“Andy said I was to look in,” Johnny said. “He said you’d give me introductions and take me around.”
“Sure will,” Bernie said, “but not today. This is the week-end for God’s sake! No business at week-ends. Suppose we start Monday, huh? Come here around ten o’clock. I’ll show you around. Okay?” “Anything you say.” Johnny started towards the door.
“Oh, Johnny…”
Johnny paused and looked at Bernie who was scratching his fat jowl.
“Yeah?”
“I guess I flapped with my big mouth.” Bernie shifted uneasily in his chair. “Andy told me I wasn’t to tell you what I get paid. Can you forget it?”
Johnny’s hands turned to fists, but he managed a cold grin.
“Sure. I’ve forgotten it, Bernie. See you Monday,” and he left the little office and tramped clown the six flights of stairs, swearing under his breath.
As he was within a five-minute walk from the Greyhound bus station, he made his way there. Reaching the station, he paused to look across the street and up at Massino’s office windows. Massino was probably in flight to Miami for a long week-end, but Johnny was sure that Andy was up there in his poky office.
He went into the bus station and made his way to the left luggage lockers. He stopped to read the instructions printed on the door of one of the lockers. The key, he read, had to be collected from the attendant. He glanced around. Seeing no one among the milling crowd he knew, he wandered over to the attendant’s cubby hole. A big, sleepy-looking negro peered at him.
“Let’s have a key,” Johnny said. “How much?”
“How long do you want it for, boss?”
“Three weeks… maybe longer. I don’t know.”
The negro handed over the key.
“Half a buck a week: that’ll be a buck and a half for three weeks.”
Johnny paid, dropped the key into his pocket, then went to locate the locker. It was conveniently placed: just inside the entrance door. Satisfied, he walked out into cold and made his way back to his apartment.
He spent the next hour, sitting before his window, thinking of
Massino. Around 14.00 just when he was thinking of getting a snack for lunch the telephone bell rang.
Grimacing, he got to his feet and lifted the receiver.
“Johnny?”
“Hi, baby!” He was surprised that Melanie should be calling. He had arranged to take her for a drive on Sunday afternoon and then spend the night with her.
“I’ve got the curse, Johnny. It started just now,” Melanie said. “I’m feeling like hell. Can we forget to- morrow?”
Women! Johnny thought. Always something wrong! But he knew Melanie really suffered when she had her period. This would mean a long, lonely, dreary weekend for him.
“Sorry about that, baby,” he said gently. “Sure, we’ll forget tomorrow. There’ll be plenty of other Sundays. Anything I can do?”
“Nothing. As soon as I get home, I’ll go to bed. It doesn’t last all that long.”
“You want any food?”
“I’ll take in something. You have a nice time, Johnny. I’ll call you as soon as it’s over and then well have fun.”
“Yeah. Well, look after yourself,” and Johnny hung up.
He wandered around the room wondering what the hell he would do over the week-end. He took out his wallet and checked his money. He had one hundred and eight dollars of his pay left. This would have to last him until next Friday. He hesitated. It would be good to get in his car and drive down to the coast: a three hundred mile drive. He could put up at a motel and walk by the sea, but it would cost. He couldn’t afford that kind of week-end. Fine for Massino who had all the money in the world, but strictly not for Johnny Bianda.
Shrugging, he crossed over to the T.V. set and turned it on. He sat down before the screen and gave himself over, with bored indifference, to a ball game.
As he watched, his mind dwelt on the time when he would be on his boat, feeling the lift and fall of the deck, feeling the spray of the sea against his face and the heat of the sun.
Patience, he told himself, patience.
THREE
Johnny came awake with a start and looked at his strap watch, then he relaxed. The time was 06.30… plenty of time, he told himself and he looked at Melanie, sleeping by his side. Her long black hair half covered her face and she was making a soft snorting sound as she slept.
Cautiously, not to disturb her, he reached for his pack of cigarettes on the bedside table, lit up and dragged smoke gratefully into his lungs.
Today, he told himself was D-day: Friday 29th. The collection began at 10.00. By 15.00 be and Sammy would have collected something like $150,000! The Big Take! In eighteen hours time, if he had any luck, all this money would be his and safely stashed away in a Greyhound luggage locker.
If he had any luck.
He fingered the St. Christopher medal lying on his bare chest. He thought of his mother: as long as you wear it, nothing really bad can happen to you.
Lying still, he recalled the past days that had slipped away so quickly. On Monday, he had gone the rounds with Bernie, meeting people, hearing them yak, looking for new sites for the one-arm bandits. To Bernie’s startled amazement, Johnny had placed five machines in new locations on his first day. As usual, Massino had made the right choice in picking Johnny. Most people, living in the City, knew Johnny by reputation: a tough, hard man and good with a gun. When he walked into some cafe and looked directly at the owner, suggesting in his quiet voice that the owner could do with one of Massino’s gambling machines, there was no argument.
Even Andy had been pleased when Johnny’s total for four days had been eighteen machines placed in new locations.
Now here was Friday 29th. One more collection and he would then move into the world of one-arm bandits and Bernie would gratefully bow out. These past four days had told Johnny that the job wasn’t all that bad. Unlike Bernie, he had the reputation behind him to wave in people’s faces: he realized no one respected Bernie and he marvelled that Bernie had lasted as long as he had.
Johnny touched off the ash of his cigarette as he stared up at the ceiling. He was relieved that he had no qualms, no feeling of nerves. He thought of all that money: $150,000! He mustn’t be too successful with the one-arm bandits, he warned himself. He wanted to retire from the scene in two years. He could wait that long, but no longer. His first year would be good.
Maybe, he might even qualify for the one per cent deal, but the following year, he would slow down, appearing to lose his grip, and knowing Massino and Andy, they would look around for a younger man. Then he could bow out as Bernie was now bowing out.
Melanie stirred and half sat up.
“You want coffee, honey?” she asked sleepily.
He stubbed out his cigarette and leaned over her.
“There’s time.” His fingers caressed her breast and she sighed happily.
Later, when they were having breakfast, Johnny said casually, “I’ll see you tonight, baby. We’ll go to Luigi’s.”
Melanie, happily eating pancakes and syrup, nodded.
“Yes, Johnny.”
He paused, not quite sure how to tell her. Goddamn it! He thought, this can’t be complicated. Tell her half the truth. She’ll buy anything… just half the truth.
“Baby, I have a job to do tonight,” he said as he cut into his pancake. “Are you listening?”
She looked up. The syrup was making a tiny trickle down her chin.
“Yes.”
“This job is nothing to do with my boss and he wouldn’t want me to do it. It means a little more money for me, but Massino mustn’t know about it.” He paused and looked at her. She was listening. Her black eyes were already showing signs of panic. She had always been terrified of Massino and hated Johnny working for him. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he went on, his voice soft and soothing. “You know what an alibi means?”