Knock, Knock! Who's There? Read online

  “We can check,” Massino said. He looked at Andy. “At that time there would be very few buses leaving. Get over there and check. Someone should remember if two heavy bags were put on a bus.”

  Andy nodded and left the office.

  Massino looked at Tanza.

  “He’s now been gone eight days.” His little eyes were like red beads. “Think you can find him?”

  Tanza grinned evilly.

  “We always find them, but it costs.”

  “So how much?”

  “Depends on how long it takes. Let’s say fifty per cent of the take.”

  Massino said softly, “I want him alive. You’ll get fifty per cent if he’s delivered to me alive. A third if he’s dead.”

  “He could be tricky to take alive.”

  Massino closed his huge fists.

  “I want him alive! I’m going to smash that sonofabitch to a pulp with my own hands.” His rage gave him an insane look and even Tanza who was ruthless and tough was shocked. “So get after him! Get your wonderful organization hunting him!” Massino slammed his fists down on the desk. His voice rose to a snarling shout. “I don’t give a goddamn what it costs! I want him!”

  “Nearly home,” Scott said, slowing the truck. “A mile ahead and to the left is New Symara… that’s where I load. Up here,” he swung the truck off the freeway and driving slowly climbed a narrow, sandy road, bordered either side with dense stands of pines, “leads to Little Creek. It’s little enough. A store, around a dozen cabins and the lake. We’ve got a houseboat on the far side of the lake. No one bothers us. People in Little Creek are too busy to earn a dollar to bother anyone.”

  This was reassuring news to Johnny.

  The sandy track was now edged with thistles, ferns and blue flags. The jungle behind was so thick it looked like a black curtain to Johnny.

  They came out suddenly on to the lake. Johnny judged it to be a mile and a half across. There were several boats out with men fishing. One of the men raised his hand in a salute as Scott drove by. Scott waved back.

  “Supper time,” he said with a crooked grin. “Everyone here fishes for their suppers and their goddamn dinners too. I wonder if Freda’s caught anything.”

  Leaving the group of cabins behind them, they drove for a mile through the jungle, then came out suddenly into a cleared space where Johnny saw a long, shabby houseboat with a twenty-foot long, battered pier joining it to the mainland.

  “Lived here for two years,” Scott said as he drove the truck into a parking bay, covered with tatty bamboo. “Got it for a Song. Had to work on it, but now it’s not too bad. You reckon to stay long?”

  Johnny turned and looked directly at Scott.

  “Doesn’t that depend on what your wife says? She may not want a stranger hanging around.”

  Scott shrugged.

  “You don’t have to worry about Freda: she’s as money hungry as I am. I can use thirty-five bucks a week and she can use some company. Not much fun for her being left here all alone all day.”

  Johnny continued to look directly at Scott.

  “Just a minute… Is there something wrong with your wife? Is she a cripple or something?”

  “No… what do you mean?”

  “Come on, Scott,” Johnny said impatiently, “grow up! Why should your wife want a man here… it’s lonely enough. Doesn’t it worry you?”

  “Why should it?” Scott said. “If you think you can lay her, go ahead. If she has you, you’re welcome. I haven’t touched her that way since we married.” He leered. “I get all the loving I need in Richville and I don’t need a lot. When a guy works the way I do, once a month is all he needs.”

  “What’s it between you two then?” Johnny asked, startled.

  “Forget it.” Scott swung himself out of the cab. “If you want to stay, then stay as long as you like so long as you pay. Come on, I’ll show you your room.”

  As they walked across the pier, Scott paused and pointed.

  “There she is… swimming. Spends most of her time in the lake.”

  Johnny screwed up his eyes against the reflection of the sun on the still water. He saw a head bobbing in the water, some three hundred yards from the houseboat.

  Scott put two fingers in his mouth and emitted a shrill whistle. A hand came out of the water in a wave. “Come on in,” Scott said.

  There was a good wide deck around the houseboat and together they entered a long, low living room shabbily furnished, but comfortable enough. There was a T.V. set in one corner.

  “Here’s your room,” Scott said and opened the door.

  “Dump your things and have a swim. We swim raw. You don’t have to bother about Freda. She’s seen more naked men than I’ve seen shrimps.”

  Johnny looked around the tiny room. There was a bed, a closet, a night-table and a chair. The window looked onto the lake. It was all clean and he liked it.

  “This is fine.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Scott left him.

  Johnny looked out of the window. He would have liked to have swum, but not naked. He saw Scott come out on deck, naked and dive into the lake. He watched him swim to the blonde head, pause and after a minute or so, swim on. The blonde head headed towards the house boat.

  Johnny stood by the window and watched. He kept out of sight, peering around the curtain as the woman swung herself on to the deck. She was tall, brown-bodied and naked. She had long legs, tight, firm breasts and as she turned and walked along the deck, Johnny watched her heavy buttocks roll. His eyes had been too busy looking at her body to see her face except to notice her wet, blonde hair reached to the middle of her shoulders.

  Johnny wiped the sweat off his face. What had he walked into? he asked himself. This was all woman: the most sensual, sexual body he had seen.

  He now felt in urgent need of cold water. Stripping off, keeping on his underpants, he stepped out onto the deck and dived into the lake.

  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 livingroom. 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.

  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 w
on’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.

  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 something 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 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.

  “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.