"I'm thinking of making a complete change," Massino said. "You and Sammy. Ten years is a hell of a time. Can Sammy drive a car?"
"Sure and he knows cars. He started life in a garage."
"I heard that. Think he'd like to be my chauffeur? The wife has been nagging me. She says it isn't good class for me to drive the Rolls. She wants a uniform for God's sake! She thinks Sammy would look real good in a uniform."
"Top can but ask him, Mr. Joe."
"You talk to him, Johnny. What does he get paid?"
"A hundred."
"Okay, tell him it's worth a hundred and fifty."
"I'll tell him."
Again a long pause while Johnny waited to hear his own fate.
"Now you, Johnny," Massino said. "You're a well known character in this town. People like and respect you. You've got a reputation. How would you like to take over the one-arm bandits?"
Johnny stiffened. This was the last thing he expected to be offered . . . the last thing he wanted. Bernie Schultz, a fat, ageing man, looked after these gambling machines for Massino: had looked after them for the past five years. He had often moaned to Johnny about his worries, how Andy was continually chasing him if the take from these machines fell below what Bernie declared was an impossible weekly target.
He remembered Bernie, sweating, dark rings around his eyes, saying, "The goddamn job isn't worth it, Johnny. You've no idea. You're always under pressure from that sonofabitch to find new outlets. You walk your goddamn feet off, trying to get creeps to take the machines. Then if they take them, some goddamn kid busts them. You never stop working."
"How about Bernie?" Johnny asked to gain time.
"Bernie's washed up." Massino's amiable expression changed and he now became the cold, ruthless executive. "You can handle this, Johnny. You won't have trouble in finding new outlets. People respect you. It'll be worth four hundred and a one per cent cut: could net you eight hundred if you really got stuck into the job. What do you say?"
Johnny thought swiftly. This was an offer he dare not refuse. He was sure if he did, he would be out and he wasn't yet ready to be kissed off.
Looking straight at Massino, he said, "When do I start?"
Massino grinned and, leaning forward, he slapped Johnny's knee.
"That's the way I like a guy to talk," he said. "I knew I'd picked the right one. You start the first of the month. I'll have Bernie fixed by then. You talk it over with Andy. He'll wise you up." He got to his feet, looked at his watch and grimaced. "I've got to move along. Got to take the wife to some goddamn shindig. Well, okay, Johnny, that's a deal. You've got yourself eight hundred bucks a week." He put his heavy arm around Johnny's shoulders and led him to the door. "Talk to Sammy. If he wants the job, tell him to see Andy who will fix his uniform. You two do the next collection and then you start your new jobs . . . right?"
"That's fine with me," Johnny said and moved out into the big hall where the butler was waiting.
"See you," Massino said and strode up the stairs, whistling under his breath and out of Johnny's sight.
Reaching his car, Johnny stood hesitating. He looked at his watch. The time was 21.05. Knowing Melanie's eating capacity he guessed she would be occupied for another half hour. He decided it might pay off to have a word with Bernie Schultz.
He drove across town and reached Bernie's apartment in fifteen minutes. He found Bernie at home, his shoes off, a beer in his hand, watching T.V.
Bernie's wife, a big, fat happy-faced woman let him in and then went into the kitchen because she knew these two were going to talk business and she never mixed herself up in any of Bernie's machinations.
Johnny didn't hedge.
As soon as Bernie had turned off the T.V. and offered beer which Johnny refused, Johnny said, "I've just talked with Mr. Joe. You're getting the kiss off, Bernie, and I'm getting your job."
Bernie stared at him.
"Come again?"
Johnny repeated what he had said.
"You really mean that . . . no kidding?"
"I'm telling you."
Bernie drew in a long, deep breath and his heavy, fat face lit up with a broad grin. Suddenly, he looked ten years younger.
"Is that great news!" He clapped his hands together. "I've been praying for this for years! So, now I'm free!"
"I guessed you would feel that way," Johnny said. "That's why I came right over. What'll you do, Bernie? You'll be out of the organization."
"Do? Me?" Bernie laughed happily. "I've got money put by. My brother-in-law owns a fruit farm in California. That's where I'll be: partners, picking fruit in the sun with not a goddamn care in the world!"
"Yeah." Johnny's mind shifted to his dream boat and the sea. "Well, I've got your job, Bernie. What's it worth?"
Bernie finished his beer, belched and set down the glass.
"Mr. Joe pays me a flat eight hundred a week and one per cent of the take, but the one per cent means nothing. All the goddamn years I've worked, I've never reached the target above that sonofabitch Andy's target, so you can forget the one per cent. But you get paid eight hundred steady, Johnny, although the job is sheer hell. I've managed to save out of what I got paid and you can too."
Eight hundred a week and Massino had offered him only four hundred and one per cent which according to Bernie meant nothing!
A cold, fierce rage took hold of Johnny, but he controlled it.
You're my best man, Johnny. There's something in you that gets to me.
That's what the thieving, double-crossing sonofabitch had said! Well, okay, Johnny thought as he got to his feet, I'll be a thieving sonofabitch too!
Leaving Bernie, he went down to where he had parked his car. Still raging, he drove fast to Melanie's pad.
The following morning when Melanie had gone to work, Johnny returned to his apartment and cooked himself breakfast which was his favourite meal. He had the whole day before him with no plans. He was in a surly mood. Massino's meanness still irked him. He had now no misgivings about robbing him, that was for sure.
As he was sitting down to three fried eggs and a thick slice of grilled ham, the telephone bell rang. Cursing, he got up and lifted the receiver. It was Andy Lucas on the line.
"Mr. Joe says you're to take over Bernie's job," Andy said. "You two had better get together. See him today. He'll take you around with him and give you introductions."
"Okay," Johnny said, eyeing his breakfast. "I'll do that."
"And listen, Johnny." Andy's voice was cold. "Bernie has been lying down on the job. I'll expect you to increase the business. We want at least two hundred more machines out and that'll be your job . . . understand?"
"Sure."
"Okay. . . go talk to Bernie," and Andy hung up. Johnny returned to his breakfast but he hadn't the appetite he had had before the telephone call.
A little after moo, he went out and headed for Bernie's office: a one-room affair on the top floor of a walk-up office block. As he was waiting for the traffic lights to change so he could cross the road, he saw Sammy the Black waiting to cross on the other side of the street.