"Cigar?" Massino asked.
"No, thanks, Mr. Joe."
Massino grinned.
"Did I interrupt something?"
"Yeah." Johnny stared at the big man. "You sure did."
Massino laughed, then leaning forward he slapped Johnny on his knee.
"It'll keep. She'll be all the more eager when you get to her."
Johnny didn't say anything. Holding the drink in his sweating hand, he waited.
Massino stretched out his thick legs, drew on his cigar and puffed smoke to the ceiling. He looked very relaxed and amiable, but Johnny didn't relax. He had seen Massino in this mood before. It could change into snarling rage in seconds.
"Nice little pad I've got here, huh?" Massino said, looking around 'the room. "The wife fixed it up. All these goddamn books. She reckons they look fancy. You ever read a book, Johnny?"
"No."
"Nor do I. Who the hell wants to read a book?" The little cold grey eyes moved over Johnny. "Well, never mind that. I've been thinking about you, Johnny. You've worked for me close on twenty years . . .
Here it is, Johnny thought. The kiss-off. Well, he had been expecting it, but not quite as soon as this.
"I guess it's around twenty years," he said.
"What do I pay you, Johnny?"
"Two hundred a week."
"That's what Andy tells me. Yeah . . . two hundred. You should have squawked long before now."
"I'm not squawking," Johnny said quietly. "I guess a guy gets paid what he deserves."
Massino squinted at him.
"That's not the way these other punks think. They're always moaning for more money." He drank some of his whisky, paused, then went on, "You're my best man, Johnny. There's something in you that gets to me. Maybe I remember your shooting. I wouldn't be here with all these fancy goddamn books around me if it hadn't been for you . . . three times, wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Three times." Massino shook his head. "Some shooting." Again a long pause, then he said, "If you had come to me two . . . -three years ago and said you wanted more money, I'd have given it to you." The red tip of his cigar suddenly pointed at Johnny. "Why didn't you?"
"I've told you, Mr. Joe," Johnny said. "A guy gets paid what he deserves. I don't do much. I work off and on. Friday is the big day . . . so . . ."
"You and Sammy get along okay?"
"Sure."
"He's scared. He hates the job, doesn't her
"He needs the money."
"That's right. I'm thinking of making a change. I've had a beef or two from the boys. Times change. They don't seem to like a smoke picking up the money. I want your angle. Do you think I should make a change?"
Johnny's mind moved swiftly. This was no time to support anyone, even Sammy. In another six days—if it worked out—he would have something like $150,000 hidden away.
"I walk it with Sammy," he said woodenly. "That's been my job for ten years, Mr. Joe. I'll walk it with anyone you pick."
"I'm thinking of making a complete change," Massino said. "You and Sammy. Ten years is a hell of a time. Can Sammy drive a car?"
"Sure and he knows cars. He started life in a garage."
"I heard that. Think he'd like to be my chauffeur? The wife has been nagging me. She says it isn't good class for me to drive the Rolls. She wants a uniform for God's sake! She thinks Sammy would look real good in a uniform."
"Top can but ask him, Mr. Joe."
"You talk to him, Johnny. What does he get paid?"
"A hundred."
"Okay, tell him it's worth a hundred and fifty."
"I'll tell him."
Again a long pause while Johnny waited to hear his own fate.
"Now you, Johnny," Massino said. "You're a well known character in this town. People like and respect you. You've got a reputation. How would you like to take over the one-arm bandits?"
Johnny stiffened. This was the last thing he expected to be offered . . . the last thing he wanted. Bernie Schultz, a fat, ageing man, looked after these gambling machines for Massino: had looked after them for the past five years. He had often moaned to Johnny about his worries, how Andy was continually chasing him if the take from these machines fell below what Bernie declared was an impossible weekly target.
He remembered Bernie, sweating, dark rings around his eyes, saying, "The goddamn job isn't worth it, Johnny. You've no idea. You're always under pressure from that sonofabitch to find new outlets. You walk your goddamn feet off, trying to get creeps to take the machines. Then if they take them, some goddamn kid busts them. You never stop working."
"How about Bernie?" Johnny asked to gain time.
