After a while, she came back with a large pot of coffee, a cup and
saucer which she set down on the table beside him.
“Thanks, baby, now you go to bed,” Johnny said. “There’s
nothing to worry about. Go to bed . . . go to sleep.”
She stood hesitating, looking at him, then silently she went into
the bedroom and shut the door. Johnny grimaced as he poured
strong, black coffee into the cup.
He sat there, sipping coffee until 02.25, then he got to his feet
and moving silently, he opened the bedroom door and looked into
the darkness of the room.
“You going now?” Melanie asked out of the darkness, her voice
quavering.
“Why aren’t you asleep, for God’s sake?”
“I can’t sleep. I’m so worried, Johnny.”
Women! he thought. Maybe he should have picked on someone
else for his alibi. He shook his head in despair. What the hell was the
47
matter with him? He wouldn’t need an alibi! The way he had fixed
this, Massino would never think he had taken the money.
“I’ll be back in thirty minutes, baby. Take it easy . . . try to sleep,”
and he closed the door.
He left the apartment and walked down to the deserted street.
Keeping in the shadows, he walked fast, heading for Massino’s office.
It took him ten minutes of fast walking to reach the entrance of
Massino’s office block. He approached it from across the street and
he saw a light on in Andy’s office. That meant Benno was up there,
either sleeping or smoking or doing some goddamn thing, while he
kept watch.
Johnny looked to right and left. The street was deserted. He
crossed the street, entered the dimly lit lobby and took the elevator
to the fourth floor. Closing the elevator door gently, he walked up
the two remaining flights to Massino’s office.
The job had to be done fast so his alibi would stand up. Reaching
the passage leading to Massino’s and Andy’s offices, be took out his
handkerchief and removed the two electric light bulbs in the
corridor. The stream of light coming through Andy’s glazed door was
enough for him to see. He took the newspaper from his pocket. It
was still slightly damp. He paused for a moment to listen, then he
crumpled the newspaper and put it down hard against Andy’s office
door. He lit his lighter and touched off the newspaper. Small flames
made smoke. Johnny stood back, cosh in hand, and waited.
He didn’t have to wait long. He heard a muttered curse, then the
door was unlocked and Benno, squat, heavily built, stood in the
doorway, gaping at the smouldering paper. Johnny waited, pressed
against the wall.
Benno moved forward as Johnny knew he would. As he began to
stamp on the smouldering newspaper, Johnny’s cosh descended on
the back of his bead.
Johnny didn’t pause to make certain he had put Benno away. He
knew he had and there was no point in wasting seconds. He stepped
to the safe, took the key from his pocket and opened the safe. He
dragged out the two bags. Sweat was running down his face. The
bags were a lot heavier than he had expected.
Taking the safe key, carrying the bags, he stepped over Benno’s
inert body, paused for a brief moment to stamp out the smouldering
newspaper, then thumbed the elevator button.
Descending to the ground floor, he looked cautiously into the
deserted lobby, then carrying a bag in either gloved hand, he moved
into the street. Again he paused, then satisfied he had the street to
himself, he bolted across to the Greyhound bus station.
A big negro was sleepily brushing up and he didn’t look at Johnny
as he opened the locker. As Johnny heaved the bags into the locker,
he heard a late bus start up and saw its headlights as it moved out
onto the street. He had to shove hard to get the door shut. He
turned the key, removed it and then walked out of the bus station.
The first move of the operation had jelled! He ducked down a
side street and began to run. $186,000! There was a surge of triumph
in him as he ran. It now couldn’t turn sour! Massino would never
suspect him! As he ran, he felt a strong overpowering sexual need.
Darting through the back streets, deserted at this time of night,
he finally reached Melanie’s apartment block. He paused in the
shadows, checking, making sure that no one was there to break his
elevator to Melanie’s floor.
Again he paused in the elevator to make sure there was no one
in the passage, then he darted across to Melanie’s door, turned the
handle and was in.
He leaned against the door. His heart thumping. Well, he had
done it. He looked at his watch. The steal had taken twenty-five
minutes!
“Johnny?”
Melanie, in her shortie nightdress, came into the living-room.
He forced a grin.
“Here I am . . . like I said . . . nothing to worry about.”
She stared at him, her black eyes wide with fear. “What
happened?”
“I said not to worry.” He took her in his arms. “But something’s
49
going to happen right now . . . guess what?”
Picking her up, he carried her into the bedroom and laid her
gently on the bed.
“It’s okay, baby,” he said, stripping off his jacket, dumping his
gun harness and then pulling off his shirt. Maybe the tension of the
past half hour was getting at him, but he wanted her as never before.
She lay still, staring at him.
