Knock, Knock! Who's There? Page 9

  He half carried, half dragged Johnny into the cabin that consisted of a living-room, two bedrooms and a shower room. It was sparsely furnished and one side of the living-room was lined with books.

  Freeman got Johnny into the smaller bedroom and propped him up against the wall. Then he stripped off the cotton coverlet on the bed and with care, steered him around and got him onto the bed. “Just relax,” Freeman said and went away.

  Johnny’s ankle hurt so badly, he only half registered what was going on. He lay on the bed, staring up at the wooden ceiling, not believing this was happening to him.

  Freeman returned with a glass of ice cold beer in his hand.

  “Drink this.” He gave Johnny the beer. “I’ll look at your ankle.”

  Johnny drank the beer in one gorgeous gulp. He set the glass down on the floor.

  “Thanks! Man! Did I need that!”

  “It’s a bad sprain,” Freeman told him. He had got Johnny’s shoe and sock off. “It can be fixed. In a week, you’ll be able to walk.”

  Johnny half sat up.

  “A week?”

  “You’re safe here, friend,” Freeman said, “No one ever comes here. Maybe you’re a stranger in this district. I’m known as the Snake Man, and you have no idea the horror people have of snakes.”

  Johnny stared at him.

  “Snakes?”

  “I catch snakes. It’s a living. I work with the hospitals. They’re always yelling for serum: I supply them. Right now I have three hundred venomous snakes in cages behind this cabin. People keep clear of me.” While he was talking, he bound Johnny’s ankle with a bandage soaked in iced water. Already the pain was lessening. “Feel like eating? I’ve been out all morning and I haven’t had a bite. Want to join me?”

  “I could eat a horse,” Johnny said.

  Freeman chuckled.

  “That’s something not on the menu,” he said. “Won’t be long.”

  Within ten minutes he came back with two soup plates full of thick, savoury-smelling stew. He sat on the end of the bed, handed Johnny one of the plates and began to eat. When Johnny had finished, he decided it was about the best meal he had eaten in years.

  “You’re some cook!” he said. “Never tasted anything so good.”

  “Yes… rattlesnake meat when cooked the right way, is pretty good,” Freeman said, collecting the plates.

  Johnny’s eyes opened wide.

  “That snake meat?”

  “I live on it.”

  “Well, for God’s sake!”

  Freeman laughed.

  “A lot better than horse.” He went away and Johnny heard him washing up.

  After a while, Freeman came back into the small bedroom.

  “I’ve things to do,” he said. “You don’t have to worry. No one comes here. I’ll be back in three or four hours.” He eyed the beginning of a beard on Johnny’s face. “Want to shave? I have a cordless.”

  Johnny shook his head.

  “I reckon on growing a beard.”

  The two men looked at each other, then Freeman nodded.

  “Take a nap. I’ll lock you in,” and he went away.

  Although his head and his ankle still ached, Johnny slid into sleep. When he awoke the light was fading and he felt a lot better. His headache had gone away, but his ankle still bothered him.

  Lying there, looking out of the window, watching the sun sink behind the trees, he wondered about Freeman. An oddball, he told himself, but someone he felt he could trust. Instinctively, he was sure of that.

  He turned his thoughts to Massino. Having worked so long for him, Johnny could guess how he was reacting: like an enraged bull.

  How long would it be before he went to Tanza and asked the organization to take over? Maybe the organization was already hunting for him. Johnny thought of all that money stashed away in the left- luggage locker. He thought of Sammy. He would have to get in touch with him. AS soon as his ankle was mended, he would have to telephone him and explain why he had had to take his savings. Sammy might be able to tell him what action Massino was taking.

  He saw a movement through the open window and his hand flew to his gun. Then he relaxed as he saw Freeman coming across the clearing, carrying a burlap sack that jerked and writhed in his grasp.

  Snakes!

  Johnny grimaced.

  What a way to earn a living!

  Five minutes later, Freeman came into the bedroom, carrying two glasses of ice cold beer.

  “How’s the ankle?” he asked, giving Johnny one of the glasses and then sitting on the end of the bed. “Still hurts, but nothing bad.”

