Knock Knock Whos There Read online

  After a while, she came back with a large pot of coffee, a cup and

  saucer which she set down on the table beside him.

  “Thanks, baby, now you go to bed,” Johnny said. “There’s

  nothing to worry about. Go to bed . . . go to sleep.”

  She stood hesitating, looking at him, then silently she went into

  the bedroom and shut the door. Johnny grimaced as he poured

  strong, black coffee into the cup.

  He sat there, sipping coffee until 02.25, then he got to his feet

  and moving silently, he opened the bedroom door and looked into

  the darkness of the room.

  “You going now?” Melanie asked out of the darkness, her voice

  quavering.

  “Why aren’t you asleep, for God’s sake?”

  “I can’t sleep. I’m so worried, Johnny.”

  Women! he thought. Maybe he should have picked on someone

  else for his alibi. He shook his head in despair. What the hell was the

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  matter with him? He wouldn’t need an alibi! The way he had fixed

  this, Massino would never think he had taken the money.

  “I’ll be back in thirty minutes, baby. Take it easy . . . try to sleep,”

  and he closed the door.

  He left the apartment and walked down to the deserted street.

  Keeping in the shadows, he walked fast, heading for Massino’s office.

  It took him ten minutes of fast walking to reach the entrance of

  Massino’s office block. He approached it from across the street and

  he saw a light on in Andy’s office. That meant Benno was up there,

  either sleeping or smoking or doing some goddamn thing, while he

  kept watch.

  Johnny looked to right and left. The street was deserted. He

  crossed the street, entered the dimly lit lobby and took the elevator

  to the fourth floor. Closing the elevator door gently, he walked up

  the two remaining flights to Massino’s office.

  The job had to be done fast so his alibi would stand up. Reaching

  the passage leading to Massino’s and Andy’s offices, be took out his

  handkerchief and removed the two electric light bulbs in the

  corridor. The stream of light coming through Andy’s glazed door was

  enough for him to see. He took the newspaper from his pocket. It

  was still slightly damp. He paused for a moment to listen, then he

  crumpled the newspaper and put it down hard against Andy’s office

  door. He lit his lighter and touched off the newspaper. Small flames

  made smoke. Johnny stood back, cosh in hand, and waited.

  He didn’t have to wait long. He heard a muttered curse, then the

  door was unlocked and Benno, squat, heavily built, stood in the

  doorway, gaping at the smouldering paper. Johnny waited, pressed

  against the wall.

  Benno moved forward as Johnny knew he would. As he began to

  stamp on the smouldering newspaper, Johnny’s cosh descended on

  the back of his bead.

  Johnny didn’t pause to make certain he had put Benno away. He

  knew he had and there was no point in wasting seconds. He stepped

  to the safe, took the key from his pocket and opened the safe. He

  dragged out the two bags. Sweat was running down his face. The

  bags were a lot heavier than he had expected.

  Taking the safe key, carrying the bags, he stepped over Benno’s

  inert body, paused for a brief moment to stamp out the smouldering

  newspaper, then thumbed the elevator button.

  Descending to the ground floor, he looked cautiously into the

  deserted lobby, then carrying a bag in either gloved hand, he moved

  into the street. Again he paused, then satisfied he had the street to

  himself, he bolted across to the Greyhound bus station.

  A big negro was sleepily brushing up and he didn’t look at Johnny

  as he opened the locker. As Johnny heaved the bags into the locker,

  he heard a late bus start up and saw its headlights as it moved out

  onto the street. He had to shove hard to get the door shut. He

  turned the key, removed it and then walked out of the bus station.

  The first move of the operation had jelled! He ducked down a

  side street and began to run. $186,000! There was a surge of triumph

  in him as he ran. It now couldn’t turn sour! Massino would never

  suspect him! As he ran, he felt a strong overpowering sexual need.

  Darting through the back streets, deserted at this time of night,

  he finally reached Melanie’s apartment block. He paused in the

  shadows, checking, making sure that no one was there to break his

  alibi, then moving fast, he entered the apartment block and took the

  elevator to Melanie’s floor.

  Again he paused in the elevator to make sure there was no one

  in the passage, then he darted across to Melanie’s door, turned the

  handle and was in.

  He leaned against the door. His heart thumping. Well, he had

  done it. He looked at his watch. The steal had taken twenty-five

  minutes!

  “Johnny?”

  Melanie, in her shortie nightdress, came into the living-room.

  He forced a grin.

  “Here I am . . . like I said . . . nothing to worry about.”

  She stared at him, her black eyes wide with fear. “What

  happened?”

  “I said not to worry.” He took her in his arms. “But something’s

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  going to happen right now . . . guess what?”

  Picking her up, he carried her into the bedroom and laid her

  gently on the bed.

  “It’s okay, baby,” he said, stripping off his jacket, dumping his

  gun harness and then pulling off his shirt. Maybe the tension of the

  past half hour was getting at him, but he wanted her as never before.

  She lay still, staring at him.

