his new bush hat.
“Is that right?”
“Ten dollars.” Johnny knew when a man needed money. He had
seen that expression over and over again.
“Sure friend, I’ll take you. Ten dollars, huh?”
Johnny felt in his pocket and produced a ten dollar bill.
“Let’s pay in advance, then we can forget it.” Lean, long fingers
took the bill.
“I’ll change the plug. You get in, friend.”
Ten minutes later, the man swung himself into the cab beside
Johnny.
“I’m Ed Scott, he said as he started the motor.
“Johnny Bianco,” Johnny said.
The truck began to roar down the freeway.
“What’s your racket, Ed?” Johnny asked after a mile or two of
silence.
“I haul shrimps.” Scott gave a harsh, bitter laugh. “Every
goddamn day except Sunday. I pick up a hundred crates of shrimps
and rush them to Richville : that’s a hundred and twenty mile haul:
two hundred and forty there and back. In this truck I do it in four
hours: so that’s eight hours of my day, sitting here, driving. I have to
get up at five to load up. I don’t get back home until seven. I’ve a
three-year contract with four top-class Richville restaurants: they use
shrimps the way a bucket full of holes uses water. I thought I’d found
Eldorado when I got this contract, but, man! is it a killer!”
Johnny was listening. He thought: what a way to earn a living!
“Goddamn it!” Scott went on. “I should have my head examined!
Freda warned me . . . my wife. You know something? I don’t listen to
women. Women are all piss and wind. They yak for the sake of
hearing their own voices. But after eight months of this, I’m
beginning to think Freda has more sense than me. A year ago I was
hauling for the Florida Citrus people. That paid steady, and it wasn’t
hard, but I have this bug: I can’t work with people. When some punk
of an overseer starts sounding off, I flip my lid. I have to work on my
own and for myself.” He glanced at Johnny. “You with me or aren’t
you?”
“I’m with you,” Johnny said quietly. He took out his pack of
cigarettes. “Smoke?”
“Why not?”
101
Johnny lit two cigarettes and passed one to Scott.
“So I’ve saved some money and I bought this truck and I think I’m
in business.” Scott went on. “I say I’ll haul anything. So okay, I get
landed with this shrimp contract. There’s no let up. I’ve got to get
these goddamn shrimps up to Richville every day or they can sue the
pants off me. And what do I get out of it? That’s what Freda asked
and I wouldn’t listen to her. So . . . I’ve found out. I clear a hundred
and fifty bucks a week. That has to take care of me, my wife, repairs
to the truck, the rent and all the other extras and I’m now finding I’m
working my goddamn tail off for peanuts.”
“You have yourself a tough deal,” Johnny said.
“You can say that again.” There was a long pause, then Scott
said, “And you? What’s your racket?”
“Call me a bum,” Johnny said “For years I’ve been a rent-
collector and suddenly I could take it no more. I sold up everything I
owned: my car, a T.V. set, stuff . . . you know and I’m here. I’ve lived
north all my life. So I’ve come south. When my money runs out, I’ll
get a job, but not until my money runs out.”
“You’ve got no wife?”
“No.”
“Yeah . . . a man is free without a woman. You’re lucky. Get a
woman and you have to work.”
“You got Lids?”
“I wanted a couple but Freda’s against it. I guess, now looking
back, she was right. The way we live . . . no place for kids.”
“There’s time . . . you’re young.”
Scott laughed. “I guess, but they won’t come now. Not on this
shrimp haul.”
He lapsed into moody silence. Tired by his walk and lulled by the
roar of the engine, Johnny dozed off. He slept for half an hour, then
came awake with a start. The truck was pounding down the freeway:
on either side were mangrove trees and jungle. He glanced at Scott,
saw his sweat-glistening, exhausted face and saw the tension in his
hands and arms as he held the wheel.
“Suppose you let me drive?” Johnny said, “and you take a nap?
What’s the matter with that?”
“Could you handle her?” Scott looked hopefully at Johnny.
“I can handle anything on four wheels.”
Scott slowed, pulled on to the verge and stopped the truck.
“Could I sleep!” he said. “You keep going. When you see a
signpost marked Eastling, wake me up. Okay?”
“Nothing to it.” They exchanged seats, and even before Johnny
had started the truck, Scott was asleep.
So Johnny drove, careful not to exceed the speed limit, aware
that if some maniac caused an accident, he would be in more
trouble. Suddenly, after eight days in hiding, with nothing to do, he
felt relaxed. He was now doing a job and he realized that was what
he wanted to do.
He thought about what Scott had told him. Eight hours a day in
this hot truck and the pay off: one hundred and fifty dollars! His mind
shifted to all that money waiting for him in the left-luggage locker!
