Read Knock Knock Who's There? Online
Authors: James Hadley Chase
Knock Knock Who's There? (5 page)
As he was within a five-minute walk from the Greyhound bus station, he made his way there. Reaching the station, he paused to look across the street and up at Massino's office windows. Massino was probably in flight to Miami for a long week-end, but Johnny was sure that Andy was up there in his poky office.
He went into the bus station and made his way to the left luggage lockers. He stopped to read the instructions printed on the door of one of the lockers. The key, he read, had to be collected from the attendant. He glanced around. Seeing no one among the milling crowd he knew, he wandered over to the attendant's cubby hole. A big, sleepy-looking negro peered at him.
"Let's have a key," Johnny said. "How much?"
"How long do you want it for, boss?"
"Three weeks . . . maybe longer. I don't know."
The negro handed over the key.
"Half a buck a week: that'll be a buck and a half for three weeks."
Johnny paid, dropped the key into his pocket, then went to locate the locker. It was conveniently placed: just inside the entrance door. Satisfied, he walked out into cold and made his way back to his apartment.
He spent the next hour, sitting before his window, thinking of
Massino. Around 14.00 just when he was thinking of getting a snack for lunch the telephone bell rang.
Grimacing, he got to his feet and lifted the receiver.
"Johnny?"
"Hi, baby!" He was surprised that Melanie should be calling. He had arranged to take her for a drive on Sunday afternoon and then spend the night with her.
"I've got the curse, Johnny. It started just now," Melanie said. "I'm feeling like hell. Can we forget to- morrow?"
Women! Johnny thought. Always something wrong! But he knew Melanie really suffered when she had her period. This would mean a long, lonely, dreary weekend for him.
"Sorry about that, baby," he said gently. "Sure, we'll forget tomorrow. There'll be plenty of other Sundays. Anything I can do?"
"Nothing. As soon as I get home, I'll go to bed. It doesn't last all that long."
"You want any food?"
"I'll take in something. You have a nice time, Johnny. I'll call you as soon as it's over and then well have fun."
"Yeah. Well, look after yourself," and Johnny hung up.
He wandered around the room wondering what the hell he would do over the week-end. He took out his wallet and checked his money. He had one hundred and eight dollars of his pay left. This would have to last him until next Friday. He hesitated. It would be good to get in his car and drive down to the coast: a three hundred mile drive. He could put up at a motel and walk by the sea, but it would cost. He couldn't afford that kind of week-end. Fine for Massino who had all the money in the world, but strictly not for Johnny Bianda.
Shrugging, he crossed over to the T.V. set and turned it on. He sat down before the screen and gave himself over, with bored indifference, to a ball game.
As he watched, his mind dwelt on the time when he would be on his boat, feeling the lift and fall of the deck, feeling the spray of the sea against his face and the heat of the sun.
Patience, he told himself, patience.
THREE
Johnny came awake with a start and looked at his strap watch, then he relaxed. The time was 06.30 . . . plenty of time, he told himself and he looked at Melanie, sleeping by his side. Her long black hair half covered her face and she was making a soft snorting sound as she slept.
Cautiously, not to disturb her, he reached for his pack of cigarettes on the bedside table, lit up and dragged smoke gratefully into his lungs.
Today, he told himself was D-day: Friday 29th. The collection began at 10.00. By 15.00 be and Sammy would have collected something like $150,000! The Big Take! In eighteen hours time, if he had any luck, all this money would be his and safely stashed away in a Greyhound luggage locker.
If he had any luck.
He fingered the St. Christopher medal lying on his bare chest. He thought of his mother: as long as you wear it, nothing really bad can happen to you.
Lying still, he recalled the past days that had slipped away so quickly. On Monday, he had gone the rounds with Bernie, meeting people, hearing them yak, looking for new sites for the one-arm bandits. To Bernie's startled amazement, Johnny had placed five machines in new locations on his first day. As usual, Massino had made the right choice in picking Johnny. Most people, living in the City, knew Johnny by reputation: a tough, hard man and good with a gun. When he walked into some cafe and looked directly at the owner, suggesting in his quiet voice that the owner could do with one of Massino's gambling machines, there was no argument.
