"Sammy! Wake up! This is Johnny!"
"Who?"
"Johnny!"
A low moan of fear came over the line.
"Listen, Sammy . . . what's happening up there? What's the news?"
"Mr. Johnny . . . I asked you . . . I begged you not to contact me. I could get into real trouble. I . . ."
"Cut it out," Sammy! You're my friend . . . remember? What's happening?"
"I don't know. I don't know nothin'. No one talks any more, Mr. Johnny. I swear I don't know nothin'!"
"I want you to do something for me, Sammy."
"Me? Haven't I done enough, Mr. Johnny? You've got all my money. Cloe keeps worrying me for money and I've got none now to give her. My brother. . ."
"Skip it, Sammy! I told you: you'll get your money back. Now listen carefully. You know the Greyhound bus station?"
"Yeah. I know it."
"When you have driven the boss to his office, go in there and buy a newspaper. Wander around. I want to know if any of the mob are staked out there. You getting this, Sammy?"
"They are staked out there, Mr. Johnny. Don't ask me why, but they are. I went in there last night to get cigarettes and Toni and Ernie were hanging around."
Johnny nodded to himself. So Massino suspected the money was in one of those lockers.
"Okay, Sammy. Now don't worry about your money. I'll send it to you soon," and he hung up.
For a long moment, Johnny stood staring at the coin box. It was a matter of patience. For how long would Massino have the lockers watched? He could not know the money was there: he was guessing. This had to be thought about. How to deal with Scott tonight?
He pushed open the booth door and moved into the store.
"Johnny! Come and meet Salvadore," Freda called. She was standing by one of the counters. On the other side was the short, fat man who thrust out his hand.
"Glad to meet you," he said with a wide smile. "Big surprise. Mrs. Freda never told me she had a half-brother. Welcome to Little Creek."
As Johnny shook hands, he took this man in with a quick searching glance: balding, around sixty, a bushy moustache, small, intelligent eyes and a stubbly chin.
"Passing through," he said. "Got business in Miami. Nice store you have here."
"Yeah, yeah, it's all right." The little eyes dwelt on Johnny's face. "You Italian like me?"
"My mother was Italian," Johnny said. "Our old man was a
Swede." He looked at Freda who nodded. "Mother comes out in you, huh?"
"You can say that."
"Yeah." A pause. "You staying long?"
"It's pretty nice up here. I'm in no hurry to get to work." Johnny forced a laugh. "I heard a lot about this place when Freda wrote, but I had no idea it's as good this."
"You fish?"
"I like it. Yesterday, I landed a four-pounder first try . . . a bass."
Salvadore beamed.
"So you're a fisherman."
"Could I have two pounds of bacon and a dozen eggs," Freda broke in.
"In a moment."
Salvadore hurried to another counter. Johnny and Freda exchanged glances. They didn't say anything.
Ten minutes later, after more talk, they walked across the quay to the boat.
Salvadore watched them go. The benign expression on his fat face slowly faded and his little eyes became like marbles.
He reached under the counter and produced yesterday's Florida Times. Quickly, he thumbed through the pages until he came to the Have You Seen This Man? advertisement. He stared for several moments at the photograph, then taking a pencil from behind his ear, he carefully pencilled in a beard. After staring at the photograph again, he crossed to the call booth, inserted a coin and dialled a number.
A growling voice replied.
"Bruno. Little Creek," Salvadore said. "This guy Johnny Bianda. There's a guy just arrived, calling himself Johnny who looks like him."
"What guy?"
Salvadore talked.
"If she says he's her half-brother why the hell can't he be her half-brother."
"This doll isn't getting it from her husband. It's my bet she'd say anything to get it and it's my bet this guy is giving it to her."
"Okay. I'll send someone to take a look. We've got hundreds of goddamn suspects to check out, but I'll send someone."
"When?"
"How do I know? When I've got a man free."
"If it's him, I get the reward?"
"If it's him," and the line went dead.
The noise of the outboard engine made conversation impossible. Johnny sat in the prow of the boat, his mind active. The store-keeper had alerted his sense of danger. He had had to phone Sammy, but now he realized the risk he had taken. There were Mafiosi everywhere. So they were watching the lockers at the Greyhound bus station! As he sat in the prow of the boat, feeling the breeze against his face, watching the prow cut through the still waters, he felt the net closing in on him.
When he had tied up and had followed Freda on to the deck of the houseboat, he dropped into one of the bamboo chairs.
"Well?"
She stood over him and he looked up into her bright blue eyes.
"They're watching the lockers."
The disappointment in her eyes made him uneasy. She was so money hungry, he thought. She sat by his side.
"So what do we do?"
"That's right . . . so what do we do?" He thought, staring across the lake. "When I planned this steal, baby, I told myself I would have to be patient. I told myself it wouldn't be safe spending that money for a couple of years."
She stiffened.
"Two years?"
"As long as the money stays in the locker, it's safe. Try and move it and you and me are dead and the money goes back to Massino. Sooner or later, he'll get tired of watching the lockers. It might take a month . . . even six months, but I have my contact in East City. He'll tell me when the heat's off and until it's off, we have to wait."
"You're not planning to stay here six months, are you?"
"No . . . I've got to find myself a job. I'm handy with boats. I'll go to Tampa . . . I'll find something there."
"And what about me?" The hard note in her voice made him look at her. She was staring at him, her eyes glittering.
"I've some money. It'll be rough like this, but if you want to come, I'd like to have you with me."
"How much money did you take from this man, Johnny? You haven't told me."
And he wasn't going to tell her.
"Around fifty thousand," he said.
"You're risking your life for fifty thousand?"
"That's it. I want to own a boat. I can get one for that money."
She stared at him and he saw she didn't believe him.
"It's more than that, isn't it? You don't trust me."
"I don't know. I never got around to counting it. My guess is fifty, but it could be more . . . could be less.