“You and me . . . this time it’s going to be the best,” he said as he
was pulling the zipper of his trousers, he suddenly felt horribly
naked. He stood motionless, looking down at her, feeling his raging
desire for her like a flame hit by a bucketful of water.
“Your medal,” Melanie said.
Johnny straightened. He looked down at his hairy chest. The St.
Christopher medal no longer hung on its silver chain. With shaking
hands he lifted the chain and saw the tiny hook that carried the
medal was bent and open.
For the first time in his life, he felt a cold clutch of fear.
“Look for it!” The snap of his voice and the expression in his eyes
brought Melanie off the bed. Together they searched the bedroom,
then the living-room, but the medal wasn’t in the apartment.
He ran into the bedroom, struggled into his shirt, put on his
holster, then his jacket.
Melanie said fearfully, “What is it, Johnny? Tell me!”
“Go to bed . . . wait for me,” and he left the apartment. He
paused to search the corridor, then the cage of the elevator . . . no
medal. He rode down to the lobby, searched that, then went out
onto the street. He was shaking now. He paused to drag down
lungfuls of damp air as he tried to control his rising panic.
This was no way to act, he told himself. Where had he dropped
the medal? Unlocking his car, he searched around the driver’s seat . .
. no medal.
He relocked the c
ar and stood thinking. It could have dropped
anywhere, but if it had dropped in Andy’s office, he was cooked.
God! Was he cooked! All his plans, his confident two-year wait
before he bought the boat would be shrivelled in the heat that
Massino would turn on. Leaving his medal in Andy’s office was like
leaving a signed confession that he had taken the money!
There was still a chance. He started to his car, then stopped.
Think straight, you fool! he told himself. It could still be all right.
Leave the car . . . it’s part of your alibi!
He started down the street in a shambling run, covered the same
ground, moving down the back streets, deserted but for a stray cat
or an old drunk, sleeping in the doorway.
He had to make sure the medal wasn’t in Andy’s office. It didn’t
matter if it were found in the elevator, in Massino’s office, but it
would be fatal if it were found in Andy’s office because no one
except Andy and Benno were ever allowed into the office.
Breathing heavily, Johnny reached the corner of the street that
led directly to Massino’s office block. He came to an abrupt stop as
he saw a police prowl car parked outside the office block.
Too late!
Benno had recovered and had alerted the fuzz and even as
Johnny stood there in the shadows, he saw a Lincoln pull up and
from it spilled Toni and Ernie who chased into the building.
Where had he dropped the medal?
Aslongasyouwearit nothingreallybad canhappentoyou.
He was no longer wearing it and he was superstitious enough to
be certain that the medal was lying in front of the safe: a signed
confession that he had taken the money! He looked across at the
Greyhound station. He hadn’t the nerve to go there, to take the two
heavy bags and lug them back to his car. Toni or Ernie might look out
of the window, down into the street and spot him. Anyway, now he
dare not use his car. All the mob knew it by sight. He would have to
go on the run. If he acted fast, he could make it. The money would be
safe in the locker. He would wait until the heat cooled off, then
sneak back, get the money and sneak out. He knew he was thinking
like an idiot, but panic had its grip on him.
With screaming sirens, more police cars arrived. Then as Johnny
stood against the wall, watching, his heart hammering, Massino’s
51
Rolls swept to the kerb. He watched Massino get out of his car and
walk fast across the sidewalk and into the building.
He had to get out of town and fast, Johnny thought. Money? He
must have money if he was to keep one jump ahead of Massino. He
thought of all that money stashed away in the locker. No use to him
right now. He had to have an immediate get-away stake.
Melanie? She never had any money. His mind raced. Maybe he
was panicking for nothing. The medal could be anywhere, but in his
bones, he was sure it was in Andy’s office.
Sammy!
Sammy had three thousand dollars under his bed. Johnny had to
have money! He couldn’t hide from Massino without money.
He began to run down the back streets. It was a long run.
Sammy’s pad was half way across the town. The City’s clock was
striking the half hour as Johnny, panting, started up the stairs that
led to Sammy’s fourth-floor pad. He knocked on Sammy’s door, but
there was no answer. He listened, knocked again, then turned the
handle: the door swung open.
“Sammy?”
His fingers groped and found the light switch and snapped it
down.
The tiny room held a truckle bed, a two-ringed gas cooker, an
armchair, a battered T.V. set, but no Sammy. Then Johnny
remembered Sammy always shacked up with his girl, Cloe, on Friday
nights.
He moved into the room and shut the door. Kneeling, he groped
under the bed and found a small steel box in which Sammy had told
him he kept his savings. He pulled the box out. It wasn’t even locked!
Lifting the lid he saw the box was crammed with ten dollar bills. He
didn’t hesitate, acutely aware that every second he wasted
decreased his chances of escape.
