Knock Knock Who's There? (16 page)
Read Knock Knock Who's There? Online
Authors: James Hadley Chase
"That makes two of us, but I'd better go."
"Could we talk about it?" The slim fingers fondled his wrist. "Could you explain?"
The caressing fingers lulled his caution.
Speaking quietly, staring across the dark waters of the lake, he told her the story of his life. He told her of his yearning to own a boat, about Massino, how Masssino had cheated him. He told her about the Big Take, but he didn't tell her how much money was involved.
"I have the money stashed away in East City. If it wasn't for the medal there would have been no problem. I could have stayed there. Massino wouldn't have suspected me. Then later, I would have taken the money and ducked out."
"Is there much money?" she asked.
He looked at her. Her face was expressionless and she wasn't looking at him.
"Enough."
"If you got the money would you take me away from here?"
"Yes."
"Would you choose between me and your boat? Would you give up your boat to keep me?"
He didn't hesitate.
"No. You either go with the boat or I'll stake you and we part. I'm risking my life for the boat: it's that important to me."
She nodded.
"I'm glad. I said it before and I'll say it again: you're all man. I'll come with you and I'll help on the boat."
"If they find me here, they could kill you."
"If I'm going to share this money with you, Johnny, I must share the risk . . . that's fair, isn't it?"
"Think about it. Let's talk about it tomorrow. I've still got to get the money."
"Where have you hidden it?"
He smiled at her.
"Where they won't think of looking for it."
"Isn't it dangerous to go back for it?"
"Yes . . . it's a hell of a risk."
"But I could get it, couldn't I? They don't know me."
A tiny red light of warning lit up in Johnny's mind. Suppose he told her where the money was? Suppose he gave her the locker key? She could hire a car and drive to East City, take the two bags, load them into the car and that would be the last time he would ever see her. How can anyone trust anyone when there was so much money involved? She said she loved him: she had said it in such a way that he believed her, but when she dragged those two heavy bags out of the locker might she not be tempted to betray him?
He remembered what she had said: You're not much to look at. He wasn't. He was fourteen years older than she. With all that money, with her looks, she could make a wonderful life for herself without having a short, heavily-built man of forty-two in her hair.
The sound of the approaching truck saved him from answering.
"Here's Ed. We'll talk tomorrow."
"Yes.
She got up and went hastily into the kitchen.
Scott had his swim, admired the bass Johnny had caught, then came out on deck, joining Johnny while Freda cooked the dinner.
"Had a good day?" Scott asked, lighting a cigarette. He looked slyly at Johnny.
"Fine. And you?"
"The usual." Scott flicked ash into the lake. "Did she give out?"
Johnny stiffened.
"Come again?"
"Did you lay her?"
"Look, Ed, cut that talk out! I don't like it. She's your wife! Haven't you any respect for her?"
Scott gave a sneering laugh.
"I told you I couldn't care less. I was just curious to know if you made it."
"Like I said . . . cut it out!"
Scott eyed him.
"Maybe you like it fancy. I do. If ever you want something fancy come to Richville with me. I know a couple of chicks . . ."
"I'm a lot older than you, Ed. You look after your sex life and I'll look after mine. Okay?"
Scott studied him, then shrugged.
"Yeah. I guess when I get as old as you, it won't be a problem." He gave a sly grin. "I bet Freda's disappointed. I get the idea she's itching for it."
"Then why don't you give it to her?" Johnny tried to soften his voice, but his anger showed.
"She's not my style."
Johnny suddenly hated this man as he had seldom hated any man. He got to his feet as Freda came on to the deck.
"You can eat," she said.
It was while they were finishing the bass that Scott said, "You got a younger brother, Johnny?"
Johnny became instantly alert. He paused to finish the last morsel of fish on his plate, then shook his head.
"I've no relations."
"Just an idea." Scott pushed aside his plate. "There's an odd ad. in the
Richville Times
. I have it here." He shoved back his chair and crossing to where he had left his jacket, he took out a folded newspaper.
