Toni didn’t say anything.
“We got this tip,” Moro said. “We’ve got over a hundred tips but
this one looks good. I’ve got all my men out checking other tips so
suppose you go out to Little Creek and take a gander? It could be
negative and I don’t want to pull my boys off the work they’re doing.
You take a gander and if it’s straight up, call me and we’ll go out
there and get him.”
Toni felt a chill go up his spine.
“Don’t you send anyone with me?”
Moro stared at him.
“I told you . . . the boys are busy.” He flicked ash into the big,
silver ash-tray on his desk. “You’re Massino’s top gunman, aren’t
you?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine. You can handle this.” He pressed a button on his desk and
a minute or so later the door opened and a young long-haired Italian
came in. “Take this guy to Little Creek, Leo, wise him up. Introduce
him to Salvadore. Tell the old buzzard my compliments.”
The young man stared at Toni, then jerked his head to the door.
Toni followed him out into the passage, hating him: a possible homo
: very lean, white-faced, glittering eyes, could be on pot.
In silence they walked out of the building by the back exit to a
shabby Lincoln.
Leo slid under the wheel and Toni got in the passenger’s seat.
Leo turned and stared at Toni.
“I heard about you . . . a trigger man.” He grinned, showing good
white teeth. “Rather you than me.”
“Get going,” Toni snarled. “Rest the lip.”
“Tough too?” Leo laughed. “You watch the telly?”
“Get moving!”
Leo opened the glove compartment and dropped a pair of
powerful field glasses in Toni’s lap.
“They’re for you.”
Thirty minutes later they pulled up outside Salvadore Bruno’s
store.
“This is where I kiss you off,” Leo said. “Have a ball. If it’s him, call
us. Okay?”
The time now was 11.45. There was some activity on the
waterfront. As Toni got out of the car he was aware people were
looking curiously at him. He slung the field glasses by their strap on
his shoulder and walked into the store as Leo drove away.
Salvadore was busy serving customers. When he saw Toni, he
called and his fat wife appeared to take over.
147
Salvadore beckoned to Toni who followed him behind the curtain
and into Salvadore’s living-room. “You from Luigi?”
“Yeah.”
Salvadore opened a drawer in the table and took out a large-
scale map.
“Here’s where we are: here’s where he is,” he said, pointing with
a pencil. “You can take my boat or you can take my car and drive
around the lake.”
Toni blotted sweat off his face with his sleeve.
“Maybe the boat is better.”
He didn’t want to get too close to Johnny if this suspect was
Johnny.
“Yes. There are always fishermen on the lake.” Salvadore eyed
the field glasses. “With those you can see without being seen. I’ll
loan you a fishing rod. Just go out on the lake and act you’re fishing..
okay?”
“Yeah.”
A pause, then Salvadore said, “If it’s him, I get the reward . . .
yes?”
“How the hell do I know?” Toni snarled. “Why the hell should I
care anyway?”
“That’s no way to talk to your betters,” Salvadore said. “I ask a
polite question: I expect a polite answer.”
“So get stuffed!” Toni snarled. “How’s about something to eat?”
Salvadore moved forward. His hand caught Toni’s wrist in a grip
of steel, his vast belly, rock hard, smashed into Toni’s side, driving
the breath out of him. His arm was twisted and he found himself
gasping and on his knees. He felt a hard, sweaty hand slap him
heavily around his ears, then dazed, he groped for his gun as
Salvadore released him.
“Don’t do it!”
The snap in Salvadore’s voice made him turn and look up. He
found himself looking into the menacing barrel of a .45.
“All right, my friend,” Salvadore said gently, “so now you’ll be
polite. I may be fat and old, but I’ve eaten boys like you for breakfast.
So now you ask politely for dinner.”
Toni got unsteadily to his feet.
Salvadore put his gun back into its holster, hidden under his thin
coat.
“Look,” he said and the gun appeared in his hand, then he
chuckled. “I was Lucky’s best man. I’m still good. Okay, so I’m old, but
I’ve never lost the sharpness,” and the gun disappeared. He patted
Toni’s shoulder. “So you want something to eat, huh?”
“Yes, please and thank you,” Toni said huskily. “I guess I could
eat something.”
Salvadore put his thick arm around Toni’s shoulders.
“Come.” He led him into the kitchen. “Always in my home there
is good food.”
An hour later, Toni got into Salvadore’s small fishing boat,
awkwardly carrying a fishing rod and the field glasses. Salvadore had
fitted him out in a dark blue shirt, a pair of Levis and a bush hat. He
showed him how to start the outboard engine.
“Just put the rod in here,” he said pointing to a clip on the side of
the boat. “Don’t get too close to the houseboat. If anyone comes up
to you . . . there are many fishermen on the lake . . . tell them you are
my friend. They won’t bother you.”
