Out in the rain, the two men—one white, the other black— looked at each other. There was an awkward pause, then Johnny offered his hand.
“Well, so long, Sammy,” he said. “We’ll keep in touch.”
They gripped hands.
“Keep saving your money,” Johnny went on. “I’ll be around. Anytime, anywhere if you want to yak… you know.”
Sammy’s eyes grew misty.
“I know, Mr. Johnny. I’m your friend… remember, Mr. Johnny. I’m your friend.”
Johnny gave him a light punch on his chest, then walked away. As he walked he felt a shutter was closing down, cutting off a slice of his life. The clang of the shutter in his mind warned him that he was now even more out on his own.
Driving slowly, he reached his apartment at 17.20, climbed the stairs and let himself in. He felt in need of a drink, but he resisted it. No alcohol. He had to be sharp for this job: no whisky to make him feel reckless. He thought of the hours ahead: the dinner with Melanie: the slow creeping minutes. He went to the window and looked down on the narrow, traffic- congested street, then he stripped off and took a shower, put on his best suit and then looked at his watch. It was now 18.00. God! he thought, when waiting, how time crawled!
He checked the things he would need: a weighted rubber cosh, a
folded newspaper, a pair of gloves, his cigarette lighter, the key to the safe and the left- luggage locker key. All these he laid out on the table. There was nothing else he needed except luck. He put his fingers inside his shirt and touched the St. Christopher medal. In two years’ time, he told himself, he would be at sea with the spokes of a tiller in his hands, steering a forty-five-footer into the bay with the sun on his face and the roar of powerful motors making the deck tremble.
Sitting before the window, he listened to the noise of the street floating up to him, the sound of the traffic and the kids yelling until the hands of his watch crawled to 19.30. Then he got to his feet, slid the cosh into his hip pocket, strapped on his gun harness, checked his .38, took the newspaper into the bathroom and dampened it under the tap before putting it into his jacket pocket, put the two keys and the gloves in another pocket and he was ready to go.
He drove to Melanie’s apartment, arriving there just on 20.00. She was waiting in the doorway and got into the car as Johnny pulled up.
“Hi, baby!” He tried to make his voice sound casual. “Everything okay?”
“Yes.” Her tone was flat. He could see she was uneasy and he hoped to God she hadn’t changed her mind.
The meal wasn’t a success although Johnny extravagantly ordered lobster cocktails and turkey breasts done in hot chili sauce. Neither of them did more than pick at the food. Johnny couldn’t help thinking of the moment when he would have to tackle Benno. The business of rushing the two heavy bags across to the Greyhound station. He would have to leave the operation until after 02.00: between 02.00 and 03.00. Everything depended on luck and putting down his fork, he touched the St. Christopher medal through his shirt.
“I wish you would tell me what you are going to do, Johnny,” Melanie said suddenly. She pushed her turkey away, only half eaten. “It worries me so. It’s nothing bad, is it?”
“A job. Forget it, baby. You don’t want to know anything about it… it’s the best way. You want coffee?”
“No.”
“Let’s go to a movie. Come on, baby, snap out of it. It’s going to be all right.”
Going to a movie was a good idea. It had grip and even Johnny forgot what he was going to do in a few hour’s time. They returned to Melanie’s apartment just after midnight and went up the stairs.
On the stairs, they ran into a girl who had an apartment opposite Melanie’s. They paused to have a word. The girl knew Johnny and got on well with Melanie.
“Out of cigarettes!” she said. “My luck!”
This chance meeting pleased Johnny. Just in case anything turned sour, this girl could say he was with Melanie.
The girl went on down the stairs and Melanie and Johnny went on up. Johnny had left his car parked outside the entrance and the girl would see it.
“Want coffee?” Melanie asked, dropping her coat on the settee.
“A lot of it, baby.” Johnny sat down. “I don’t leave here for a couple of hours. I’ve got to stay awake.”
After a while, she came back with a large pot of coffee, a cup and saucer which she set down on the table beside him.
