Knock, Knock! Who's There?

SEVEN

Johnny came fully awake when he heard the phut-phut of a motor boat. Lifting his head, he looked out of the open window to see Freda in a small boat, powered by an outboard motor, moving away from the houseboat. She was wearing the faded shirt and stretch pants and a cigarette dangled from her lips. The boat headed across the lake. Johnny dropped back on his pillow. He had been woken previously by the sound of the truck starting up, and only half conscious, he realized Scott was off to work.

He lay on the small bed and thought of the previous evening. They had eaten curried Black Crappie, a lake fish, with rice, onions and tomatoes. It had been a good meal, eaten more or less in silence. Scott had wanted to see something on T.V. and he had eaten fast, then leaving the other two at the table, he had gone over to the set and turned it on.

Johnny had been very aware of Freda as they sat opposite each other. He had eaten hungrily.

“You cook fine,” he said.

“Ed says the same.” The flat in her voice made him look sharply at her. “That’s all men think of… food.”

He glanced across the room to where Scott was absorbed in the lighted screen.

“Not all men.”

“Have some more.”

“I’d be nuts if I didn’t.”

She pushed back her chair.

“We live like pigs here. Go ahead. I’ve things to do,” and she left the table, going into the kitchen.

The food was so good and he was so hungry, he didn’t hesitate. He cleared the bowl, then sat back reaching for a cigarette.

After a short smoke, he crushed out his cigarette, collected the plates and carried them into the kitchen. He was surprised to see her sitting on the deck, staring across the lake.

“Let’s clear up,” he said. “You want to?”

“Sounds like you’re domesticated.” There was a slight jeer in her voice. “Leave it for tomorrow… tomorrow’s another day.”

“I’ll do it. You stay there.”

She stared at him, then shrugged.

“So I stay here.”

It took him some twenty minutes to wash the dishes and clear the table. He liked doing this. It reminded him of the safety of his own apartment which seemed far away, then he joined her on the deck and sat beside her in an old, creaking bamboo chair.

“Nice view,” he said.

“You think so? I’ve got used to it. After two years, a view gets faded. Where are you from?”

“Up north… and you?”

“Sweden.”

“I guessed that. Your hair… your eyes… you’re a long way from home.”

“Yes.” A pause, then she said, “Look, you don’t have to make conversation with me. For two years I’ve lived more or less on my own. I’m used to it. You’re our lodger. I wouldn’t have you here if it wasn’t for the money. I like being alone.”

“I won’t get in your way.” He stood up. “I’ve had a rough day. I’m turning in. Thank you for a fine meal.”

She leaned back in her chair and looked up at him. “Thanks for clearing up.”

They regarded each other, then he went into the living-room. The T.V. serial had come to an end and Scott was getting to his feet.

“Bed,” he said. “See you around seven tomorrow evening. You got all you want? The fishing tackle is in that closet there. Use my rod if you want to.”

“I’ll do that.” A pause. “Well, good night, I guess I could sleep the clock around.”

Johnny went to his room and got into bed. He lay watching the moon and the still waters of the lake and he thought of Scott and his woman. Then his mind switched to Massino. He drew in a long, relaxed breath. Here, he felt safe. This surely was the one place on earth where the organization would never think to look for him.

And now after a good sleep, with the sun up, seeing Freda in the motorboat, he became fully awake. He stripped off and plunged into the lake, swam for some minutes in the cool clear water, then returned to the houseboat, dried off, dressed and went into the kitchen. Freda had set out a pot of coffee, a cup and saucer, sugar and milk. There was a stale loaf of bread and a toaster, but he didn’t bother with that. He carried the cup of coffee on to the deck and sat down, looking at the distant pines, the reflections of the clouds in the lake, the stillness of the water and he felt at peace.