Even Andy had been pleased when Johnny's total for four days had been eighteen machines placed in new locations.
Now here was Friday 29th. One more collection and he would then move into the world of one-arm bandits and Bernie would gratefully bow out. These past four days had told Johnny that the job wasn't all that bad. Unlike Bernie, he had the reputation behind him to wave in people's faces: he realized no one respected Bernie and he marvelled that Bernie had lasted as long as he had.
Johnny touched off the ash of his cigarette as he stared up at the ceiling. He was relieved that he had no qualms, no feeling of nerves. He thought of all that money: $150,000! He mustn't be too successful with the one-arm bandits, he warned himself. He wanted to retire from the scene in two years. He could wait that long, but no longer. His first year would be good.
Maybe, he might even qualify for the one per cent deal, but the following year, he would slow down, appearing to lose his grip, and knowing Massino and Andy, they would look around for a younger man. Then he could bow out as Bernie was now bowing out.
Melanie stirred and half sat up.
"You want coffee, honey?" she asked sleepily.
He stubbed out his cigarette and leaned over her.
"There's time." His fingers caressed her breast and she sighed happily.
Later, when they were having breakfast, Johnny said casually, "I'll see you tonight, baby. We'll go to Luigi's."
Melanie, happily eating pancakes and syrup, nodded.
"Yes, Johnny."
He paused, not quite sure how to tell her. Goddamn it! He thought, this can't be complicated. Tell her half the truth. She'll buy anything . . . just half the truth.
"Baby, I have a job to do tonight," he said as he cut into his pancake. "Are you listening?"
She looked up. The syrup was making a tiny trickle down her chin.
"Yes."
"This job is nothing to do with my boss and he wouldn't want me to do it. It means a little more money for me, but Massino mustn't know about it." He paused and looked at her. She was listening. Her black eyes were already showing signs of panic. She had always been terrified of Massino and hated Johnny working for him. "There's nothing to worry about," he went on, his voice soft and soothing. "You know what an alibi means?"
She put down her knife and fork and nodded.
"I need an alibi, baby, and I want you to supply it. Nov listen, tonight, we eat at Luigi's, then we come here. I leave my car outside. Around midnight, I'll leave you for thirty minutes while I do this job. I come back and if any questions are asked you say I didn't leave you once we got back after dinner. Get it?"
Melanie put her hands to her face and her elbows on the table. It was a bad sign, Johnny told himself that she had now lost interest in her food.
"What job?" she asked.
He too suddenly didn't want anything more to eat. He pushed his plate aside and lit a cigarette.
"That's something you needn't know, baby," he said. "It's a job. All you have to tell anyone who might ask is that we spent the night here together and I didn't leave you for a second. Will you do that?"
She stared at him, her soft black eyes frightened. "Who will ask?"
"The chances are no one will ask, baby." He forced a smile. "But maybe the fuzz will ask . . . maybe Massino."
She flinched.
"I don't want trouble, Johnny. No . . . don't ask me to do it."
He pushed back his chair and stood up. He had half expected this reaction, knowing Melanie as he did. He moved to the window and looked down at the slow- moving traffic. He was sure of her. She would do it, he told himself, but she needed to be persuaded.
He let a long silence build up, then turning, he came back to the table and sat down.
"I've never asked you to do anything for me, have I? Not once. I've done a lot for you. You have this apartment, the furniture, you have lots of things I have given you, but never once have I asked you to do anything for me . . . now, I'm asking. It's important."
She stared at him.
"I just have to say that you were here tonight and you didn't leave?"
"That's it. You say after we had dinner at Luigi's we came back here and I didn't leave here until eight o'clock in the morning. Get it? I didn't move from here from ten tonight until eight tomorrow."
Melanie looked down at her cold pancake.
"Well, if it's so important, I guess I could say that," she said doubtfully.
"That's fine." He wished he could convey to her how important it was. "So, okay, you'll do it?"
"I don't like doing it, but I'll do it."
He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to control his exasperation.
