Knock Knock Whos There

by James Hadley Chase

  as useless as a broken leg!”

  “Take it easy, Joe. I’ve alerted the cops to find the car,” Luigi said,

  sweating. “I’ve lost two good men. You can’t talk this way to me.”

  “No? You’ll see! I’ll give you thirty-six hours to find them or I talk

  to the Big Man!” and Massino slammed down the receiver.

  Luigi thought for a long moment, then he put a call through to

  his Don who ruled Florida. He explained the situation, and gave a

  detailed description of Johnny and Freda.

  “Okay,” the Don said. “As soon as the cops have located the car,

  let me know. We’ll find them.”

  “Massino says he gives me thirty-six hours. He’s raging mad,”

  Luigi said uneasily.

  The Don laughed. “Forget it. Massino’s just a bag of wind. I’ll talk

  173

  to the Big Man myself,” and he hung up.

  Freda stood outside the Greyhound bus station, clutching a small

  hold-all. She had been waiting for twenty minutes. She looked

  constantly from left to right, but she could see no sign of Johnny. Her

  heart was beating violently and she felt sick with fear.

  “You sucker!” she told herself. “Of course he’s walked out on

  you! What did you expect? All that money! Why should he share it?

  $186,000 ! To think so much money exists! Men! God! How I hate

  them! They’ve only one thought in their filthy minds!”

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, baby. I scarcely recognize you. You

  look great.”

  She spun around, staring at the short, thick-set man at her side,

  her heart leaping. For a moment she didn’t know him. He was clean

  shaven except for his heavy moustache and he had had his head

  shaved, Yul Brynner style. He was wearing grey flannel slacks, a white

  shirt and a lightweight dark-blue jacket.

  “Oh, Johnny!”

  She made a move towards him, her voice breaking, but he drew

  back.

  “Watch it!” The snap in his voice stiffened her. “Later. I’ve got

  the tickets. It held me up. Come on, let’s go.”

  She was so relieved he hadn’t deserted her, she wanted to cry,

  but she controlled herself. She followed him to the bus and they

  climbed in.

  Johnny regarded her as they sat at the back of the bus, nodding

  his approval. She too had changed her appearance. She was now a

  red-head and it suited her. She was wearing a dark-green trouser suit

  and big sun goggles. He eyed every passenger who boarded the bus,

  but he saw no one to alert an alarm.

  It wasn’t until the bus began to roar along the freeway that he

  put his hand on hers.

  “You look really great, baby,” he said, “but I still like you better

  blonde. You got everything you want?”

  “Yes. I spent over a hundred dollars, Johnny.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said and again pressed her hand.

  “Oh, Johnny, I was scared . . . I began to wonder . . .”

  “We’re both scared, but it could work out. It’s worth a try, isn’t

  it?”

  She thought of all that money: $186,000!

  “Yes.”

  They sat in silence for some minutes, then Johnny said, “Look,

  baby, I want you to know your position. I know this is a bit late in the

  day, but I have it on my mind. There’s still time for you to opt out . . .

  at least I think so. Maybe we’ve left it too late, but maybe, you still

  have a chance of opting out.”

  She stared at him, her eyes widening.

  “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I keep thinking about it,” Johnny said. “I keep asking myself if I

  should drag you into this. Sooner or later they will catch up with me.

  When the Mafia sign goes up, you’re as good as dead. I mean this,

  but with luck, if I get the money, if I can buy my boat I’ll settle for

  twelve months. I could be more than lucky and it might be three

  years . . . but no more. Who goes with me also gets the sign. They

  may not bother with you right now, but if they find out we are

  together when they catch up with me . . . and they will eventually . . .

  then it’ll be the end of your days as it will be the end of mine.”

  She shivered.

  “I don’t want to hear this, Johnny. Please . . .”

  “You’ve got to hear it. There’s a chance. We could survive three

  years. We’d be beating the odds if we survive longer, but sooner or

  later, they’ll get me and, baby, please think about what I’m saying.

  Don’t imagine if they get me they’ll forget you. They don’t work like

  that. They’ll come after you. You could hide, but sooner or later

  there’ll come a knock on your door and it’ll be them. I want you with

  me, but I want you to realize the risk. Think about it. We stand a

  chance, but not for long. If I get the money, I’ll fix it you get a big cut.

  This I promise you so you don’t have to worry about losing out. In

  half an hour we’ll get to Jacksonville. You could get off there and get

  lost. They could forget about you while hunting for me. You have

  175

  some money now. You know how to take care of yourself. I hate to

  say it, but I feel it in my bones for your safety you should get off at

  Jacksonville.”

  She closed her eyes, feeling the jogging motion of the bus and

  she tried to think, but nothing came into her mind except that

  immense sum of money: $186,000!

  Three years of life?

  With all that money she could have a ball of a time!

  So suppose they caught up with them as Johnny seemed to think

  they would? So ‘suppose they walked in and shot them to death as

  Johnny had shot those two apes to death?

  What was death anyway? She tried to believe it as an escape.

