it came through the slatted shutters and he had difficulty in seeing
the print that he realized he was hungry, that his ankle no longer
ached and it was 17.20 by his watch.
“If books are as good as this one,” he thought, “I’ve been missing
something.”
He was finishing the cold stew and about to light a cigarette
when he heard the lock turn in the cabin door. Hurriedly, he dropped
his cigarette and reached for his gun.
91
“It’s me,” Freeman called and came into the small bedroom. “I
think there’s trouble. There are three men heading this way. They
didn’t see me. They’re all carrying guns.”
Johnny struggled upright.
“They’ll be here in ten minutes or less. Come on, Johnny, I can
hide you where they won’t think of looking.” Freeman hoisted
Johnny up on his left foot. “You hop. Don’t put any weight on your
bad foot.”
Johnny grabbed his gun and holster, then supported by Freeman,
he hopped through the living-room and out into the sunshine.
Freeman steered him to the big lean-to behind the cabin.
“This is my snake house,” Freeman said. “You don’t have to be
scared. They’re all in cages and can’t touch you.”
He manoeuvred Johnny into the semi-darkness and Johnny could
hear the dry rattling sound a rattlesnake makes when alarmed.
Freeman propped him up against the wall, then moving to a big
eight-foot-high cage, he dragged it forward. Johnny saw the cage was
alive with writhing rattlesnakes. Freeman caught hold of him and got
him behind the cage and propped him against the wall.
“You’ll be okay,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix the bed. They
won’t know you’re here,” then he moved the cage back on Johnny,
wedging him against the wall and out of sight.
Johnny could smell the snakes. Their movements chilled him.
Leaning hard on his sound foot, keeping his injured foot slightly off
the ground, he set himself to wait.
Berilli, flanked on either side by Freddy and Jack suddenly came
on the clearing and Freeman’s cabin.
For hours now they had combed the jungle and they were sick
and tired of the search. They had become careless. Berilli had
realized after three or four hours that Johnny could be lying, hidden,
in any of the big thickets and by keeping still, they could have walked
past him.
He realized this operation had been too hastily mounted. What
they needed in this goddamn place was a dog to flush Johnny out.
But now he was stuck with the operation and he was scared to go
back to Massino and report no success.
He, Freddy and Jack had walked through the jungle for six
gruelling hours. The only thing they had seen that moved was a
snake. Then just when Berilli was about to call off the operation and
admit defeat, they came on the clearing and the log cabin.
The three instinctively dodged back behind thicket.
“He could be here,” Berilli said.
They started across the clearing at the cabin, then they saw a
tall, thin man, wearing shabby khaki drill come out of the cabin. He
walked over to the well and began drawing water.
“Jack . . . you talk to him,” Berilli said.
“Not me, pal,” Jack said. “You chat him up . . . I’ll cover you.”
“So will I,” Freddy said and grinned. “You’re the boss, Lu.”
So Berilli moved out of the clearing, his heart thumping,
wondering if Johnny was holed up in the cabin, taking aim at him
through the slatted shutters.
Freeman looked up as Berilli approached him.
“Hi, stranger.” His voice was soft and calm. “Have you lost your
way? I haven’t seen anyone this way for months.”
Berilli eyed him, keeping his gull behind him, out of sight.
“You live here?” he demanded.
“That’s right.” Freeman was perfectly at ease. “Jay Freeman: I’m
the snake man.”
Berilli stiffened.
“Snakes? What do you mean?”
Patiently, Freeman explained.
“I collect serum for hospitals.” He paused, looking directly into
Berilli’s suspicious eyes. “Who are you?”
“Have you seen a short, thick-set man with black hair, around
forty years of age? We’re looking for him.”
“As I said, you’re the first human I’ve seen in months.”
Berilli looked uneasily at the cabin.
93
“You’d better not lie to me. If he’s in there, you’re in trouble and
I mean trouble.”
“What’s all this about?” Freeman asked mildly. “Are you the
police?”
Ignoring the question, Berilli signalled to the other two who
came out from behind the thicket.
“We’ll take a look at your cabin,” he said to Freeman as Jack and
Freddy joined him. “Go ahead, bright boy, and stop flapping with
your mouth.”
Freeman walked into the cabin. Using him as a shield, Berilli
entered behind him, his gun in hand, his heart pounding, while Jack
and Freddy waited outside. After a quick search, pushing Freeman
always ahead of him, Berilli came out of the cabin and into the
sunshine. He shook his head at the other two.
“What is that?” he demanded, seeing the lean-to.
“My snake house,” Freeman said. “Have a look. I’ve just caught a
cranebrake rattler. Have you ever seen one?”