He stuffed his pockets with the bills, leaving the box empty. For a
brief moment he wondered how Sammy would react, then he told
himself he was only borrowing the money. In a short while, he would
repay Sammy with interest.
Leaving the room, he started down the stairs. Now to get out of
town! He wondered how long the fuzz would take to set up road
blocks. Here was the danger, but he had to get out! His fingers
touched the butt of his .38. If he had to, he would shoot his way out!
Moving into the street, his mind raced. He had to have a hideout!
Somewhere where he could be completely lost for at least a month.
Where could he go? Then he thought of Giovanni Fusseli. It was an
inspired thought. Fusseli had been Johnny’s father’s best friend. He
must be over seventy now. Maybe he was dead! Johnny had heard
from him five years ago. He had been living in a small town—what
the hell was it’s name? Jackson? Packson? Jackson! It was on the
freeway to Miami. If he could get there, he was sure Fusseli would
shelter him.
He would have to steal a car. If he could get to Reddy’s cafe
where all the south-bound truckers stopped for a meal, he could
bribe one of them to take him to Jackson.
He stood hesitatingly as he looked up and down the street. There
were a number of cars parked. As he started towards them, he saw
the headlights of a car swing into the street and he stepped back into
the shadows. The car came slowly towards him, then pulled up by
the kerb and immediately under a street light. A young, thin man
with shoulder-length hair got out of the car. The street light showed
Johnny his shabbiness: tattered jeans and a dirty sweat shirt. Acting
on impulse and as the young man was locking the car door, Johnny
stepped up to him.
“Want to earn twenty bucks?” Johnny asked quietly.
The young man stared at him.
“Doing what?”
‘Drive me to Reddy’s cafe.”
“Hey, man! That’s twenty miles out of town!”
“At a dollar a mile, is that so rough?”
The young man grinned.
“You’ve got yourself a deal. Let’s have the bread and we’re on
our way.”
53
Johnny gave him a ten dollar bill.
“You get the rest when we get there.”
“Fine . . . I’m Joey. Who are you, buster?”
“Charlie,” Johnny said. “Let’s go.” He waited until Joey had
unlocked the car door, then got into the passenger’s seat. Joey slid
under the driving wheel.
“Listen, Joey, keep to the back streets. Drive fast, but not too fast
. . . get it?”
Joey laughed.
“Like that, huh? The fuzz bothering you?”
“You don’t earn twenty bucks flapping with your mouth,” Johnny
said quietly. The cold menace in his voice made Joey stiffen. “Just
drive.”
At least, Johnny thought, th
is punk knows the City. Although it
took longer, Joey kept to the back streets and in ten minutes or so
they approached the freeway out of the City.
This was where trouble could be waiting, Johnny thought and he
eased his gun in its holster for a quick draw. But there was no
trouble. Johnny wasn’t to know that road blocks were set up thirty
minutes after he had left the City.
The Police Commissioner had been out of town and the Assistant
Police Commissioner had no time for Massino. He was deliberately
uncooperative, delaying the road blocks, throwing his rank at
Massino, pointing out that the Numbers gamble was illegal anyway.
Massino, raging, now regretted he hadn’t taken care of the
Assistant Police Commissioner as he had taken care of his boss with a
new car every year, money to take care of his goddamn kids’
education and a big insurance policy to take care of his goddamn
wife.
Johnny paid Joey off, watched him drive away, then walked into
Reddy’s cafe to find a trucker who would drive him south.
His panic was slowly subsiding. So far . . . so good. Now for
Jackson and a safe hide-away.
FOUR
The shrilling of the telephone bell brought Joe Massino instantly
awake. He snapped on the bedside lamp, looked at the clock that
told him it was 03.15 and knew immediately that something had
happened. No one would dare disturb his sleep unless there was an
emergency.
He snatched up the receiver and swung his feet to the floor,
stripping the blanket and sheet off his wife, Dina, who was coming
awake with a low, moaning sound.
“Yeah?”
Massino’s voice boomed over the line.
“Boss . . . this is Benno. The dough’s gone. I’ve got a cracked nut.
What do I do, boss?”
Massino knew Benno’s limitations: he was punch drunk, a
goodamn moron, but at least he had got the message across.
Massino felt a hot wave of murderous rage sweep through him, but
he controlled it.
“Call the cop house, Benno,” he said. “Get them with you. I’m on
my way.” He slammed down the receiver and began to strip off his
pyjamas.
Dina, a blonde, heavily built woman, some fifteen years younger
than her husband was now awake.
“What is it, for God’s sake? What are you doing?”
“Shut up!” Massino snarled. He shoved his legs into his trousers
and not bothering for a tie, he struggled into his jacket.