After drinking the coffee and smoking a cigarette, he explored the houseboat, finding it consisted of three small bedrooms, beside the living-room, the kitchen and a shower room. The bedroom next to his was obviously Freda’s. The room was neat and clean with a small, single bed, a chest of drawers, a closet, books and a table with a bedside light. The room next to hers belonged to Scott: not so tidy, no books and the bed also small. In one corner stood a .22 target rifle and a shot gun. Johnny eyed these two weapons, then backed out of the room, closing the door.

He collected Scott’s fishing rod and went out onto the deck. He spent the next hour trying to catch fish but he had no luck. Still, it was relaxing to sit in the sun, the rod in his hand and he thought of all that money stashed away in the left-luggage locker. If he could stay here for a week or so, he decided it would be safe to return and get the money. Surely, after six weeks, the heat would be off. In a week or so, he would go with Scott to Richville and from there call Sammy who would be able to tell him what was happening.

Another hour drifted while he thought of the moment when he would buy his boat, then he heard the phut-phut of the returning motorboat and out of the sun, he saw Freda at the tiller. He waved at her and she lifted her hand. Ten minutes later she climbed on deck while Johnny secured the boat.

“You’ll never catch anything from here,” she said, seeing the rod.

“If you want to fish, take the boat.” She had a loaded shopping basket. “Lunch in two hours. Take the boat and see if you can get something for supper.”

Johnny had stripped off his shirt and suddenly she looked at his hairy chest and pointed.

“What’s that?”

He fingered the St. Christopher medal.

“My lucky charm.” He grinned. “St. Christopher. My mother gave it to me. Know what she said just before she died? She said ‘As long as you have that nothing really bad can happen to you’”.

“You’re an Italian, aren’t you?”

“That’s right, but I was born in Florida.”

“Well, don’t lose it,” and she carried the basket into the kitchen.

Taking the rod and tackle, he got in the motorboat and started the engine. It was good to be in a boat again, and an hour later when he had landed a four- pound bass, he decided he hadn’t spent a nicer morning since he was a kid.

He felt absurdly proud of himself when he carried the bass into the kitchen and saw Freda’s look of surprise.

“You’re quite a fisherman!” she said. “Put it down there. I’ll attend to it.”

“I’ve gutted it… used to fish a lot when I was a kid: hadn’t much else to eat. That smells good.”

“Ed gets a free meal in Richville. I thought I’d spend some of your money.” She looked at him. “Beef casserole. Like to give me some rent? I’ve spent all I bad.”

“Why, sure.” He went into his bedroom, unlocked the suitcase and took out two ten dollar bills. Then returning, he handed them to her.

“Thanks.” She put the money in a shabby little purse. “We can eat.”

While they were eating, she asked, “What do you plan to do? Just sit around here?”

“If I’m not in the way. I’m taking a vacation and this suits me fine.”

“You’re easy to please.” The bitter note in her voice made him glance at her.

“Yeah, I can guess it gets monotonous after a time. Ed was telling me about this shrimp contract.”

“He’s crazy!” She forked beef into her mouth. “The moment I can lay my hands on some money, I’m off! God! I’m sick of this way of life, but we’re stuck for money.”

“It’s tough. He seems to work like a slave. I’m sorry.”

“He works all right, but does he kid himself! He’ll never be anything. There are finks who slave themselves to death and never amount to anything… he’s one of them.” The bright blue eyes met his. “What do you do for a living?”

“Rent collecting. I got fed up with it, sold everything and when my money runs out, I’m going to get a job on a boat. I’m crazy about boats.”

“Boats?” She grimaced. “What sort of living can you make out of boats? Fishing? Is that a living?”

“A living doesn’t worry me. I just want to get on a boat.”

She laid down her knife and fork.

“Some ambition.”

“And you? If you had enough money to get away from here, what would you do?”

“Live! I’m twenty-six. I know men go for me.” She stared directly at him. “You go for me, don’t you?”

“So what’s that to do with it?”