  But three years with $186,000 . . . that would be living!

  She sat there, her eyes closed and reviewed her own life. What a

  stinking, hell of a life! Her dreary home, her dreary parents, the

  gruesome men in and out of her life, Ed and the boredom!

  But at the back of her mind was the fear of the moment when a

  knock could come on the door. She forced the fear away and opened

  her eyes. Somehow she managed to smile.

  “You and me, Johnny, together. I don’t opt out.”

  The bus roared north and they sat, hand in hand, silent now, but

  both knowing whatever the future, they could now trust each other.

  Sammy the Black rolled out of bed around 07.30. Feeling

  depressed and half asleep, he went into the shower room. Fifteen

  minutes later he emerged, shaved and showered and started the

  coffee perculator.

  He had a number of reasons for feeling depressed, but the main

  reason which had kept him awake half the night was that Cloe had

  got herself pregnant again. How the hell this could have happened

  defeated Sammy. She swore she was on the pill, and now she was

  yelling for a quick abortion . . . and that cost! They had had a

  distressing meeting last night. She demanded $300!

  “I’m not having any of your bastards!” she had shrilled. “Come

  on . . . give me the money!”

  But he had no money. Johnny had taken all his savings. He didn’t

  te
ll her this, but he did say he had no $300.

  She had stared at him, her big, black eyes glittering.

  “Okay, if you haven’t the bread, I’ll look elsewhere. Jacko wants

  me and he’ll pay.”

  Sammy had regarded her: lush, tall, with a body like a goddess,

  and his heart quailed. He couldn’t lose her! He knew Jacko: a big,

  black buck who was always on the fringe of her life, waiting.

  “Give me a little time, honey,” he pleaded. “I’ll get the money

  somehow.”

  “I’ll give you six days . . . no more!”

  That was one problem: then his goddamn brother was again in

  trouble. Sammy’s mother had come to him. Only a matter of $150.

  “You can’t let your brother go to jail!”

  Sammy had promised to do’ something . . . but what?

  Then his job as Mr. Joe’s chauffeur. Driving a Rolls had sounded

  fine. The grey uniform with its black piping had made Sammy proud

  and happy, but he quickly learned this was a job without a song. He

  was on constant call. After he had driven Mr. Joe to his office, he had

  to rush back up town to take Mrs. Joe shopping and, man! was she a

  bitch! She always seemed to want to go to some shop where parking

  was impossible and he had to circle and circle, getting snarled up in

  the traffic, and if he kept her waiting did she curse him and could she

  curse! Sammy thought wistfully of those days when he had collected

  the Numbers money with Johnny. He had been scared, but being

  scared was better than this rat-race. Then in the evening Mr. and

  Mrs. Joe went to nightclubs and he had to sit in the car until after

  02.00 waiting for them. He had to keep the car immaculate or Mrs.

  Joe would curse him. What a mug he had been to take this job!

  Wearily, he got into his uniform. He had to pick up Mr. Joe at

  nine. It took him a good half hour to drive up town against the traffic.

  As he was sipping his coffee, his telephone bell rang. He winced. This

  could be Cloe, screaming at him again. He hesitated, then lifted the

  receiver as if it were a ticking bomb.

  177

  “Sammy?”

  A rush of cold blood went down his spine and he began to shake.

  This was too much!

  Johnny!

  “Yeah . . . this is me,” Sammy said huskily.

  “Listen, Sammy, I want you to go to the Greyhound bus station

  and take a look around. I want to know if it’s still staked out.”

  “Mr. Johnny . . . I can’t! I’ve got enough troubles. You took my

  money. Cloe is in trouble again. My brother is in trouble again.

  Everyone is yelling me!” Sammy was close to tears. “Please leave me

  alone.”

  “This is important, Sammy!” Johnny’s voice was hard. “You’ve

  got to do it! You do it and I promise you I’ll give you back your money

  plus another three thousand dollars I promise you!”

  Sammy stiffened.

  “You really mean that, Mr. Johnny?”

  “Have I ever let you down? You check the bus station and if it’s

  clear, you’ll get six thousand . . . that’s a promise.”

  Sammy hesitated.

  “But suppose it ain’t clear?”

  “Then you keep on checking and as soon as it’s clear, you’ll get

  the money.”

  Again Sammy hesitated. Six thousand dollars! Cloe would get her

  abortion! His goddamn brother would be in the clear and he’d have

  money back in his steel box!

  “Okay, Mr. Johnny, I’ll do it.”

  “I’ll call you this time tomorrow,” and Johnny hung up.

  Sammy was shaking with fear, but if he could get hold of six

  thousand dollars all his troubles would be over! And when Mr.

  Johnny made a promise, it was a promise.

  Putting on his peak cap, he left his apartment and walked fast to

  the garage. Why was Mr. Johnny so anxious to know if the bus

  station was being watched? Sammy cringed. It could mean only one

  thing, but he refused to let his mind dwell on it.

  He drove Massino to his office.

