The cool water gave him pleasure. He was a powerful swimmer
and he swam for some two hundred yards in a racing stroke to
release the stiffness and the lust the woman had raised in him, then
he turned around and swam back, joining Scott as he was swinging
himself up onto the deck.
“I’ll get you a towel,” Scott said and disappeared into the living-
room. He returned moments later, tossed Johnny a towel, then
disappeared again.
Johnny mopped off, then went to his bedroom. He smelt onions
frying and his mouth watered. He realized he hadn’t eaten since he
had left the snake man’s cabin and suddenly he was starving.
Dressed, he left his room and went into the living-room. Scott
was smoking and staring out of the window. He looked up as Johnny
came in.
“Okay?”
“Fine.”
“We don’t drink here,” Scott said. “Can’t afford it. If you want a
drink you can buy anything at the store. Take the motorboat over
tomorrow.”
Johnny would have liked a whisky, but he sat down, shrugging.
“That smells good.”
“Yeah. Freda can cook.”
“You told her about me?”
“Oh, sure.” Scott leaned forward and turned to the T.V. set.
“She’s in the kitchen.” He waved. “Go talk to her.”
Johnny hesitated, then getting to his feet, he pushed open a door
at the far end of the living room and looked into the small kitchen
with a butane gas cooker, a cupboard, a table, a refrigerator and
Freda Scott.
She was stirring something in a pan and she looked up.
Johnny felt a little jolt. God! he thought, this woman’s beautiful!
And she was. Her face matched her body. She had to be a Swede
with those bright china blue eyes, the blonde, silky hair, the high
cheek bones, the straight, long nose.
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While he stared at her, she gave him a brief, quick searching
look, then scooping up raw, chopped-up fish, she dropped the pieces
into the pan.
“Hungry?” She had a musical, soft voice which was like a sexual
caress. “I guess you must be. Well, it won’t be long. Ed says you’re
going to stay.”
“If it’s all right with you.”
She was wearing a pair of stretch pants and a man’s shirt, a
faded blue. He eyed the curve of her buttocks, remembering the
body, naked. His eyes shifted to her full breasts, straining against the
shirt.
“We want the money,” she said. “Anyway, as Ed says, it’ll be
company for me. Do you like curry?”
“I like anything.”
“Go watch T.V. It’ll be twenty minutes. I prefer to cook on my
own.”
She glanced up and they looked at each other. The bright blue
eyes ran over his short, heavily-built body, then to his face and their
eyes locked.
“Call me Johnny,” Johnny said and his voice was a little husky.
“Freda.” She waved him away. “Keep Ed company . . . not that he
likes company, but he might grow used to it.” Johnny caught a bitter
note in her voice.
Leaving her, he returned to the living-room.
Andy Lucas came into Massino’s office, closed the door and
looked from Massino to Tanza. The room was heavy with cigar
smoke and there was a half-bottle of whisky, glasses and an ice
bucket on the desk.
“Well?” Massino snarled.
“I’ve checked,” Andy said. “It’s taken time, but I’ve now talked
with every driver who left the bus station between 2 a.m. and 5 a.m.
on the night of the steal. None of them took those bags. If they take
luggage, they have to issue a ticket . . . no luggage.”
“So that thins it down,” Tanza said. “He either had someone with
him who took the money out or the money is still in town.”
Massino brooded about this.
“So suppose he was on his own. Suppose he dumped the money
in one of those left-luggage lockers across the street, planning to
come back for it? What do you think?”
Tanza shook his head.
“He’s no fool. He must know he couldn’t come back. It’s my bet
he was working with someone who took the money out.”
Massino nodded.
“Looks like it, but just suppose he did dump the money in one of
those lockers.” He looked at Andy. “Can we check?”
“There are over three hundred lockers,” Andy said. “Even the
Commissioner couldn’t get into them all without a judge’s say-so. We
could try, but do you want that, Mr. Joe?”
Massino thought about this, then shook his head.
“No. You’re right. We start a caper like that and the press will get
on to it.” He thought some more. “But we can seal of those lockers.
Get it organized, Andy. I want a twenty-four-hour watch kept. Have
two men on four-hour shifts, day and night, watching those lockers.
Give them a description of the bags. If anyone opens a locker and
takes those bags, he’s to be nailed!”
Andy nodded and left the office.
“So what’s the organization doing?” Massino demanded.
“Take it easy, Joe. We’ll find him . . . may take a little time, but
we’ll find him. The word’s gone out. By now, everyone connected
with us knows we want him. Take a look at this.” He produced from
his wallet a printer’s proof and laid it on the desk. “This will appear in
all the Florida newspapers tomorrow morning.”
Massino leaned forward and read the proof.
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HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?
