Read Knock Knock Who's There? Online
Authors: James Hadley Chase
Knock Knock Who's There? (7 page)
He had to make sure the medal wasn't in Andy's office. It didn't matter if it were found in the elevator, in Massino's office, but it would be fatal if it were found in Andy's office because no one except Andy and Benno were ever allowed into the office.
Breathing heavily, Johnny reached the corner of the street that led directly to Massino's office block. He came to an abrupt stop as he saw a police prowl car parked outside the office block.
Too late!
Benno had recovered and had alerted the fuzz and even as Johnny stood there in the shadows, he saw a Lincoln pull up and from it spilled Toni and Ernie who chased into the building.
Where had he dropped the medal?
As long as you wear it nothing really bad can happen to you.
He was no longer wearing it and he was superstitious enough to be certain that the medal was lying in front of the safe: a signed confession that he had taken the money! He looked across at the Greyhound station. He hadn't the nerve to go there, to take the two heavy bags and lug them back to his car. Toni or Ernie might look out of the window, down into the street and spot him. Anyway, now he dare not use his car. All the mob knew it by sight. He would have to go on the run. If he acted fast, he could make it. The money would be safe in the locker. He would wait until the heat cooled off, then sneak back, get the money and sneak out. He knew he was thinking like an idiot, but panic had its grip on him.
With screaming sirens, more police cars arrived. Then as Johnny stood against the wall, watching, his heart hammering, Massino's Rolls swept to the kerb. He watched Massino get out of his car and walk fast across the sidewalk and into the building.
He had to get out of town and fast, Johnny thought. Money? He must have money if he was to keep one jump ahead of Massino. He thought of all that money stashed away in the locker. No use to him right now. He had to have an immediate get-away stake.
Melanie? She never had any money. His mind raced. Maybe he was panicking for nothing. The medal could be anywhere, but in his bones, he was sure it was in Andy's office.
Sammy!
Sammy had three thousand dollars under his bed. Johnny had to have money! He couldn't hide from Massino without money.
He began to run down the back streets. It was a long run. Sammy's pad was half way across the town. The City's clock was striking the half hour as Johnny, panting, started up the stairs that led to Sammy's fourth-floor pad. He knocked on Sammy's door, but there was no answer. He listened, knocked again, then turned the handle: the door swung open.
"Sammy?"
His fingers groped and found the light switch and snapped it down.
The tiny room held a truckle bed, a two-ringed gas cooker, an armchair, a battered T.V. set, but no Sammy. Then Johnny remembered Sammy always shacked up with his girl, Cloe, on Friday nights.
He moved into the room and shut the door. Kneeling, he groped under the bed and found a small steel box in which Sammy had told him he kept his savings. He pulled the box out. It wasn't even locked! Lifting the lid he saw the box was crammed with ten dollar bills. He didn't hesitate, acutely aware that every second he wasted decreased his chances of escape.
He stuffed his pockets with the bills, leaving the box empty. For a brief moment he wondered how Sammy would react, then he told himself he was only borrowing the money. In a short while, he would repay Sammy with interest.
Leaving the room, he started down the stairs. Now to get out of town! He wondered how long the fuzz would take to set up road blocks. Here was the danger, but he had to get out! His fingers touched the butt of his .38. If he had to, he would shoot his way out!
Moving into the street, his mind raced. He had to have a hideout! Somewhere where he could be completely lost for at least a month. Where could he go? Then he thought of Giovanni Fusseli. It was an inspired thought. Fusseli had been Johnny's father's best friend. He must be over seventy now. Maybe he was dead! Johnny had heard from him five years ago. He had been living in a small town—what the hell was it's name? Jackson? Packson? Jackson! It was on the freeway to Miami. If he could get there, he was sure Fusseli would shelter him.
He would have to steal a car. If he could get to Reddy's cafe where all the south-bound truckers stopped for a meal, he could bribe one of them to take him to Jackson.
He stood hesitatingly as he looked up and down the street. There were a number of cars parked. As he started towards them, he saw the headlights of a car swing into the street and he stepped back into the shadows. The car came slowly towards him, then pulled up by the kerb and immediately under a street light. A young, thin man with shoulder-length hair got out of the car. The street light showed Johnny his shabbiness: tattered jeans and a dirty sweat shirt. Acting on impulse and as the young man was locking the car door, Johnny stepped up to him.
