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Luke sits behind the bar, polishing glasses, shelving new bottles that came in with the afternoon shipment. He's getting back into the rhythm of running the place. Mid-afternoon, it's still pretty quiet, sunlight streaming in the windows. There are a few customers, the kind of people who end up in a bar in the middle of the afternoon. One guy playing solitaire in a booth, while a middle-aged hooker has a few shots, smoking a cigarette at the booth and bracing herself for a long night of work.
And overseeing it all is Luke Cage, in a bright yellow t-shirt and black slacks, biceps bulging and looking up as the bell on the front door jingles.
*
With Luke's absence, Lynette was a constant here at the Cigar Factory. She did her shifts, and then some, but her hours grew less and less as more…pressing matters cam to the forefront for the baby mambo. Still, she made her presence known in Harlem every single day. Pressing at the front door, instead of the back, the girl steps in from the cold and closes the winter out, giving a full body shudder before padding closer to the bar. Those that knew her offer her a 'hello' or 'baby girl', and she smiles and waves in return.
"Well, I be damned…" She mutters, coming to stand infront, and across, from Luke, the bar counter between them. Petite, but 'large' with her amount of curls, the girl's dark eyes linger for some time before she finally blurts out. "Where y'been? Ain't right makin' people worry 'bout y'."
*
Luke glances up and smiles, "Wasn't jail or the army. You should know better than to worry about me. I can handle myself," he says.
"Get you somethin' to drink? Coffee, tea?" he says, setting aside the glass, "Also, I've got an envelope to give you, remind me later. A little extra something for stepping up while I was gone. And just hush about not accepting it, I'll be deaf if you say so," he says.
*
Lynette tries to be angry. Her face twists up, eyes glossing over and lips pursing before pulling into a thin line. He brought her out of the cold, from digging in dumpsters, and gave her a place to start, after all. The hands by her sides turn into tiny fists, her whole body trembling until she jogs around the counter and hugs around him, tightly.
"De world gone crazeh n' y' done scared me half t'death, Luke. Y' c'n' be doin' dat." She explains, her voice sinking into that vibrant shirt.
*
Luke looks a little awkward for a moment then manages to put his arm around her and stroke her back. He isn't used to having people be worried about him or give a damn where he goes and when. "Yeah, I kinda noticed that things went a little topsy turvy," he says. "But I'm fine, promise. Not a scratch on me,' he says. "How've things been?"
*
Lynette pulls back and swallows. She could be hard out in the field, but sometimes, she was just a girl. Rubbing at her eyes, she clears her throat and glances toward the lady of the evening who was near by. "Hey, Linda. Sorry 'bout dat." Back to Luke, she thumbs toward the kitchen and makes her way into the back room.
Should he follow, and only after he joins her, she watches him move, her back resting against a wall, and her arms crossing under her petite chest. "Dey been goin'. Changin', dat's f'sure." She confesses easily enough. "Findin' out 'bout m'powers more, n'dey growin'. Found a place t'belong, too." A pause. "De people, our people, dey need us, Luke. Ha'lem ain't de safest place t'be, but…least it ain't de worst, neitha. Dat man…Hands'm Joe, or whateva de hell he call 'mself, s'back. N'dat means trouble."
*
Luke leans against the door to the kitchen, letting him keep an eye out front. He'd be a happy man when security cameras were invented. "Getting a grip on your powers is definitely a good thing,' he says. "I'm not so sure about people needing me - us - but I'm not going to sit by and let that piece of crap take advantage of people either," he says. "You know we got a Wakandan Princess hanging around the place, too? She and I almost got into a bit of a tussle yesterday," he says."
*
"Luke…de last time he was 'round here he was blowin' people away. Wit 's finger!" She stresses, but keeps her voice down, none the less. "Dose people died, n'I warned dat asshole dat if he eva came back, I'd end'm." She grumbles, a soft growl rolling from her throat. "Yeah, seen dat, too. Joe been sweet talkin'r, guess it stickin'?" She questions, eyeing Luke curiously. "N'don' sell y'self short, Luke. Ain't wrong t'be needed, n'less wrong t'offa y'self to y'own people."
*
Luke crosses his arms over his chest, "And I ain't about to let somebody go around pullin' that kinda shit in sight of me," he says. "She didn't say anything about Joe - she seemed all right in the end, just maybe a bit stuck up. Guess that goes with the title," he says.