$186,000! But when would he get it? Would be ever get it? The
organization was now looking for him! That meant hundreds of
people throughout the south who had some connection with the
Mafia would be warned to look out for him. One never !mew who
was employed by the Mafia and who wasn’t, but he was certain that
there would be always someone in a bar, a cafe, even a garage, a
cheap eating-house, a cheap hotel, a motel who might have Mafia
connections. When he finally reached Little Creek which Scott had
said was where he lived, what was he to do? A sudden stranger!
Even with his beard, he would be investigated. He was sure, knowing
how the Mafia worked, there would be a reward out for him. He
looked at the sleeping man lolling in the corner of the cab. Very few
brains there, he thought. An individualist: a man who had worked on
his own because he couldn’t submit to discipline. Johnny understood
that, but because of this failing, this man had got himself into a rat
race that made him less than a slave.
Johnny switched his mind from his own troubles and thought
about what Scott had told him. He got up at 05.00, loaded up crates
of shrimps, then belted up the freeway, four hours there, four hours
103
back, got home at 19.00, in time for dinner, a look at the telly and
then bed: six days a week for one hundred and fifty dollars! At the
present cost of living, what did that mean?
Suddenly, he could smell the sea. He sniffed at it the way a man
will sniff at an outrageously expensive perfume. The Sea! His mind
flashed to a white, beautiful forty-five footer . . . his! Once he had got
all this money, waiting for him in the left-luggage locker, he would go
to some ship builder and talk boats. His he
art beat excitedly as he
imagined the moment when he had signed the papers, paid the
money, then walked on the gang plank and on to the deck. His! Then
he thought of the danger: going back, getting those two heavy bags
out of the left-luggage locker, then getting out of town. Not yet! He
would have to be patient. He would have to remain in hiding until
the heat had really cooled off. Patience! Discipline! He would do it.
Suddenly he felt confident. Sooner or later, Massino and the Mafia
Dons would get bored trying to find him. He would keep in touch
with Sammy who would alert him of any danger. When Sammy
finally told him that the heat was off, then he would go back, but not
before.
Ahead of him, he saw the signpost: Eastling, and he slowed
down. Reaching across, he shook Scott awake.
“Here we are,” he said. “Eastling.”
“Pull over and stop,” Scott said, shaking himself awake. “Phew!
Seems only five minutes.” He dug sleep out of his eyes. “I’ll take her.”
They changed seats.
“Would there be somewhere for me to sleep?” Johnny asked.
Scott looked at him.
“I’ve a spare room: cost you five bucks a day and all found. Want
it?”
“You have yourself a deal,” Johnny said.
Scott engaged gear and drove the truck on to the freeway.
While Johnny was driving Scott’s truck, Massino was holding a
meeting in his office. Present were Carlo Tanza and Andy Lucas.
Massino had just explained to Tanza that the lead they had on
this old guy Giovanni Fuselli was a washout. It was only with difficulty
that Massino contained his rage and he kept glaring at Andy who had
been responsible for this waste of time.
“What we’ve got to remember is Johnny didn’t have the money
with him when he left town,” Massino said. “It was Andy’s idea he
was working with someone else and we thought it could be this
Fuselli, but it wasn’t. Toni and Ernie are sure Fuselli is clean. So . . .
one of two things. Either Johnny was working with someone we
don’t know about or he panicked and left the money stashed
somewhere in town.” He looked at Tanza. “What do you think?”
“There’s a third possibility,” Tanza said. “He could have put those
two bags on a Greyhound bus. The station is right across the street.
No problem there for him. You buy a ticket, stick the bags on a bus
and they’ll deliver to any Greyhound station on their route. I know
that’s what I would have done. I wouldn’t have been nutty enough to
stash the money here where I would have to come back for it, and
from what I know about Bianda, he’s far from nutty.”
“You don’t think he was working with someone?” Tanza
shrugged.
“Doesn’t seem likely. He’s a loner . . . the only friend he seems to
have had is this smoke, Sammy the Black and he wouldn’t have the
guts to steal chewing gum from a kid. Yeah, seems to me that’s what
Bianda did. Grabbed the money, rushed it across to the bus station,
got the bags on a bus, knowing they would be delivered to await
arrival, then he went back to his whore, found he had lost his medal,
flipped his lid and beat it out of town.”
“We can check,” Massino said. He looked at Andy. “At that time
there would be very few buses leaving. Get over there and check.
Someone should remember if two heavy bags were put on a bus.”
Andy nodded and left the office.
Massino looked at Tanza.
“He’s now been gone eight days.” His little eyes were like red
beads. “Think you can find him?”
Tanza grinned evilly.
“We always find them, but it costs.”
“So how much?”
105
“Depends on how long it takes. Let’s say fifty per cent of the
take.”
