Knock Knock Whos There

by James Hadley Chase

“Hmmm.”

  She went into the bathroom.

  As Johnny poured coffee into a saucepan, he thought about her.

  A whore! So what? Lots of women were whores, trading their bodies

  not for money but for presents, jewels, furs . . . whatever they

  yearned for. She was his woman, he told himself. Who cares about

  anyone’s past if there is love and Johnny knew he was in love with

  her. He wasn’t much anyway, but he would be! $186,000 made any

  man something!

  He could feel it was going to be hot and he thought with dismay

  that from now on there would be no swimming, no fishing. He would

  have to stay out of sight.

  He poured the hot coffee into a cup and as he was about to pour

  more coffee into a second cup, he heard a car drive up.

  Moving swiftly, he put the second cup away, then darted into his

  bedroom, snatched up his gun, pulled the sheet up over the bed,

  then darted into Scott’s bedroom, the window of which gave a view

  onto the jetty.

  He saw a dusty Lincoln parked at the foot of the jetty and from it

  spilled two men: one big, like an ape, the other small, white-faced

  with staring eyes. They both wore black suits, white shirts and white

  ties. They stood looking around, then they started across the jetty,

  taking their time as Johnny moved into the passage.

  Freda, still in her shortie nightdress, was standing in the

  bathroom door.

  “Trouble,” Johnny said softly. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  “No! Get out of sight!” Freda whispered fiercely. “I’ll take care of

  it! Get in the closet and wait!”

  She caught hold of his arm and shoved him towards the big

  closet. For a moment he hesitated, then when a knock sounded on

  the door, he slid into the closet and shut the door.

  Freda ran into her bedroom, snatched up a wrap and struggled

  into it as the knock came again.

  She braced herself, then went to the door and opened it. When

  she saw Bernie and Clive, she felt a rush of cold blood up her spine.

  But she kept control of herself.

  “What do you want?”

  165

  Bernie, smelling of sweat, his moronic grin terrifying, moved

  forward, forcing her back.

  “You, dolly-bird. We want to talk to you about Johnny.”

  But it was the other one Freda feared: the little, white-faced

  horror with his evil, sadistic eyes who followed behind the ape man.

  “He’s gone,” she said.

  They were now in the living-room and she had retreated to the

  far wall.

  “Tell us about him, dolly-bird. We’re looking for him,” Bernie

  said.

  “He left yesterday.”

  “That’s what we heard.” Bernie shuffled forward and snatched

  off her wrap leaving her in her shortie nightdress. “Yeah, we heard

  that,” then he slapped her across her face so violently she bounced

  back against the wall and then sprawled on the floor. He reached

  down and tore off her nightdress, “but we don’t believe it, dolly-bird.

  Feed us another story.”

  She lay naked at his feet, staring up at him.

  “He went to Miami yesterday morning early,” she said, her voice

  steady. “Get out of here, you apes!”

  Bernie sniggered.

  “Go ahead, Clive, work on her,” he said. “When you’re tired, I’ll

  take over.”

  In the closet, Johnny listened. He quietly opened the closet door,

  gun in hand and moved into the passage. He was wearing only

  pyjama trousers, his feet were bare and he made no sound as he

  entered the living-room.

  Clive had caught hold of Freda and had hauled her to her feet. He

  was setting himself to slap her as Johnny killed him.

  The bang of the gun made Freda scream. She hid her face in her

  hands and dropped to her knees.

  Clive, shot through the back of his head, heaved forward and fell.

  Snarling, Bernie, groping for his gun, spun around to face Johnny

  who shot him through the face. The big man crashed down on top of

  Clive, his right arm catching Freda on the back of her neck as he fell.

  She sprawled on her face, then twisted and half sat up, staring at the

  two dead men, her eyes wide with horror, her mouth open in a

  soundless scream.

  Dropping his gun, Johnny went to her, got her to her feet and

  half carried her, half dragged her into her bedroom: He laid her

  gently on the bed.

  “Stay here. Don’t think about a thing.”

  He ran into his room and struggled into his shirt and trousers. He

  slid his feet into his shoes, then he returned to the living-room.

  Freda lay still, her eyes closed. She struggled with hard, dry,

  choking sobs. It seemed to her she lay there for a long time. She

  couldn’t move. The horror of seeing the two men shot dead

  paralyzed her.

  The sun was climbing and it came through the open window,

  hurting her eyes. She put her arm across her face, moaning.

  She lay there, not caring, wanting only to believe this was a

  horrible nightmare.

  Then a hand touched her gently.

  “Let’s go, baby,” Johnny said. “Come on. This is where we duck

  out.”

  She opened her eyes and stared up at him.

  “Go . . . where?”

  “We have their car. It’s our chance. We’ve got to go!”

  He hauled her off the bed and she leaned against him.

  “What’s happened . . . those men?”

  “Forget them. They’re in the lake. Get dressed. We’ve got to

  hurry . . . every minute is important.” She stood in a daze, staring at

  him.

