Knock Knock Whos There
Page 14
“What does that mean?”
“He’s kinky. High heels and whips. So we sleep apart. He gets his
fun in Richville and I get my fun fishing!”
Johnny lifted his hands and let them fall heavily on his knees.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She got to her feet. “Come on, lodger. You want me
and I need a man. This time it’s for free. Next time, it’ll cost you. I’ve
got to save money and get out of here or I’ll damn well drown
myself.”
Johnny remained seated.
“I want you, Freda, but not on those terms,” he said, quietly.
“I’ve never paid for it and I never will.”
She stared at him, then she smiled.
“I think I’m going to like you, Johnny,” she said. “I think you’re all
man. No conditions . . . let’s see how good you really are.”
He got up and putting his arm around her waist, cupping her
heavy breast, he went with her into his tiny bedroom.
“What’s the time?”
Her voice sounded lazy and sleepy.
Johnny lifted his wrist. It was a few minutes after 15.00. She lay
naked, her body on his, her blonde head half on his shoulder and half
on the pillow.
“Just after three.”
“Oh, damn! I must go to the village.” She swung off him and on
to her feet, standing, looking down at him.
He looked up, feasting his eyes on her suntanned body. He
reached up to touch her, but she moved out of his reach.
“Do you want to come with me?”
He very nearly said he would, then he remembered it would be
safer to keep out of sight, to keep away from the village.
“I guess I’ll stay: What have you got to go for?”
“The mail if any and the newspaper. Ed likes the newspaper.”
“Anything I can do while you’re away?”
“You’ve done enough.” She smiled down at him. “You’re not
much to look at but you know how to satisfy a woman.”
“Good?”
“Hmmm.”
She went away and reaching for a cigarette Johnny lit up, then
relaxed on the bed.
She had been good too, he thought: starving for it. He lay there,
thinking about her for the next half hour, then getting off the bed, he
took a swim.
He was dressed and sitting on the deck when she returned in the
motorboat. The time now was 16.30. He helped her scramble up on
deck, then tied up the boat.
“Want to see the paper?” She offered it to him. “I’ll stuff the
bass,” and she left him.
Newspapers seldom interested Johnny except to read the Sport’s
news. He glanced at the headlines, found nothing to hold his
attention, turned to page two, paused to read an account of a girl
who had been found raped and murdered, grimaced, then flicked
through the rest of the pages until he came to the funnies. He read
“Peanuts” and grinned, then as he was turning to the Sports’ page a
headline caught his eyes.
HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?
$10,000 Reward
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Then with a sudden cold sick feeling he saw his own photograph.
With shaking hands he read the letterpress.
Dyson & Dyson! Carlo Tanza’s attorneys!
Had Freda seen this? He decided by the way the newspaper was
folded when she handed it to him she hadn’t opened it.
With sweat beads on his face, he studied the photograph. It had
been taken some twenty years ago: a prison shot and yet there was a
likeness. His hand went to his beard. No! No one could recognize him
from this photograph!
Known tofavouraSt.Christophermedal.
The cunning bastards!
She had seen the medal!
He looked furtively over his shoulder, his heart thumping. She
wanted money! Ten thousand dollars would be more than tempting!
All she had to do was to get over to the village and call Dyson &
Dyson. They would be in his lap within twenty-four hours and that
would be his end!
What to do?
His first reaction was to destroy the newspaper, but that
wouldn’t help. He knew enough of Tanza’s thoroughness to be sure
the ad would run a week . . . even longer. Sooner or later, either
Scott or Freda would see
Get out fast?
He was miles from any place. If he left it would have to be in the
dark. It must be a good ten miles down to the freeway and in the
dark, he could get hopelessly lost.
Could he trust her? Could he trust anyone?
“Who’s offering ten thousand dollars?”
She had come up silently behind him and was leaning over his
shoulder. He sat rigid, wanting to crumple the newspaper and throw
it in the lake, but fear paralysed him. He watched her hand take the
paper from his grasp.
“Ten thousand dollars! Could I use money like that!” She came
around and sat by his side.
He watched her read the letterpress and he knew at once when
she came to the fatal line: Known to favour a St. Christopher medal.