Johnny and Freda exchanged quick glances as Scott put the paper in front of Johnny.
"What do you think of that . . . ten thousand dollars!"
Johnny pretended to read the letterpress, shrugged and reached for a cigarette.
"Funny thing," Scott went on. "I looked up suddenly just now and you seem to resemble this photograph. I wondered if it could be a young brother."
"Never had a brother," Johnny said.
Scott passed the newspaper to Freda.
"Don't you think this guy looks like Johnny?" Freda glanced at the photograph.
"Maybe." Her voice was casual. "You can't say Johnny is exactly an oil painting, can you?" and getting up, she began to collect the plates. Johnny helped her while Scott continued to stare at the photograph.
Out in the kitchen, Freda washed up while Johnny dried. They didn't speak, but both were aware of tension.
Returning to the living-room, they found Scott still staring at the ad. Freda went out on deck and as Johnny followed her, Scott said, "Funny sort of ad., isn't it?"
Johnny paused and came back to the table. He sat down.
"It sure is."
"What do you imagine the idea is offering all this money for a guy who's lost his memory?"
"Rich parents, I guess . . . anxious to find him." Scott studied the photograph.
"Doesn't look as if he comes from rich parents, does he?" He glanced at Johnny. "Bit on the rough side . . . like you and me." "Yeah."
"Ten thousand dollars! If I had all that money I'd buy me three more trucks and I'd really be in the business." Scott's face lit up. "Finding drivers is easy, but getting the capital for trucks is something else."
"Ever thought of doubling your turn-over without buying more trucks?" Johnny asked, anxious to get Scott's mind off the ad.
"How?"
"You deliver crates of shrimps to Richville . . . right?"
"So?"
"But you come back empty. Can't you get freight from Richville to bring back to New Symara?"
"Do you imagine I haven't thought of that?" Scott said scornfully. "You go out and sniff the truck. It stinks of shrimps. No one wants haulage that stinks that bad. I've tried, and anyway, there's nothing in Richville that New Symara wants."
"Just an idea." Johnny got to his feet. "I guess I'll turn in. See you."
Scott nodded.
Johnny left him still staring at the ad.
Lying in his little bed, watching the moon while he thought, Johnny wasn't ready for sleep. He thought of Freda. Suppose he could trust her? She would be safe going to the Greyhound bus station and getting the money. But could he trust her? Then his mind switched to Scott. Had he convinced him that he had no connection with the ad?
He closed his eyes, trying to force himself to sleep. Then he became alert. He heard Freda enter her room. What a woman! His mind dwelt on the three times they had made love and he had the urge to leave his bed and go into her room and take her again.
Then a slight sound made him stiffen. His door was gently opening. He lay still, his hand reaching under his pillow for his gun.
The moonlight coming through the open window shone directly on the door and through half closed eyes he saw Scott was looking at him through the half-open door.
Johnny emitted a soft snore, watching Scott who stood there, still, listening. Johnny snored again and the door closed silently.
What did this mean? He asked himself, now fully awake. He listened. He heard Freda's door open,
"Come out on deck." Scott's whisper came clearly to Johnny. "Don't say anything . . . he's asleep."
Johnny waited. He heard soft movements, then silence. He slid out of his bed, opened his door and peered into the moon-lit livingroom. He saw Scott and Freda through the window. They were on the deck. Moving like a ghost, he crept into the living- room as he heard Scott say, "Look at this."
He had a flashlight in his hand and he was directing the beam on to a sheet of newsprint. Johnny knew at once it was the ad. He moved further fonvard.
"See?" Scott said, his voice low and excited. "I've pencilled a beard on him. It's Johnny!"
"What are you talking about?" Freda's voice was also a whisper but it came clearly to Johnny. "This man's twenty years younger."
"Could be an old photograph."
They were standing side by side by the deck rail. Scott was wearing pjyamas. Freda had a shortie nightdress. Johnny could see her long legs through the moon-lit flimsy material.
"Sit down. I want to talk to you."