  “I’ll take a look at it in a moment.” Freeman drank, sighed, then set down the half-empty glass. “I found three Cottonmouths. You’ve brought me luck.” He smiled, “Do I ask your name, friend or would you rather I didn’t?”

  “Call me Johnny.” A pause, then Johnny said, “Do you always treat strangers the way you’re treating me?”

  “You’re the first. Yes, I believe in helping people when I can. A long time ago I needed a lot of help myself and someone came along and helped me. It’s something I remember. Cast your bread upon the waters.” Freeman chuckled. “I’m not a religious man, but that saying makes sense to me. There’s one thing I’ve learned, living the way I do and that’s not to ask questions and to accept people on face value.”

  “That’s as good a rule as any,” Johnny said quietly.

  “I guess I’m lucky you found me.”

  “Let’s have a look at the ankle, then I’ll help you undress, I’ve got a spare pair of pyjamas you can have.”

  Gently, he removed the bandage, soaked it in ice water, and replaced it. Then he helped Johnny out of his jacket.

  Only for the briefest moment did Freeman pause when he saw the gun holster and the gun. Then he waited until Johnny unbuckled the harness and put the gun down by his side.

  “That’s part of my trouble, Johnny said.

  “I guess it’s part of a lot of people’s troubles these days,” Freeman said. “Let’s get your pants off,” and he gently drew Johnny’s trousers over the injured ankle.

  There was a tinkling sound and Freeman looked down. He bent and picked up something, then looked at Johnny. “Is this yours?” he asked. “It dropped out of your trousers’ cuff.”

  He held out his open palm.

  Lying in the middle of his palm was the St. Christopher medal.

  Johnny lay staring out of the open window at the moon-lit jungle. From the other bedroom, he could hear Freeman snoring softly. He held the St. Christopher medal in his hand.

  It had come back to him, he was thinking, but at what a cost!

  All the time he had been searching for it, it had been in his trousers’ cuff as if jeering at him! Had it not been for the medal he would have still been working for Massino, helping him in the search for the missing money! Because he panicked, believing the medal was in Andy’s office, he was now on the run. He felt like throwing the medal out of the window and cursing it, but he was too superstitious to do this.

  As long as you have it, nothing really bad can happen to you.

  He could hear his mother’s sad, weary voice as if she were in the room with him.

  Well, he had it back! So maybe the organization wouldn’t find him. Maybe, after all, he would have his boat. Maybe he would be the first man in history to escape the Mafia’s death sentence!

  He hooked the medal onto the chain and squeezed the hook tightly shut.

  But lying there, watching the rising moon, listening to the sounds of the wind in the trees, the medal cold against his sweating chest, gave him no comfort.

  He lay sleepless until the dawn came and then he slept and while he slept two cars, with the pick of Massino’s mob, converged on the scene of the truck accident.

  Lu Berilli was in charge of the operation. The cars pulled up as the sun began to climb, lighting the jungle.

  Berilli surveyed the dense jungle facing him and grimaced. This, he now
realized, was going to be a hell of an operation. If Johnny was hiding somewhere in these thickets, someone could get hurt, and Berilli had no stomach to come up against a man with Johnny’s reputation for fast shooting. He wished he had kept his mouth shut, but it was now too late. Eight men crowded around him, waiting. They were all tough and trigger-happy: specially picked by Massino.

  “This is the spot,” Berilli said, trying to sound confident. “We’ll split up. Three of you to the left: three to the right. Freddy, Jack and me go down the centre. Watch it! He’s in there somewhere. Don’t take any chances.”

  The two he had picked to go with him—Freddy and Jack—were button men who had worked for the Mafia and had been loaned to Massino as the New York police were hunting for them: ruthless killers, utterly without nerves.

  Freddy was in his late twenties: thin, hard, dark with stony eyes and an irritating habit of whistling through his teeth. Jack was five years older than Freddy. He was a garotte artist, short, squat with restless flat eyes and an inane grin that was a fixture on his fat face.

  The men split up and moved into the dark jungle.

  Reaching the burned-out truck, Berilli paused.