Toni steered the boat out into the middle of the lake, then cut
the engine. He could see, in the distance, the houseboat. He clipped
the rod into position, then focused the glasses on the houseboat.
He was startled at the power of the glasses.
The houseboat seemed to spring forward at him as he peered
through the eyepieces. He could see the sun burning his back and
settled himself to flaked paint, the holes in the deck and the rust on
the rails. There was no one to be seen. He sat there, feel-watch.
149
NINE
The previous evening just before Scott had gone to bed, Johnny
had asked permission to borrow the 12 bore shotgun.
“Thought I might take a walk in the woods and bag something for
supper.”
“Sure,” Scott said. “A good idea. I never get time now for
shooting. You could find coot or pigeon.”
So the following morning after a swim, Johnny took the gun with
a pocketful of 6 shot cartridges and told Freda he would be back for
lunch.
“Don’t get lost,” she warned him. “Keep to the path and don’t go
far.”
He spent the whole morning in the jungle and enjoyed himself.
He bagged four pigeons and two wild duck, and he felt ten feet tall as
he walked into the kitchen where Freda was cooking steaks.
“Quite the man around the home,” she said as he showed her
the birds. “Suppose, this afternoon, you go on making yourself
useful? I’ve asked Ed to put up four shelves over there. If I’ve asked
him once, I’ve asked him twenty times. The w
ood’s all cut. How
about it?”
“Sure,” Johnny said. “I’ll fix it.”
They had lunch, then went to bed together and around 15.00
Freda said she would go across to the village and collect the mail and
the newspaper.
“I’ll fix the shelves.”
It was because he spent the next two hours in the kitchen that
Toni, sweltering in the sun, didn’t catch a glimpse of him, but he did
see Freda as she came on deck, got in the motorboat and headed
towards him.
Hastily, Toni hid the field glasses and lifted the rod from its clip.
Freda’s boat passed him by a hundred feet and he was aware she
looked at him. He kept his head lowered and flicked the rod with
what he hoped was a professional movement.
Some chick! he thought. Man! Could he use a piece of tail like
her!
If it were really Johnny holed up in the houseboat, Toni thought,
he certainly had it good. But was it Johnny? He surveyed the
houseboat once again with his glasses, but he saw no sign of life.
Hell! He was getting roasted alive out in this goddamn sun and he
was aware that there were no other fishermen on the lake. Maybe
he had better go back. He could be attracting attention Thy sitting
out in the boat like this. Again he searched the houseboat with his
glasses, then still seeing nothing, he laid the rod down and decided
to return. He would come out later when the sun was less fierce.
Unused to the sun, he was now getting painfully sunburned. He
moved over to the outboard engine, caught hold of the starting
handle and yanked. There was a splutter and nothing else. Cursing,
he yanked on the cord again. Again no results.
He glared at the engine and cursed it. Four more times he
yanked at the starting cord with sweat streaming off him, but the
engine wouldn’t fire. He sat on the side of the boat, his shirt soaked
with sweat.
Salvadore had told him he would have no trouble with the
engine. All he had to do was to pull the cord. Now the bastard
wouldn’t start! He could get burned alive out here!
He had been crazy to have used the boat! He knew nothing
about boats, or outboard engines. He couldn’t even swim! He looked
longingly at the cool water around him.
His gun harness was chafing his skin. He was wearing it under his
shirt. He reached inside the shirt, undid the harness and took it off,
laying the gun by the fishing rod.
What the hell was he to do?
He went back to the engine and dragged at the cord. The engine
spluttered and died.
Then he heard the phut-phut of an approaching motorboat.
Looking up, he saw Freda returning from Little Creek. He waved to
her and she cut her engine and steering her boat, came drifting up to
151
him.
“Are you in trouble?” she asked.
Toni stared at her. His eyes took in the sweep of her breasts, the
firm outline of her buttocks, her blonde hair and her brilliant blue
eyes.
“Yeah. She won’t start.”
“It’s the heat. You’re oiled up. Take the plug out and clean it.
You’ll start then.”
Toni looked around.
“I’ve got no tools.”
“I’ll do it. You hold the boats together.”
She opened a locker and took out a tool kit, then slid into his
boat. As she got in, her foot caught in the harness of his gun and she
stumbled, rocking the boats. He caught hold of her, steadying her
and the feel of her arm in his hand sent a sexual jolt through him. He
kicked the gun and the harness out of sight under one of the seats.
She was kneeling, her back to him and she opened the tool kit.
“You’re new around here, aren’t you?” she said as she got out a
box spanner.
“Yeah. I’m a friend of Bruno.” He eyed her back, feeling lust go
through him.
“I thought I hadn’t seen you before.” She got the plug out. “See?
Oil.”
She turned, holding the plug.