“If I could get to Miami, I’d find a man and I’d squeeze every dollar out of him for services rendered. You know something? I thought this was the golden land of opportunity when I landed here three years ago. Was I green? I spent two months in New York in a Travel Agency, routing old jerks to Sweden. God! Was that a bore! Then I got a transfer down to Jacksonville: the same old bore. Then one day… my unlucky day… when I was fed up to my back teeth, I had to run into Ed, full of plans of starting up in the haulage business, owning his own truck, in a year owning two trucks, in four years a fleet of trucks… really in the money! So I married him! Okay, I asked for it and got it! We came here. ‘Give me a year,’ he said, ‘and you’ll see. Let’s rough it for a year, then I’ll get another truck.’ That’s two years ago! And what a man! What a man to live with!” She looked directly at Johnny. “Are you on to him?”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s kinky. High heels and whips. So we sleep apart. He gets his fun in Richville and I get my fun fishing!”

Johnny lifted his hands and let them fall heavily on his knees.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She got to her feet. “Come on, lodger. You want me and I need a man. This time it’s for free. Next time, it’ll cost you. I’ve got to save money and get out of here or I’ll damn well drown myself.”

Johnny remained seated.

“I want you, Freda, but not on those terms,” he said, quietly. “I’ve never paid for it and I never will.”

She stared at him, then she smiled.

“I think I’m going to like you, Johnny,” she said. “I think you’re all man. No conditions… let’s see how good you really are.”

He got up and putting his arm around her waist, cupping her heavy breast, he went with her into his tiny bedroom.

“What’s the time?”

Her voice sounded lazy and sleepy.

Johnny lifted his wrist. It was a few minutes after 15.00. She lay naked, her body on his, her blonde head half on his shoulder and half on the pillow.

“Just after three.”

“Oh, damn! I must go to the village.” She swung off him and on

to her feet, standing, looking down at him.

He looked up, feasting his eyes on her suntanned body. He reached up to touch her, but she moved out of his reach.

“Do you want to come with me?”

He very nearly said he would, then he remembered it would be safer to keep out of sight, to keep away from the village.

“I guess I’ll stay: What have you got to go for?”

“The mail if any and the newspaper. Ed likes the newspaper.”

“Anything I can do while you’re away?”

“You’ve done enough.” She smiled down at him. “You’re not much to look at but you know how to satisfy a woman.”

“Good?”

“Hmmm.”

She went away and reaching for a cigarette Johnny lit up, then relaxed on the bed.

She had been good too, he thought: starving for it. He lay there, thinking about her for the next half hour, then getting off the bed, he took a swim.

He was dressed and sitting on the deck when she returned in the motorboat. The time now was 16.30. He helped her scramble up on deck, then tied up the boat.

“Want to see the paper?” She offered it to him. “I’ll stuff the bass,” and she left him.

Newspapers seldom interested Johnny except to read the Sport’s news. He glanced at the headlines, found nothing to hold his attention, turned to page two, paused to read an account of a girl who had been found raped and murdered, grimaced, then flicked through the rest of the pages until he came to the funnies. He read “Peanuts” and grinned, then as he was turning to the Sports’ page a headline caught his eyes.

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?

$10,000 Reward

Then with a sudden cold sick feeling he saw his own photograph.

With shaking hands he read the letterpress.

Dyson & Dyson! Carlo Tanza’s attorneys!

Had Freda seen this? He decided by the way the newspaper was folded when she handed it to him she hadn’t opened it.

With sweat beads on his face, he studied the photograph. It had been taken some twenty years ago: a prison shot and yet there was a likeness. His hand went to his beard. No! No one could recognize him from this photograph!

Known to favour a St. Christopher medal.

The cunning bastards!

She had seen the medal!

He looked furtively over his shoulder, his heart thumping. She wanted money! Ten thousand dollars would be more than tempting! All she had to do was to get over to the village and call Dyson & Dyson. They would be in his lap within twenty-four hours and that would be his end!

