Knock Knock Whos There Page 9

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  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.

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  “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

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  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