“Thanks, baby, now you go to bed,” Johnny said. “There’s nothing to worry about. Go to bed… go to sleep.”
She stood hesitating, looking at him, then silently she went into the bedroom and shut the door. Johnny grimaced as he poured strong, black coffee into the cup.
He sat there, sipping coffee until 02.25, then he got to his feet and moving silently, he opened the bedroom door and looked into the darkness of the room.
“You going now?” Melanie asked out of the darkness, her voice quavering.
“Why aren’t you asleep, for God’s sake?”
“I can’t sleep. I’m so worried, Johnny.”
Women! he thought. Maybe he should have picked on someone else for his alibi. He shook his head in despair. What the hell was the matter with him? He wouldn’t need an alibi! The way he had fixed this, Massino would never think he had taken the money.
“I’ll be back in thirty minutes, baby. Take it easy… try to sleep,” and he closed the door.
He left the apartment and walked down to the deserted street. Keeping in the shadows, he walked fast, heading for Massino’s office.
It took him ten minutes of fast walking to reach the entrance of Massino’s office block. He approached it from across the street and he saw a light on in Andy’s office. That meant Benno was up there, either sleeping or smoking or doing some goddamn thing, while he kept watch.
Johnny looked to right and left. The street was deserted. He crossed the street, entered the dimly lit lobby and took the elevator to the fourth floor. Closing the elevator door gently, he walked up the two remaining flights to Massino’s office.
The job had to be done fast so his alibi would stand up. Reaching the passage leading to Massino’s and Andy’s offices, be took out his handkerchief and removed the two electric light bulbs in the corridor. The stream of light coming through Andy’s glazed door was enough for him to see. He took the newspaper from his pocket. It was still slightly damp. He paused for a moment to listen, then he crumpled the newspaper and put it down hard against Andy’s office door. He lit his lighter and touched off the newspaper. Small flames made smoke. Johnny stood back, cosh in hand, and waited.
He didn’t have to wait long. He heard a muttered curse, then the door was unlocked and Benno, squat, heavily built, stood in the doorway, gaping at the smouldering paper. Johnny waited, pressed against the wall.
Benno moved forward as Johnny knew he would. As he began to stamp on the smouldering newspaper, Johnny’s cosh descended on the back of his bead.
Johnny didn’t pause to make certain he had put Benno away. He knew he had and there was no point in wasting seconds. He stepped to the safe, took the key from his pocket and opened the safe. He dragged out the two bags. Sweat was running down his face. The bags were a lot heavier than he had expected.
Taking the safe key, carrying the bags, he stepped over Benno’s inert body, paused for a brief moment to stamp out the smouldering newspaper, then thumbed the elevator button.
Descending to the ground floor, he looked cautiously into the deserted lobby, then carrying a bag in either gloved hand, he moved into the street. Again he paused, then satisfied he had the street to himself, he bolted across to the Greyhound bus station.
A big negro was sleepily brushing up and he didn’t look at Johnny as he opened the locker. As Johnny heaved the bags into the locker, he heard a late bus start up and saw its headlights as it moved out onto the street. He had to shove hard to get the door shut. He turned the key, removed it and then walked out of the bus station.
The first move of the operation had jelled! He ducked down a side street and began to run. $186,000! There was a surge of triumph in him as he ran. It now couldn’t turn sour! Massino would never suspect him! As he ran, he felt a strong overpowering sexual need.
Darting through the back streets, deserted at this time of night, he finally reached Melanie’s apartment block. He paused in the shadows, checking, making sure that no one was there to break his alibi, then moving fast, he entered the apartment block and took the elevator to Melanie’s floor.
Again he paused in the elevator to make sure there was no one in the passage, then he darted across to Melanie’s door, turned the handle and was in.
He leaned against the door. His heart thumping. Well, he had done it. He looked at his watch. The steal had taken twenty-five minutes!
“Johnny?”
Melanie, in her shortie nightdress, came into the living-room.
He forced a grin.
“Here I am… like I said… nothing to worry about.”