“Never thought of it,” Toni said huskily. “I don’t know a thing
about boats . . . just down here on vacation.”
“Salvadore is a good friend of mine.” She took a rag from the tool
kit and cleaned the plug. “It’s always nice to see a new face.”
He eyed her wondering what she meant.
“I guess.”
“You won’t get any fish at this time,” she went on as she put the
plug back and tightened it. “In another two hours, but it’s too hot
now.”
“You can say that again . . . I’m frying.”
“Are you staying with Salvadore?”
“That’s right.”
She looked at him: her blue eyes inviting.
“Maybe I’ll see something of you.”
Was she giving him the ‘come on’? Toni wondered, and again lust
stabbed him like a sword thrust.
“Why not?” He peered at her. “Bruno tells me you have your
half-brother staying with you.”
“He left early this morning. He has business in Miami.” She
smiled. “I miss his company. It’s lonely for me. My husband doesn’t
get back until late.”
“Yeah. I can imagine.”
She got into her boat.
“You try now. She’ll start.” She reached for the starter on her
engine. “If you’ve got nothing to do why not drop by around half-
past five?” Her blue eyes met his. “My husband doesn’t get back
until seven.”
Before he could reply, she started her engine, waved to him and
sent the boat fast away from him.
Toni stared after her, his heart thumping. If that wasn’t an
invitation for a lay, what was? And what a lay! But wait, he told
himself, suppose Johnny or whoever this punk was hadn’t gone?
Suppose she was setting him up to walk into a trap? But why should
she? He knew her type: a chick with hot pants. Maybe this guy hadn’t
been her half-brother. Maybe he wasn’t Bianda. So he had gone and
she had the itch again.
He pulled the starter and the engine fired. With his mind
seething with excitement, he headed back to Little Creek.
Salvadore was on the quay and he helped Toni tie up the boat.
“Did you see him?”
153
“No, but I saw her. The goddamn engine wouldn’t start. She fixed
it. She says her half-brother left this morning for Miami. She wants
me to go over there at half-past five.” Toni wiped his sweating face
with the back of his hand. “What do you think?”
Salvadore shook his head.
“If he’s there you could walk into trouble.”
“Yeah, but if he’s there why should she ask me over?” He leered.
“It’s my bet whoever’ this punk is, he’s gone and she wants it. So
okay, I go over there, take a look around, slip her what she wants,
then tell the boss it wasn’t the guy and go back. That makes sense,
doesn’t it?”
Salvadore looked at him for a long moment.
“It’s your funeral. You could be right. Anyway, why should I
worry? You can take care of yourself. If you want to go, then go.�
��
“Yeah. How’s about a long, cold beer? I’m boiled.”
Johnny was just putting the last of the shelves in place when he
heard the distant sound of Freda’s outboard motor. He tightened the
final screw and then went to the kitchen window.
He saw her boat coming fast and as he was about to step out on
deck, he paused, seeing another boat far out on the lake. His instinct
for danger stopped him in his tracks. He watched the other boat with
a lone man in it, heading for Little Creek.
Freda steered the boat under the kitchen window and called
“Don’t come out!” The urgency in her voice told him there was
trouble.
He moved into the living-room and waited until she joined him.
“What is it?”
Quickly she told him of her encounter with Toni.
“He has a gun and harness,” she concluded. “He says he’s
Salvadore’s friend.”
Johnny sat down. He had a feeling of being suffocated. The net
was drawing in on him.
“Tell me about him,” he said. “What’s he look like?”
“Around thirty, thin, dark, good-looking. He had a tattoo on his
right arm: a naked woman.”
Johnny flinched.
Toni Capello! The tattoo fixed it!
Seeing his reaction, Freda said, “Is he one of them?”
“Yes . . . he’s one of them. They’ve got close, baby.”
They looked at each other and she came to him, kneeling by his
side.
“He asked about my half-brother. I said you had gone.”
“I must go.”
“No!” Her hand touched his face. “We can bluff him, Johnny. I
told him to come and see me at five-thirty. I think he’ll come. You go
out into the jungle and wait. I can convince him you’ve gone and
then they’ll look elsewhere, but from now on you stay here and keep
out of sight.”
He stared at her.
“You asked him to come here?”
“Johnny! I love you! I want you to be safe! He’ll come. I’ll show
him around, then I’ll get rid of him. Once he’s sure you’re not here,
he’ll go away.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing! This man’s dangerous! I
know him! You can’t have him here alone!”
“There’s no man born I can’t handle,” Freda said and smiled. “I
know men. I can handle him. You go to the jungle and wait. I’ll get rid
of him before Ed gets back.”
Johnny stared at her. Then into his mind he remembered what
Scott had said: Weswimraw.Youdon’thavetobotheraboutFreda.
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