  “Come on, baby!” His voice sharpened. “Get dressed! You’ve got

  to pack! Hurry!”

  167

  “You killed them! I can’t go with you! You killed them!”

  “You can’t not go with me,” Johnny said. “Get dressed!”

  Those words made an impact. She shuddered, then making an

  effort, she opened her closet and took from it the man’s shirt and

  the stretch pants. Her closet was pathetically bare: a cheap cotton

  dress, a pair of worn Levis, a pair of broken-down shoes.

  She pulled on her panties and the stretch pants. “You want to

  take any of this other junk?”

  “No.”

  “Come on.” He waited until she had put on the shirt and run a

  comb through her hair, then he led her into the living-room. “You’ve

  got to write a letter to Ed. Got any writing paper?”

  Shaking, she sat at the table.

  “In that drawer.”

  He found a block of cheap notepaper and an envelope. He found

  a biro.

  “Write this: Dear Ed. I’m sick of it here. I’m going with Johnny.

  We love each other, Freda.”

  Somehow she wrote the note, her hand shaking. Johnny put it in

  the envelope and laid it on the table.

  “Let’s go!”

  He picked up his suitcase and, taking her by her arm, he hurried

  her across the jetty to the Lincoln.

  As he started the motor, he looked at his strap watch. The time

  was o6.4o. At best, he thought, they had a three hour start before

  Luigi would begin to w
onder where the two apes had got to. Then he

  would investigate, phone, and the organization would swing into

  action.

  In a car like this you could go some way in three hours.

  Driving steadily, with Freda still in shock at his side, he headed

  for the freeway.

  TEN

  They had been driving for over an hour in silence. Johnny kept

  the car moving but he was careful to keep just under the speed limit.

  He knew it would be a disaster for both of them if they were stopped

  by a speed cop. He longed to let the powerful car out and put more

  mileage behind him, but he restrained him-self.

  He by-passed Daytona Beach, anxious not to get snarled up in

  any heavy traffic, and kept on up highway 1, heading north. As he

  drove, his mind was active. From time to time, he glanced at Freda

  who was staring through the windshield, her face white, her eyes

  blank. He could see the shock was still hitting her. Well, now they

  were out in the open, he thought and in a stolen car. He was safe

  enough for another two hours, then he would have to get rid of the

  car.

  All kinds of problems crowded in on him, but he refused to be

  panicked. They now knew he was wearing a beard so that had to

  come off. They knew he wore khaki drill. He would have to change

  his clothes. Salvadore would give them a description of Freda. He

  looked at her blonde, silky hair. That was like a beacon to anyone

  hunting for them. That would have to be fixed.

  Suddenly she said, “Where are we going?”

  He drew in a deep breath of relief.

  “How are you feeling, baby?”

  “I’m all right.” Her voice was shaky. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re driving north. We have another two hours before they

  start wondering. In two hours we’ll be at St. David’s Bay. We’ll stop

  there. It’s a vacation town: packed with tourists and cars. We’ll have

  to get rid of this car. Don’t worry. Take it easy. Leave it to me.”

  “Oh, Johnny, I’m frightened!” She put her hand on his thigh. “Did

  you have to kill them?”

  “I warned you, baby, this is the Mafia. You kill or get killed,”

  Johnny said quietly. “I still think we have a chance. I’ll tell you now:

  there’s $186,000 in those bags. I’m telling you because you are now

  169

  in this mess as much as I am. I’m sorry, but you are and you’ve got to

  realize it. There’s still a good chance we can get the money and get

  away with it.”

  “A hundred and eighty-six thousand!” Her voice shot up. “But,

  Johnny, that’s a fortune!”

  “That’s it. Well, you know now. It’s a gamble: our lives against

  that money. If I get it, we’ll share it. I mean that.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “When we get to St. David’s Bay, go to a hairdresser and get

  them to tint your hair any colour you like, but the word will have

  gone out to look for a blonde. I’ll get this beard off. We’ve got to buy

  clothes. I’ve got the money. You don’t have to worry about that.

  Then we’ve got to ditch this car. We’ll take a Greyhound bus to

  Brunswick. There we’ll hole up and wait. We have enough money.

  We can wait two months if we have to. Then when my contact in

  East City tells me the heat is off, we go collect the money.”

  “Do you think we’ll get it?”

  “If we don’t, we’re dead,” he said, knowing this was the truth.

  It was 09.50 when they drove into St. David’s Bay. Johnny saw a

  vast free car park by the beach crammed with cars and caravans.

  “This is where we ditch the car.” He drove into the car park. It

  took him several minutes to find a space, but he found one. “From

  now on we walk.”

  He unlocked his suitcase and took out what was left of Sammy’s

  money.

  “This is how much we have got,” he said and counted the money

  while she watched him. “Two thousand, eight hundred and fifty-

  seven dollars. I want you to see this, baby. I want you to know that

  from now on we are together, partners.” He counted out a thousand

  and handed her the bills. “You have this, just in case something

  happens to me. Go find a hairdresser and get your hair fixed, then

  buy clothes. Don’t spend much. We could have to live on this for

  some time. Be careful what you buy: nothing that’ll catch the eye.

