She sat still, thinking.
He watched her, then said quietly. "You're wondering if ten thousand in the hand is better than fifty thousand in the bush, aren't you?"
She stiffened, then shook her head.
"No. I'm trying to imagine myself on a boat," but he knew she was lying.
"Don't do anything you'll regret," he said. "Look, suppose when you go over for the mail you call these attorneys. Let me tell you what will happen. Five or six men will arrive. They'll try to take me alive, because dead, they will never find the money. One thing I'm sure about: no one takes me alive. I've seen what happens to men who have tried to doublecross Massino. He has them tied to chairs and beats them with a baseball bat: careful not to kill them, breaking their bones and then he finally sticks a butcher's hook in their throats and hangs them in the chair until they die: so no one is taking me alive. So there will be a gun battle and during the gun battle you'll stop a bullet. Believe me, baby, no one will live to collect that ten thousand dollar reward: that's just bait. So don't do anything you'll regret."
She shivered, then put her hand on his.
"I wouldn't betray you, Johnny, I swear I wouldn't, but what about Ed?"
"Yeah, I've been thinking about him. Here's what you tell him. You tried to get into my suitcase while I was fishing, but it was locked. So when I got back, you went over to collect the mail and the newspaper. You telephoned these attorneys and said you thought the man they were looking for was in Little Creek. And what do you imagine they said?" Johnny looked at her. "They said the man had been found in Miami and they thanked you for calling them and they were sorry you had been troubled. How will Ed react to that?" She relaxed.
"That's smart. He won't want to spend more money on a long distance. Yes, he'll drop it."
"That's the way I figured it. I can stay here until the end of the week, then I'll tell him I'm moving on. We'll hire that car you talked about and we'll go to Tampa."
"Why wait? Why not go tomorrow?"
"That's not the way to play it. During the next five days, you're going to fall in love with me and you'll leave him a letter telling him so and that you and me are going off together. Rush it and he'll get suspicious. He might even phone these attorneys. He might ask at the village and find out what car we've hired. Then we wouldn't get far, baby. Believe me, this is a game of patience."
"Wait! That's all I do! Wait!" Freda got to her feet. "God! I'm sick
of this life!"
"It's better to be sick of life than not have a life." Johnny stood up. "I'll go get some supper."
He left her and went to his room. Closing the door, he slid the bolt. Then taking out a spare khaki shirt, he felt in the breast pocket. From it he took the key to the left-luggage locker. He looked at it for a brief moment. Engraved on it was the number of the locker: 176: the key to $186,000!
Sitting on the bed, he untied his shoe lace, put the key into his shoe and then tightened the lace. It wasn't comfortable, but it was safe!
A few minutes later he returned to the deck.
Freda was in the living-room, using the vacuum cleaner.
"I'll be back," he called, then went to the boat, started the engine and headed out to the middle of the lake.
The telephone bell rang just as Massino was about to leave his office for home.
"Get it!" he barked to Lu Berilli who scooped up the receiver.
"It's Mr. Tanza," he said and offered the receiver.
Cursing, Massino snatched the receiver from him, sat on the corner of his desk and said, "What is it, Carlo? I'm just going home."
"Just had a hot tip come in," Carlo said. "Could be nothing, but could be something. A man, answering to Bianda's description is living in a houseboat near Little Creek: that's five miles from New Symara. He's been there about two days and living with a man and his wife. The woman has hot pants. The husband is a trucker and away all day. She's Swedish and says this guy is her half-brother. He's as Italian as we are. This is a straight tip and the source is reliable."
"So why bother me?" Massino demanded. "You're looking for him, aren't you? Well, check this punk out."
"We want one of your boys to identify him. No point in starting anything without being sure. Can you send someone?"
"Okay. I'll send Toni."
"Fine. Tell him to fly to New Symara and then take a taxi to the
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!"
Toni cursed him.
"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.