73
down. We have four or five hours start ahead of them. It’s my bet
they’ll bring the money here. When they arrive, we’ll be all over
them before they know what’s hit them, but we could have a wait.”
Toni thought about this, then grunted.
“Okay.”
Engaging gear, he drove fast along the broad road, lined on
either side with trees heavy with oranges and headed for Hampton
hill.
FIVE
A cup of coffee before him, Johnny sat at a small table and
looked around the crowded cafe. There was a steady roar of voices
as long-haul truckers greeted each other, ate hamburgers, swigged
numerous cups of coffee, then heaved themselves to their feet and
went out into the pale sunshine as other truckers came in.
Johnny glanced at his watch. The time was 05.25. He had to get
moving soon, he told himself, but up to now, he had held back as
every trucker seemed to know every other trucker and he was
uneasy about approaching a group of them. He had tried one man
who stood near him while waiting for ham and eggs, but the man
shook his head.
“No luck, pal. No passengers: against the Company’s rules.”
Then a powerfully-built man came in and Johnny noted with
surprise no one greeted him. This man went to the bar and ordered
pancakes and syrup and coffee, then looked around for a vacant
seat.
Johnny waved to him and carrying the plate of food, the big man
came over and sat down.
Johnny looked searchingly at him: an ex-boxer, he thought. The
flat nose and the scar tissues made this an easy guess. The face was
lined, worried and sullen and yet there was something likeable about
this man.
“Hi!” the man said as he set down the food. “Joe Davis. This
goddamn place is always over full.”
“Al Bianco,” Johnny said.
Davis began to eat while Johnny lit a cigarette. Again he looked
at his watch. Time was moving along. He wondered if Massino had
alerted the organization or what he was doing.
“Going south?” he asked.
Davis glanced up.
“Yeah. You ain’t trucking?”
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“Looking for a ride,” Johnny said. “I pay my way. Would you be
going near Jacksonville?”
“Right through to Vero Beach.” Davis regarded Johnny, ate some
more, then said, “You’re welcome. It won’t cost you a thing. I
welcome company.”
“Thanks.” Johnny finished his coffee. “You reckon to take off
soon?”
“As soon as I’ve got this junk down my throat. It’s a hell of a
haul.”
“I’ll be outside, waiting.” Johnny said and got to his feet. “I’ll get
myself a wash.”
After paying for his coffee, Johnny went into the toilet, washed
his face and hands, then went out into the cool crisp air.
He stood around, watching the big trucks take off and go roaring
down the freeway. What a hell of a job! he thought. Then his mind
again switched to Massino. He felt a little knot of fear. He knew the
organization had never failed to find their man, nor failed to kill him.
There is always the first time, he told himself and grinned
mirthlessly. Who knows? He could make history. The first man to
beat the Mafia. With the cold wind fanning his face, he felt
confident. Who knows?
Davis came out of the cafe and Johnny joined him. They went
across to an old, beaten-up truck full of empty orange crates.
“Here she is,” Davis said. “A real hitch! I’ve one more haul, then I
get a new one if I’m lucky. Man! Has this old cow done some
mileage!”
He swung himself up into the cab. Johnny went around and got
into the passenger’s seat. The cab stank of sweat, oil and gas fumes.
The springs of his seat dug into his buttocks. This was going to be one
hell of a ride he thought.
Davis started the motor. As it came to life, there was a grinding
noise as if something had come apart in the engine.
“Don’t worry about the noise,” Davis said, “She’s still got enough
guts to get us south.” He rammed in the gear, then drove on to the
freeway.
Johnny felt the vibration of the protesting motor shake him from
head to foot. The roar of the motor made conversation impossible.
He braced himself, thinking of the miles ahead, but at least now he
was moving into safety.
“An old cow, huh?” Davis shouted and grinned at Johnny.
Johnny nodded.
The two men sat silent as the tyres ate up the miles. Trucks and
cars roared by them. With sixty miles on the clock, the engine note
suddenly changed and the din quieted.
Davis looked at Johnny and grinned.
“It takes this far for her to start to behave,” he said. Johnny could
now hear him easily. “She hates work, but when she does work, she
ain’t all that bad.”
Then he did something that shocked Johnny. He clenched his fist
and slammed it against his forehead. He did this three times:
powerful blows that would have stunned most men.
“Hey! For God’s sake! You’ll hurt yourself!” Johnny exclaimed.
Davis grinned.
“Anything is better than the way my head aches. Had this bitch
of a headache for months. A couple of bangs sets it right. Forget it,
Al, as I forget it.”
“You suffer from headaches?” Johnny asked.
“Oh, sure. If you had been in my game, you’d have headaches
too.” Davis increased the speed of the truck. “Believe it or not, one
time I was heavyweight contender for the crown.” He grinned.
