Lying on the bed beside Melanie, Johnny had thought about all this and then turned his mind to his future. Forty years of age! If he didn’t do something soon, it would be too late. In another two or three years, Massino would begin to think he was getting too old to guard Sammy. Then what? No golden handshake for Johnny… that was for sure. He would be offered a job, probably counting Union votes, running errands or some such god-awful thing. It would be the kiss-off. He had never been able to save money. His mouth had twisted into a wry grin as he remembered the advice he had given Sammy. Somehow his money bad slipped through his fingers: women, his fatal weakness for listening to any hard luck story and betting on horses that never showed. Money came and went, so he knew when Massino gave him the kiss-off he wouldn’t have enough to live on the way he wanted to live nor to do what he had always longed to do.
Ever since he could remember, he had dreamed of owning a boat. When he was a kid he had spent all his spare time down at the harbour where the rich had their yachts and the fishermen their boats. The sea had pulled and still pulled him like a magnet. When he should have been at school, he was messing around in boats. He didn’t care bow hard he worked or what he was paid so long as be was allowed on board. He scrubbed decks, polished brass and spliced ropes for nickels. He still thought back on that time when he was a kid: the best time of his life!
Lying in the dark, he again felt the compulsive urge to return to the sea, but not as a kid working for nickels and sweating his heart out just to feel the lift and fall of a deck under his feet. He wanted to return with his own boat: a sleek thirty-footer and he would charter her for fishing: going along as Captain with one crew—someone like Sammy: even Sammy.
The boat of his dreams would cost money: then there was the heavy fishing tackle and the first running expenses. He reckoned he would need at least $60,000.
He told himself he was crazy in the head to be thinking like that, but that didn’t stop him thinking nor dreaming. Like an aching tooth, the dream of owning his own boat, feeling the surge of the sea nagged him for as long as he could remember and was nagging him now as he sat at the window.
A dream that could come true if he could lay his hands on a large sum of money.
Some six months ago an idea had dropped into his mind which he had immediately shied away from… shutting it away like a man who feels a sudden stabbing pain shuts away the thought of cancer. But the idea kept coming back. It even haunted his dreams until finally, he told himself an idea was just an idea: it could be looked at, couldn’t it? There was no harm in looking at it, was there?
And when he began to look at it, he realized for the first time what it meant to be a loner. It would have been so much better, so much more reassuring if he had someone to discuss the idea with, but there was no one: no one he could trust. What was the use of talking about a thing like this with his only real solid friend: Sammy the Black? What use would Melanie be if he told her what was going on in his mind? She would hate the idea of the sea and a boat. She would think he had gone crazy. Even if his mother had been alive, he couldn’t have talked to her about it. She would have been horrified. His father had been too dumb, too much of a slave, to discuss with him any goddamn thing.
So he had looked at this idea when he was alone as he was now beginning to look at it again while sitting at the window.
Simply stated, the idea was for him to steal the Numbers collection, but to justify the high risk, he had, he told himself, to wait patiently until the big take came along as he knew it must from his past experience as a collector.
And now here it was! February 29th! Something like $150,000! The big take!
If I’m going to do it, if I’m ever going to own that boat, Johnny thought, Friday 29th is D-day! With that kind of money, I can buy a good boat, have money over so if the fishing charter idea flops, it won’t matter. With that kind of money and living carefully, I can last out until I die and still have the boat, the sea and nothing to worry about. I swear I’ll kiss the horses good-bye. I might even kiss the chicks good-bye and I’ll shut my ears to any future hard luck story!
Well, okay, he said to himself, as he settled his bulk more comfortably in the old lounging chair, so on Friday night of the 29th, you go ahead and take this money from Massino. You’ve thought about it long enough. You have made plans. You have even gone so far as to take an impression of the key of Andy’s safe. You have gone even further than that: you have made a duplicate key from the impression that you know will open the safe. That was where those two years in jail had’ paid off: you learned things like taking key impressions and making keys from the impressions.
He paused here to recall just how he had got the impression and tiny beads broke out of his forehead when he remembered the risk he had run.
The safe was a big hunk of old-fashioned metal that -stood in Andy’s tiny office, facing the door. The safe had belonged to Massino’s grandfather.
More than once, Johnny had heard Andy complain about the safe to Massino.
“You want something modern,” Andy had said. “A kid could bust into this goddamn thing. Why not let me get rid of it and fix you with something modern?”
Johnny well remembered Massino’s reply.
“That safe belonged to my grandfather. What was good enough for him is good enough for me. I’ll tell you something: that safe is a symbol of my power. There’s no one in this town who dare touch it except you and me. You put the take in there every Friday and everyone in this town knows the take will be there on Saturday morning for the pay out. Why? Because they know no one would have the guts to touch anything that belongs to me. That safe is as safe as my power… and let me tell you, my power is very safe!”
But Andy had tried again.
“I know all that, Mr. Joe,” he had said while Johnny had listened, “but there might be some out-of-town nutter who couldn’t resist trying. So why take a chance?”