What to do?

His first reaction was to destroy the newspaper, but that wouldn’t help. He knew enough of Tanza’s thoroughness to be sure the ad would run a week… even longer. Sooner or later, either Scott or Freda would see

Get out fast?

He was miles from any place. If he left it would have to be in the dark. It must be a good ten miles down to the freeway and in the dark, he could get hopelessly lost.

Could he trust her? Could he trust anyone?

“Who’s offering ten thousand dollars?”

She had come up silently behind him and was leaning over his shoulder. He sat rigid, wanting to crumple the newspaper and throw it in the lake, but fear paralysed him. He watched her hand take the paper from his grasp.

“Ten thousand dollars! Could I use money like that!” She came around and sat by his side.

He watched her read the letterpress and he knew at once when she came to the fatal line: Known to favour a St. Christopher medal. He saw her stiffen, stare at the photograph, then look at him.

“Is this you?” she asked and tapped the photograph.

Johnny hesitated, then he said huskily, “Yes.”

“Have you lost your memory?”

He shook his head.

“Who are these people… Dyson & Dyson?”

His tongue touched his dry lips.

“Mafia people,” he said, watching her.

Her eyes widened.

“Mafia?”

“That’s right.”

She put down the paper.

“I don’t understand,” and he could see she was shaken, but not so shaken that it curtailed her curiosity.

“You don’t want to understand.”

“Are you a mafioso?”

“No.”

“Then why are they offering all this money?”

“They want to find me and kill me,” Johnny said quietly.

She flinched.

“Kill you? Why?”

“I did something bad to them.”

She stared at him for several moments, then she tore the page containing the advert from the paper and offered it to him.

“You’d better burn this, hadn’t you? Ten thousand is a lot of

money. If Ed sees it he could be tempted: it only means a telephone call, doesn’t it?”

“You mean you wouldn’t be tempted?”

“Do you think I would?”

He shrugged helplessly.

“As you said, it’s a lot of money. You want money. I don’t know.”

She got to her feet.

“I’m going for a swim.”

“Wait… I want you to understand. I…”

She had piffled off her shirt, struggled out of her stretch pants and pantees and dived into the lake.

Johnny set fire to the sheet of newspaper, then tossed it still burning into the water. He found he was shaking. He sat there, staring at her bobbing head, watching her swim further and further away. Could he trust her? In the night, might she not start thinking of what that money could mean to her? It only means a telephone call, doesn’t it? She would go across the lake to the village tomorrow. He wouldn’t know if she had telephoned or not until Toni, Ernie and the rest of the mob arrived. He wiped the sweat off his face. He had better get out: pack now and clear out. Yet he didn’t move. It dawned on him that this woman meant more to him than any woman he had ever met.

Suppose he decided to trust her? Suppose he stayed on? What about Scott? Sooner or later he would see the advert, but he knew nothing about the medal. It was the medal that alerted Freda. He was sure of that. It was the medal that had given him away. Why should Scott connect him with the advert? The photo was taken twenty years ago.

With shaking fingers he undid the chain around his neck and stared at the medal, lying in his palm.

As long as you wear this, nothing really bad can happen to you.

He thought of his mother: a poor, ignorant, superstitious peasant! Goddamn it! Twice the medal bad-landed him in real trouble! If it hadn’t been for the medal he wouldn’t now be in hiding. If it hadn’t been for the medal Freda wouldn’t have guessed who he was.

He stood up.

Away in the distance he could see Freda swimming. The sun was beginning to sink behind the pines.

Lifting his hand, he threw the medal and chain with all his strength into the gathering dusk.

He watched the tiny splash as the medal hit the water.

It was done! It couldn’t betray him again!

He was sitting on the deck when she came out of the lake, water streaming off her golden body. She picked up her clothes and walked past him into the living-room.

The sun made a red rim around the pines. In another hour, Scott would be back.

