Knock, Knock! Who's There?

by James Hadley Chase

  Johnny and Freda exchanged quick glances as Scott put the paper in front of Johnny.

  “What do you think of that… ten thousand dollars!”

  Johnny pretended to read the letterpress, shrugged and reached for a cigarette.

  “Funny thing,” Scott went on. “I looked up suddenly just now and you seem to resemble this photograph. I wondered if it could be a young brother.”

  “Never had a brother,” Johnny said.

  Scott passed the newspaper to Freda.

  “Don’t you think this guy looks like Johnny?” Freda glanced at the photograph.

  “Maybe.” Her voice was casual. “You can’t say Johnny is exactly an oil painting, can you?” and getting up, she began to collect the plates. Johnny helped her while Scott continued to stare at the photograph.

  Out in the kitchen, Freda washed up while Johnny dried. They didn’t speak, but both were aware of tension.

  Returning to the living-room, they found Scott still staring at the ad. Freda went out on deck and as Johnny followed her, Scott said, “Funny sort of ad., isn’t it?”

  Johnny paused and came back to the table. He sat down.

  “It sure is.”

  “What do you imagine the idea is offering all this money for a guy who’s lost his memory?”

  “Rich parents, I guess… anxious to find him.” Scott studied the photograph.

  “Doesn’t look as if he comes from rich parents, does he?” He glanced at Johnny. “Bit on the rough side… like you and me.” “Yeah.”

  “Ten thousand dollars! If I had all that money I’d buy me three more trucks and I’d really be in the business.” Scott’s face lit up. “Finding drivers is easy, but getting the capital for trucks is something else.”

  “Ever thought of doubling your turn-over without buying more trucks?” Johnny asked, anxious to get Scott’s mind off the ad.

  “How?”

  “You deliver crates of shrimps to Richville… right?”

  “So?”

  “But you come back empty. Can’t you get freight from Richville to bring back to New Symara?”

  “Do you imagine I haven’t thought of that?” Scott said scornfully. “You go out and sniff the truck. It stinks of shrimps. No one wants haulage that stinks that bad. I’ve tried, and anyway, there’s nothing in Richville that New Symara wants.”

  “Just an idea.” Johnny got to his feet. “I guess I’ll turn in. See you.”

  Scott nodded.

  Johnny left him still staring at the ad.

  Lying in his little bed, watching the moon while he thought, Johnny wasn’t ready for sleep. He thought of Freda. Suppose he could trust her? She would be safe going to the Greyhound bus station and getting the money. But could he trust her? Then his mind switched to Scott. Had he convinced him that he had no connection with the ad?

  He closed his eyes, trying to force himself to sleep. Then he became alert. He heard Freda enter her room. What a woman! His mind dwelt on the three times they had made love and he had the urge to leave his bed and go into her room and take her again.

  Then a slight sound made him stiffen. His door was gently opening. He lay still, his hand reaching under his pillow for his gun.

  The moonlight coming through the open window shone directly on the door and through half closed eyes he saw Scott was looking at him through the half-open door.

  Johnny emitted a soft snore, watching Scott who stood there, still, listening. Johnny snored again and the door closed silently.

  What did this mean? He asked himself, now fully awake. He listened. He heard Freda’s door open,

  “Come out on deck.” Scott’s whisper came clearly to Johnny. “Don’t say anything… he’s asleep.”

  Johnny waited. He heard soft movements, then silence. He slid out of his bed, opened his door and peered into the moon-lit livingroom. He saw Scott and Freda through the window. They were on the deck. Moving like a ghost, he crept into the living- room as he heard Scott say, “Look at this.”

  He had a flashlight in his hand and he was directing the beam on to a sheet of newsprint. Johnny knew at once it was the ad. He moved further fonvard.

  “See?” Scott said, his voice low and excited. “I’ve pencilled a beard on him. It’s Johnny!”

  “What are you talking about?” Freda’s voice was also a whisper but it came clearly to Johnny. “This man’s twenty years younger.”