He saw her stiffen, stare at the photograph, then look at him.
“Is this you?” she asked and tapped the photograph.
Johnny hesitated, then he said huskily, “Yes.”
“Have you lost your memory?”
He shook his head.
“Who are these people . . . Dyson & Dyson?”
His tongue touched his dry lips.
“Mafia people,” he said, watching her.
Her eyes widened.
“Mafia?”
“That’s right.”
She put down the paper.
“I don’t understand,” and he could see she was shaken, but not
so shaken that it curtailed her curiosity.
“You don’t want to understand.”
“Are you a mafioso?”
“No.”
“Then why are they offering all this money?”
“They want to find me and kill me,” Johnny said quietly.
She flinched.
“Kill you? Why?”
“I did something bad to them.”
She stared at him for several moments, then she tore the page
containing the advert from the paper and offered it to him.
“You’d better burn this, hadn’t you? Ten thousand is a lot of
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money. If Ed sees it he could be tempted: it only means a telephone
call, doesn’t it?”
“You mean you wouldn’t be tempted?”
“Do you think I would?”
He shrugged helplessly.
“As you said, it’s a lot of money. You want money. I don’t know.”
She got to her feet.
“I’m going for a swim.”
“Wait . . . I want you to understand. I . . .”
She had piffled off her shirt, struggled out of her stretch pants
and pantees and dived into the lake.
Johnny set fire to the sheet of newspaper, then tossed it still
burning into the water. He found he was shaking. He sat there,
staring at her bobbing head, watching her swim further and further
away. Could he trust her? In the night, might she not start thinking of
what that money could mean to her? It only means a telephone call,
doesn’t it? She would go across the lake to the village tomorrow
. He
wouldn’t know if she had telephoned or not until Toni, Ernie and the
rest of the mob arrived. He wiped the sweat off his face. He had
better get out: pack now and clear out. Yet he didn’t move. It
dawned on him that this woman meant more to him than any
woman he had ever met.
Suppose he decided to trust her? Suppose he stayed on? What
about Scott? Sooner or later he would see the advert, but he knew
nothing about the medal. It was the medal that alerted Freda. He
was sure of that. It was the medal that had given him away. Why
should Scott connect him with the advert? The photo was taken
twenty years ago.
With shaking fingers he undid the chain around his neck and
stared at the medal, lying in his palm.
Aslongasyouwear this,nothingreallybad canhappen toyou.
He thought of his mother: a poor, ignorant, superstitious
peasant! Goddamn it! Twice the medal bad-landed him in real
trouble! If it hadn’t been for the medal he wouldn’t now be in hiding.
If it hadn’t been for the medal Freda wouldn’t have guessed who he
was.
He stood up.
Away in the distance he could see Freda swimming. The sun was
beginning to sink behind the pines.
Lifting his hand, he threw the medal and chain with all his
strength into the gathering dusk.
He watched the tiny splash as the medal hit the water.
It was done! It couldn’t betray him again!
He was sitting on the deck when she came out of the lake, water
streaming off her golden body. She picked up her clothes and walked
past him into the living-room.
The sun made a red rim around the pines. In another hour, Scott
would be back.
During the time she had been swimming, Johnny had thought
about her. He had come to the conclusion that this was his woman.
He had never had this feeling before. He told himself he was crazy.
What did he know about her except there was something in those
blue eyes that told him he could trust her.
Youmeanyouwouldn’t be tempted?
Didyou thinkIwould?
And that look, surprise, then the hurt showed and she had
thrown off her clothes and had swum away from him.
That wasn’t the action of treachery. Surely, if she planned to
betray him, she wouldn’t have behaved like that.
Then she was beside him, dressed and sitting down. She looked
seriously at him.
“I think we’d better talk, Johnny,” she said. “Do you think, by
staying here, Ed and I will be in danger?”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“Yes.” He paused, then went on. “I’ll get Ed to drive me to
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Richville tomorrow and forget about me. It’s the best way.”
“I don’t want to forget you. I’m in love with you,” and she put
her hand on his.
He felt a surge of emotion go through him. Many women had
told him they loved him. Melanie had, often enough, but none of
them had said it the way this woman said it.