"Bernie's washed up." Massino's amiable expression changed and he now became the cold, ruthless executive. "You can handle this, Johnny. You won't have trouble in finding new outlets. People respect you. It'll be worth four hundred and a one per cent cut: could net you eight hundred if you really got stuck into the job. What do you say?"
Johnny thought swiftly. This was an offer he dare not refuse. He was sure if he did, he would be out and he wasn't yet ready to be kissed off.
Looking straight at Massino, he said, "When do I start?"
Massino grinned and, leaning forward, he slapped Johnny's knee.
"That's the way I like a guy to talk," he said. "I knew I'd picked the right one. You start the first of the month. I'll have Bernie fixed by then. You talk it over with Andy. He'll wise you up." He got to his feet, looked at his watch and grimaced. "I've got to move along. Got to take the wife to some goddamn shindig. Well, okay, Johnny, that's a deal. You've got yourself eight hundred bucks a week." He put his heavy arm around Johnny's shoulders and led him to the door. "Talk to Sammy. If he wants the job, tell him to see Andy who will fix his uniform. You two do the next collection and then you start your new jobs . . . right?"
"That's fine with me," Johnny said and moved out into the big hall where the butler was waiting.
"See you," Massino said and strode up the stairs, whistling under his breath and out of Johnny's sight.
Reaching his car, Johnny stood hesitating. He looked at his watch. The time was 21.05. Knowing Melanie's eating capacity he guessed she would be occupied for another half hour. He decided it might pay off to have a word with Bernie Schultz.
He drove across town and reached Bernie's apartment in fifteen minutes. He found Bernie at home, his shoes off, a beer in his hand, watching T.V.
Bernie's wife, a big, fat happy-faced woman let him in and then went into the kitchen because she knew these two were going to talk business and she never mixed herself up in any of Bernie's machinations.
Johnny didn't hedge.
As soon as Bernie had turned off the T.V. and offered beer which Johnny refused, Johnny said, "I've just talked with Mr. Joe. You're getting the kiss off, Bernie, and I'm getting your job."
Bernie stared at him.
"Come again?"
Johnny repeated what he had said.
"You really mean that . . . no kidding?"
"I'm telling you."
Bernie drew in a long, deep breath and his heavy, fat face lit up with a broad grin. Suddenly, he looked ten years younger.
"Is that great news!" He clapped his hands together. "I've been praying for this for years! So, now I'm free!"
"I guessed you would feel that way," Johnny said. "That's why I came right over. What'll you do, Bernie? You'll be out of the organization."
"Do? Me?" Bernie laughed happily. "I've got money put by. My brother-in-law owns a fruit farm in California. That's where I'll be: partners, picking fruit in the sun with not a goddamn care in the world!"
"Yeah." Johnny's mind shifted to his dream boat and the sea. "Well, I've got your job, Bernie. What's it worth?"
Bernie finished his beer, belched and set down the glass.
"Mr. Joe pays me a flat eight hundred a week and one per cent of the take, but the one per cent means nothing. All the goddamn years I've worked, I've never reached the target above that sonofabitch Andy's target, so you can forget the one per cent. But you get paid eight hundred steady, Johnny, although the job is sheer hell. I've managed to save out of what I got paid and you can too."
Eight hundred a week and Massino had offered him only four hundred and one per cent which according to Bernie meant nothing!
A cold, fierce rage took hold of Johnny, but he controlled it.
You're my best man, Johnny. There's something in you that gets
to me.
That's what the thieving, double-crossing sonofabitch had said! Well, okay, Johnny thought as he got to his feet, I'll be a thieving sonofabitch too!
Leaving Bernie, he went down to where he had parked his car. Still raging, he drove fast to Melanie's pad.
The following morning when Melanie had gone to work, Johnny returned to his apartment and cooked himself breakfast which was his favourite meal. He had the whole day before him with no plans. He was in a surly mood. Massino's meanness still irked him. He had now no misgivings about robbing him, that was for sure.
As he was sitting down to three fried eggs and a thick slice of grilled ham, the telephone bell rang. Cursing, he got up and lifted the receiver. It was Andy Lucas on the line.
"Mr. Joe says you're to take over Bernie's job," Andy said. "You two had better get together. See him today. He'll take you around with him and give you introductions."