During the time she had been swimming, Johnny had thought about her. He had come to the conclusion that this was his woman. He had never had this feeling before. He told himself he was crazy. What did he know about her except there was something in those blue eyes that told him he could trust her.

You mean you wouldn’t be tempted? Did you think I would?

And that look, surprise, then the hurt showed and she had thrown off her clothes and had swum away from him.

That wasn’t the action of treachery. Surely, if she planned to betray him, she wouldn’t have behaved like that.

Then she was beside him, dressed and sitting down. She looked seriously at him.

“I think we’d better talk, Johnny,” she said. “Do you think, by staying here, Ed and I will be in danger?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“Yes.” He paused, then went on. “I’ll get Ed to drive me to

Richville tomorrow and forget about me. It’s the best way.”

“I don’t want to forget you. I’m in love with you,” and she put her hand on his.

He felt a surge of emotion go through him. Many women had told him they loved him. Melanie had, often enough, but none of them had said it the way this woman said it.

“That makes two of us, but I’d better go.”

“Could we talk about it?” The slim fingers fondled his wrist. “Could you explain?”

The caressing fingers lulled his caution.

Speaking quietly, staring across the dark waters of the lake, he told her the story of his life. He told her of his yearning to own a boat, about Massino, how Masssino had cheated him. He told her about the Big Take, but he didn’t tell her how much money was involved.

“I have the money stashed away in East City. If it wasn’t for the medal there would have been no problem. I could have stayed there. Massino wouldn’t have suspected me. Then later, I would have taken the money and ducked out.”

“Is there much money?” she asked.

He looked at her. Her face was expressionless and she wasn’t looking at him.

“Enough.”

“If you got the money would you take me away from here?”

“Yes.”

“Would you choose between me and your boat? Would you give up your boat to keep me?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“No. You either go with the boat or I’ll stake you and we part. I’m risking my life for the boat: it’s that important to me.”

She nodded.

“I’m glad. I said it before and I’ll say it again: you’re all man. I’ll come with you and I’ll help on the boat.”

“If they find me here, they could kill you.”

“If I’m going to share this money with you, Johnny, I must share the risk… that’s fair, isn’t it?”

“Think about it. Let’s talk about it tomorrow. I’ve still got to get the money.”

“Where have you hidden it?”

He smiled at her.

“Where they won’t think of looking for it.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to go back for it?”

“Yes… it’s a hell of a risk.”

“But I could get it, couldn’t I? They don’t know me.”

A tiny red light of warning lit up in Johnny’s mind. Suppose he told her where the money was? Suppose he gave her the locker key? She could hire a car and drive to East City, take the two bags, load them into the car and that would be the last time he would ever see her. How can anyone trust anyone when there was so much money involved? She said she loved him: she had said it in such a way that he believed her, but when she dragged those two heavy bags out of the locker might she not be tempted to betray him?

He remembered what she had said: You’re not much to look at. He wasn’t. He was fourteen years older than she. With all that money, with her looks, she could make a wonderful life for herself without having a short, heavily-built man of forty-two in her hair.

The sound of the approaching truck saved him from answering.

“Here’s Ed. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Yes.

She got up and went hastily into the kitchen.

Scott had his swim, admired the bass Johnny had caught, then came out on deck, joining Johnny while Freda cooked the dinner.

“Had a good day?” Scott asked, lighting a cigarette. He looked slyly at Johnny.

“Fine. And you?”

“The usual.” Scott flicked ash into the lake. “Did she give out?”

Johnny stiffened.

“Come again?”

“Did you lay her?”

“Look, Ed, cut that talk out! I don’t like it. She’s your wife! Haven’t you any respect for her?”

Scott gave a sneering laugh.

“I told you I couldn’t care less. I was just curious to know if you made it.”

“Like I said… cut it out!”

Scott eyed him.