  “You and me . . . this time it’s going to be the best,” he said as he

  was pulling the zipper of his trousers, he suddenly felt horribly

  naked. He stood motionless, looking down at her, feeling his raging

  desire for her like a flame hit by a bucketful of water.

  “Your medal,” Melanie said.

  Johnny straightened. He looked down at his hairy chest. The St.

  Christopher medal no longer hung on its silver chain. With shaking

  hands he lifted the chain and saw the tiny hook that carried the

  medal was bent and open.

  For the first time in his life, he felt a cold clutch of fear.

  “Look for it!” The snap of his voice and the expression in his eyes

  brought Melanie off the bed. Together they searched the bedroom,

  then the living-room, but the medal wasn’t in the apartment.

  He ran into the bedroom, struggled into his shirt, put on his

  holster, then his jacket.

  Melanie said fearfully, “What is it, Johnny? Tell me!”

  “Go to bed . . . wait for me,” and he left the apartment. He

  paused to search the corridor, then the cage of the elevator . . . no

  medal. He rode down to the lobby, searched that, then went out

  onto the street. He was shaking now. He paused to drag down

  lungfuls of damp air as he tried to control his rising panic.

  This was no way to act, he told himself. Where had he dropped

  the medal? Unlocking his car, he searched around the driver’s seat . .

  . no medal.

  He relocked the c
ar and stood thinking. It could have dropped

  anywhere, but if it had dropped in Andy’s office, he was cooked.

  God! Was he cooked! All his plans, his confident two-year wait

  before he bought the boat would be shrivelled in the heat that

  Massino would turn on. Leaving his medal in Andy’s office was like

  leaving a signed confession that he had taken the money!

  There was still a chance. He started to his car, then stopped.

  Think straight, you fool! he told himself. It could still be all right.

  Leave the car . . . it’s part of your alibi!

  He started down the street in a shambling run, covered the same

  ground, moving down the back streets, deserted but for a stray cat

  or an old drunk, sleeping in the doorway.

  He had to make sure the medal wasn’t in Andy’s office. It didn’t

  matter if it were found in the elevator, in Massino’s office, but it

  would be fatal if it were found in Andy’s office because no one

  except Andy and Benno were ever allowed into the office.

  Breathing heavily, Johnny reached the corner of the street that

  led directly to Massino’s office block. He came to an abrupt stop as

  he saw a police prowl car parked outside the office block.

  Too late!

  Benno had recovered and had alerted the fuzz and even as

  Johnny stood there in the shadows, he saw a Lincoln pull up and

  from it spilled Toni and Ernie who chased into the building.

  Where had he dropped the medal?

  Aslongasyouwearit nothingreallybad canhappentoyou.

  He was no longer wearing it and he was superstitious enough to

  be certain that the medal was lying in front of the safe: a signed

  confession that he had taken the money! He looked across at the

  Greyhound station. He hadn’t the nerve to go there, to take the two

  heavy bags and lug them back to his car. Toni or Ernie might look out

  of the window, down into the street and spot him. Anyway, now he

  dare not use his car. All the mob knew it by sight. He would have to

  go on the run. If he acted fast, he could make it. The money would be

  safe in the locker. He would wait until the heat cooled off, then

  sneak back, get the money and sneak out. He knew he was thinking

  like an idiot, but panic had its grip on him.

  With screaming sirens, more police cars arrived. Then as Johnny

  stood against the wall, watching, his heart hammering, Massino’s

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  Rolls swept to the kerb. He watched Massino get out of his car and

  walk fast across the sidewalk and into the building.

  He had to get out of town and fast, Johnny thought. Money? He

  must have money if he was to keep one jump ahead of Massino. He

  thought of all that money stashed away in the locker. No use to him

  right now. He had to have an immediate get-away stake.

  Melanie? She never had any money. His mind raced. Maybe he

  was panicking for nothing. The medal could be anywhere, but in his

  bones, he was sure it was in Andy’s office.

  Sammy!

  Sammy had three thousand dollars under his bed. Johnny had to

  have money! He couldn’t hide from Massino without money.

  He began to run down the back streets. It was a long run.

  Sammy’s pad was half way across the town. The City’s clock was

  striking the half hour as Johnny, panting, started up the stairs that

  led to Sammy’s fourth-floor pad. He knocked on Sammy’s door, but

  there was no answer. He listened, knocked again, then turned the

  handle: the door swung open.

  “Sammy?”

  His fingers groped and found the light switch and snapped it

  down.

  The tiny room held a truckle bed, a two-ringed gas cooker, an

  armchair, a battered T.V. set, but no Sammy. Then Johnny

  remembered Sammy always shacked up with his girl, Cloe, on Friday

  nights.

  He moved into the room and shut the door. Kneeling, he groped

  under the bed and found a small steel box in which Sammy had told

  him he kept his savings. He pulled the box out. It wasn’t even locked!

  Lifting the lid he saw the box was crammed with ten dollar bills. He

  didn’t hesitate, acutely aware that every second he wasted

  decreased his chances of escape.