  “Some smash,” he said. He looked down the path that led deeper into the jungle. “Jack, you go ahead. I follow you. Freddy keeps in the rear. Take it slow. He could be holed up anywhere in this goddamn mess.”

  Johnny came awake as Freeman opened his bedroom door.

  “Good night?” Freeman asked and gave Johnny a cup of tea.

  “Fair.” Johnny sat up and gratefully sipped the tea.

  “I’m off into the jungle,” Freeman said, “but I’ll take a look before I go.” He went out and returned with a bowl of ice water, changed the bandage, then nodded his satisfaction. “It’s coming along, the inflammation has gone. I won’t be back for seven or eight hours. I’ll leave you some cold stew. You want a book?”

  Johnny shook his head.

  “I don’t read books. I’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll lock you in and pull the shutters. You don’t have to worry. No one ever comes here, but let’s play it safe.”

  Johnny’s fingers touched his gun.

  “I’ll be fine… and thanks for everything.”

  With a bowl of cold rattlesnake stew by his side, a supply of cigarettes and a flask of ice water, Johnny settled down on his hard little bed. Freeman swung the heavy slatted wooden shutter’s closed.

  “It’ll be hot later,” he said, “but better too hot than sorry.” He seemed to sense the danger Johnny was in. “Sorry to leave you, but I’ve got to find a cranebrake rattler. The hospital is yelling for its serum. Could take me all day.”

  “I’m fine,” Johnny said. “Maybe I could use a book… anything but the Bible.”

  Freeman went into the living-room and, after a while, came back with a copy of The Godfather by Puzo.

  Johnny hadn’t read a book since he had left school. When he found this book was the story of the Mafia organization he became absorbed in it. Time fled away. So absorbed was he that he forgot to eat the cold stew and it wasn’t until he found the light was fading as it came through the slatted shutters and he had difficulty in seeing the print that he realized he was hungry, that his ankle no longer ached and it was 17.20 by his watch.

  “If books are as good as this one,” he thought, “I’ve been missing something.”

  He was finishing the cold stew and about to light a cigarette when he heard the lock turn in the cabin door. Hurriedly, he dropped his cigarette and reached for his gun.

  “It’s me,” Freeman called and came into the small bedroom. “I think there’s trouble. There are three men heading this way. They didn’t see me. They’re all carrying guns.”

  Johnny struggled upright.

  “They’ll be here in ten minutes or less. Come on, Johnny, I can hide you where they won’t think of looking.” Freeman hoisted Johnny up on his left foot. “You hop. Don’t put any weight on your bad foot.”

  Johnny grabbed his gun and holster, then supported by Freeman, he hopped through the living-room and out into the sunshine. Freeman steered him to the big lean-to behind the cabin.

  “This is my snake house,” Freeman said. “You don’t have to be scared. They’re all in cages and can’t touch you.”

  He manoeuvred Johnny into the semi-darkness and Johnny could hear the dry rattling sound a rattlesnake makes when alarmed. Freeman propped him up against the wall, then moving to a big eight-foot-high cage, he dragged it forward. Johnny saw the cage was alive with writhing rattlesnakes. Freeman caught hold of him and got him behind the cage and propped him against the wall.

  “You’ll be okay,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix the bed. They won’t know you’re here,” then he moved the cage back on Johnny, wedging him against the wall and out of sight.

  Johnny could smell the snakes. Their movements chilled him. Leaning hard on his sound foot, keeping his injured foot slightly off the ground, he set himself to wait.

  Berilli, flanked on either side by Freddy and Jack suddenly came on the clearing and Freeman’s cabin.

  For hours now they had combed the jungle and they were sick and tired of the search. They had become careless. Berilli had realized after three or four hours that Johnny could be lying, hidden, in any of the big thickets and by keeping still, they could have walked past him.

  He realized this operation had been too hastily mounted. What they needed in this goddamn place was a dog to flush Johnny out. But now he was stuck with the operation and he was scared to go back to Massino and report no success.

  He, Freddy and Jack had walked through the jungle for six gruelling hours. The only thing they had seen that moved was a snake. Then just when Berilli was about to call off the operation and admit defeat, they came on the clearing and the log cabin.