Crouched behind the snake cage, Johnny heard every word and
he thumbed back the safety on his gun. He could hear a soft
whistling sound and he knew who was out there: Freddy, a Mafia
killer and more dangerous than any of the snakes, writhing and
rattling around him.
“Go ahead,” Berilli said and prodded Freeman with his gun.
Again sheltering behind Freeman, Berilli peered into the lean-to,
saw the cages, smelt the snake smell and backed away.
He crossed over to Freddy and Jack.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “We could search this goddamn
jungle for months and still not find him.”
“That’s the brightest thing you’ve said so far,” Jack said.
Freeman watched the three men move off into the jungle, then
he fetched a bucket of water from the well and returned to his cabin.
He waited some ten minutes, then leaving the cabin, he moved into
the jungle as quietly and as swiftly as one of his snakes. Without
being seen or heard, he caught up with the three men and watched
them meet up with six ‘other men, watched them talk, then saw
them get into two cars and drive away.
Then he returned to his cabin to release Johnny from his hiding-
place and assure him the hunt was over.
95
SIX
For eight, long boring days, Johnny remained in Freeman’s cabin.
During this time his beard made progress and his ankle mended.
Looking at himself in the mirror in the shower room, he saw how
the beard altered his appearance and he felt confident, unless he
was examined closely, that no one-would recognize him. He had got
Freeman to drive into town and buy him two sets of khaki drill, a
bush jacket and a bush hat, together with toilet things, shirts, socks
and a suitcase.
Although, from time to time, his ankle still ached, he could now
walk fairly well and he felt it was time to move on. He decided to pick
up a south-bound truck on the freeway and make his way to Jackson.
He was sure Fuselli would give him shelter for a time, and then when
the heat had cooled off, he would go back and collect the money. By
that time, his grey-black beard would be impressive and he felt the
risk of returning had to be taken. With some of the money he had
taken from Sammy, he would buy a used car, and still have plenty in
hand.
But first, he must have information.
So on the eighth day, now dressed in khaki drill and wearing the
bush hat, he asked Freeman to drive him into town.
“I’ve got to make a phone call,” he explained.
Johnny hadn’t seen much of Freeman during his stay at the
cabin. The snake man went off at dawn and seldom got back until
dusk. They then spent a couple of hours together over supper and
then both went to bed. But during those hours, Freeman never asked
questions, talked easily about every subject under the sun and
encouraged Johnny to read, and Johnny discovered the magic of
Freeman had a good selection.
“Sure,” Freeman said. “Are you thinking of leaving? You can stay
here as long as you like, Johnny.”
“I’ve got to get on.”
“I’ll miss you.”
This was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to Johnny and to
hide his emotion, he gave Freeman a light punch on his arm.
“Yeah . . . that makes two of us, and I won’t forget what you’ve
done for me. Now listen, I’ve plenty of money. I want you to have
two hundred for all you’ve done for me. Buy yourself a telly or
something to remember me by.”
Freeman laughed.
“Appreciated but not accepted. That’s one thing I never need . . .
money. You keep it. You may need it . . . I won’t.”
They drove into town early the following morning. Johnny felt
naked and his eyes darted continuously to right and left. Under his
bush jacket was his gun and he kept fingering the butt. But he saw no
one suspicious. He went into the small hotel and shut himself in a call
booth. He looked at his watch: the time was 08.10. Sammy should be
getting up by now. He dialled the number and waited.
Sammy answered almost immediately.
“Sammy . . . this is Johnny.”
He heard Sammy catch his breath.
“I—I don’t want to talk to you, Mr. Johnny. You could get me into
bad trouble. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“Listen!” Johnny put a snap in his voice. “You’re my friend,
Sammy . . . remember? I’ve done a lot for you . . . now it’s your turn.”
He heard Sammy moan softly and he could imagine him,
sweating, grey-faced and trembling.
“Yeah. What is it, Mr. Johnny? You took all my money. That
wasn’t nice. You’re in real bad, and if they knew you were talking to
me, I’d be in real bad too.”
“They won’t know. Sammy . . . I had to have that money. You’ll
get it back. I promise. Don’t worry about it. Are they looking for me?”
“They sure are! This Mr. Tanza is handling it! I heard the boss and
Mr. Tanza talking while I was driving them. I don’t know where you
are and I don’t want to know, but they’re looking for you in Florida.
They talked of someone called Fuselli. Toni and Ernie are out there.
You’ve got to be careful, Mr. Johnny.”
97
Johnny stiffened. So the heat really was on! How the hell had
Massino got on to Fuselli?
“Have you gone crazy, Mr. Johnny?” Sammy went on, his voice
husky. “You really took all that money? I can’t believe it! Mr. Joe is
like he’s demented. I’d sooner collect than drive him. He scares me
to death the way he acts!”
