"Then we'll buy a trunk and put the two bags in the trunk . . . what's the matter with that?"
Johnny now felt he had to tell her everything.
"The bags are in a left-luggage locker in the Greyhound bus
station, right opposite Massino's office. You couldn't load them into a trunk without being seen."
"But there must be some way I could get them!"
"Massino's sharp. Maybe he has thought of the lockers. Maybe he has them staked out. Before we do anything, I've got to check." Johnny thought for a moment. "Where's the nearest call booth?"
"In the village . . . the local store."
"I've a contact in East City. He'll tell me what's happening. How soon does the store open?"
"Seven-thirty."
He looked at his watch. The time was 05.30.
"Will you take me across in the boat?"
She hesitated.
"They're all eyes and ears over there. So far, they don't know you exist. You could cause a sensation."
"I've got to get to a phone."
She thought for a long moment.
"Suppose I tell Salvadore you're my step-brother on a visit? Be nice to him. He's easy to con: you just have to be nice to him."
"An Italian?" Johnny stiffened. "Who's he?"
"He owns the store: Salvadore Bruno. He's harmless. If we time our arrival as the store opens, no one will be around. You really mean you must phone?"
"Yes."
"You mean once you know it will be all right, we can hire a car and get the money?"
"I've got to know first."
She nodded.
"I'll get coffee. There's time."
He reached out and pulled her down on him. "There's also time for coffee."
The motorboat drifted into the little harbour. Johnny could see the store: a low, ramshackle building, facing the waterfront. He glanced at his watch. It was a minute after 07.30 and he saw the door leading into the store, was standing open.
He was wearing his bush jacket to conceal his gun and holster. His eyes darted along the waterfront, but there was no sign of life.
Freda jumped onto the quay. Johnny tossed the rope to her and she secured the boat.
Together they crossed the dirt road and walked into the store.
"The phone's there," Freda said and pointed.
As Johnny stepped into the call booth, he saw a short, fat man come out from behind a curtain. He shut the door, then turned his back and inserted coins. He called Sammy's apartment.
There was a delay, then Sammy's sleepy voice came over the line.
"Who's this?"
"Sammy! Wake up! This is Johnny!"
"Who?"
"Johnny!"
A low moan of fear came over the line.
"Listen, Sammy . . . what's happening up there? What's the news?"
"Mr. Johnny . . . I asked you . . . I begged you not to contact me. I could get into real trouble. I . . ."
"Cut it out," Sammy! You're my friend . . . remember? What's happening?"
"I don't know. I don't know nothin'. No one talks any more, Mr. Johnny. I swear I don't know nothin'!"
"I want you to do something for me, Sammy."
"Me? Haven't I done enough, Mr. Johnny? You've got all my money. Cloe keeps worrying me for money and I've got none now to give her. My brother. . ."
"Skip it, Sammy! I told you: you'll get your money back. Now listen carefully. You know the Greyhound bus station?"
"Yeah. I know it."
"When you have driven the boss to his office, go in there and buy a newspaper. Wander around. I want to know if any of the mob are staked out there. You getting this, Sammy?"
"They are staked out there, Mr. Johnny. Don't ask me why, but they are. I went in there last night to get cigarettes and Toni and Ernie were hanging around."
Johnny nodded to himself. So Massino suspected the money was in one of those lockers.
"Okay, Sammy. Now don't worry about your money. I'll send it to you soon," and he hung up.
For a long moment, Johnny stood staring at the coin box. It was a matter of patience. For how long would Massino have the lockers watched? He could not know the money was there: he was guessing. This had to be thought about. How to deal with Scott tonight?
He pushed open the booth door and moved into the store.
"Johnny! Come and meet Salvadore," Freda called. She was standing by one of the counters. On the other side was the short, fat man who thrust out his hand.
"Glad to meet you," he said with a wide smile. "Big surprise. Mrs. Freda never told me she had a half-brother. Welcome to Little Creek."