$10,000 Reward
Below this headline was Johnny’s prison photograph. The
letterpress went on:
Missing from home, believed suffering from loss of memory:
Johnny Bianda. Heavily built, five foot nine inches, clean shaven,
sallow complexion, grey-black hair, forty-two years of age. Known to
favour a St. Christopher medal.
A reward of $10,000 will be paid to anyone giving information
that will lead to this man being found. Contact:
Dyson & Dyson, Attorneys-at-Law,
1600 Crew Street.
East City. Tel. 007.611.09
“He’ll hide up with someone without money . . . they always do,”
Tanza said with his evil grin. If this doesn’t flush him out, we have
other tricks, but I think it will.”
SEVEN
Johnny came fully awake when he heard the phut-phut of a
motor boat. Lifting his head, he looked out of the open window to
see Freda in a small boat, powered by an outboard motor, moving
away from the houseboat. She was wearing the faded shirt and
stretch pants and a cigarette dangled from her lips. The boat headed
across the lake. Johnny dropped back on his pillow. He had been
woken previously by the sound of the truck starting up, and only half
conscious, he realized Scott was off to work.
He lay on the small bed and thought of the previous evening.
They had eaten curried Black Crappie, a lake fish, with rice, onions
and tomatoes. It had been a good meal, eaten more or less in
silence. Scott had wanted to see somet
hing on T.V. and he had eaten
fast, then leaving the other two at the table, he had gone over to the
set and turned it on.
Johnny had been very aware of Freda as they sat opposite each
other. He had eaten hungrily.
“You cook fine,” he said.
“Ed says the same.” The flat in her voice made him look sharply
at her. “That’s all men think of . . . food.”
He glanced across the room to where Scott was absorbed in the
lighted screen.
“Not all men.”
“Have some more.”
“I’d be nuts if I didn’t.”
She pushed back her chair.
“We live like pigs here. Go ahead. I’ve things to do,” and she left
the table, going into the kitchen.
The food was so good and he was so hungry, he didn’t hesitate.
He cleared the bowl, then sat back reaching for a cigarette.
After a short smoke, he crushed out his cigarette, collected the
plates and carried them into the kitchen. He was surprised to see her
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sitting on the deck, staring across the lake.
“Let’s clear up,” he said. “You want to?”
“Sounds like you’re domesticated.” There was a slight jeer in her
voice. “Leave it for tomorrow . . . tomorrow’s another day.”
“I’ll do it. You stay there.”
She stared at him, then shrugged.
“So I stay here.”
It took him some twenty minutes to wash the dishes and clear
the table. He liked doing this. It reminded him of the safety of his
own apartment which seemed far away, then he joined her on the
deck and sat beside her in an old, creaking bamboo chair.
“Nice view,” he said.
“You think so? I’ve got used to it. After two years, a view gets
faded. Where are you from?”
“Up north . . . and you?”
“Sweden.”
“I guessed that. Your hair . . . your eyes . . . you’re a long way
from home.”
“Yes.” A pause, then she said, “Look, you don’t have to make
conversation with me. For two years I’ve lived more or less on my
own. I’m used to it. You’re our lodger. I wouldn’t have you here if it
wasn’t for the money. I like being alone.”
“I won’t get in your way.” He stood up. “I’ve had a rough day. I’m
turning in. Thank you for a fine meal.”
She leaned back in her chair and looked up at him. “Thanks for
clearing up.”
They regarded each other, then he went into the living-room.
The T.V. serial had come to an end and Scott was getting to his feet.
“Bed,” he said. “See you around seven tomorrow evening. You
got all you want? The fishing tackle is in that closet there. Use my rod
if you want to.”
“I’ll do that.” A pause. “Well, good night, I guess I could sleep the
clock around.”
Johnny went to his room and got into bed. He lay watching the
moon and the still waters of the lake and he thought of Scott and his
woman. Then his mind switched to Massino. He drew in a long,
relaxed breath. Here, he felt safe. This surely was the one place on
earth where the organization would never think to look for him.
And now after a good sleep, with the sun up, seeing Freda in the
motorboat, he became fully awake. He stripped off and plunged into
the lake, swam for some minutes in the cool clear water, then
returned to the houseboat, dried off, dressed and went into the
kitchen. Freda had set out a pot of coffee, a cup and saucer, sugar
and milk. There was a stale loaf of bread and a toaster, but he didn’t
bother with that. He carried the cup of coffee on to the deck and sat
down, looking at the distant pines, the reflections of the clouds in the
lake, the stillness of the water and he felt at peace.
