13
Johnny Bianda unlocked the door of his two-room apartment. He
moved into the big living room and paused to look around. He had
lived in this apartment now for the past eight years. It wasn’t much,
but that didn’t worry Johnny. At least it was comfortable, although
shabby. There were two battered lounging chairs, a settee, a T.V. set,
a table, four upright chairs and a faded carpet. Through the door
opposite was a tiny bedroom that just took a double bed and a night
table with a built-in closet. There was a shower and a loo off the
bedroom.
He took off his jacket, loosened his tie and parked his .38
automatic, then pulling up a chair to the window, he sat down.
The noise from the street drifted up to him. Noise never
bothered him. He lit a cigarette and stared through the dirty window
pane at the apartment block without seeing it.
Sammy had been right in guessing he had something on his
mind. This something had been on his mind now for the past
eighteen months. It had begun to nag him on his fortieth birthday.
After celebrating with his girl friend, Melanie Carelli, and when she
had fallen asleep, he had lain in the darkness and had thought about
his past and had tried to imagine what his future was going to be.
Forty years old! The halfway mark . . . always provided he didn’t have
an accident, got lung cancer or stopped a bullet. Forty years old! His
life half over!
He had thought of the years that had moved behind him. First,
he thought of his mother who hadn’t been able to read or write and
who had worked herself to an early death to keep a roof over his
head while his father who had been able to read but not write had
slaved in a fruit-canning factory: two decent God-fearing Italian
immigrants who had loved him and bad hoped for great things from
him.
Just before she had died, his mother had given him her only
possession: a silver St. Christopher medal on a silver chain that had
been in her family for over a century.
“There’s nothing more I can do for you now, Johnny,” she had
said. “Take this: wear it always: as long as you wear it nothing really
bad can happen to you. Remember that. I’ve worn it all my life and
nothing really bad has happened to me. It’s been hard, but not really
bad.”
He had been superstitious enough to have worn the medal and
even now as he sat by the window, he put his fingers inside his shirt
to touch the medal.
Lying by the side of the gently breathing Melanie, he had thought
of the years after his mother’s death. He hadn’t settled to anything.
He had got tired of his father’s constant nagging and had left home.
Although only seventeen, he had got a job as a bartender in a dive in
Jacksonville. There he associated with the wild boys, the little crooks
and the petty con men. He had hooked up with Ferdie Ciano, a small
time heist man. Together, they had pulled a number of jobs, mostly
gas stations until the police caught up with them. Johnny did a two-
year stretch and that decided his fate. He came out of prison,
educated in crime and sure that next time he wouldn’t be caught. For
a couple of years he worked solo as a stick-up man. The money
hadn’t amounted to anything but he was always hoping for
something big. Then he ran into Ciano again who was now working
for Joe Massino, an up and coming gangleader. Ciano took him along
and Massino looked him over. He thought Johnny was made of the
right material. He had been looking for a young, reliable man, good
with a gun, to act as his bodyguard. Johnny knew little or nothing
about guns. As a stick-up man he had used a toy pistol. This didn’t
bother Massino. He had Johnny trained. After three months, Johnny
proved himself to be a top-class shot and during the years of
Massino’s rise to power, Johnny had killed three times, saving
Massino’s life each time from certain death. Now, he had been with
Massino for the past twenty years. There were no more killings.
Massino was firmly in the saddle. He not only controlled the Unions
in this big town, but also the Numbers racket and there was no one
powerful enough to challenge him. Johnny was no longer his
bodyguard. He had been assigned to take care of Sammy when
Sammy collected the money for the Numbers pay-off. Massino
believed in having young men to protect him. Anyone over thirty-five
was too old, too slow for protection.
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
15
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 ha
d 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.
17
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
onewouldhave thegutstotouchanything that belonged tome.
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 old-
fashioned 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 safe. 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 was
n’t too
19
tricky. It was what happened when Massino found he had been
robbed that mattered.
There’snoonedumbenoughto trytotakeanythingfromme.
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
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