“Never made it, but I was sparring partner for Ali at his greatest.
Man! Did I have a ball!” He snorted. “All gone now. All I’ve got is a
nagging wife and this old truck.”
Johnny suddenly realized there was something badly wrong with
this man: something that made him uneasy. He remembered all the
truckers in Reddy’s café hadn’t spoken to Davis or even waved to
him.
“Your head ache now?” he asked.
77
“It’s fine. I give the old nut three or four whams and then it
behaves itself.”
Johnny lit a cigarette.
“Want a smoke?”
“Not me. Never have, never will. Where are you from, Al?”
“New York,” Johnny lied. “I’ve never been south . . . thought I’d
take a look.”
“Sort of travelling light, huh?”
“My stuff’s coming by train.”
“Good idea.” A long pause, then Davis said, “Did you see Cooper
knock Ali on his pants?”
“Saw it on the telly.”
“I was right there. You ever been in London?”
“No.”
“Ali took me with the rest of the mob. Some city.” Davis grinned.
“Those chicks! Skirts way up beyond their fannies.” He thumped his
head again. “You see Frazier beat Ali?”
“On the telly.”
“I was right there. He’ll come back . . . the greatest.”
Johnny stared through the dusty windshield. They w
ere driving
between citrus orchards, either side of the freeway. He looked at his
watch. The time was now 07.30.
“How long to Jacksonville?”
“Ten hours if this bitch keeps going. You in a hurry?”
“I’ve all the time in the world.”
There was a long silence as the truck roared on, then Davis
asked, “You married?”
“Me? No.”
“I guessed that. You wouldn’t be on a trip like this if you were.
You know something? A guy can find a good woman or a bad woman
. . . I guess I had no luck.”
Johnny didn’t say anything.
“You’re lucky not to have kids,” Davis went on. “I’ve got a girl.
Sex is all she thinks about and her mother doesn’t give a goddamn.”
Davis thumped his head so violently Johnny winced. “What can you
do? If I took a strap to her, the cops would arrive. There ain’t a thing
a father can do if his daughter has the hots.”
Johnny thought of Melanie. What was happening to her? Had
Massino . . .? He flinched and forced the thought from his mind.
“Getting hot.” Davis said and wiped his face with the back of his
hand. “This is a hell of a haul.” He kept the shuddering truck at
seventy miles an hour. They were now out of the farming country
and coming to the swamp land. “This I hate,” Davis said. “Snakes,
jungle . . . you watch it. We’ll get by. After a while, we’ll come to the
real country . . . the south!”
Watching this big man as he crouched over the driving wheel,
seeing the glazed expression in his eyes, Johnny knew something bad
was about to happen.
“You’re driving too fast!” he shouted. “Cut it down!”
“You call this fast?” Davis turned his head to look at Johnny who
felt a chill go up his spine. The small eyes with their scar tissue were
turning sightless. “The greatest . . . like me! He’ll come back!”
“Watch the road!” Johnny shouted. “Joe!”
Davis grinned stupidly, then took his hands off the steering wheel
and began to beat his head. Johnny made a grab at the wheel but he
was too late. The truck roared off the freeway and with screaming
tyres, it ploughed into the jungle.
Thrown against the cabin door, Johnny felt the door give and felt
himself falling. He landed on his back in a thick flowering bush that
broke his fall, then he rolled to the ground.
He lay stunned, listening to the truck ploughing through the
thicket, then came the sound of a grinding crash as the truck hit a
tree. As he struggled upright, the gas tank of the truck exploded and
the truck went up in a roaring sheet of flame.
Johnny started towards the blaze, then saw it was hopeless. His
sense of self-preservation asserted itself. Within minutes a prowl car
79
would arrive. It would be fatal if the cops found him. They would
question him, search him, and the moment they found he had a gun
and three hundred ten dollar bills stuffed into his pockets, he would
be cooked.
He started down a narrow path that led into the jungle, aware
that his right ankle hurt. He forced himself along, limping now and
frightened that he had suffered an injury that might develop into
something bad.
He hadn’t gone more than five hundred yards when he heard the
wail of a siren. He broke into a limping run, stumbled and fell flat.
Hell! he thought. I’ve hurt my goddamn self! He scrambled to his
feet and set off again, but this time he was in bad pain and was
dragging his leg. After a hundred yards or so, with cold sweat running
down his face, he could go no further. He looked around. To his right
was a big clump of tangled undergrowth. He forced his way to it,
then collapsed on the damp ground. Sure that anyone coming down
the path couldn’t see him, he stretched out his aching leg and
prepared to wait.
What Johnny couldn’t know was that this. accident had saved his
life. Had Davis delivered him to Jacksonville, Johnny would have
walked into the trap Ernie and Toni had set up.