She stared at him, her black eyes wide with fear. “What happened?”
“I said not to worry.” He took her in his arms. “But something’s
going to happen right now… guess what?”
Picking her up, he carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed.
“It’s okay, baby,” he said, stripping off his jacket, dumping his gun harness and then pulling off his shirt. Maybe the tension of the past half hour was getting at him, but he wanted her as never before.
She lay still, staring at him.
“You and me… this time it’s going to be the best,” he said as he was pulling the zipper of his trousers, he suddenly felt horribly naked. He stood motionless, looking down at her, feeling his raging desire for her like a flame hit by a bucketful of water.
“Your medal,” Melanie said.
Johnny straightened. He looked down at his hairy chest. The St. Christopher medal no longer hung on its silver chain. With shaking hands he lifted the chain and saw the tiny hook that carried the medal was bent and open.
For the first time in his life, he felt a cold clutch of fear.
“Look for it!” The snap of his voice and the expression in his eyes brought Melanie off the bed. Together they searched the bedroom, then the living- room, but the medal wasn’t in the apartment.
He ran into the bedroom, struggled into his shirt, put on his holster, then his jacket.
Melanie said fearfully, “What is it, Johnny? Tell me!”
“Go to bed… wait for me,” and he left the apartment. He paused to search the corridor, then the cage of the elevator… no medal. He rode down to the lobby, searched that, then went out onto the street. He was shaking now. He paused to drag down lungfuls of damp air as he tried to control his rising panic.
This was no way to act, he told himself. Where had he dropped the medal? Unlocking his car, he searched around the driver’s seat… no medal.
He relocked the car and stood thinking. It could have dropped anywhere, but if it had dropped in Andy’s office, he was cooked. God! Was he cooked! All his plans, his confident two-year wait before he bought the boat would be shrivelled in the heat that Massino would turn on. Leaving his medal in Andy’s office was like leaving a signed confession that he had taken the money!
There was still a chance. He started to his car, then stopped. Think straight, you fool! he told himself. It could still be all right. Leave the car… it’s part of your alibi!
He started down the street in a shambling run, covered the same ground, moving down the back streets, deserted but for a stray cat or an old drunk, sleeping in the doorway.
He had to make sure the medal wasn’t in Andy’s office. It didn’t matter if it were found in the elevator, in Massino’s office, but it would be fatal if it were found in Andy’s office because no one except Andy and Benno were ever allowed into the office.
Breathing heavily, Johnny reached the corner of the street that led directly to Massino’s office block. He came to an abrupt stop as he saw a police prowl car parked outside the office block.
Too late!
Benno had recovered and had alerted the fuzz and even as Johnny stood there in the shadows, he saw a Lincoln pull up and from it spilled Toni and Ernie who chased into the building.
Where had he dropped the medal?
As long as you wear it nothing really bad can happen to you.
He was no longer wearing it and he was superstitious enough to be certain that the medal was lying in front of the safe: a signed confession that he had taken the money! He looked across at the Greyhound station. He hadn’t the nerve to go there, to take the two heavy bags and lug them back to his car. Toni or Ernie might look out of the window, down into the street and spot him. Anyway, now he dare not use his car. All the mob knew it by sight. He would have to go on the run. If he acted fast, he could make it. The money would be safe in the locker. He would wait until the heat cooled off, then sneak back, get the money and sneak out. He knew he was thinking like an idiot, but panic had its grip on him.
With screaming sirens, more police cars arrived. Then as Johnny stood against the wall, watching, his heart hammering, Massino’s Rolls swept to the kerb. He watched Massino get out of his car and walk fast across the sidewalk and into the building.
He had to get out of town and fast, Johnny thought. Money? He must have money if he was to keep one jump ahead of Massino. He thought of all that money stashed away in the locker. No use to him right now. He had to have an immediate get-away stake.
Melanie? She never had any money. His mind raced. Maybe he was panicking for nothing. The medal could be anywhere, but in his bones, he was sure it was in Andy’s office.
Sammy!