Massino had stared at Andy, his eyes like little pools of ice.
“If anyone busts into that safe, I go after him,” he said. “He wouldn’t get far. Anyone who takes anything from me had better talk to a grave-digger… but they won’t. There’s no one dumb enough to try to take anything from me.”
But Massino hedged his bets. He had done that most of his life and it had paid off. When the Numbers money was locked in the safe on Friday, he left Benno Bianco locked with the safe in Andy’s office. Not that Benno was anything special. He had once been an up and coming welter-weight, but he hadn’t got very far. He was pretty good with a gun and he looked tough: a lot tougher than he was. But that didn’t matter. Benno came cheap. He hadn’t cost Massino much and the suckers of the town were impressed by his battered face, the way he walked and spat on the sidewalk. They thought he was real tough and that was what Massino wanted them to think. With Benno locked in the office, with Massino’s reputation and that great hunk of safe, the suckers who parted with their money felt sure that when they came to pay-out day, the money would be there, waiting for them.
Johnny knew all this. The opening of the safe and Benno presented no problem. He remembered what Massino had said: No one would have the guts to touch anything that belonged to me.
Well, Johnny was going to touch something that belonged to Massino. Guts? Probably not, but the urge to get his hands on such a sum, the smell of the sea, the dream of a beautiful thirty-footer added up to a lot more than guts. A grave-digger? There would be no grave-digger if his planning was right, Johnny told himself.
The big safe remained empty all the week. It was only on Friday that it was used. There was no combination; just a heavy oldfashioned key. During the months, Johnny, passing by Andy’s open door, got to know the key was often left in the lock. On Friday when the take was put in the safe, Andy took the key home with him. Three times, long after midnight, Johnny had entered the building, gone up to Andy’s office, picked the door lock and had hunted for the key. Third time lucky! On a Wednesday night, he had found the key in the s
afe. He had come prepared with a lump of softened putty. The impression had taken only a few seconds, but God! how he had sweated!
No one was ever allowed inside Andy’s office. If someone wanted to speak to him that someone stayed in the doorway and did his talking but never crossed the threshold. Andy had a thing about this. The only exception was when Benno guarded the safe on Friday nights, then Andy would clear his desk, lock every drawer and generally behave as if vermin was invading his holy of holies.
It took Johnny three nights to make the key, then on the fourth night he returned to the building, again picking the door lock to Andy’s office and tried out his handiwork. A touch with a file, a drop of oil and the key worked perfectly.
Taking the money was now easy. Even fixing Benno wasn’t too tricky. It was what happened when Massino found he had been robbed that mattered.
There’s no one dumb enough to try to take anything from me.
The trick in this steal, Johnny had decided, was not to let Massino find out who had taken the money. Once Massino knew who the thief was, that thief had as much chance of surviving as a scoop of ice cream dropped into a furnace.
Massino was affiliated with the Mafia to whom he paid regular dues. His own organization could take care of the town: he would get away as fast as he could. So Massino could call his opposite Mafia number and alert him. The whole of the Mafia organization would swing into action. No one steals from the Mafia or its friends without paying for it: that was a matter of principal. There wouldn’t be a town nor a city in the whole country that would be safe. Johnny knew all this, and his plan was to fix things so that no one could guess who had taken the money.
He had thought about this a lot as his future and his life depended on it. When he had the money, he would rush it across the street to the Greyhound left- luggage lockers and dump it there. The money would stay there until the heat cooled off—probably three or four weeks. Then when he was sure Massino was convinced whoever had grabbed the money had got away with it, he ( Johnny ) would move the money to a safe- deposit bank. He wished he could do this as soon as he had the money, but his alibi depended on speed. The Greyhound bus station was right opposite Massino’s office. It would be only a matter of minutes to dump the bag and get back to Melanie’s pad. The safe- deposit bank was at the other end of the town and anyway it would be shut for the night.
The whole operation involved great patience. Once the money was in the safe-deposit bank, Johnny knew he would have to wait two or three years, but he could wait, knowing when he left town he would have all that money to set up somewhere in Florida, get his boat and achieve his ambition. What were two or three years after waiting all this time?
Massino had the police in his pocket. Johnny knew the police would be called in once the robbery was discovered and they would go over the safe and Andy’s office for fingerprints. That didn’t worry Johnny. He would wear gloves and have an unassailable alibi: he would be in bed with Melanie during the time of the steal with his car parked outside her pad. He knew he could rely on Melanie to cover those thirty minutes when he was making the steal.
Because the safe had been obviously opened by a key, the full weight of Massino’s suspicions would fall on Andy, and the police would really take Andy to the cleaners since he had the only key and had a criminal record. Maybe Andy wouldn’t be able to clear himself, but if he did, then Massino would look around at the other members of his mob. He would know it was an inside job because of the key. He had two hundred men who came and went. The last man, Johnny told himself, he would suspect was his faithful Johnny who had saved his life three times in the past, had always behaved himself and had always done as he was told.
Sitting there before the window, Johnny went over the plan again and again and he couldn’t fault it and yet he was uneasy.
