Sammy!
Sammy had three thousand dollars under his bed. Johnny had to have money! He couldn’t hide from Massino without money.
He began to run down the back streets. It was a long run. Sammy’s pad was half way across the town. The City’s clock was striking the half hour as Johnny, panting, started up the stairs that led to Sammy’s fourth-floor pad. He knocked on Sammy’s door, but there was no answer. He listened, knocked again, then turned the handle: the door swung open.
“Sammy?”
His fingers groped and found the light switch and snapped it down.
The tiny room held a truckle bed, a two-ringed gas cooker, an armchair, a battered T.V. set, but no Sammy. Then Johnny remembered Sammy always shacked up with his girl, Cloe, on Friday nights.
He moved into the room and shut the door. Kneeling, he groped under the bed and found a small steel box in which Sammy had told him he kept his savings. He pulled the box out. It wasn’t even locked! Lifting the lid he saw the box was crammed with ten dollar bills. He didn’t hesitate, acutely aware that every second he wasted decreased his chances of escape.
He stuffed his pockets with the bills, leaving the box empty. For a brief moment he wondered how Sammy would react, then he told himself he was only borrowing the money. In a short while, he would repay Sammy with interest.
Leaving the room, he started down the stairs. Now to get out of town! He wondered how long the fuzz would take to set up road blocks. Here was the danger, but he had to get out! His fingers touched the butt of his .38. If he had to, he would shoot his way out!
Moving into the street, his mind raced. He had to have a hideout! Somewhere where he could be completely lost for at least a month. Where could he go? Then he thought of Giovanni Fusseli. It was an inspired thought. Fusseli had been Johnny’s father’s best friend. He must be over seventy now. Maybe he was dead! Johnny had heard from him five years ago. He had been living in a small town—what the hell was it’s name? Jackson? Packson? Jackson! It was on the freeway to Miami. If he could get there, he was sure Fusseli would shelter him.
He would have to steal a car. If he could get to Reddy’s cafe where all the south-bound truckers stopped for a meal, he could bribe one of them to take him to Jackson.
He stood hesitatingly as he looked up and down the street. There were a number of cars parked. As he started towards them, he saw the headlights of a car swing into the street and he stepped back into the shadows. The car came slowly towards him, then pulled up by the kerb and immediately under a street light. A young, thin man with shoulder-length hair got out of the car. The street light showed Johnny his shabbiness: tattered jeans and a dirty sweat shirt. Acting on impulse and as the young man was locking the car door, Johnny stepped up to him.
“Want to earn twenty bucks?” Johnny asked quietly.
The young man stared at him.
“Doing what?”
’Drive me to Reddy’s cafe.”
“Hey, man! That’s twenty miles out of town!”
“At a dollar a mile, is that so rough?”
The young man grinned.
“You’ve got yourself a deal. Let’s have the bread and we’re on our way.”
Johnny gave him a ten dollar bill.
“You get the rest when we get there.”
“Fine… I’m Joey. Who are you, buster?”
“Charlie,” Johnny said. “Let’s go.” He waited until Joey had unlocked the car door, then got into the passenger’s seat. Joey slid under the driving wheel.
“Listen, Joey, keep to the back streets. Drive fast, but not too fast… get it?”
Joey laughed.
“Like that, huh? The fuzz bothering you?”
“You don’t earn twenty bucks flapping with your mouth,” Johnny said quietly. The cold menace in his voice made Joey stiffen. “Just drive.”
At least, Johnny thought, this punk knows the City. Although it took longer, Joey kept to the back streets and in ten minutes or so they approached the freeway out of the City.
This was where trouble could be waiting, Johnny thought and he eased his gun in its holster for a quick draw. But there was no trouble. Johnny wasn’t to know that road blocks were set up thirty minutes after he had left the City.
The Police Commissioner had been out of town and the Assistant Police Commissioner had no time for Massino. He was deliberately uncooperative, delaying the road blocks, throwing his rank at Massino, pointing out that the Numbers gamble was illegal anyway.
Massino, raging, now regretted he hadn’t taken care of the Assistant Police Commissioner as he had taken care of his boss with a new car every year, money to take care of his goddamn kids’ education and a big insurance policy to take care of his goddamn wife.
Johnny paid Joey off, watched him drive away, then walked into Reddy’s cafe to find a trucker who would drive him south.
His panic was slowly subsiding. So far… so good. Now for Jackson and a safe hide-away.
FOUR
The shrilling of the telephone bell brought Joe Massino instantly awake. He snapped on the bedside lamp, looked at the clock that told him it was 03.15 and knew immediately that something had happened. No one would dare disturb his sleep unless there was an emergency.
He snatched up the receiver and swung his feet to the floor, stripping the blanket and sheet off his wife, Dina, who was coming awake with a low, moaning sound.
“Yeah?”
Massino’s voice boomed over the line.
“Boss… this is Benno. The dough’s gone. I’ve got a cracked nut. What do I do, boss?”
Massino knew Benno’s limitations: he was punch drunk, a goodamn moron, but at least he had got the message across. Massino felt a hot wave of murderous rage sweep through him, but he controlled it.
“Call the cop house, Benno,” he said. “Get them with you. I’m on my way.” He slammed down the receiver and began to strip off his pyjamas.
Dina, a blonde, heavily built woman, some fifteen years younger than her husband was now awake.
“What is it, for God’s sake? What are you doing?”
“Shut up!” Massino snarled. He shoved his legs into his trousers and not bothering for a tie, he struggled into his jacket.
“That’s a nice way to talk.” She hauled up the blanket and sheet and covered herself. “Can’t you act like a human?”
Massino left the bedroom, slamming the door after him. He hesitated for a moment, then going into his study he called Andy Lucas. He waited a long minute before Andy’s voice came on the line.
“The money’s been snatched.” Massino told him. “Get over there… get the boys,” and he hung up.
Going down to the garage, he got into the Rolls and began the three mile haul across the City to his down town office.
As he pulled up outside the office block, he saw a prowl car and Toni’s Lincoln parked by the kerb. Well, at least he was getting some action, he thought as he rode up to the sixth floor in the elevator. There were two cops standing around looking vague. They stiffened to attention when they saw Massino. Both cops worked in Massino’s district and were well looked after. They saluted as Massino stormed into Andy’s office.
Benno was sitting on a chair, blood on his face, his eyes glazed. Toni stood by the window. Ernie stood by the open safe.
“What happened?” Massino demanded, coming to rest before Benno who made an effort to stand up but promptly sat down again.
“There was a fire, boss,” he mumbled and his hand went to his head. “I opened up and there was a newspaper burning. While I was putting it out, I got clubbed.”
“Who did it?” Massino barked.
“I dunno… didn’t see no one… just got clubbed.”
Massino went to the safe, looked inside, looked at the lock, then went to the telephone. He dialled a number while Ernie, Toni, Benno and the two cops watched him.