Massino said softly, “I want him alive. You’ll get fifty per cent if
he’s delivered to me alive. A third if he’s dead.”
“He could be tricky to take alive.”
Massino closed his huge fists.
“I want him alive! I’m going to smash that sonofabitch to a pulp
with my own hands.” His rage gave him an insane look and even
Tanza who was ruthless and tough was shocked. “So get after him!
Get your wonderful organization hunting him!” Massino slammed his
fists down on the desk. His voice rose to a snarling shout. “I don’t
give a goddamn what it costs! I want him!”
“Nearly home,” Scott said, slowing the truck. “A mile ahead and
to the left is New Symara . . . that’s where I load. Up here,” he swung
the truck off the freeway and driving slowly climbed a narrow, sandy
road, bordered either side with dense stands of pines, “leads to Little
Creek. It’s little enough. A store, around a dozen cabins and the lake.
We’ve got a houseboat on the far side of the lake. No one bothers
us. People in Little Creek are too busy to earn a dollar to bother
anyone.”
This was reassuring news to Johnny.
The sandy track was now edged with thistles, ferns and blue
flags. The jungle behind was so thick it looked like a black curtain to
Johnny.
They came out suddenly on to the lake. Johnny judged it to be a
mile and a half across. There were several boats out with men
fishing. One of the men raised his hand in a salute as Scott drove by.
Scott waved back.
“Supper time,” he said with a crooked grin. “Everyone here fishes
for their suppers and their goddamn dinners too. I wonder if Freda’s
caught anything.”
Leaving the group of cabins behind them, they drove for a mile
where Johnny saw a long, shabby houseboat with a twenty-foot-
long, battered pier joining it to the mainland.
“Lived here for two years,” Scott said as he drove the truck into a
parking bay, covered with tatty bamboo. “Got it for a Song. Had to
work on it, but now it’s not too bad. You reckon to stay long?”
Johnny turned and looked directly at Scott.
“Doesn’t that depend on what your wife says? She may not want
a stranger hanging around.”
Scott shrugged.
“You don’t have to worry about Freda: she’s as money hungry as
I am. I can use thirty-five bucks a week and she can use some
company. Not much fun for her being left here all alone all day.”
Johnny continued to look directly at Scott.
“Just a minute . . . Is there something wrong with your wife? Is
she a cripple or something?”
“No . . . what do you mean?”
“Come on, Scott,” Johnny said impatiently, “grow up! Why
should your wife want a man here . . . it’s lonely enough. Doesn’t it
worry you?”
“Why should it?” Scott said. “If you think you can lay her, go
ahead. If she has you, you’re welcome. I haven’t touched her that
way since we married.” He leered. “I get all the loving I need in
Richville and I don’t need a lot. When a guy works the way I do, once
a month is all he need
s.”
“What’s it between you two then?” Johnny asked, startled.
“Forget it.” Scott swung himself out of the cab. “If you want to
stay, then stay as long as you like so long as you pay. Come on, I’ll
show you your room.”
As they walked across the pier, Scott paused and pointed.
“There she is . . . swimming. Spends most of her time in the
lake.”
Johnny screwed up his eyes against the reflection of the sun on
the still water. He saw a head bobbing in the water, some three
hundred yards from the houseboat.
107
Scott put two fingers in his mouth and emitted a shrill whistle. A
hand came out of the water in a wave. “Come on in,” Scott said.
There was a good wide deck around the houseboat and together
they entered a long, low living room shabbily furnished, but
comfortable enough. There was a T.V. set in one corner.
“Here’s your room,” Scott said and opened the door.
“Dump your things and have a swim. We swim raw. You don’t
have to bother about Freda. She’s seen more naked men than I’ve
seen shrimps.”
Johnny looked around the tiny room. There was a bed, a closet, a
night-table and a chair. The window looked onto the lake. It was all
clean and he liked it.
“This is fine.”
“It’s okay.”
Scott left him.
Johnny looked out of the window. He would have liked to have
swum, but not naked. He saw Scott come out on deck, naked and
dive into the lake. He watched him swim to the blonde head, pause
and after a minute or so, swim on. The blonde head headed towards
the house boat.
Johnny stood by the window and watched. He kept out of sight,
peering around the curtain as the woman swung herself on to the
deck. She was tall, brown-bodied and naked. She had long legs, tight,
firm breasts and as she turned and walked along the deck, Johnny
watched her heavy buttocks roll. His eyes had been too busy looking
at her body to see her face except to notice her wet, blonde hair
reached to the middle of her shoulders.
Johnny wiped the sweat off his face. What had he walked into?
he asked himself. This was all woman: the most sensual, sexual body
he had seen.
He now felt in urgent need of cold water. Stripping off, keeping
on his underpants, he stepped out onto the deck and dived into the
lake.