“Maybe you like it fancy. I do. If ever you want something fancy come to Richville with me. I know a couple of chicks…”

“I’m a lot older than you, Ed. You look after your sex life and I’ll look after mine. Okay?”

Scott studied him, then shrugged.

“Yeah. I guess when I get as old as you, it won’t be a problem.” He gave a sly grin. “I bet Freda’s disappointed. I get the idea she’s itching for it.”

“Then why don’t you give it to her?” Johnny tried to soften his voice, but his anger showed.

“She’s not my style.”

Johnny suddenly hated this man as he had seldom hated any man. He got to his feet as Freda came on to the deck.

“You can eat,” she said.

It was while they were finishing the bass that Scott said, “You got a younger brother, Johnny?”

Johnny became instantly alert. He paused to finish the last morsel of fish on his plate, then shook his head.

“I’ve no relations.”

“Just an idea.” Scott pushed aside his plate. “There’s an odd ad. in the Richville Times. I have it here.” He shoved back his chair and crossing to where he had left his jacket, he took out a folded newspaper.

Johnny and Freda exchanged quick glances as Scott put the paper in front of Johnny.

“What do you think of that… ten thousand dollars!”

Johnny pretended to read the letterpress, shrugged and reached for a cigarette.

“Funny thing,” Scott went on. “I looked up suddenly just now and you seem to resemble this photograph. I wondered if it could be a young brother.”

“Never had a brother,” Johnny said.

Scott passed the newspaper to Freda.

“Don’t you think this guy looks like Johnny?” Freda glanced at the photograph.

“Maybe.” Her voice was casual. “You can’t say Johnny is exactly an oil painting, can you?” and getting up, she began to collect the plates. Johnny helped her while Scott continued to stare at the photograph.

Out in the kitchen, Freda washed up while Johnny dried. They didn’t speak, but both were aware of tension.

Returning to the living-room, they found Scott still staring at the ad. Freda went out on deck and as Johnny followed her, Scott said, “Funny sort of ad., isn’t it?”

Johnny paused and came back to the table. He sat down.

“It sure is.”

“What do you imagine the idea is offering all this money for a guy who’s lost his memory?”

“Rich parents, I guess… anxious to find him.” Scott studied the photograph.

“Doesn’t look as if he comes from rich parents, does he?” He glanced at Johnny. “Bit on the rough side… like you and me.” “Yeah.”

“Ten thousand dollars! If I had all that money I’d buy me three more trucks and I’d really be in the business.” Scott’s face lit up. “Finding drivers is easy, but getting the capital for trucks is something else.”

“Ever thought of doubling your turn-over without buying more trucks?” Johnny asked, anxious to get Scott’s mind off the ad.

“How?”

“You deliver crates of shrimps to Richville… right?”

“So?”

“But you come back empty. Can’t you get freight from Richville to bring back to New Symara?”

“Do you imagine I haven’t thought of that?” Scott said scornfully. “You go out and sniff the truck. It stinks of shrimps. No one wants haulage that stinks that bad. I’ve tried, and anyway, there’s nothing in Richville that New Symara wants.”

“Just an idea.” Johnny got to his feet. “I guess I’ll turn in. See you.”

Scott nodded.

Johnny left him still staring at the ad.

Lying in his little bed, watching the moon while he thought, Johnny wasn’t ready for sleep. He thought of Freda. Suppose he could trust her? She would be safe going to the Greyhound bus station and getting the money. But could he trust her? Then his mind switched to Scott. Had he convinced him that he had no connection with the ad?

He closed his eyes, trying to force himself to sleep. Then he became alert. He heard Freda enter her room. What a woman! His mind dwelt on the three times they had made love and he had the urge to leave his bed and go into her room and take her again.

Then a slight sound made him stiffen. His door was gently opening. He lay still, his hand reaching under his pillow for his gun.

The moonlight coming through the open window shone directly on the door and through half closed eyes he saw Scott was looking at him through the half-open door.