He could hear Massino’s harsh, ruthless voice saying: There’s no one dumb enough to try to take anything from me.
But there could be someone smart enough, Johnny thought and putting his fingers inside his shirt, he touched the St. Christopher medal.
TWO
Melanie Carelli, Johnny’s girl, had been born in a Naples slum. At the age of four she had been sent out on to the streets with other kids to beg from the tourists. Life had been hard for her and also for her parents. Her father, a cripple, had touted postcards, and faked Parker pens outside the better-class hotels; her mother had taken in washing.
When Melanie reached the age of fifteen, her grandfather, who had a tailoring business in Brooklyn, wrote to say he could use her in his tiny factory and her mother and father were glad to see her go: the steerage fare provided for by her grandfather. Melanie was too keen on the boys and her parents dreaded the almost certain prospect that sooner or later she would land them with an unwanted baby.
For three soul-destroying years she had worked in the factory and finally decided this wasn’t going to be her way of life. She stole fifty dollars from her grandfather and left Brooklyn. Arriving at East City, Johnny’s town, she decided it was far enough away from New York to be safe and she settled there. She had no need to worry about safety: her grandfather was only too happy to find her missing.
She got a job as a waitress in a sleazy snack bar, but the hours were killing. She quit and other jobs followed, then after a year she finally got taken on in one of the many cheap stores in town which suited her. The pay wasn’t much, but at least she was on her own with no one to tell her what to do or how to behave and she had a tiny room that belonged to her, and to her only.
Melanie was sexually attractive without being pretty. She had long, coal-black hair, large breasts and solid hips and the hot sun of Naples in her loins. Men, looking at her, knew it. The store buyer, a timid, fat man, living in terror of his wife, became infatuated with her. She allowed him from time to time to put his hand up her skirt, but no more, and in return he put her in charge of the men’s shirt counter with a raise in pay.
It was while Johnny Bianda was buying shirts that he became aware of her. At that moment, he was without a girl, having quarrelled with a pick-up who had been too exacting, and he was in need of a girl. As always, Melanie was in need of a man. He dated her for dinner, proved he was generous and for the past three years, they had been going steady.
Within two months of meeting Johnny, Melanie moved out of her tiny room and into a two-room apartment in a walk-up, Johnny providing the rent and the furnishings.
In spite of being grateful and liking Johnny, Melanie regretted that he was so much older than she, that he was bulky and far from glamorous, but he treated her right, was nice to her and always had money to spend on her. They met three times a week: sometimes he would take her out to dinner and then to a movie, sometimes she would cook Italian food for him at home. Whatever the programme, they always finished up on the big double bed that Johnny had bought for her, and it was then, after so much experience with younger men, that she really appreciated Johnny as a lover. He and no one else could satisfy her.
To Johnny, Melanie, although so much younger than he and with no thoughts in her head, was a girl he felt he could trust and this was important to him. He was sick of the diggers, the cheats and the toughies with whom he had previously associated. Melanie came as a breath of fresh air. To him, she was more than attractive: she was wildly eager in bed and she didn’t yak as all those other women had yakked. She would be content to sit by his side in silence or talk when he was in the mood, and she never hinted of marriage.
Johnny felt in his bones he would never marry. He didn’t want a permanent woman: all he wanted was a boat and the sea and sex when the mood was on him. Sooner or later, he knew he would lose Melanie. Some young punk with a little money would come along and that would be that. Because he knew he would eventually lose her, he had never told her about his urge to own a boat, and now he was committed to the steal, he was thankful he hadn’t told her: that he had told no one. Massino was an expert at squeezing information from anyone when he wanted and i
f the steal turned sour and Massino even suspected it was he (Johnny ) who had taken the money he would brutally quiz everyone connected with Johnny. If Massino ever got the idea that Johnny was boat mad, it would be goodbye to the boat.
Most of Massino’s mob knew that Johnny’s girl was Melanie. You can’t take a girl out three times a week for three years without running into some of the mob at the restaurants Johnny could afford nor at a movie house showing the latest film. This thought worried Johnny a little, although he kept assuring himself that nothing would turn sour the way he had planned the steal and that Massino would never suspect he was the thief. He was fond of Melanie. Love? No, he told himself, he wasn’t in love with her. He felt that love didn’t come into his life. Love bound a man, but he was fond of her and wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.
He lit another cigarette. In the street below a child yelled, a woman called across the street to another woman, the car crawled by in low gear, making a racket of noise. Listening to the noise, he thought of the sea in the sunshine and felt the breeze against his face. His hands closed on the spokes of the tiller and he heard the murmur of the powerful engines. Patience, he told himself. Two or three years and he would be afloat.
Every Friday night he took Melanie out to dinner and then to a movie. This night—he glanced at his watch—he would be taking her out. Next Friday would be different, but he wouldn’t tell her tonight. He would jump it on her. Although she wasn’t a talker, if she knew beforehand that next Friday was going to be special, she might worry.
Knock, Knock! Who's There? Page 2
