Knock Knock Who's There? (18 page)

"Okay. I'll send Toni."

Waterfront Bar. All the taxidrivers know it. He's to ask for Luigi. He's our contact man. He'll fix it Toni has three or four men who'll take him to Little Creek. Okay?"

Massino scribbled on a pad.

"Yeah," he said and hung up.

He turned to Berilli.

"Find Toni. Give him this. He's to fly on the first flight out. Tell him his job is to identify some guy Tanza thinks is Bianda. Get going!"

Berilli found Toni drinking beer with Ernie in a bar all Massino's men frequented. Toni and Ernie had just come off a long, boring stint of watching the left- luggage lockers and Toni was griping.

Ernie, who never minded a job where he could sit and do nothing, was listening with a bored expression on his fat face.

"Look who's here," he said when he saw Berilli come

"That creep!" Toni sneered. "What's he good for?"

Berilli came over and sat at their table.

"You have yourself a job." He hated Toni and it pleased him to be the conveyor of bad news. "The boss says you're to fly right away to New Symara . . . wherever the hell that is. Here . . . it's all written down."

Toni took the scrap of paper, read it and then looked blankly at Berilli.

"What the hell's this all about?" he demanded.

"This guy Luigi says they think they've spotted Johnny. They want someone to go down there and identify him before they move in."

"Johnny?"

Toni lost colour.

"Yeah. The boss says for you to take off right away."

"That'll be the time," Ernie said and chortled. "When you face Johnny. Man! Would I like to be a long distant witness!"

"You're sure the boss picked me?"

Berilli sneered at him.

"You call him. Don't you want the job?"

Toni licked his lips, aware the two men were watching him and grinning. He got to his feet and left the bar.

Johnny got back to the houseboat around midday with three fairsized Black Crappie. He had been uncomfortable wearing his bush jacket but he had to wear it to hide his gun and holster. From now on, he told himself, he wouldn't move without his gun. His instinct for danger was alert. While fishing, he had thought of Salvadore. The fat man had been friendly, but that didn't mean a thing. Everywhere there was a Mafia contact. He remembered Salvadore saying:
You
Italian like me?
On the face of it a harmless remark, but it could also point to trouble.

All the same the peace of the lake, the quietness, the fact no one came near, although he could see distant boats, gave him a feeling of security, but he would carry his gun.

He dumped the fish into the kitchen sink. There was no sign of Freda. He went into his room, then kneeling, he looked under the bed and he smiled.

He had placed the suitcase at a slight angle and now it was straight. That could only mean Freda had touched it. He pulled it out and examined the locks. They were flimsy enough and it was possible she had a key that could open them. He unlocked the case and counted the ten dollar bills. Of Sammy's money, he had left $2,857. He relocked the case and pushed it under the bed, then he went up on deck.

He sat in the sun for more than an hour, then he heard Freda crossing the creaky jetty.

"Hi! Where have you been?" he asked as she came around the deck and joined him.

"Three Black Crappie."

"God! Crappie again!"

"The bass were shy."

She went to the rail and stood against it, her hands on the rail, her body slightly bent forward. Johnny eyed the soft, sweep of her buttocks. He came up behind her, his hands cupping her breasts, his body against her softness.

She slid away from him.

"Skip it!" she said, her voice hard. "We can't spend all the week . . ." She used the ugly four letter word and it shocked Johnny.

"Take it easy," he said. "This is a game of patience."

"I'll fix the fish." He had a definite feeling that she was now hostile. "Eggs and bacon for lunch."

"Fine."

He watched her walk into the kitchen. This woman could be tricky. He thought of Melanie: no trickiness there. He sat for a long moment, his mind active. Freda must learn he was the boss. If she didn't recognize this fact, he could be in danger.

Getting to his feet, he walked into the kitchen. Freda was washing the fish and she glanced over her shoulder.

"What do you want?"

"Dry your hands."

"I'm busy . . . go sit in the sun."

He jerked her around and slapped her face. He was careful not to hit her too hard, but the slap was hard enough to jerk her head back. Her blue eyes blazed and her hand dropped on a kitchen knife by the fish.

He caught her wrist, squeezed and the knife dropped to the floor, then he caught hold of her, pinning her arms to her sides and shoving her out of the kitchen, he forced her along the passage to his room.

She was strong and hard to hold but he handled her. He got her into his room, kicked the door shut, then released her.

"Get them off or I'll rip them off!" he said.

"Who do you imagine you are?" Her eyes were blazing with fury. "You'll have me when I want you and not before! Now get out!"

To Johnny who in the past had been in many brawls, she was pathetically easy. He weaved as she struck at him, her clawed fingers hopelessly out of range. Then he had her on her back on the bed. Her wrists now gripped in his hand.

"Going to behave, baby, or do I really get rough?" She stared up at him, then relaxed.

"I'll behave."

He released her wrists, undid her belt and pulled the stretch pants off her.

Later, she said, "I'm starving." She ran her fingers down his hard back. "I love you. You're all man. Whatever you say, whatever you do is all right with me."

She slid off the bed and went away.

While he dressed, he heard the sizzling sound of bacon cooking. He went into the kitchen. Freda, naked, was cracking eggs into the pan.

He came up behind her and stroked her buttocks. "Stop it, Johnny, or we don't eat."

While they were eating, Johnny said, "In five days from now, you and me will be on the road together . . . starting a new life." Freda smiled at him.

"I want it! Johnny . . . you don't know how much I want it!"

They spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the deck, soaking up the sun. Around 18.30, Freda said, "I'll start supper. You take a walk. Don't get back for an hour. I must convince Ed."

"I'll take the boat, maybe I'll catch a bass."