Johnny emitted a soft snore, watching Scott who stood there, still, listening. Johnny snored again and the door closed silently.

What did this mean? He asked himself, now fully awake. He listened. He heard Freda’s door open,

“Come out on deck.” Scott’s whisper came clearly to Johnny. “Don’t say anything… he’s asleep.”

Johnny waited. He heard soft movements, then silence. He slid out of his bed, opened his door and peered into the moon-lit livingroom. He saw Scott and Freda through the window. They were on the deck. Moving like a ghost, he crept into the living- room as he heard Scott say, “Look at this.”

He had a flashlight in his hand and he was directing the beam on to a sheet of newsprint. Johnny knew at once it was the ad. He moved further fonvard.

“See?” Scott said, his voice low and excited. “I’ve pencilled a beard on him. It’s Johnny!”

“What are you talking about?” Freda’s voice was also a whisper but it came clearly to Johnny. “This man’s twenty years younger.”

“Could be an old photograph.”

They were standing side by side by the deck rail. Scott was wearing pjyamas. Freda had a shortie nightdress. Johnny could see her long legs through the moon-lit flimsy material.

“Sit down. I want to talk to you.”

Johnny watched them move to the bamboo chairs and sit, side by side. He moved forward so he now stood in the darkness within three feet of them, listening through the open window behind them.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” Scott said. “This missing man is Johnny Bianda. Our lodger calls himself Johnny Bianco. For all we know he has lost his memory and imagine he’s Bianco and not Bianda. The more I look at this photo, now I’ve put on the beard, the surer I am this is the man they want. Ten thousand dollars! Imagine! What do you think?”

Johnny held his breath. What she would say must tell him if he could trust her or not.

“He doesn’t act like a man who’s lost his memory.” Freda’s voice was calm. “We were talking this afternoon. He was telling me about his rent-collection experiences. No… you’re pipe dreaming.”

“Suppose I call these people: Dyson & Dyson? Where’s the harm? They can send someone to take a look at him. They will probably have dozens of people telephoning so what have we to lose? We might hit the jackpot.”

“And if we do… what happens?”

“Ten thousand dollars! You want to leave me, don’t you? You’ve had enough of this, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. So I give you two thousand and the rest I buy three more trucks and I’m in business. Tomorrow, I’ll call these people from Richville. If we’re unlucky, it’s too bad, but if we aren’t…”

Johnny’s heart now was thumping so hard he was scared they would hear.

“Let’s make sure,” Freda said. “I’ll send him out fishing tomorrow and while he’s on the lake, I’ll go through his things. This thing about a St. Christopher medal. He might have one. If I find it, we’ll know for sure it’s him.”

“What’s wrong with me telephoning tomorrow? They can but look at him.”

A pause, then she said, “Can’t you use your brains? If we are really sure we can ask for more… we could ask for fifteen thousand: Five for me and ten for you.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Yeah… but you don’t get five, baby. You’ll get four.”

“So all right. I get four.” Scott stood up.

“You check his things. Imagine! Fifteen thousand dollars!”

Johnny moved silently back to his bedroom, closed the door and lay on the bed.

So he could trust her! She was clever! She had gained a day…but what then?

There was no sleep for him that night.

Carlo Tanza came into Massino’s office, kicked the door shut and dumped his heavy body into a chair.

“We’ve certainly started something with that ad!” he exclaimed. “Already it has produced three hundred and forty-nine telephone calls. Dyson is flipping his lid. Every call has to be checked out.”

Massino glared at him.

“It was your bright idea.”

“It was a good idea, but how was I to know so many bastards resemble this bastard? So, okay, we’re checking them out but it’s going to take time.”

“That’s your business,” Massino said. “I pay… you produce. One thing I do know, if the money is in one of those lockers across the street, the sonofabitch will never get it… that’s something I’m damn well certain about!”