  “Could be an old photograph.”

  They were standing side by side by the deck rail. Scott was wearing pjyamas. Freda had a shortie nightdress. Johnny could see her long legs through the moon-lit flimsy material.

  “Sit down. I want to talk to you.”

  Johnny watched them move to the bamboo chairs and sit, side by side. He moved forward so he now stood in the darkness within three feet of them, listening through the open window behind them.

  “I’ve been thinking about this,” Scott said. “This missing man is Johnny Bianda. Our lodger calls himself Johnny Bianco. For all we know he has lost his memory and imagine he’s Bianco and not Bianda. The more I look at this photo, now I’ve put on the beard, the surer I am this is the man they want. Ten thousand dollars! Imagine! What do you think?”

  Johnny held his breath. What she would say must tell him if he could trust her or not.

  “He doesn’t act like a man who’s lost his memory.” Freda’s voice was calm. “We were talking this afternoon. He was telling me about his rent-collection experiences. No… you’re pipe dreaming.”

  “Suppose I call these people: Dyson & Dyson? Where’s the harm? They can send someone to take a look at him. They will probably have dozens of people telephoning so what have we to lose? We might hit the jackpot.”

  “And if we do… what happens?”

  “Ten thousand dollars! You want to leave me, don’t you? You’ve had enough of this, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine. So I give you two thousand and the rest I buy three more trucks and I’m in business. Tomorrow, I’ll call these people from Richville. If we’re unlucky, it’s too bad, but if we aren’t…”

  Johnny’s heart now was thumping so hard he was scared they would hear.

  “Let’s make sure,” Freda said. “I’ll send him out fishing tomorrow and while he’s on the lake, I’ll go through his things. This thing about a St. Christopher medal. He might have one. If I find it, we’ll know for sure it’s him.”

  “What’s wrong with me telephoning tomorrow? They can but look at him.”

  A pause, then she said, “Can’t you use your brains? If we are really sure we can ask for more… we could ask for fifteen thousand: Five for me and ten for you.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Yeah… but you don’t get five, baby. You’ll get four.”

  “So all right. I get four.” Scott stood up.

  “You check his things. Imagine! Fifteen thousand dollars!”

  Johnny moved silently back to his bedroom, closed the door and lay on the bed.

  So he could trust her! She was clever! She had gained a day…but what then?

  There was no sleep for him that night.

  Carlo Tanza came into Massino’s office, kicked the door shut and dumped his heavy body into a chair.

  “We’ve certainly started something with that ad!” he exclaimed. “Already it has produced three hundred and forty-nine telephone calls. Dyson is flipping his lid. Every call has to be checked out.”

  Massino glared at him.

  “It was your bright idea.”

  “It was a good idea, but how was I to know so many bastards resemble this bastard? So, okay, we’re checking them out but it’s going to take time.”

  “That’s your business,” Massino said. “I pay… you produce. One thing I do know, if the money is in one of those lockers across the street, the sonofabitch will never get it… that’s something I’m damn well certain about!”

  EIGHT

  The sound of the truck had scarcely died away when John
ny’s bedroom door opened and Freda came in.

  In the grey light of the dawn, she looked to Johnny the most desirable woman in the world, but this was no time for love.

  She sat on the side of his bed.

  “He talked to me last night,” she said.

  “I know. I heard every word,” Johnny said and put his hand on hers. “You played it smart, but when he comes back tonight… what’s going to happen?”

  “I’ll tell him I’m sure you’re not the man he thinks you are. I’ll tell him I’ve seen your driving license and it’s in the name of Bianco. I’ll say there’s no St. Christopher medal.”

  Johnny shook his head.

  “That won’t stop him. He’s money hungry. As he said; what’s there to lose except the price of a telephone call?”

  “Then let’s get out of here,” Freda said. “Let’s get the money and get lost. I know where I can hire a car in the village. We’ll drive to East City, pick up the money, then head North? What do you say?”