  He stuffed his pockets with the bills, leaving the box empty. For a

  brief moment he wondered how Sammy would react, then he told

  himself he was only borrowing the money. In a short while, he would

  repay Sammy with interest.

  Leaving the room, he started down the stairs. Now to get out of

  town! He wondered how long the fuzz would take to set up road

  blocks. Here was the danger, but he had to get out! His fingers

  touched the butt of his .38. If he had to, he would shoot his way out!

  Moving into the street, his mind raced. He had to have a hideout!

  Somewhere where he could be completely lost for at least a month.

  Where could he go? Then he thought of Giovanni Fusseli. It was an

  inspired thought. Fusseli had been Johnny’s father’s best friend. He

  must be over seventy now. Maybe he was dead! Johnny had heard

  from him five years ago. He had been living in a small town—what

  the hell was it’s name? Jackson? Packson? Jackson! It was on the

  freeway to Miami. If he could get there, he was sure Fusseli would

  shelter him.

  He would have to steal a car. If he could get to Reddy’s cafe

  where all the south-bound truckers stopped for a meal, he could

  bribe one of them to take him to Jackson.

  He stood hesitatingly as he looked up and down the street. There

  were a number of cars parked. As he started towards them, he saw

  the headlights of a car swing into the street and he stepped back into

  the shadows. The car came slowly towards him, then pulled up by

  the kerb and immediately under a street light. A young, thin man

  with shoulder-length hair got out of the car. The street light showed

  Johnny his shabbiness: tattered jeans and a dirty sweat shirt. Acting

  on impulse and as the young man was locking the car door, Johnny

  stepped up to him.

  “Want to earn twenty bucks?” Johnny asked quietly.

  The young man stared at him.

  “Doing what?”

  ‘Drive me to Reddy’s cafe.”

  “Hey, man! That’s twenty miles out of town!”

  “At a dollar a mile, is that so rough?”

  The young man grinned.

  “You’ve got yourself a deal. Let’s have the bread and we’re on

  our way.”

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  Johnny gave him a ten dollar bill.

  “You get the rest when we get there.”

  “Fine . . . I’m Joey. Who are you, buster?”

  “Charlie,” Johnny said. “Let’s go.” He waited until Joey had

  unlocked the car door, then got into the passenger’s seat. Joey slid

  under the driving wheel.

  “Listen, Joey, keep to the back streets. Drive fast, but not too fast

  . . . get it?”

  Joey laughed.

  “Like that, huh? The fuzz bothering you?”

  “You don’t earn twenty bucks flapping with your mouth,” Johnny

  said quietly. The cold menace in his voice made Joey stiffen. “Just

  drive.”

  At least, Johnny thought, th
is punk knows the City. Although it

  took longer, Joey kept to the back streets and in ten minutes or so

  they approached the freeway out of the City.

  This was where trouble could be waiting, Johnny thought and he

  eased his gun in its holster for a quick draw. But there was no

  trouble. Johnny wasn’t to know that road blocks were set up thirty

  minutes after he had left the City.

  The Police Commissioner had been out of town and the Assistant

  Police Commissioner had no time for Massino. He was deliberately

  uncooperative, delaying the road blocks, throwing his rank at

  Massino, pointing out that the Numbers gamble was illegal anyway.

  Massino, raging, now regretted he hadn’t taken care of the

  Assistant Police Commissioner as he had taken care of his boss with a

  new car every year, money to take care of his goddamn kids’

  education and a big insurance policy to take care of his goddamn

  wife.

  Johnny paid Joey off, watched him drive away, then walked into

  Reddy’s cafe to find a trucker who would drive him south.

  His panic was slowly subsiding. So far . . . so good. Now for

  Jackson and a safe hide-away.

  FOUR

  The shrilling of the telephone bell brought Joe Massino instantly

  awake. He snapped on the bedside lamp, looked at the clock that

  told him it was 03.15 and knew immediately that something had

  happened. No one would dare disturb his sleep unless there was an

  emergency.

  He snatched up the receiver and swung his feet to the floor,

  stripping the blanket and sheet off his wife, Dina, who was coming

  awake with a low, moaning sound.

  “Yeah?”

  Massino’s voice boomed over the line.

  “Boss . . . this is Benno. The dough’s gone. I’ve got a cracked nut.

  What do I do, boss?”

  Massino knew Benno’s limitations: he was punch drunk, a

  goodamn moron, but at least he had got the message across.

  Massino felt a hot wave of murderous rage sweep through him, but

  he controlled it.

  “Call the cop house, Benno,” he said. “Get them with you. I’m on

  my way.” He slammed down the receiver and began to strip off his

  pyjamas.

  Dina, a blonde, heavily built woman, some fifteen years younger

  than her husband was now awake.

  “What is it, for God’s sake? What are you doing?”

  “Shut up!” Massino snarled. He shoved his legs into his trousers

  and not bothering for a tie, he struggled into his jacket.