"Okay," Johnny said, eyeing his breakfast. "I'll do that."
"And listen, Johnny." Andy's voice was cold. "Bernie has been lying down on the job. I'll expect you to increase the business. We want at least two hundred more machines out and that'll be your job . . . understand?"
"Sure."
"Okay. . . go talk to Bernie," and Andy hung up. Johnny returned to his breakfast but he hadn't the appetite he had had before the telephone call.
A little after moo, he went out and headed for Bernie's office: a one-room affair on the top floor of a walk-up office block. As he was waiting for the traffic lights to change so he could cross the road, he saw Sammy the Black waiting to cross on the other side of the street.
Sammy grinned and waved and when the traffic stopped, Johnny joined him.
"Hi, Sammy . . . what are you doing?"
"Me?" Sammy looked vague. "Not a thing, Mr. Johnny. Not much doing on Saturday . . . just mooching around."
Johnny had forgotten it was Saturday. Tomorrow would be Sunday. He hated Sundays with the shops shut and people going out of town. Usually he spent Sunday mornings reading the papers and then joining Melanie in the late afternoon. Sunday morning she was always busy, cleaning her apartment, washing her hair and doing all the goddamn chores women seem to find to do.
"Want coffee?" Johnny asked.
"Always say yes to coffee." Sammy looked uneasily at Johnny. The hard expression on Johnny's face bothered him. "Something wrong?"
"Let's have coffee." Johnny led the way to the cafe and propped himself up against the bar. He ordered the coffees, then said, "I was talking to Mr. Joe last night." He went on to tell Sammy what Massino had said. "It's up to you. Do you want to drive his car?"
Sammy's face lit up as if he had swallowed a lighted electric light bulb.
"Is this straight, Mr. Johnny?"
"That's what he said."
"Sure do!" Sammy slapped his pink palms together. "You mean I don't have to collect any more money?"
Johnny thought sourly: another one! Bernie, beaming from ear to ear, now Sammy. They have it smooth while I get it rough.
"You have to wear a uniform and drive his Rolls. Like the idea?"
"Sure do! Is this good news!" Sammy paused then looked at Johnny. "When do I start?"
"The week after next."
Sammy's face fell.
"You mean I've got the collection next Friday to do?"
"That's right."
Sammy's eyes rolled and sweat broke out on his face.
"Couldn't the new man do the job, Mr. Johnny? Who's the new man anyway?"
"I wouldn't know. We make the collection together on the 29th, Sammy." Johnny finished his coffee. "So forget it."
"Yes." Sammy blotted his sweating face with his handkerchief. "You think it'll be all right?"
"Can't go wrong." Johnny moved away from the bar. "I've things to do. Go see Andy. Tell him you'll drive for Mr. Joe. He'll fix everything. It pays a hundred and fifty."
Sammy's eyes opened wide.
"A hundred and fifty?"
"That's what Mr. Joe said." Johnny looked thoughtfully at Sammy. "Are you still keeping your savings under your bed?"
"Where else should I keep it, Mr. Johnny?"
"I told you, you dope, in a goddamn bank!"
"I wouldn't do that," Sammy said, shaking his head. "Banks are for white people."
Johnny shrugged.
"Be seeing you." He paid for the coffees and walked out of the cafe. Ten minutes later he was in Bernie Schultz's office.
Bernie was resting behind his battered desk, his chair pushed back, his thumbs hooked to his belt. When he saw Johnny, he straightened up.
"Andy said I was to look in," Johnny said. "He said you'd give me introductions and take me around."
"Sure will," Bernie said, "but not today. This is the week-end for God's sake! No business at week-ends. Suppose we start Monday, huh? Come here around ten o'clock. I'll show you around. Okay?" "Anything you say." Johnny started towards the door.
"Oh, Johnny . . ."
Johnny paused and looked at Bernie who was scratching his fat jowl.
"Yeah?"
"I guess I flapped with my big mouth." Bernie shifted uneasily in his chair. "Andy told me I wasn't to tell you what I get paid. Can you forget it?"
Johnny's hands turned to fists, but he managed a cold grin.
"Sure. I've forgotten it, Bernie. See you Monday," and he left the little office and tramped clown the six flights of stairs, swearing under his breath.