As Johnny shook hands, he took this man in with a quick searching glance: balding, around sixty, a bushy moustache, small, intelligent eyes and a stubbly chin.
"Passing through," he said. "Got business in Miami. Nice store you have here."
"Yeah, yeah, it's all right." The little eyes dwelt on Johnny's face. "You Italian like me?"
"My mother was Italian," Johnny said. "Our old man was a
Swede." He looked at Freda who nodded. "Mother comes out in you, huh?"
"You can say that."
"Yeah." A pause. "You staying long?"
"It's pretty nice up here. I'm in no hurry to get to work." Johnny forced a laugh. "I heard a lot about this place when Freda wrote, but I had no idea it's as good this."
"You fish?"
"I like it. Yesterday, I landed a four-pounder first try . . . a bass."
Salvadore beamed.
"So you're a fisherman."
"Could I have two pounds of bacon and a dozen eggs," Freda broke in.
"In a moment."
Salvadore hurried to another counter. Johnny and Freda exchanged glances. They didn't say anything.
Ten minutes later, after more talk, they walked across the quay to the boat.
Salvadore watched them go. The benign expression on his fat face slowly faded and his little eyes became like marbles.
He reached under the counter and produced yesterday's
Florida
Times
. Quickly, he thumbed through the pages until he came to the Have You Seen This Man? advertisement. He stared for several moments at the photograph, then taking a pencil from behind his ear, he carefully pencilled in a beard. After staring at the photograph again, he crossed to the call booth, inserted a coin and dialled a number.
A growling voice replied.
"Bruno. Little Creek," Salvadore said. "This guy Johnny Bianda. There's a guy just arrived, calling himself Johnny who looks like him."
"What guy?"
Salvadore talked.
"If she says he's her half-brother why the hell can't he be her half-brother."
"This doll isn't getting it from her husband. It's my bet she'd say anything to get it and it's my bet this guy is giving it to her."
"Okay. I'll send someone to take a look. We've got hundreds of goddamn suspects to check out, but I'll send someone."
"When?"
"How do I know? When I've got a man free."
"If it's him, I get the reward?"
"If it's him," and the line went dead.
The noise of the outboard engine made conversation impossible. Johnny sat in the prow of the boat, his mind active. The store-keeper had alerted his sense of danger. He had had to phone Sammy, but now he realized the risk he had taken. There were Mafiosi everywhere. So they were watching the lockers at the Greyhound bus station! As he sat in the prow of the boat, feeling the breeze against his face, watching the prow cut through the still waters, he felt the net closing in on him.
When he had tied up and had followed Freda on to the deck of the houseboat, he dropped into one of the bamboo chairs.
"Well?"
She stood over him and he looked up into her bright blue eyes.
"They're watching the lockers."
The disappointment in her eyes made him uneasy. She was so money hungry, he thought. She sat by his side.
"So what do we do?"
"That's right . . . so what do we do?" He thought, staring across the lake. "When I planned this steal, baby, I told myself I would have to be patient. I told myself it wouldn't be safe spending that money for a couple of years."
She stiffened.
"Two years?"
"As long as the money stays in the locker, it's safe. Try and move it and you and me are dead and the money goes back to Massino. Sooner or later, he'll get tired of watching the lockers. It might take a month . . . even six months, but I have my contact in East City. He'll tell me when the heat's off and until it's off, we have to wait."
"You're not planning to stay here six months, are you?"
"No . . . I've got to find myself a job. I'm handy with boats. I'll go to Tampa . . . I'll find something there."
"And what about me?" The hard note in her voice made him look at her. She was staring at him, her eyes glittering.
"I've some money. It'll be rough like this, but if you want to come, I'd like to have you with me."
"How much money did you take from this man, Johnny? You haven't told me."
And he wasn't going to tell her.
"Around fifty thousand," he said.
"You're risking your life for fifty thousand?"
"That's it. I want to own a boat. I can get one for that money."