"If it's Black Crappie, put it back."

thought of her. He wondered too what Melanie was doing. If she had found someone to replace him. He wondered what Massino was doing. Probably taking his fat, spoilt wife on some shindig. During the hour, he caught four Black Crappie and put them back, then he turned the boat and headed back to the houseboat.

As he got on deck, he saw Scott hosing down his IF truck. He waved and Scott waved back. He went into the kitchen.

Freda nodded.

"It's all right. There's nothing for us to worry about. He's dropped it."

Johnny drew in a slow deep breath.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

A little after 11.15 an air-taxi landed at the New Symara airport and from it came Toni Cappelo.

Ten minutes later a taxi dropped him outside the Waterfront Bar. He regarded the outside of the building and was surprised. This joint, he decided, had a lot of style. Situated opposite the yacht basin, the swank district of New Symara, the Waterfront Bar was the haunt of the rich. Tables, shaded by gaily coloured umbrellas, stood before the building which was painted white with sky-blue wooden shutters. There was a red carpet leading into the bar over which was a blueand-white, barrel-shaped canopy. The tables were crowded with fat, rich-looking people off their yachts.

Toni felt a little shabby as he walked into the bar, carrying his suitcase. He was aware people were staring at him and he now wished his clothes matched theirs.

An Italian in a white jacket and blood-red trousers, intercepted him.

"You want something?" The contempt in the man's voice gave Toni a rush of blood to his head.

The waiter's eyes bulged.

"Signore Moro is busy."

"Tell him Massino," Toni said. "He's expecting me!"

The waiter's contempt went away. He pointed.

"Excuse me. Please go ahead. First door behind the bar."

Toni found Luigi Moro behind a desk as big as a billiard table. He was scribbling figures on a scratch pad and as Toni walked in, he leaned back in his chair and nodded.

Luigi Moro was around sixty-five years of age, enormously fat, his nose slightly flattened—a gift from a tough cop when he had been young—his dark, shifty eyes as animated as the eyes of a dead fish.

"Sit down . . . have a cigar." He waved to a chair and pushed a silver box containing Havanas in Toni's direction.

Toni wasn't a cigar smoker. He sat down on the edge of the chair. He had heard about Luigi Moro, one of the Mafia's favourites: a man people had to respect or there was trouble.

Moro lit a cigar, taking his time, looking thoughtfully at Toni.

"I've heard about you: you're good with a gun." Toni nodded.

"How's Joe?"

"He's okay."

"A big steal." Moro laughed. "I bet he's flipping his lid."

Toni didn't say anything.

"We got this tip," Moro said. "We've got over a hundred tips but this one looks good. I've got all my men out checking other tips so suppose you go out to Little Creek and take a gander? It could be negative and I don't want to pull my boys off the work they're doing. You take a gander and if it's straight up, call me and we'll go out there and get him."

Toni felt a chill go up his spine.

"Don't you send anyone with me?"

Moro stared at him.

silver ash-tray on his desk. "You're Massino's top gunman, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Fine. You can handle this." He pressed a button on his desk and a minute or so later the door opened and a young long-haired Italian came in. "Take this guy to Little Creek, Leo, wise him up. Introduce him to Salvadore. Tell the old buzzard my compliments."

The young man stared at Toni, then jerked his head to the door. Toni followed him out into the passage, hating him: a possible homo : very lean, white-faced, glittering eyes, could be on pot.

In silence they walked out of the building by the back exit to a shabby Lincoln.

Leo slid under the wheel and Toni got in the passenger's seat.

Leo turned and stared at Toni.

"I heard about you . . . a trigger man." He grinned, showing good white teeth. "Rather you than me."

"Get going," Toni snarled. "Rest the lip."

"Tough too?" Leo laughed. "You watch the telly?"

"Get moving!"

Leo opened the glove compartment and dropped a pair of powerful field glasses in Toni's lap.

"They're for you."

Thirty minutes later they pulled up outside Salvadore Bruno's store.

"This is where I kiss you off," Leo said. "Have a ball. If it's him, call us. Okay?"

The time now was 11.45. There was some activity on the waterfront. As Toni got out of the car he was aware people were looking curiously at him. He slung the field glasses by their strap on his shoulder and walked into the store as Leo drove away.

Salvadore beckoned to Toni who followed him behind the curtain and into Salvadore's living-room. "You from Luigi?"

"Yeah."

Salvadore opened a drawer in the table and took out a largescale map.

"Here's where we are: here's where he is," he said, pointing with a pencil. "You can take my boat or you can take my car and drive around the lake."

Toni blotted sweat off his face with his sleeve.

"Maybe the boat is better."

He didn't want to get too close to Johnny if this suspect was Johnny.

"Yes. There are always fishermen on the lake." Salvadore eyed the field glasses. "With those you can see without being seen. I'll loan you a fishing rod. Just go out on the lake and act you're fishing.. okay?"

"Yeah."

A pause, then Salvadore said, "If it's him, I get the reward . . . yes?"

"How the hell do I know?" Toni snarled. "Why the hell should I care anyway?"

"That's no way to talk to your betters," Salvadore said. "I ask a polite question: I expect a polite answer."

"So get stuffed!" Toni snarled. "How's about something to eat?"

Salvadore moved forward. His hand caught Toni's wrist in a grip of steel, his vast belly, rock hard, smashed into Toni's side, driving the breath out of him. His arm was twisted and he found himself gasping and on his knees. He felt a hard, sweaty hand slap him heavily around his ears, then dazed, he groped for his gun as Salvadore released him.

"Don't do it!"

"All right, my friend," Salvadore said gently, "so now you'll be polite. I may be fat and old, but I've eaten boys like you for breakfast. So now you ask politely for dinner."

Toni got unsteadily to his feet.

Salvadore put his gun back into its holster, hidden under his thin coat.