"Want to earn twenty bucks?" Johnny asked quietly.
The young man stared at him.
"Doing what?"
'Drive me to Reddy's cafe."
"Hey, man! That's twenty miles out of town!"
"At a dollar a mile, is that so rough?"
The young man grinned.
"You've got yourself a deal. Let's have the bread and we're on our way."
Johnny gave him a ten dollar bill.
"You get the rest when we get there."
"Fine . . . I'm Joey. Who are you, buster?"
"Charlie," Johnny said. "Let's go." He waited until Joey had unlocked the car door, then got into the passenger's seat. Joey slid under the driving wheel.
"Listen, Joey, keep to the back streets. Drive fast, but not too fast . . . get it?"
Joey laughed.
"Like that, huh? The fuzz bothering you?"
"You don't earn twenty bucks flapping with your mouth," Johnny said quietly. The cold menace in his voice made Joey stiffen. "Just drive."
At least, Johnny thought, this punk knows the City. Although it took longer, Joey kept to the back streets and in ten minutes or so they approached the freeway out of the City.
This was where trouble could be waiting, Johnny thought and he eased his gun in its holster for a quick draw. But there was no trouble. Johnny wasn't to know that road blocks were set up thirty minutes after he had left the City.
The Police Commissioner had been out of town and the Assistant Police Commissioner had no time for Massino. He was deliberately uncooperative, delaying the road blocks, throwing his rank at Massino, pointing out that the Numbers gamble was illegal anyway.
Massino, raging, now regretted he hadn't taken care of the Assistant Police Commissioner as he had taken care of his boss with a new car every year, money to take care of his goddamn kids' education and a big insurance policy to take care of his goddamn wife.
Johnny paid Joey off, watched him drive away, then walked into Reddy's cafe to find a trucker who would drive him south.
His panic was slowly subsiding. So far . . . so good. Now for Jackson and a safe hide-away.
FOUR
The shrilling of the telephone bell brought Joe Massino instantly awake. He snapped on the bedside lamp, looked at the clock that told him it was 03.15 and knew immediately that something had happened. No one would dare disturb his sleep unless there was an emergency.
He snatched up the receiver and swung his feet to the floor, stripping the blanket and sheet off his wife, Dina, who was coming awake with a low, moaning sound.
"Yeah?"
Massino's voice boomed over the line.
"Boss . . . this is Benno. The dough's gone. I've got a cracked nut. What do I do, boss?"
Massino knew Benno's limitations: he was punch drunk, a goodamn moron, but at least he had got the message across. Massino felt a hot wave of murderous rage sweep through him, but he controlled it.
"Call the cop house, Benno," he said. "Get them with you. I'm on my way." He slammed down the receiver and began to strip off his pyjamas.
Dina, a blonde, heavily built woman, some fifteen years younger than her husband was now awake.
"What is it, for God's sake? What are you doing?"
"Shut up!" Massino snarled. He shoved his legs into his trousers and not bothering for a tie, he struggled into his jacket.
"That's a nice way to talk." She hauled up the blanket and sheet and covered herself. "Can't you act like a human?"
Massino left the bedroom, slamming the door after him. He hesitated for a moment, then going into his study he called Andy Lucas. He waited a long minute before Andy's voice came on the line.
"The money's been snatched." Massino told him. "Get over there . . . get the boys," and he hung up.
Going down to the garage, he got into the Rolls and began the three mile haul across the City to his down town office.
As he pulled up outside the office block, he saw a prowl car and Toni's Lincoln parked by the kerb. Well, at least he was getting some action, he thought as he rode up to the sixth floor in the elevator. There were two cops standing around looking vague. They stiffened to attention when they saw Massino. Both cops worked in Massino's district and were well looked after. They saluted as Massino stormed into Andy's office.
Benno was sitting on a chair, blood on his face, his eyes glazed. Toni stood by the window. Ernie stood by the open safe.
"What happened?" Massino demanded, coming to rest before Benno who made an effort to stand up but promptly sat down again.
