Knock Knock Who's There? (6 page)
Read Knock Knock Who's There? Online
Authors: James Hadley Chase
With Johnny at his side, he shambled into Massino's office and set down the two heavy bags on Massino's desk.
Andy was there, waiting. Massino was chewing a dead cigar. As Andy unlocked the handcuff, Massino lifted his eyebrows at Johnny. It was a silent question: "No trouble?" Johnny shook his head.
Then came the ritual while Andy counted the money. It took some time. Finally, Andy looked at Massino and pursing his thin lips said, "This is the tops, Mr. Joe: one hundred and eighty-six thousand. Some take!"
Johnny felt a rush of hot blood down his spine. The jackpot! In a few hours this enormous sum of money would be his! A thirtyfooter? He would now be able to make new plans. A forty-five-footer now came into his mind.
He watched Andy tug the two bags into his office and after a moment or so, he heard the old-fashioned safe door clang shut.
Massino took from his desk drawer a bottle of Johnny Walker. Ernie produced glasses. Massino poured himself a generous shot, then offered the bottle to Johnny.
"Go ahead," Massino said. "You're my boy, Johnny. Twenty years! I wanted you to be in on the biggest take." He leaned back, grinning. "Now, you've got a career ahead of you."
Ernie poured the rest of the drinks. Sammy refused. There was a pause while the men toasted themselves, then the telephone bell started up and Massino waved them away.
As Johnny and Sammy walked down the stairs, Sammy said, "It's been tough, Mr. Johnny and I'm sorry you and me won't work together no more. You've been good to me. You've helped me. I want to say thanks."
"Let's go drink beer," Johnny said and as he walked into the rain, he felt the spray of the sea against his face and the lurch of a fortyfive-footer beneath his feet.
They drank beer in the dimness of Friday's, bar. "I guess this is
good-bye, Sammy," Johnny said as Sammy waved to the barman for a second round. "You see . . . nothing ever happened all these years. You were scared about nothing."
"I guess." Sammy shook his head. Mere are folk who always worry and folk who don't. You're lucky, Mr. Johnny. You don't ever seem to worry."
Johnny thought of the steal. Worry? No! After all be was over forty: half way to death. Even if the steal turned sour, he could tell himself when the crunch came that at least he had tried to achieve an ambition. But the steal wasn't going to turn sour. There would be no crunch.
Out in the rain, the two men—one white, the other black— looked at each other. There was an awkward pause, then Johnny offered his hand.
"Well, so long, Sammy," he said. "We'll keep in touch."
They gripped hands.
"Keep saving your money," Johnny went on. "I'll be around. Anytime, anywhere if you want to yak . . . you know."
Sammy's eyes grew misty.
"I know, Mr. Johnny. I'm your friend . . . remember, Mr. Johnny. I'm your friend."
Johnny gave him a light punch on his chest, then walked away. As he walked he felt a shutter was closing down, cutting off a slice of his life. The clang of the shutter in his mind warned him that he was now even more out on his own.
Driving slowly, he reached his apartment at 17.20, climbed the stairs and let himself in. He felt in need of a drink, but he resisted it. No alcohol. He had to be sharp for this job: no whisky to make him feel reckless. He thought of the hours ahead: the dinner with Melanie: the slow creeping minutes. He went to the window and looked down on the narrow, traffic- congested street, then he stripped off and took a shower, put on his best suit and then looked at his watch. It was now 18.00. God! he thought, when waiting, how time crawled!
He checked the things he would need: a weighted rubber cosh, a
folded newspaper, a pair of gloves, his cigarette lighter, the key to the safe and the left- luggage locker key. All these he laid out on the table. There was nothing else he needed except luck. He put his fingers inside his shirt and touched the St. Christopher medal. In two years' time, he told himself, he would be at sea with the spokes of a tiller in his hands, steering a forty-five-footer into the bay with the sun on his face and the roar of powerful motors making the deck tremble.
Sitting before the window, he listened to the noise of the street floating up to him, the sound of the traffic and the kids yelling until the hands of his watch crawled to 19.30. Then he got to his feet, slid the cosh into his hip pocket, strapped on his gun harness, checked his .38, took the newspaper into the bathroom and dampened it under the tap before putting it into his jacket pocket, put the two keys and the gloves in another pocket and he was ready to go.
He drove to Melanie's apartment, arriving there just on 20.00. She was waiting in the doorway and got into the car as Johnny pulled up.
"Hi, baby!" He tried to make his voice sound casual. "Everything okay?"
"Yes." Her tone was flat. He could see she was uneasy and he hoped to God she hadn't changed her mind.
The meal wasn't a success although Johnny extravagantly ordered lobster cocktails and turkey breasts done in hot chili sauce. Neither of them did more than pick at the food. Johnny couldn't help thinking of the moment when he would have to tackle Benno. The business of rushing the two heavy bags across to the Greyhound station. He would have to leave the operation until after 02.00: between 02.00 and 03.00. Everything depended on luck and putting down his fork, he touched the St. Christopher medal through his shirt.
"I wish you would tell me what you are going to do, Johnny," Melanie said suddenly. She pushed her turkey away, only half eaten. "It worries me so. It's nothing bad, is it?"
"A job. Forget it, baby. You don't want to know anything about it . . . it's the best way. You want coffee?"
"No."
"Let's go to a movie. Come on, baby, snap out of it. It's going to be all right."
Going to a movie was a good idea. It had grip and even Johnny forgot what he was going to do in a few hour's time. They returned to Melanie's apartment just after midnight and went up the stairs.
On the stairs, they ran into a girl who had an apartment opposite Melanie's. They paused to have a word. The girl knew Johnny and got on well with Melanie.
"Out of cigarettes!" she said. "My luck!"
This chance meeting pleased Johnny. Just in case anything turned sour, this girl could say he was with Melanie.
The girl went on down the stairs and Melanie and Johnny went on up. Johnny had left his car parked outside the entrance and the girl would see it.
"Want coffee?" Melanie asked, dropping her coat on the settee.
"A lot of it, baby." Johnny sat down. "I don't leave here for a couple of hours. I've got to stay awake."
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 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
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 car 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.
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