  The three instinctively dodged back behind thicket.

  “He could be here,” Berilli said.

  They started across the clearing at the cabin, then they saw a tall, thin man, wearing shabby khaki drill come out of the cabin. He walked over to the well and began drawing water.

  “Jack… you talk to him,” Berilli said.

  “Not me, pal,” Jack said. “You chat him up… I’ll cover you.”

  “So will I,” Freddy said and grinned. “You’re the boss, Lu.”

  So Berilli moved out of the clearing, his heart thumping, wondering if Johnny was holed up in the cabin, taking aim at him through the slatted shutters.

  Freeman looked up as Berilli approached him.

  “Hi, stranger.” His voice was soft and calm. “Have you lost your way? I haven’t seen anyone this way for months.”

  Berilli eyed him, keeping his gull behind him, out of sight.

  “You live here?” he demanded.

  “That’s right.” Freeman was perfectly at ease. “Jay Freeman: I’m the snake man.”

  Berilli stiffened.

  “Snakes? What do you mean?”

  Patiently, Freeman explained.

  “I collect serum for hospitals.” He paused, looking directly into Berilli’s suspicious eyes. “Who are you?”

  “Have you seen a short, thick-set man with black hair, around forty years of age? We’re looking for him.”

  “As I said, you’re the first human I’ve seen in months.”

  Berilli looked uneasily at the cabin.

  “You’d better not lie to me. If he’s in there, you’re in trouble and I mean trouble.”

  “What’s all this about?” Freeman asked mildly. “Are you the police?”

  Ignoring the question, Berilli signalled to the other two who came out from behind the thicket.

  “We’ll take a look at your cabin,” he said to Freeman as Jack and Freddy joined him. “Go ahead, bright boy, and stop flapping with your mouth.”

  Freeman walked into the cabin. Using him as a shield, Berilli entered behind him, his gun in hand, his heart pounding, while Jack and Freddy waited outside. After a quick searc
h, pushing Freeman always ahead of him, Berilli came out of the cabin and into the sunshine. He shook his head at the other two.

  “What is that?” he demanded, seeing the lean-to.

  “My snake house,” Freeman said. “Have a look. I’ve just caught a cranebrake rattler. Have you ever seen one?”

  Crouched behind the snake cage, Johnny heard every word and he thumbed back the safety on his gun. He could hear a soft whistling sound and he knew who was out there: Freddy, a Mafia killer and more dangerous than any of the snakes, writhing and rattling around him.

  “Go ahead,” Berilli said and prodded Freeman with his gun.

  Again sheltering behind Freeman, Berilli peered into the lean-to, saw the cages, smelt the snake smell and backed away.

  He crossed over to Freddy and Jack.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “We could search this goddamn jungle for months and still not find him.”

  “That’s the brightest thing you’ve said so far,” Jack said.

  Freeman watched the three men move off into the jungle, then he fetched a bucket of water from the well and returned to his cabin. He waited some ten minutes, then leaving the cabin, he moved into the jungle as quietly and as swiftly as one of his snakes. Without being seen or heard, he caught up with the three men and watched them meet up with six other men, watched them talk, then saw them get into two cars and drive away.

  Then he returned to his cabin to release Johnny from his hidingplace and assure him the hunt was over.

  SIX

  For eight, long boring days, Johnny remained in Freeman’s cabin. During this time his beard made progress and his ankle mended.

  Looking at himself in the mirror in the shower room, he saw how the beard altered his appearance and he felt confident, unless he was examined closely, that no one-would recognize him. He had got Freeman to drive into town and buy him two sets of khaki drill, a bush jacket and a bush hat, together with toilet things, shirts, socks and a suitcase.

  Although, from time to time, his ankle still ached, he could now walk fairly well and he felt it was time to move on. He decided to pick up a south-bound truck on the freeway and make his way to Jackson. He was sure Fuselli would give him shelter for a time, and then when the heat had cooled off, he would go back and collect the money. By that time, his grey-black beard would be impressive and he felt the risk of returning had to be taken. With some of the money he had taken from Sammy, he would buy a used car, and still have plenty in hand.