  “Get home pronto,” Massino said. “Mrs. Massino has shopping

  to do. We’ll be going out tonight. She’ll tell you about it.” He paused

  to look at Sammy, seeing his grey complexion and the sweat

  glistening on his face. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing, boss,” Sammy said, cringing. “I’m fine, boss.”

  Massino grunted, then strode across the sidewalk into his office

  building.

  Sammy looked across at the Greyhound station, then after a long

  hesitation, he got out of the Rolls.

  As Massino entered his office, he found Andy standing at the

  window.

  “Let’s get at it,” Massino barked. “Have you got . . .?” He stopped

  as Andy raised his hand, then beckoned to him. Frowning, Massino

  joined him at the window. He saw Sammy crossing the street, look

  furtively right and left, hesitate, then enter the bus station.

  “What’s that big bastard doing?” Massino growled. “I told him to

  get back right away to my wife.”

  “Watch it,” Andy said quietly.

  There was a long delay, then Sammy came out of the bus station,

  again looked furtively to right and left, then he crossed the street,

  got in the Rolls and drove away.

  “So what?” Massino demanded.

  He could see by Andy’s expression that he had just seen

  something he didn’t understand but Andy did.

  “He looked like a dip, didn’t he?” Andy said. “He was scared.”

  “That’s right. I asked him what was the matter. He was sweating

  like a pig . . . so what?”

  Andy sat down by Massino’s desk.

  “All along I’ve thought Bianda wasn’t working alone. I was sure

  someone helped him steal the money. I thought it was Fuselli. I never

  179

  thought of Sammy.” Massino grew still, his eyes glittering.

  “Bianda has worked with Sammy for years,” Andy went on.

  “When you start to think about it, it slicks out like a boil. It’s my bet

  Sammy is in contact with Bianda. The money’s over there, Mr. Joe, in

  one of those lockers and Sammy is checking to see if we’re still

  covering the lockers. That’s my reading. Bianda had to have someone

  to work with . . . it’s my bet Sammy rushed the two bags over to the

  locker while Bianda rushed back to establish his alibi.”

  Massino sat down, his face congested with rage.

  “Get Ernie and Toni to pick up that sonofabitch and bring him

  here. I’ll talk to him! I’ll smash him to a pulp!”

  “No,” Andy said quietly. “We want Bianda and the money. So we

  set a trap. This afternoon, you and me will take a drive uptown and

  with Sammy listening you’ll tell me you’ve heard from Luigi that

  Bianda is now in Havana and you’ve kissed the money goodbye. We

  then call off the boys watching the lockers so when Sammy checks

  again he finds the coast clear. He’ll tell Bianda and he’ll come back.”

  Andy stared at Massino. “All we need is Toni sitting up here with a

  target rifle and a silencer.”

  “I want that bastard alive.”

  “It’s better to have him dead and the money back, isn’t it?”

 
; Massino thought about this.

  “Maybe.”

  “More than maybe, Mr. Joe. We don’t have to pay the Big Man.

  We handle this ourselves. It’ll save us a lot of money.” Massino

  showed his teeth in a savage grin.

  “Now you’re using your head.” He patted Andy’s arm. “At least I

  can take care of that big bastard.” He brooded for a moment, his face

  savage. “And the whore.”

  ELEVEN

  The Greyhound bus had dropped them at the Brunswick bus

  station. Johnny had gone to the information desk and asked the girl

  for a decent, cheap hotel.

  She was a pretty little thing with blonde curls and long, false

  eyelashes and she was helpful.

  “You could call me biased,” she said, “but my uncle runs the

  Welcome hotel. It’s thirty dollars a day, everything included and the

  food’s wonderful. That’s for the two of you.” She fluttered her

  eyelashes first at Freda, then at him. “Honest, you’ll be happy there.”

  “Okay and thanks,” Johnny said. “Where do I find it?”

  “Third on the left up Main Street: it’s not far.” Carrying their bags

  and with Freda at his side, Johnny walked up Main Street. He was a

  little worried about the price. He had no idea how long they would

  have to stay at the hotel.

  But when they were shown into the big room, with a double bed,

  two comfortable arm chairs, a shower room and a colour T.V. set,

  Johnny ceased to worry.

  They both took showers, then got on the bed.

  They had spent the rest of the afternoon in each other’s arms.

  Around 19.30, they went down to the restaurant and enjoyed a good

  meal.

  Johnny was pleased to see Freda was much more relaxed and

  even gay. They watched T.V. until midnight, then went to bed.

  Neither of them spoke of the Mafia nor of the money, consciously

  enjoying this comfort, and desperately clinging to what they both

  knew was an interval free of danger.

  The following morning, Johnny called Sammy. Freda, sitting up in

  bed, listened. When he hung up, they looked at each other.

  “We’ll know this time tomorrow,” Johnny said. “Do you think it’ll

  be all right?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” He got back on the bed. “Baby, I

  181

  want my boat. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not. I want it too.” She put her hand on his. “I want it

  for you because I love you.”