He didn’t know, and he cursed his luck as he lay in the
undergrowth feeling his leg slowly stiffening. He had been lying there
for the past four hours.
The police, the ambulance and the break-down truck had come
and gone. The jungle was cool, and Johnny, badly shaken, was
content to lie there and wait. He suffered. His ankle was swelling and
when he looked at it, he saw with alarm it looked red and angry. Had
he broken it? Maybe it was just a bad sprain. The thoughts of putting
his weight on it made him flinch.
Later, he became thirsty. He looked at his watch. The time was
now 13.05. He would have to make an effort to get to the freeway.
With any luck he would pick up a ride. He had to get to Jackson!
He crawled out of the thicket and on to the path. He could smell
the burned-out truck and the undergrowth that had gone up with it.
On the path, he forced himself up on one leg, then gently he put a
little of his weight on his damaged ankle. Pain raved up from the
ankle into his head.
Jesus! he thought. I’m in goddamn trouble! He sank down,
feeling sweat break out on his face and a light feeling of faintness
that frightened him.
He had better wait, he thought. He had better get back into the
undergrowth. Maybe later, he would be able to use his leg.
He began to crawl back towards the undergrowth when he saw
the snake.
The thick-bodied Cottonmouth was coiled within eight feet of
him. It raised its olive green head and its forked tongue darted.
Johnny turned cold, the pain in his ankle forgotten. He had a
horror of snakes. He lay there, motionless, not even blinking,
watching the snake. Apart from its darting tongue, it too remained
motionless.
Minutes dragged by. Johnny thought of his gun. Should he try to
shoot the snake? Then he thought of the danger. Someone might
hear the sound of the shot and come to investigate. Maybe the
snake would go away if he waited long enough. Would it attack him?
It could be harmless. He had no knowledge of snakes and wasn’t to
know that a Cottonmouth was lethal.
Then slowly the snake began to uncoil while Johnny watched it
with horror. The snake slid into the undergrowth where Johnny had
been hiding. With the back of his hand, Johnny wiped away the
sweat streaming down his face. Had that green nightmare been in
the thicket with him?
He had to get out of here!
The sun was now penetrating the over-hanging trees. What
wouldn’t he have given for a drink? The jungle could be swarming
with snakes! Again he hoisted himself on one leg. He began hopping
down the path towards the freeway. He had only taken four hops
when he lost balance. The whole weight of his body came down on
his injured ankle. He heard himself cry out as pain raved through
him, then he fell, his head thumping -down on a tree root and
blackness swept over him.
81
“If they’re coming
they should have been here by now,” Ernie
said. He had just finished a can of pork and beans and he released a
gentle belch.
He and Toni were sitting in a ditch that gave them a direct view
of the small clapboard house where Fuselli lived. Their car was out of
sight behind a clump of trees, a quarter of a mile further down the
dirt road.
“So okay . . . so what?” Toni was slightly drunk. To bolster up his
nerve, he had been hitting the bottle.
“I’m going into town to call the boss.” Ernie said. “He’ll be
wondering what we’re doing. We’ve been sitting in this goddamn
ditch for eight hours.”
“So what?” Toni repeated. “They could have had a blow-out. You
stick here, Ernie. Don’t get your bowels in an uproar.” He reached for
a can of stewed steak. “They could show any minute.”
Ernie got to his feet.
“I’m going. You stay here.”
“The hell with that!” Toni wasn’t too drunk to realize that on his
own if Johnny showed up, he could be in trouble. “You stick right
here! Let’s give them a couple of hours, then we both go down
town.”
“Shut up!” Ernie snarled. “You stick here.” Climbing out of the
ditch, he walked down the road to where the car was hidden.
Twenty minutes later, he was talking to Massino. He explained
the situation.
“Right now, boss, we’re staked out, out of sight, in front of
Fuselli’s pad, but it’s eight hours now. They should have been here
four hours back. Toni reckons they could have had a blow-out or
something. I don’t know. What do I do?”
“Could be Toni’s right,” Massino said. “Stick around, Ernie, if they
don’t show by eight o’clock tomorrow, come on back.”
“Anything you say, boss,” Ernie said, thinking of the discomfort
of spending a night in the ditch.
Massino slammed down the receiver, then turned to Andy who
was prowling around the office. He told him what Ernie had said.
“There’s one thing we should have done, Mr. Joe,” Andy said.
“We should have checked out Reddy’s cafe. I’ll do it. We should have
thought of that right away.”
“I want you here!” Massino snapped: “Get someone to do it!
Send Lu Berilli!”
“I’ll do it myself,” Andy said firmly. He was sick of staying in the
office listening to Massino cursing Johnny. “I’ll . . .” Then he stopped
as he saw Massino glaring at him, his little eyes like red, flaming
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