Dressed, he left his room and went into the living-room. Scott was smoking and staring out of the window. He looked up as Johnny came in.
"Okay?"
"Fine."
"We don't drink here," Scott said. "Can't afford it. If you want a drink you can buy anything at the store. Take the motorboat over tomorrow."
Johnny would have liked a whisky, but he sat down, shrugging.
"That smells good."
"Yeah. Freda can cook."
"You told her about me?"
"Oh, sure." Scott leaned forward and turned to the T.V. set. "She's in the kitchen." He waved. "Go talk to her."
Johnny hesitated, then getting to his feet, he pushed open a door at the far end of the living room and looked into the small kitchen with a butane gas cooker, a cupboard, a table, a refrigerator and Freda Scott.
She was stirring something in a pan and she looked up.
Johnny felt a little jolt. God! he thought, this woman's beautiful!
And she was. Her face matched her body. She had to be a Swede with those bright china blue eyes, the blonde, silky hair, the high cheek bones, the straight, long nose.
While he stared at her, she gave him a brief, quick searching look, then scooping up raw, chopped-up fish, she dropped the pieces into the pan.
"Hungry?" She had a musical, soft voice which was like a sexual caress. "I guess you must be. Well, it won't be long. Ed says you're going to stay."
"If it's all right with you."
She was wearing a pair of stretch pants and a man's shirt, a faded blue. He eyed the curve of her buttocks, remembering the body, naked. His eyes shifted to her full breasts, straining against the shirt.
"We want the money," she said. "Anyway, as Ed says, it'll be company for me. Do you like curry?"
"I like anything."
"Go watch T.V. It'll be twenty minutes. I prefer to cook on my own."
She glanced up and they looked at each other. The bright blue eyes ran over his short, heavily-built body, then to his face and their eyes locked.
"Call me Johnny," Johnny said and his voice was a little husky.
"Freda." She waved him away. "Keep Ed company . . . not that he likes company, but he might grow used to it." Johnny caught a bitter note in her voice.
Leaving her, he returned to the living-room.
Andy Lucas came into Massino's office, closed the door and looked from Massino to Tanza. The room was heavy with cigar smoke and there was a half- bottle of whisky, glasses and an ice bucket on the desk.
"Well?" Massino snarled.
"I've checked," Andy said. "It's taken time, but I've now talked with every driver who left the bus station between 2 a.m. and 5 a.m. on the night of the steal. None of them took those bags. If they take luggage, they have to issue a ticket . . . no luggage."
"So that thins it down," Tanza said. "He either had someone with him who took the money out or the money is still in town."
Massino brooded about this.
"So suppose he was on his own. Suppose he dumped the money in one of those left-luggage lockers across the street, planning to come back for it? What do you think?"
Tanza shook his head.
"He's no fool. He must know he couldn't come back. It's my bet he was working with someone who took the money out."
Massino nodded.
"Looks like it, but just suppose he did dump the money in one of those lockers." He looked at Andy. "Can we check?"
"There are over three hundred lockers," Andy said. "Even the Commissioner couldn't get into them all without a judge's say-so. We could try, but do you want that, Mr. Joe?"
Massino thought about this, then shook his head.
"No. You're right. We start a caper like that and the press will get on to it." He thought some more. "But we can seal of those lockers. Get it organized, Andy. I want a twenty-four-hour watch kept. Have two men on four-hour shifts, day and night, watching those lockers. Give them a description of the bags. If anyone opens a locker and takes those bags, he's to be nailed!"
Andy nodded and left the office.
"So what's the organization doing?" Massino demanded.
"Take it easy, Joe. We'll find him . . . may take a little time, but we'll find him. The word's gone out. By now, everyone connected with us knows we want him. Take a look at this." He produced from his wallet a printer's proof and laid it on the desk. "This will appear in all the Florida newspapers tomorrow morning."
Massino leaned forward and read the proof.
HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?
$10,000 Reward
Below this headline was Johnny's prison photograph. The letterpress went on:
Missing from home, believed suffering from loss of memory: Johnny Bianda. Heavily built, five foot nine inches, clean shaven, sallow complexion, grey-black hair, forty-two years of age. Known to favour a St. Christopher medal.
A reward of $10,000 will be paid to anyone giving information that will lead to this man being found. Contact:
Dyson & Dyson, Attorneys-at-Law,
1600 Crew Street.
East City. Tel. 007.611.09
"He'll hide up with someone without money . . . they always do," Tanza said with his evil grin. If this doesn't flush him out, we have other tricks, but I think it will."
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.