  He lay back on his pillow and marvelled at her ignorance of the net that was closing around him. “If only it could be as simple as that,” he said. “But they don’t know me!” Freda said impatiently.

  “Where have you hidden the money? Why can’t I get it while you wait, out of sight?”

  “East City is swarming with Massino’s Men. Every one of them will have a description of the bags, holding the money. Two shabby red hold-alls with black leather handles,” Johnny said. “Anyone seen carrying two such bags wouldn’t survive five minutes.”

  “Then we’ll buy a trunk and put the two bags in the trunk… what’s the matter with that?”

  Johnny now felt he had to tell her everything.

  “The bags are in a left-luggage locker in the Greyhound bus

  station, right opposite Massino’s office. You couldn’t load them into a trunk without being seen.”

  “But there must be some way I could get them!”

  “Massino’s sharp. Maybe he has thought of the lockers. Maybe he has them staked out. Before we do anything, I’ve got to check.” Johnny thought for a moment. “Where’s the nearest call booth?”

  “In the village… the local store.”

  “I’ve a contact in East City. He’ll tell me what’s happening. How soon does the store open?”

  “Seven-thirty.”

  He looked at his watch. The time was 05.30.

  “Will you take me across in the boat?”

  She hesitated.

  “They’re all eyes and ears over there. So far, they don’t know you exist. You could cause a sensation.”

  “I’ve got to get to a phone.”

  She thought for a long moment.

  “Suppose I tell Salvadore you’re my step-brother on a visit? Be nice to him. He’s easy to con: you just have to be nice to him.”

  “An Italian?” Johnny stiffened. “Who’s he?”

  “He owns the store: Salvadore Bruno. He’s harmless. If we time our arrival as the store opens, no one will be around. You really mean you must phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean once you know it will be all right, we can hire a car and get the money?”

  “I’ve got to know first.”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll get coffee. There’s time.”

  He reached out and pulled her down on him. “There’s also time for coffee.”

  The motorboat drifted into the little harbour. Johnny could see the store: a low, ramshackle building, facing the waterfront. He glanced at his watch. It was a minute after 07.30 and he saw the door leading into the store, was standing open.

  He was wearing his bush jacket to conceal his gun and holster. His eyes darted along the waterfront, but there was no sign of life.

  Freda jumped onto the quay. Johnny tossed the rope to her and she secured the boat.

  Together they crossed the dirt road and walked into the store.

  “The phone’s there,” Freda said and pointed.

  As Johnny stepped into the call booth, he saw a short, fat man come out from behind a curtain. He shut the door, then turned his back and inserted coins. He called Sammy’s apartment.

  There was a delay, then Sammy’s sleepy voice came over the line.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Sammy! Wake up! This is Johnny!”

  “Who?”

  “Johnny!”

  A low moan of fear came over the line.

  “Listen, Sammy… what’s happening up there? What’s the news?”

  “Mr. Johnny… I asked you… I begged you not to contact me. I could get into real trouble. I…”

  “Cut it out,” Sammy! You’re my friend… remember? What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know nothin’. No one talks any more, Mr. Johnny. I swear I don’t know nothin’!”

  “I want you to do something for me, Sammy.”

  “Me? Haven’t I done enough, Mr. Johnny? You’ve got all my money. Cloe keeps worrying me for money and I’ve got none now to give her. My brother…”

  “Skip it, Sammy! I told you: you’ll get your money back. Now listen carefully. You know the Greyhound bus station?”

  “Yeah. I know it.”

  “When you have driven the boss to his office, go in there and buy a newspaper. Wander around. I want to know if any of the mob are staked out there. You getting this, Sammy?”

  “They are staked out there, Mr. Johnny. Don’t ask me why, but they are. I went in there last night to get cigarettes and Toni and Ernie were hanging around.”

  Johnny nodded to himself. So Massino suspected the money was in one of those lockers.

  “Okay, Sammy. Now don’t worry about your money. I’ll send it to you soon,” and he hung up.