Sammy had three thousand dollars under his bed. Johnny had to have money! He couldn’t hide from Massino without money.
He began to run down the back streets. It was a long run. Sammy’s pad was half way across the town. The City’s clock was striking the half hour as Johnny, panting, started up the stairs that led to Sammy’s fourth-floor pad. He knocked on Sammy’s door, but there was no answer. He listened, knocked again, then turned the handle: the door swung open.
“Sammy?”
His fingers groped and found the light switch and snapped it down.
The tiny room held a truckle bed, a two-ringed gas cooker, an armchair, a battered T.V. set, but no Sammy. Then Johnny remembered Sammy always shacked up with his girl, Cloe, on Friday nights.
He moved into the room and shut the door. Kneeling, he groped under the bed and found a small steel box in which Sammy had told him he kept his savings. He pulled the box out. It wasn’t even locked! Lifting the lid he saw the box was crammed with ten dollar bills. He didn’t hesitate, acutely aware that every second he wasted decreased his chances of escape.
He stuffed his pockets with the bills, leaving the box empty. For a brief moment he wondered how Sammy would react, then he told himself he was only borrowing the money. In a short while, he would repay Sammy with interest.
Leaving the room, he started down the stairs. Now to get out of town! He wondered how long the fuzz would take to set up road blocks. Here was the danger, but he had to get out! His fingers touched the butt of his .38. If he had to, he would shoot his way out!
Moving into the street, his mind raced. He had to have a hideout! Somewhere where he could be completely lost for at least a month. Where could he go? Then he thought of Giovanni Fusseli. It was an inspired thought. Fusseli had been Johnny’s father’s best friend. He must be over seventy now. Maybe he was dead! Johnny had heard from him five years ago. He had been living in a small town—what the hell was it’s name? Jackson? Packson? Jackson! It was on the freeway to Miami. If he could get there, he was sure Fusseli would shelter him.
He would have to steal a car. If he could get to Reddy’s cafe where all the south-bound truckers stopped for a meal, he could bribe one of them to take him to Jackson.
He stood
hesitatingly as he looked up and down the street. There were a number of cars parked. As he started towards them, he saw the headlights of a car swing into the street and he stepped back into the shadows. The car came slowly towards him, then pulled up by the kerb and immediately under a street light. A young, thin man with shoulder-length hair got out of the car. The street light showed Johnny his shabbiness: tattered jeans and a dirty sweat shirt. Acting on impulse and as the young man was locking the car door, Johnny stepped up to him.
“Want to earn twenty bucks?” Johnny asked quietly.
The young man stared at him.
“Doing what?”
’Drive me to Reddy’s cafe.”
“Hey, man! That’s twenty miles out of town!”
“At a dollar a mile, is that so rough?”
The young man grinned.
“You’ve got yourself a deal. Let’s have the bread and we’re on our way.”
Johnny gave him a ten dollar bill.
“You get the rest when we get there.”
“Fine… I’m Joey. Who are you, buster?”
“Charlie,” Johnny said. “Let’s go.” He waited until Joey had unlocked the car door, then got into the passenger’s seat. Joey slid under the driving wheel.
“Listen, Joey, keep to the back streets. Drive fast, but not too fast… get it?”
Joey laughed.
“Like that, huh? The fuzz bothering you?”
“You don’t earn twenty bucks flapping with your mouth,” Johnny said quietly. The cold menace in his voice made Joey stiffen. “Just drive.”
At least, Johnny thought, this punk knows the City. Although it took longer, Joey kept to the back streets and in ten minutes or so they approached the freeway out of the City.
This was where trouble could be waiting, Johnny thought and he eased his gun in its holster for a quick draw. But there was no trouble. Johnny wasn’t to know that road blocks were set up thirty minutes after he had left the City.
The Police Commissioner had been out of town and the Assistant Police Commissioner had no time for Massino. He was deliberately uncooperative, delaying the road blocks, throwing his rank at Massino, pointing out that the Numbers gamble was illegal anyway.
Knock, Knock! Who's There? Page 5