“Sorry, baby,” he said gently. “I have to go. Suppose you finish your dinner, then take a taxi home and wait for me.”
“Oh, no! I…”
He got up and was moving around the table.
“Do it, baby, to please me,” he said, a hard note creeping into his voice.
There was something now about him that frightened her. He had lost colour, seemed to have shrunk a little and there were sweat beads on his forehead.
She forced a smile.
“Okay, Johnny, I’ll be waiting for you.”
He had a word with the waiter and slipped him a bill, then giving her a wave, he went out on to the street.
It took him some twenty minutes in the heavy traffic to reach Massino’s house on 10th street. He found parking with difficulty and walked up the marble steps leading to the massive front door.
While he had been driving, his mind had been racing. What in God’s name, he wondered, did Massino want him for at this hour? Never before had he been summoned to this opulent house. He rang the bell, and as he was wiping his sweating hands on his handkerchief, the door opened and a lean, hard-faced man wearing a tail coat and a winged collar ( for God’s sake! ) aping an English butler from the old movies, stood aside to let Johnny enter the vast hall, lined on either side with oil paintings in gilt frames and several suits of polished armour.
“Go ahead, bud,” the butler said out of the side of his mouth. “First door right.”
Johnny entered a large room, lined with books and full of heavy dark furniture. Joe Massino was lounging in a big wing chair, smoking a cigar, a glass of whisky and water at his elbow. Sitting in the shadows was Ernie Lassini, picking his teeth with a splinter of wood.
“Come on in, Johnny,” Massino said. “Sit down.” He waved to a chair opposite him. “What’ll you drink?” Johnny sat down stiffly.
“A whisky will do fine, thank you,” he said.
“Ernie, get Johnny a whisky and then get your ass out of here.”
There was a long pause while Ernie fixed the drink which he handed to Johnny, his fat, scarred face dead pan, then he left the room.
“Cigar?” Massino asked.
“No, thanks, Mr. Joe.”
Massino grinned.
“Did I interrupt something?”
“Yeah.” Johnny stared at the big man. “You sure did.”
Massino laughed, then leaning forward he slapped Johnny on his knee.
“It’ll keep. She’ll be all the more eager when you get to her.”
Johnny didn’t say anything. Holding the drink in his sweating hand, he waited.
Massino stretched out his thick legs, drew on his cigar and puffed smoke to the ceiling. He looked very relaxed and amiable, but Johnny didn’t relax. He had seen Massino in this mood before. It could change into snarling rage in seconds.
“Nice little pad I’ve got here, huh?” Massino said, looking around the room. “The wife fixed it up. All these goddamn books. She reckons they look fancy. You ever read a book, Johnny?”
“No.”
“Nor do I. Who the hell wants to read a book?” The little cold grey eyes moved over Johnny. “Well, never mind that. I’ve been thinking about you, Johnny. You’ve worked for me close on twenty years…
Here it is, Johnny thought. The kiss-off. Well, he had been expecting it, but not quite as soon as this.
“I guess it’s around twenty years,” he said.
“What do I pay you, Johnny?”
“Two hundred a week.”
“That’s what Andy tells me. Yeah… two hundred. You should have squawked long before now.”
“I’m not squawking,” Johnny said quietly. “I guess a guy gets paid what he deserves.”
Massino squinted at him.
“That’s not the way these other punks think. They’re always moaning for more money.” He drank some of his whisky, paused, then went on, “You’re my best man, Johnny. There’s something in you that gets to me. Maybe I remember your shooting. I wouldn’t be here with all these fancy goddamn books around me if it hadn’t been for you… three times, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Three times.” Massino shook his head. “Some shooting.” Again a long pause, then he said, “If you had come to me two… -three years ago and said you wanted more money, I’d have given it to you.” The red tip of his cigar suddenly pointed at Johnny. “Why didn’t you?”
“I’ve told you, Mr. Joe,” Johnny said. “A guy gets paid what he deserves. I don’t do much. I work off and on. Friday is the big day… so…”
“You and Sammy get along okay?”
“Sure.”
“He’s scared. He hates the job, doesn’t her
“He needs the money.”
“That’s right. I’m thinking of making a change. I’ve had a beef or two from the boys. Times change. They don’t seem to like a smoke picking up the money. I want your angle. Do you think I should make a change?”
Johnny’s mind moved swiftly. This was no time to support anyone, even Sammy. In another six days—if it worked out—he would have something like $150,000 hidden away.
“I walk it with Sammy,” he said woodenly. “That’s been my job for ten years, Mr. Joe. I’ll walk it with anyone you pick.”
“I’m thinking of making a complete change,” Massino said. “You and Sammy. Ten years is a hell of a time. Can Sammy drive a car?”
“Sure and he knows cars. He started life in a garage.”
“I heard that. Think he’d like to be my chauffeur? The wife has been nagging me. She says it isn’t good class for me to drive the Rolls. She wants a uniform for God’s sake! She thinks Sammy would look real good in a uniform.”
“Top can but ask him, Mr. Joe.”
“You talk to him, Johnny. What does he get paid?”
“A hundred.”
“Okay, tell him it’s worth a hundred and fifty.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Again a long pause while Johnny waited to hear his own fate.
“Now you, Johnny,” Massino said. “You’re a well known character in this town. People like and respect you. You’ve got a reputation. How would you like to take over the one-arm bandits?”
Johnny stiffened. This was the last thing he expected to be offered… the last thing he wanted. Bernie Schultz, a fat, ageing man, looked after these gambling machines for Massino: had looked after them for the past five years. He had often moaned to Johnny about his worries, how Andy was continually chasing him if the take from these machines fell below what Bernie declared was an impossible weekly target.
He remembered Bernie, sweating, dark rings around his eyes, saying, “The goddamn job isn’t worth it, Johnny. You’ve no idea. You’re always under pressure from that sonofabitch to find new outlets. You walk your goddamn feet off, trying to get creeps to take the machines. Then if they take them, some goddamn kid busts them. You never stop working.”
“How about Bernie?” Johnny asked to gain time.
“Bernie’s washed up.” Massino’s amiable expression changed and he now became the cold, ruthless executive. “You can handle this, Johnny. You won’t have trouble in finding new outlets. People respect you. It’ll be worth four hundred and a one per cent cut: could net you eight hundred if you really got stuck into the job. What do you say?”
Johnny thought swiftly. This was an offer he dare not refuse. He was sure if he did, he would be out and he wasn’t yet ready to be kissed off.
Looking straight at Massino, he said, “When do I start?”
Massino grinned and, leaning forward, he slapped Johnny’s knee.
“That’s the way I like a guy to talk,” he said. “I knew I’d picked the right one. You start the first of the month. I’ll have Bernie fixed by then. You talk it over with Andy. He’ll wise you up.” He got to his feet, looked at his watch and grimaced. “I’ve got to move along. Got to take the wife to some goddamn shindig. Well, okay, Johnny, that’s a deal. You’ve got yourself eight hundred bucks a week.” He put his heavy arm around Johnny’s shoulders and led him to the door. “Talk to Sammy. If he wants the job, tell him to see Andy who will fix his uniform. You two do the next collection and then you start your new jobs… right?”