Johnny watched them move to the bamboo chairs and sit, side by side. He moved forward so he now stood in the darkness within three feet of them, listening through the open window behind them.
"I've been thinking about this," Scott said. "This missing man is Johnny Bianda. Our lodger calls himself Johnny Bianco. For all we know he has lost his memory and imagine he's Bianco and not Bianda. The more I look at this photo, now I've put on the beard, the surer I am this is the man they want. Ten thousand dollars! Imagine! What do you think?"
Johnny held his breath. What she would say must tell him if he could trust her or not.
"He doesn't act like a man who's lost his memory." Freda's voice was calm. "We were talking this afternoon. He was telling me about his rent-collection experiences. No . . . you're pipe dreaming."
"Suppose I call these people: Dyson & Dyson? Where's the harm? They can send someone to take a look at him. They will probably have dozens of people telephoning so what have we to lose? We might hit the jackpot."
"And if we do . . . what happens?"
"Ten thousand dollars! You want to leave me, don't you? You've had enough of this, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"Fine. So I give you two thousand and the rest I buy three more trucks and I'm in business. Tomorrow, I'll call these people from Richville. If we're unlucky, it's too bad, but if we aren't . . ."
Johnny's heart now was thumping so hard he was scared they would hear.
"Let's make sure," Freda said. "I'll send him out fishing tomorrow and while he's on the lake, I'll go through his things. This thing about a St. Christopher medal. He might have one. If I find it, we'll know for sure it's him."
"What's wrong with me telephoning tomorrow? They can but look at him."
A pause, then she said, "Can't you use your brains? If we are really sure we can ask for more . . . we could ask for fifteen thousand: Five for me and ten for you."
"I hadn't thought of that. Yeah . . . but you don't get five, baby. You'll get four."
"So all right. I get four." Scott stood up.
"You check his things. Imagine! Fifteen thousand dollars!"
Johnny moved silently back to his bedroom, closed the door and lay on the bed.
So he could trust her! She was clever! She had gained a day . . .but what then?
There was no sleep for him that night.
Carlo Tanza came into Massino's office, kicked the door shut and dumped his heavy body into a chair.
"We've certainly started something with that ad!" he exclaimed. "Already it has produced three hundred and forty-nine telephone calls. Dyson is flipping his lid. Every call has to be checked out."
Massino glared at him.
"It was your bright idea."
"It was a good idea, but how was I to know so many bastards resemble this bastard? So, okay, we're checking them out but it's going to take time."
"That's your business," Massino said. "I pay . . . you produce. One thing I do know, if the money is in one of those lockers across the street, the sonofabitch will never get it . . . that's something I'm damn well certain about!"
EIGHT
The sound of the truck had scarcely died away when Johnny's bedroom door opened and Freda came in.
In the grey light of the dawn, she looked to Johnny the most desirable woman in the world, but this was no time for love.
She sat on the side of his bed.
"He talked to me last night," she said.
"I know. I heard every word," Johnny said and put his hand on hers. "You played it smart, but when he comes back tonight . . . what's going to happen?"
"I'll tell him I'm sure you're not the man he thinks you are. I'll tell him I've seen your driving license and it's in the name of Bianco. I'll say there's no St. Christopher medal."
Johnny shook his head.
"That won't stop him. He's money hungry. As he said; what's there to lose except the price of a telephone call?"
"Then let's get out of here," Freda said. "Let's get the money and get lost. I know where I can hire a car in the village. We'll drive to East City, pick up the money, then head North? What do you say?"
He lay back on his pillow and marvelled at her ignorance of the net that was closing around him. "If only it could be as simple as that," he said. "But they don't know me!" Freda said impatiently.
"Where have you hidden the money? Why can't I get it while you wait, out of sight?"
"East City is swarming with Massino's Men. Every one of them will have a description of the bags, holding the money. Two shabby red hold-alls with black leather handles," Johnny said. "Anyone seen carrying two such bags wouldn't survive five minutes."
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