  We’ll be husband and wife. I’ve been thinking. We two are on

  vacation, travelling Greyhound and seeing the country. I’m giving you

  the background. We take a room in some little hotel in Brunswick.

  You tell them I’ve a bad heart and I have to take it easy. We won’t go

  out much. You think it was a mistake for us to come so far. I’m in

  need of a rest. We sign in as Mr. and Mrs. Henry Jackson from

  Pittsburgh. This is only rough thinking. We’ll polish it later.”

  She put the money he had given her in her bag, then she looked

  at him.

  “While I’m getting my hair fixed, Johnny, do you plan to leave

  me?”

  This shocked him. For a long moment, he stared at her, then

  smiled.

  “Ask yourself. It’s only in oneself that one knows trust, baby.”

  Closing the suitcase, he got out of the car.

  She joined him.

  “I’m sorry.” She touched his arm. “I’ve known so many men. I’m

  so sick of myself! I don’t know who to trust.”

  “If you can’t trust me by now, baby,” he said gently, “then you’re

  in real trouble. Come on, let’s go.”

  They walked into the town. Although it was early, the tourists

  were out in force, heading for the beach. Half-way down the Main

  street, Johnny spotted the Greyhound bus station.

  “We meet there.” He pointed. “Be as quick as you can. I’ll wait

  for you . . . you wait for me. Okay?”

  She hated him leaving her.

  “Johnny . . . I’m scared to be on my own . . . really scared.”

  He smiled at her.

  “But, baby, we’re always alone. I’ve been alone all my life and so

  have you. Just get your hair fixed and buy some clothes. You’d better

  buy a hold-all.” He looked around. “Up there on the left: a Ladies’

  hairdressers. Get your hair fixed first.”

  “Yes.” She forced a smile. “See you, Johnny.”

  “That’s one thing you can be sure of.”

  They parted and Johnny went in search of a barber.

  171

  Luigi was occupied with his Maitre d’hotel, arranging the menu

  for the following day when his telephone bell rang. The time was

  11.05. He reached for the receiver as he said, “Give ‘em duck. We’ve

  got too many ducks in the freezer.” Then into the mouthpiece, he

  said, “Who is it?”

  “This is Joe!” Massino’s voice was tight with rage. “What’s

  happening? I’ve been waiting! What did that whore say?”

  Luigi stiffened. He had been so occupied with the routine work of

  his restaurant, he had completely forgotten he had sent Bernie and

  Clive out to Little Creek.

  “Still waiting, Joe. I should hear any minute. The moment I hear

  I’ll call you ba
ck.”

  “What the hell are those punks doing?” Massino bawled. “Get

  me some action!” and he hung up.

  Luigi was now worried. He had told those two to see the girl at

  o6.00. Five hours ago! He snatched up the receiver. “Get Capello

  here!” he barked, cut the connection, then dialled Salvadore’s

  number. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Bernie and Clive were

  supposed to see this whore at six this morning. What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know.” Salvadore said. “I haven’t seen them. Hold for a

  moment.” After a minute or so, he came back on the line. “Just

  looked at the houseboat through my glasses. No sign of life.”

  “I’m sending Capello. Go with him and find out what’s

  happening.” Luigi’s voice was now a snarl. “Call me back pronto.”

  An hour later, as Little Creek’s church clock was striking twelve,

  Toni arrived at the store in a car Luigi had lent him. Salvadore was

  waiting for him.

  “What gives?” Salvadore asked.

  “I don’t know. We’ve got to get over there and find out.”

  They climbed into Salvadore’s boat and headed across the lake

  to the houseboat. Toni was first on deck, gun in hand. He was

  sweating and he had a hell of a headache from his heavy drinking the

  previous evening. Salvadore tied up and joined him. They went

  through the deserted houseboat, then Toni saw an envelope lying on

  the table. He opened it and read the message.

  “Hey! Look at this! That bastard was here all the time! They’ve

  gone off together!”

  “But where’s Bernie and Clive?” Salvadore looked around, then

  knelt, putting his hand on the worn carpet. “Been recently washed.”

  The two men looked at each other, then Salvadore went out on deck,

  staring into the clear water on the lake. Toni joined him.

  “You think he knocked them off?”

  “How the hell do I know?” Salvadore went back into the living-

  room and shoved the table aside. He found a small patch of dried

  blood that Johnny had missed in spite of his careful cleaning up.

  “Look.”

  Toni peered over his shoulder.

  “So he did knock them off,” he said huskily.

  “Yeah and he’s taken their car. You’d better talk to Mr. Luigi and

  fast.”

  Twenty-five minutes later, Toni was reporting to Luigi. Five

  minutes later, Luigi was reporting to Massino.

  Massino was so incensed he could hardly speak. Finally, he

  screamed, “You get nothing from me! I’ll talk to the Big Man! You’re