"There was a fire, boss," he mumbled and his hand went to his head. "I opened up and there was a newspaper burning. While I was putting it out, I got clubbed."
"Who did it?" Massino barked.
"I dunno . . . didn't see no one . . . just got clubbed."
Massino went to the safe, looked inside, looked at the lock, then went to the telephone. He dialled a number while Ernie, Toni, Benno and the two cops watched him.
"I want Cullen," he said when a woman's sleepy voice answered. "This is Massino."
"Oh, Mr. Massino!" The woman's voice came fully awake. "Jack is out of town. He's attending a conference in New York."
Massino cursed and slammed down the receiver. He took out an address book from his wallet, checked a number and dialled.
Assistant Police Commissioner Fred Zatski answered. He sounded outraged to be woken at this hour. "Who the hell is this?"
"Massino. Listen, I want this goddamn town sewn up fast: road blocks, the railroad station, the bus station and the airport. I've had a $186,000 steal and the bastard will try to get out of town. Get moving! Hear me! Seal the whole goddamn town!"
"Just who do you imagine you're talking to?" Zatski bellowed.
"Alert headquarters! Don't bother me! And listen, Massino, you may imagine you're someone in this town, but to me, you're just a bladder of wind," and he hung up.
Massino's face turned purple with rage. He yelled at the two cops, "Get moving, you hunkheads! Get someone who can do something here . . . hear me!"
As O'Brien, the older of the two, jumped to the telephone, Andy Lucas came in. He had obviously come in a hurry. He was wearing a jacket and trousers over his pyjamas.
He looked into the safe, then at the lock, then met Massino's enraged eyes.
"It's an inside job," he said. "He'll try to run. He had a key."
"You telling me?" Massino snarled. "Think I'm blind! Cullen's out of town and this bastard Zatski won't play!"
O'Brien said, "Excuse me, Mr. Massino, Lieutenant Mulligan with the squad is on his way."
Massino looked around the room like an enraged bull hunting a target.
"Where's Johnny? I want my best man around me!"
"He didn't answer when I called him," Andy said. "He's not at home."
"I want him here!" Massino pointed at Toni. "Don't stand around like a goddamn dummy . . . get Johnny!"
As Toni left the office, Andy said quietly, "We'd better talk, Mr. Joe."
Massino snorted. He nodded at Ernie.
"Get Benno to hospital," and leaving the office he crossed the passage, unlocked his office door and went in, followed by Andy.
He sat down at his desk and stared at Andy who sat on the corner of the desk.
"We're in trouble," Andy said. "At midday we have to pay out or there'll be a riot. We've got to borrow the money, Mr. Joe, or we're sunk. If the newspapers get hold of this the numbers will come under the limelight and Cullen will also be in trouble."
"So?"
"Tanza is our only chance. It'll cost, but we've got to go to him."
Massino clenched his big fists but he knew Andy was talking sense. The wail of a police siren sounded.
"You handle Mulligan," he said. "Get the town sealed off. I'll talk to Tanza."
"Whoever took the money is out of town by now," Andy said, "but we'll go through the motions." He went out, closing the door.
Massino pulled the telephone towards him, hesitated, then dialled a number. As he did so, he looked at his desk clock. The time now was 04.25.
Carlo Tanza was the head man of the Mafia cell in town. He was just one of the many arms of the Mafia octopus: a man of power, to whom Massino paid a weekly cut on his Numbers racket, his loan shark service and his vice earnings.
Tanza answered the telephone himself. He, like Massino, had come immediately awake, knowing no telephone bell would ring in his big, opulent house at this hour unless there was an emergency and Tanza's needle-sharp brain was always geared to meet an emergency.
He listened to what Massino had to say and produced a solution without hesitation.
"Okay, Joe. Don't worry about the money. By ten o'clock you'll have it for the pay-out. We'll keep the press out of this." A pause. "It'll cost you. Twenty-five per cent, but you've got to have it, so you've got to pay for it."
"Hey! Now wait!" Massino did sums in his head. This steal would cost him $46,000 out of his own pocket! "You can't screw me that hard. I'll pay fifteen."
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