“That makes two of us, but I’d better go.”
“Could we talk about it?” The slim fingers fondled his wrist.
“Could you explain?”
The caressing fingers lulled his caution.
Speaking quietly, staring across the dark waters of the lake, he
told her the story of his life. He told her of his yearning to own a
boat, about Massino, how Masssino had cheated him. He told her
about the Big Take, but he didn’t tell her how much money was
involved.
“I have the money stashed away in East City. If it wasn’t for the
medal there would have been no problem. I could have stayed there.
Massino wouldn’t have suspected me. Then later, I would have taken
the money and ducked out.”
“Is there much money?” she asked.
He looked at her. Her face was expressionless and she wasn’t
looking at him.
“Enough.”
“If you got the money would you take me away from here?”
“Yes.”
“Would you choose between me and your boat? Would you give
up your boat to keep me?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“No. You either go with the boat or I’ll stake you and we part. I’m
risking my life for the boat: it’s that important to me.”
She nodded.
“I’m glad. I said it before and I’ll say it again: you’re all man. I’ll
come with you and I’ll help on the boat.”
“If they find me here, they could kill you.”
“If I’m going to share this money with you, Johnny, I must share
the risk . . . that’s fair, isn’t it?”
“Think about it. Let’s talk about it tomorrow. I’ve still got to get
the money.”
“Where have you hidden it?”
He smiled at her.
“Where they won’t think of looking for it.”
“Isn’t it dangerous to go back for it?”
“Yes . . . it’s a hell of a risk.”
“But I could get it, couldn’t I? They don’t know me.”
A tiny red light of warning lit up in Johnny’s mind. Suppose he
told her where the money was? Suppose he gave her the locker key?
She could hire a car and drive to East City, take the two bags, load
them into the car and that would be the last time he would ever see
her. How can anyone trust anyone when there was so much money
involved? She said she loved him: she had said it in such a way that
he believed her, but when she dragged those two heavy bags out of
the locker might she not be tempted to betray him?
He remembered what she had said: You’re not much to look at.
He wasn’t. He was fourteen years older than she. With all that
money, with her looks, she could make a wonderful life for herself
without having a short, heavily-built man of forty-two in her hair.
The sound of the approaching truck saved him from answering.
“Here’s Ed. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Yes.
She got up and went hastily into the kitchen.
Scott had his swim, admired the bass Johnny had caught, then
came out on deck, joining Johnny while Freda cooked the dinner.
“Had a good day?” Scott asked, lighting a cigarette. He looked
slyly at Johnny.
“Fine. And you?”
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“The usual.” Scott flicked ash into the lake. “Did she give out?”
Johnny stiffened.
“Come again?”
“Did you lay her?”
“Look, Ed, cut that talk out! I don’t like it. She’s your wife!
Haven’t you any respect for her?”
Scott gave a sneering laugh.
“I told you I couldn’t care less. I was just curious to know if you
made it.”
“Like I said . . . cut it out!”
Scott eyed him.
“Maybe you like it fancy. I do. If ever you want something fancy
come to Richville with me. I know a couple of chicks . . .”
“I’m a lot older than you, Ed. You look after your sex life and I’ll
look after mine. Okay?”
Scott studied him, then shrugged.
“Yeah. I guess when I get as old as you, it won’t be a problem.”
&nbs
p; He gave a sly grin. “I bet Freda’s disappointed. I get the idea she’s
itching for it.”
“Then why don’t you give it to her?” Johnny tried to soften his
voice, but his anger showed.
“She’s not my style.”
Johnny suddenly hated this man as he had seldom hated any
man. He got to his feet as Freda came on to the deck.
“You can eat,” she said.
It was while they were finishing the bass that Scott said, “You got
a younger brother, Johnny?”
Johnny became instantly alert. He paused to finish the last
morsel of fish on his plate, then shook his head.
“I’ve no relations.”
“Just an idea.” Scott pushed aside his plate. “There’s an odd ad.
in the Richvile Times. I have it here.” He shoved back his chair and
crossing to where he had left his jacket, he took out a folded
newspaper.
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.”
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“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.