  For a long moment, Johnny stood staring at the coin box. It was a matter of patience. For how long would Massino have the lockers watched? He could not know the money was there: he was guessing. This had to be thought about. How to deal with Scott tonight?

  He pushed open the booth door and moved into the store.

  “Johnny! Come and meet Salvadore,” Freda called. She was standing by one of the counters. On the other side was the short, fat man who thrust out his hand.

  “Glad to meet you,” he said with a wide smile. “Big surprise. Mrs. Freda never told me she had a half-brother. Welcome to Little Creek.”

  As Johnny shook hands, he took this man in with a quick searching glance: balding, around sixty, a bushy moustache, small, intelligent eyes and a stubbly chin.

  “Passing through,” he said. “Got business in Miami. Nice store you have here.”

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s all right.” The little eyes dwelt on Johnny’s face. “You Italian like me?”

  “My mother was Italian,” Johnny said. “Our old man was a

  Swede.” He looked at Freda who nodded. “Mother comes out in you, huh?”

  “You can say that.”

  “Yeah.” A pause. “You staying long?”

  “It’s pretty nice up here. I’m in no hurry to get to work.” Johnny forced a laugh. “I heard a lot about this place when Freda wrote, but I had no idea it’s as good this.”

  “You fish?”

  “I like it. Yesterday, I landed a four-pounder first try… a bass.”

  Salvadore beamed.

  “So you’re a fisherman.”

  “Could I have two pounds of bacon and a dozen eggs,” Freda broke in.

  “In a moment.”

  Salvadore hurried to another counter. Johnny and Freda exchanged glances. They didn’t say anything.

  Ten minutes later, after more talk, they walked across the quay to the boat.

  Salvadore watched them go. The benign expression on his fat face slowly faded and his little eyes became like marbles.

  He reached under the counter and produced yesterday’s Florida Times. Quickly, he thumbed through the pages until he came to the Have You Seen This Man? advertisement. He stared for several moments at the photograph
, then taking a pencil from behind his ear, he carefully pencilled in a beard. After staring at the photograph again, he crossed to the call booth, inserted a coin and dialled a number.

  A growling voice replied.

  “Bruno. Little Creek,” Salvadore said. “This guy Johnny Bianda. There’s a guy just arrived, calling himself Johnny who looks like him.”

  “What guy?”

  Salvadore talked.

  “If she says he’s her half-brother why the hell can’t he be her half-brother.”

  “This doll isn’t getting it from her husband. It’s my bet she’d say anything to get it and it’s my bet this guy is giving it to her.”

  “Okay. I’ll send someone to take a look. We’ve got hundreds of goddamn suspects to check out, but I’ll send someone.”

  “When?”

  “How do I know? When I’ve got a man free.”

  “If it’s him, I get the reward?”

  “If it’s him,” and the line went dead.

  The noise of the outboard engine made conversation impossible. Johnny sat in the prow of the boat, his mind active. The store-keeper had alerted his sense of danger. He had had to phone Sammy, but now he realized the risk he had taken. There were Mafiosi everywhere. So they were watching the lockers at the Greyhound bus station! As he sat in the prow of the boat, feeling the breeze against his face, watching the prow cut through the still waters, he felt the net closing in on him.

  When he had tied up and had followed Freda on to the deck of the houseboat, he dropped into one of the bamboo chairs.

  “Well?”

  She stood over him and he looked up into her bright blue eyes.

  “They’re watching the lockers.”

  The disappointment in her eyes made him uneasy. She was so money hungry, he thought. She sat by his side.

  “So what do we do?”

  “That’s right… so what do we do?” He thought, staring across the lake. “When I planned this steal, baby, I told myself I would have to be patient. I told myself it wouldn’t be safe spending that money for a couple of years.”

  She stiffened.

  “Two years?”

  “As long as the money stays in the locker, it’s safe. Try and move it and you and me are dead and the money goes back to Massino. Sooner or later, he’ll get tired of watching the lockers. It might take a month… even six months, but I have my contact in East City. He’ll tell me when the heat’s off and until it’s off, we have to wait.”