Johnny jerked his thoughts back to her and he smiled.
"Just looking at you, baby," he said and put his hand over hers. "Right now, I've got the hots for you."
She felt a hot rush of blood to her loins.
"Me too. Let's skip the movie tonight. Let's go back and have a real ball."
That was what he wanted and his fingers closed tightly over the back of her hand.
"You have yourself a deal, baby."
Then a shadow fell across the table and Johnny looked up.
Toni Capello was standing there. He was wearing a black suit, a yellow-and-white striped shirt and a yellow kipper tie. He looked very dressy, but his flat snake's eyes remained snake's eyes.
"Hi, Johnny," he said and his eyes shifted to Melanie and then back to Johnny. "The boss wants you."
Johnny turned hot with anger. He knew Toni was almost as good as he was (had been?) with a gun and he hated Toni as he knew Toni hated him.
He sensed Melanie was scared. He glanced at her and saw she was looking at Toni with wide, frightened eyes.
"What do you mean . . . he wants me?" Johnny demanded.
A waiter hovered to change the plates, then moved away.
"Like I said . . . he wants you and pronto."
Johnny drew in a long deep breath.
"Okay. I'll be along. Where?"
"At his place and right now. I'll take the doll back to her pad." Toni smirked. "A pleasure."
"Get the hell out of here, you cheap punk," Johnny said quietly and dangerously. "I'll be there, but in my time."
Toni sneered.
"Okay, if you want to cut your throat . . . that's fine with me. I'll tell the boss," and he walked out of the restaurant.
Melanie turned, her eyes wide.
"What is it, Johnny?"
He wished he knew. He had never been called to Massino's house before. He felt cold sweat start out on his forehead.
"Sorry, baby," he said gently. "I have to go. Suppose you finish your dinner, then take a taxi home and wait for me."
"Oh, no! I . . ."
He got up and was moving around the table.
"Do it, baby, to please me," he said, a hard note creeping into his voice.
There was something now about him that frightened her. He had lost colour, seemed to have shrunk a little and there were sweat beads on his forehead.
She forced a smile.
"Okay, Johnny, I'll be waiting for you."
He had a word with the waiter and slipped him a bill, then giving her a wave, he went out on to the street.
It took him some twenty minutes in the heavy traffic to reach Massino's house on 10th street. He found parking with difficulty and walked up the marble steps leading to the massive front door.
While he had been driving, his mind had been racing. What in God's name, he wondered, did Massino want him for at this hour? Never before had he been summoned to this opulent house. He rang the bell, and as he was wiping his sweating hands on his handkerchief, the door opened and a lean, hard-faced man wearing a tail coat and a winged collar ( for God's sake! ) aping an English butler from the old movies, stood aside to let Johnny enter the vast hall, lined on either side with oil paintings in gilt frames and several suits of polished armour.
"Go ahead, bud," the butler said out of the side of his mouth. "First door right."
Johnny entered a large room, lined with books and full of heavy dark furniture. Joe Massino was lounging in a big wing chair, smoking a cigar, a glass of whisky and water at his elbow. Sitting in the shadows was Ernie Lassini, picking his teeth with a splinter of wood.
"Come on in, Johnny," Massino said. "Sit down." He waved to a chair opposite him. "What'll you drink?" Johnny sat down stiffly.
"A whisky will do fine, thank you," he said.
"Ernie, get Johnny a whisky and then get your ass out of here."
There was a long pause while Ernie fixed the drink which he handed to Johnny, his fat, scarred face dead pan, then he left the room.
"Cigar?" Massino asked.
"No, thanks, Mr. Joe."
Massino grinned.
"Did I interrupt something?"
"Yeah." Johnny stared at the big man. "You sure did."
Massino laughed, then leaning forward he slapped Johnny on his knee.
"It'll keep. She'll be all the more eager when you get to her."
Johnny didn't say anything. Holding the drink in his sweating hand, he waited.
Massino stretched out his thick legs, drew on his cigar and puffed smoke to the ceiling. He looked very relaxed and amiable, but Johnny didn't relax. He had seen Massino in this mood before. It could change into snarling rage in seconds.
"Nice little pad I've got here, huh?" Massino said, looking around 'the room. "The wife fixed it up. All these goddamn books. She reckons they look fancy. You ever read a book, Johnny?"
"No."
"Nor do I. Who the hell wants to read a book?" The little cold grey eyes moved over Johnny. "Well, never mind that. I've been thinking about you, Johnny. You've worked for me close on twenty years . . .
Here it is, Johnny thought. The kiss-off. Well, he had been expecting it, but not quite as soon as this.
"I guess it's around twenty years," he said.
"What do I pay you, Johnny?"
"Two hundred a week."
"That's what Andy tells me. Yeah . . . two hundred. You should have squawked long before now."
"I'm not squawking," Johnny said quietly. "I guess a guy gets paid what he deserves."
Massino squinted at him.
"That's not the way these other punks think. They're always moaning for more money." He drank some of his whisky, paused, then went on, "You're my best man, Johnny. There's something in you that gets to me. Maybe I remember your shooting. I wouldn't be here with all these fancy goddamn books around me if it hadn't been for you . . . three times, wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Three times." Massino shook his head. "Some shooting." Again a long pause, then he said, "If you had come to me two . . . -three years ago and said you wanted more money, I'd have given it to you." The red tip of his cigar suddenly pointed at Johnny. "Why didn't you?"
"I've told you, Mr. Joe," Johnny said. "A guy gets paid what he deserves. I don't do much. I work off and on. Friday is the big day . . . so . . ."
"You and Sammy get along okay?"
"Sure."
"He's scared. He hates the job, doesn't her
"He needs the money."
"That's right. I'm thinking of making a change. I've had a beef or two from the boys. Times change. They don't seem to like a smoke picking up the money. I want your angle. Do you think I should make a change?"
Johnny's mind moved swiftly. This was no time to support anyone, even Sammy. In another six days—if it worked out—he would have something like $150,000 hidden away.
"I walk it with Sammy," he said woodenly. "That's been my job for ten years, Mr. Joe. I'll walk it with anyone you pick."