She stared at him and he saw she didn't believe him.
"It's more than that, isn't it? You don't trust me."
"I don't know. I never got around to counting it. My guess is fifty, but it could be more . . . could be less.
She sat still, thinking.
He watched her, then said quietly. "You're wondering if ten thousand in the hand is better than fifty thousand in the bush, aren't you?"
She stiffened, then shook her head.
"No. I'm trying to imagine myself on a boat," but he knew she was lying.
"Don't do anything you'll regret," he said. "Look, suppose when you go over for the mail you call these attorneys. Let me tell you what will happen. Five or six men will arrive. They'll try to take me alive, because dead, they will never find the money. One thing I'm sure about: no one takes me alive. I've seen what happens to men who have tried to doublecross Massino. He has them tied to chairs and beats them with a baseball bat: careful not to kill them, breaking their bones and then he finally sticks a butcher's hook in their throats and hangs them in the chair until they die: so no one is taking me alive. So there will be a gun battle and during the gun battle you'll stop a bullet. Believe me, baby, no one will live to collect that ten thousand dollar reward: that's just bait. So don't do anything you'll regret."
She shivered, then put her hand on his.
"I wouldn't betray you, Johnny, I swear I wouldn't, but what about Ed?"
"Yeah, I've been thinking about him. Here's what you tell him. You tried to get into my suitcase while I was fishing, but it was locked. So when I got back, you went over to collect the mail and the newspaper. You telephoned these attorneys and said you thought the man they were looking for was in Little Creek. And what do you imagine they said?" Johnny looked at her. "They said the man had been found in Miami and they thanked you for calling them and they were sorry you had been troubled. How will Ed react to that?" She relaxed.
"That's smart. He won't want to spend more money on a long distance. Yes, he'll drop it."
"That's the way I figured it. I can stay here until the end of the week, then I'll tell him I'm moving on. We'll hire that car you talked about and we'll go to Tampa."
"Why wait? Why not go tomorrow?"
"That's not the way to play it. During the next five days, you're going to fall in love with me and you'll leave him a letter telling him so and that you and me are going off together. Rush it and he'll get suspicious. He might even phone these attorneys. He might ask at the village and find out what car we've hired. Then we wouldn't get far, baby. Believe me, this is a game of patience."
"Wait! That's all I do! Wait!" Freda got to her feet. "God! I'm sick
of this life!"
"It's better to be sick of life than not have a life." Johnny stood up. "I'll go get some supper."
He left her and went to his room. Closing the door, he slid the bolt. Then taking out a spare khaki shirt, he felt in the breast pocket. From it he took the key to the left-luggage locker. He looked at it for a brief moment. Engraved on it was the number of the locker: 176: the key to $186,000!
Sitting on the bed, he untied his shoe lace, put the key into his shoe and then tightened the lace. It wasn't comfortable, but it was safe!
A few minutes later he returned to the deck.
Freda was in the living-room, using the vacuum cleaner.
"I'll be back," he called, then went to the boat, started the engine and headed out to the middle of the lake.
The telephone bell rang just as Massino was about to leave his office for home.
"Get it!" he barked to Lu Berilli who scooped up the receiver.
"It's Mr. Tanza," he said and offered the receiver.
Cursing, Massino snatched the receiver from him, sat on the corner of his desk and said, "What is it, Carlo? I'm just going home."
"Just had a hot tip come in," Carlo said. "Could be nothing, but could be something. A man, answering to Bianda's description is living in a houseboat near Little Creek: that's five miles from New Symara. He's been there about two days and living with a man and his wife. The woman has hot pants. The husband is a trucker and away all day. She's Swedish and says this guy is her half-brother. He's as Italian as we are. This is a straight tip and the source is reliable."
"So why bother me?" Massino demanded. "You're looking for him, aren't you? Well, check this punk out."
"We want one of your boys to identify him. No point in starting anything without being sure. Can you send someone?"