"Baby, this is serious. The fuzz could yell at you. You know how the fuzz act. You must stick with this. Even if Massino bawls at you, you must stick with this . . . Do you understand?"
"Must I do it, Johnny? I'd rather not."
He fondled her hand, trying to instil confidence in her.
"You'll be repaying a debt, baby. Don't you want to help me?"
She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes showing her fear, then she put her other hand over his and gripped it hard.
"Okay, Johnny . . . I'll do it."
And he knew by the tone of her voice she would do it and he relaxed.
He got to his feet and she came around the table to press herself against him. His hand slid up under her nightdress and cupped her heavy buttocks.
"I've got to get moving, baby," he said. "See you tonight. Don't worry . . . it's nothing, baby . . . just a little lie."
Leaving her, he ran down the stairs and to where he had parked his car. Ten minutes later, he was back in his apartment. He shaved and showered. As he stood under the cold water, he wondered if Melanie would have the guts to face Massino if things turned sour. Maybe she would. He touched his St. Christopher medal. The trick with this steal was not to let Massino nor the fuzz even suspect who had taken the money.
He drove up to Massino's office, arriving there a few minutes to io.00. Toni Capello and Ernie Lassini were already there, propping up a wall in the office, smoking. Sammy came up the stairs as Johnny entered the office.
"Hi!" Johnny paused. "The big day. You got your uniform fixed?"
Sammy's face was already glistening with sweat. There was a grey tinge under the black of his skin. Johnny could see he was scared to death and he knew Sammy's panic would grow as the collection went on.
"Mr. Andy's fixing it," Sammy said huskily and moved into the office.
Toni and Ernie greeted them. The four men stood around for some minutes, then Andy came from his office with two collection bags. They were handcuffed together and there was a spare handcuff which Andy snapped on Sammy's wrist and which was attached to one of the bags.
Toni said, "I wouldn't have your job for a thousand bucks." He was grinning, seeing Shimmy's fear. "Man! Could some guy take a swing at your wrist with an axe!"
"Cut it out!" Johnny snapped, his voice dangerous. "No one's swinging no axes."
There was a sudden silence as Massino came into the office.
"All set?" Massino asked Andy.
"They're on their way."
"Well . . ." Massino grinned at Johnny. "So . . ." Johnny waited, his face expressionless.
"Last round-up, huh?" Massino said. "You're going to do fine with the bandits, Johnny." He looked at Sammy. "You're going to do fine as my chauffeur. Okay, get moving. The Big Take!" He went to his desk and sat down.
As Toni and Ernie, followed by Sammy, moved to the door,
Massino said, "Johnny?"
Johnny paused.
"You got that goddamn medal on?" Massino was grinning.
"I'm never without it, Mr. Joe."
Massino nodded.
"Watch it! You could need it on this trip."
"We three will be watching it, Mr. Joe," Johnny said quietly.
The four men left the office and walked down the stairs to Johnny's car.
Five hours later, it was over. There had been no trouble. The police looked the other way when Johnny double parked, slowing the flow of traffic. Money rolled into the bags. Sammy, expecting to hear any second the bang of a gun and to feel a bullet smash into his body was almost gibbering by the time Johnny pulled up outside Massino's office block.
Johnny touched him on his shoulder.
"Finished," he said quietly. Now the Rolls."
But Sammy still didn't feel safe. He had to cross the sidewalk, dragging the heavy bags before he finally reached the haven of Massino's office.
With Johnny at his side and Ernie and Toni, fanned out, their hands gripping their gun butts, he got out of the car and into the rain. He cringed at the crowd waiting around the entrance to the office block to cheer the four men as they arrived.
Then the blessed dimness of the lobby and the ride up in the elevator.
"How does it feel, boy, to be carrying all that dough?" Toni asked.
Sammy looked at him, then away. He was thinking that tomorrow he would be really safe, fitted with a grey uniform, wearing a peaked cap with a black cockade and at the wheel of a Corniche Rolls. After ten years of fear, he had come through without being shot at and without having his hand chopped off and now he was heading for pastures green.
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