  Preacher looked at Barbara. “No mention was made of finding the rope ladder.”