“I’ll call you in a little while, Sammy,” Johnny said quietly. “Keep
your ears open. Don’t worry about your money . . . you’ll get it back.
Just listen to everything the boss says. I need your help.”
“Mr. Johnny, please keep away from me. If they find out . . .
please, Mr. Johnny. You keep my money. Just keep away from me,”
and Sammy hung up.
Johnny stood motionless in the stuffy booth, staring out into the
lounge of the hotel, feeling his heart beating heavily and a chill of
fear down his spine. By going to Fuselli as he had planned, he could
have walked into a trap. Now he really was on his own.
Leaving the booth, he went out into the sunshine and got in the
car by Freeman’s side.
“Okay?” Freeman asked as he started the motor.
Johnny thought of Carlo Tanza. This meant the Mafia
organization were now hunting for him and they had somehow
guessed he was heading south. They had somehow got on to Fuselli.
He had a feeling of being in a net. For a moment, the net was above
him and around him, but he still had room to manoeuvre.
“Not so good,” he said’ and lit a cigarette. “Don’t worry your
brains about me. I’ll move on tonight.”
Freeman glanced at him, then drove back to the cabin in silence.
When the two men entered the cabin, Freeman said, “Look
Johnny, two heads are better than one. Do you feel like talking or do
you still want to handle this on your own?”
For a brief moment, Johnny was tempted to pour out the whole
Mafia even suspected he had hidden here, they would torture
Freeman until he talked, then kill him.
“I’ll handle it,” he said. “You keep out of it.”
“As bad as that?” Freeman looked searchingly at him.
“That’s it . . . as bad as that.”
“You’ll come out of it, Johnny. There’s something about you . . .
guts . . . I don’t know, but I’ll put my money on you.”
“Not too much,” Johnny said and forced a smile. “I’d hate you to
lose it.” He went into his room, shut the door and lay on the bed.
What was he to do? he asked himself. He longed to go south, but
if they knew that was where he was heading, wouldn’t it be asking
for trouble? He considered this. On the face of it, it would be risking
a lot, but maybe the risk was worth it. Maybe, after a while, they
would decide he hadn’t gone south after all and start looking
elsewhere. Anyway, wherever he went they would be hunting for
him and he wanted so badly to go south.
For an hour or so, he lay there, experiencing a sick feeling of
being trapped, then a tap came on the door and Freeman came in.
“I’ve work to do, Johnny,” he said. “I won’t be back until late.
Why not stay on here?”
“No.” Johnny got off the bed. “It’ll work out as you said. I’ll be
gone by the time you get back. I want to say thanks.” He stared for a
long moment at Freeman. “You may not know it, but I’d be dead by
now but for you.”
“I didn’t know it was that bad. Those three men . .?” Johnny held
out his hand.
“The less you know . . .”
The two men shook hands. There was a pause, then Freeman
went away. Through the window, Johnny watched him striding into
the jungle, carrying his sack.
So what was he going to do now? He fingered his St. Christopher
medal. Why wait until dark? Why not go now? He felt the urge to get
out of this suffocating jungle and on to the freeway. He took out his
gun, checked it, then slid it back into its holster. Then he picked up
his suitcase, looked around the little room, feeling a pang of
loneliness to be leaving it, then walked out into the sunshine and
started down the jungle path that would eventually bring him to the
freeway.
99
It took him half an hour to get out of the jungle and to the
freeway. This long walk made his ankle ache. Once on the freeway,
he kept on, limping a little until he was some two miles from
Freeman’s cabin. Then he paused, leaning against a tree and
watched the traffic roar by.
Trucks, cars and cars pulling caravans roared by him. He decided
to start walking again. By now his ankle was throbbing and he
wondered, with a feeling of alarm, if he had been too confident
about his injury. He stopped in the shade and as he was about to sit
on the grass to rest an open truck came to a stop some twenty yards
from him.
Grabbing up his suitcase, he limped up to the truck. The driver
had got out and had the hood up. He was staring at the engine.
As Johnny approached the man, he looked hard at him: tall, lean,
around twenty-seven years of age with long nut-brown hair, wearing
dirty overalls, and to Johnny, harmless enough.
“You in trouble?” Johnny asked as he reached the truck.
The man looked up.
An odd face, Johnny thought. Thin, narrow eyes, a small mouth,
a thin nose and a sour expression which Johnny had often seen: a
defeated face.
“Never out of it. I live in trouble. Just a goddamn plug.” He stood
away from the truck and lit a cigarette. “Got to let her cool off. You
looking for a ride?”
Johnny set down his suitcase.
“Yeah. Where are you heading?”
“Little Creek. That’s my home. This side of New Symara.”
“I pay my way,” Johnny said.
The man looked sharply at him, eyeing Johnny’s new khaki drill,