"And I'm not selling myself short. I'm just not as utterly certain as other people seem to be that I'm the right person for the job. Having a lot of opeople put faith in you can be costly if you can't live up to their expectations. Believe me, I've seen role models fall before,' he says."
*
"Guess so. Been meanin' t'try n'track'r down t'talk wit 'r 'bout Joe. T'hear de bullshit he was tryin' t' sell'r's maddenin'." Sending her curls swaying with a shake of her head, she soon focuses on Luke once more. Frowning, she nods. "I get dat, I guess, well…y'c'n' be scared 'f fallin', I don' t'ink. Y'de right person if y'doin' 'nyt'ing at all t'help. Wantin' t'help makes y'a good person. Actin' n'helpin' makes y'de right person." She reasons, offering Luke a smile. "Y'de one dat tol' me m' more den m'past."
*
Luke can't help but have a rueful smile, "Can't I have a little do as I say, not as I do?" he jokes. "I just know my limitations, that's all. I'm more than happy to stand up to Joe and whawtever he's peddling," he says. "I've seen to many men like him in my life. Guys who'll sell you a rainbow and not let you see the gutter water it's shining in," he says. "I'm not scared - I just know the consequences too well. If there's a movement or a cause, I don't want to pull it down by being the face of it."
*
"S'too late f'dat, beau." She winks playfully toward the massive man. Pressing off the wall, she moves closer to him and up on her tip toes, gives his bald head a soft 'ruffle'. "We don' get t'choose who sees us f'what, Luke. We evil t's'm, n'we de light t'othas. Y'do what y'gotta, n' what y'c'n, n' dats all de say we get." Glancing out of the door, old habits die hard for the girl as she seems to be 'on the clock' while back in the bar. "Don' worry 'bout it. I keep doin' m'rounds n'checkin' up on people. Dey wan' a face? I give'm mine, gladly."
*
Luke also knows that his face is wanted, albeit far away from here. Still, getting his face in the paper is pretty low on his list of priorities. He came to Harlem to find a place to belong and to hide. He's gotten both, but the latter is becoming more and more precarious as time goes forward.
"I didn't follow all that, but that's okay,' he says. "I at least like to pretend I'm still running my own life, so let me have that. In the meantime, if we're going to have a prominent place in the neighborhood, I hope they at least come by and buy a little booze, maybe a sandwich or two? Speaking of which, I got the grill fixed again. I dunno when Dre is coming down to cook again, he's not answering his phone. I hope he's not back on the horse."
*
Lynette rolls her eyes and takes a deep, settling breath. When she speaks again, it's with a slow, forced dictation and not at all comfortable or natural to her. "Some will see us for evilothers for good. Do what you canand have to. That is all we can do." Once done, she sticks her tongue out and mutters a few curses in French under he breath. "Don' worry 'bout dat. I check on Dre. S'been busy talkin' wit Darla 'gain. T'ink dey workin' t'ings out." She smiles.
*
Luke nods, "Fair enough," he says. "And that's good. When he and Darla are broken up, all he does is mope around and start trying to write blues songs again. And the man can't carry a tune to save his damn life,' he says.
He looks down for a moment, "I'll look into it. Joe and all of that mess around him. And, if there's something I can do about it…then I will."
*
A bubbly giggle passes the girl's lips, and with a bite to her lower lip, she silences herself. When it comes back around to business, she nods his way. "M'lookin' int' it, too. I know y'big n'bad, Luke, but r'membah dat y'got friends, non? Y'call, I c'm runnin'." The girl promises and looks around the kitchen. Pulling off her scarf, gloves, and jacket, she sets up her hair into a pulled back, massive ball of kink.
Without hesitation or pause, she moves toward the kitchen sink and starts filling it with water, working on the backup of dishes just waiting for after hours. "I made de 'rounds through Ha'lem ev'ry otha day. I get 'ny info, I let y'know, too."
*
Luke nods and prepares to head back out to tend the bar, "I appreciate it, Lyn. And thanks again, for looking out for the place. You ain't leavin' without that envelope," he says. An extra five hundred dollars probably isn't much, but it's not nothing, especially in 1964.
"Leroy! Get your ass away from that checkerboard, you know Jimbo's gonna finish his game today."