After drinking the coffee and smoking a cigarette, he explored
the houseboat, finding it consisted of three small bedrooms, beside
the living-room, the kitchen and a shower room. The bedroom next
to his was obviously Freda’s. The room was neat and clean with a
small, single bed, a chest of drawers, a closet, books and a table with
a bedside light. The room next to hers belonged to Scott: not so tidy,
no books and the bed also small. In one corner stood a .22 target rifle
and a shot gun. Johnny eyed these two weapons, then backed out of
the room, closing the door.
He collected Scott’s fishing rod and went out onto the deck. He
spent the next hour trying to catch fish but he had no luck. Still, it
was relaxing to sit in the sun, the rod in his hand and he thought of
all that money stashed away in the left-luggage locker. If he could
stay here for a week or so, he decided it would be safe to return and
get the money. Surely, after six weeks, the heat would be off. In a
week or so, he would go with Scott to Richville and from there call
Sammy who would be able to tell him what was happening.
Another hour drifted while he thought of the moment when he
would buy his boat, then he heard the phut-phut of the returning
motorboat and out of the sun, he saw Freda at the tiller. He waved at
her and she lifted her hand. Ten minutes later she climbed on deck
while Johnny secured the boat.
“You’ll never catch anything from here,” she said, seeing the rod.
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“If you want to fish, take the boat.” She had a loaded shopping
basket. “Lunch in two hours. Take the boat and see if you can get
something for supper.”
Johnny had stripped off his shirt and suddenly she looked at his
hairy chest and pointed.
“What’s that?”
He fingered the St. Christopher medal.
“My lucky charm.” He grinned. “St. Christopher. My mother gave
it to me. Know what she said just before she died? She said ‘As long
as you have that nothing really bad can happen to you’ “.
“You’re an Italian, aren’t you?”
“That’s right, but I was born in Florida.”
“Well, don’t lose it,” and she carried the basket into the kitchen.
Taking the rod and tackle, he got in the motorboat and started
the engine. It was good to be in a boat again, and an hour later when
he had landed a four-pound bass, he decided he hadn’t spent a nicer
morning since he was a kid.
He felt absurdly proud of himself when he carried the bass into
the kitchen and saw Freda’s look of surprise.
“You’re quite a fisherman!” she said. “Put it down there. I’ll
attend to it.”
“I’ve gutted it . . . used to fish a lot when I was a kid: hadn’t much
else to eat. That smells good.”
“Ed gets a free meal in Richville. I thought I’d spend some of your
money.” She looked at him. “Beef casserole. Like to give me some
rent? I’ve spent all I bad.”
“Why, sure.” He went into his bedroom, unlocked the suitcase
and took out two ten dollar bills. Then returning, he handed them to
her.
“Thanks.” She put the money in a shabby little purse. “We can
eat.”
While they were eating, she asked, “What do you
plan to do?
Just sit around here?”
“If I’m not in the way. I’m taking a vacation and this suits me
fine.”
“You’re easy to please.” The bitter note in her voice made him
glance at her.
“Yeah, I can guess it gets monotonous after a time. Ed was telling
me about this shrimp contract.”
“He’s crazy!” She forked beef into her mouth. “The moment I can
lay my hands on some money, I’m off! God! I’m sick of this way of
life, but we’re stuck for money.”
“It’s tough. He seems to work like a slave. I’m sorry.”
“He works all right, but does he kid himself! He’ll never be
anything. There are finks who slave themselves to death and never
amount to anything . . . he’s one of them.” The bright blue eyes met
his. “What do you do for a living?”
“Rent collecting. I got fed up with it, sold everything and when
my money runs out, I’m going to get a job on a boat. I’m crazy about
boats.”
“Boats?” She grimaced. “What sort of living can you make out of
boats? Fishing? Is that a living?”
“A living doesn’t worry me. I just want to get on a boat.”
She laid down her knife and fork.
“Some ambition.”
“And you? If you had enough money to get away from here,
what would you do?”
“Live! I’m twenty-six. I know men go for me.” She stared directly
at him. “You go for me, don’t you?”
“So what’s that to do with it?”
“If I could get to Miami, I’d find a man and I’d squeeze every
dollar out of him for services rendered. You know something? I
thought this was the golden land of opportunity when I landed here
three years ago. Was I green? I spent two months in New York in a
Travel Agency, routing old jerks to Sweden. God! Was that a bore!
Then I got a transfer down to Jacksonville: the same old bore. Then
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one day . . . my unlucky day . . . when I was fed up to my back teeth, I
had to run into Ed, full of plans of starting up in the haulage business,
owning his own truck, in a year owning two trucks, in four years a
fleet of trucks . . . really in the money! So I married him! Okay, I
asked for it and got it! We came here. ‘Give me a year,’ he said, `and
you’ll see. Let’s rough it for a year, then I’ll get another truck.’ That’s
two years ago! And what a man! What a man to live with!” She
looked directly at Johnny. “Are you on to him?”
Knock Knock Whos There Page 13
