James Chase - Knock, Knock! Who's There?

Johnny glanced at his watch. The time was 05.25. He had to get moving soon, he told himself, but up to now, he had held back as every trucker seemed to know every other trucker and he was uneasy about approaching a group of them. He had tried one man who stood near him while waiting for ham and eggs, but the man shook his head.

“No luck, pal. No passengers: against the Company’s rules.”

Then a powerfully-built man came in and Johnny noted with surprise no one greeted him. This man went to the bar and ordered pancakes and syrup and coffee, then looked around for a vacant seat.

Johnny waved to him and carrying the plate of food, the big man came over and sat down.

Johnny looked searchingly at him: an ex-boxer, he thought. The flat nose and the scar tissues made this an easy guess. The face was lined, worried and sullen and yet there was something likeable about this man.

“Hi!” the man said as he set down the food. “Joe Davis. This goddamn place is always over full.”

“Al Bianco,” Johnny said.

Davis began to eat while Johnny lit a cigarette. Again he looked at his watch. Time was moving along. He wondered if Massino had alerted the organization or what he was doing.

“Going south?” he asked.

Davis glanced up.

“Yeah. You ain’t trucking?”

“Looking for a ride,” Johnny said. “I pay my way. Would you be going near Jacksonville?”

“Right through to Vero Beach.” Davis regarded Johnny, ate some more, then said, “You’re welcome. It won’t cost you a thing. I welcome company.”

“Thanks.” Johnny finished his coffee. “You reckon to take off soon?”

“As soon as I’ve got this junk down my throat. It’s a hell of a haul.”

“I’ll be outside, waiting.” Johnny said and got to his feet. “I’ll get myself a wash.”

After paying for his coffee, Johnny went into the toilet, washed his face and hands, then went out into the cool crisp air.

He stood around, watching the big trucks take off and go roaring down the freeway. What a hell of a job! he thought. Then his mind again switched to Massino. He felt a little knot of fear. He knew the organization had never failed to find their man, nor failed to kill him.

There is always the first time, he told himself and grinned mirthlessly. Who knows? He could make history. The first man to beat the Mafia. With the cold wind fanning his face, he felt confident. Who knows?

Davis came out of the cafe and Johnny joined him. They went across to an old, beaten-up truck full of empty orange crates.

“Here she is,” Davis said. “A real hitch! I’ve one more haul, then I get a new one if I’m lucky. Man! Has this old cow done some mileage!”

He swung himself up into the cab. Johnny went around and got into the passenger’s seat. The cab stank of sweat, oil and gas fumes. The springs of his seat dug into his buttocks. This was going to be one hell of a ride he thought.

Davis started the motor. As it came to life, there was a grinding noise as if something had come apart in the engine.

“Don’t worry about the noise,” Davis said, “She’s still got enough guts to get us south.” He rammed in the gear, then drove on to the freeway.

Johnny felt the vibration of the protesting motor shake him from head to foot. The roar of the motor made conversation impossible. He braced himself, thinking of the miles ahead, but at least now he was moving into safety.

“An old cow, huh?” Davis shouted and grinned at Johnny.

Johnny nodded.

The two men sat silent as the tyres ate up the miles. Trucks and cars roared by them. With sixty miles on the clock, the engine note suddenly changed and the din quieted.

Davis looked at Johnny and grinned.

“It takes this far for her to start to behave,” he said. Johnny could now hear him easily. “She hates work, but when she does work, she ain’t all that bad.”

Then he did something that shocked Johnny. He clenched his fist and slammed it against his forehead. He did this three times: powerful blows that would have stunned most men.

“Hey! For God’s sake! You’ll hurt yourself!” Johnny exclaimed.

Davis grinned.

“Anything is better than the way my head aches. Had this bitch of a headache for months. A couple of bangs sets it right. Forget it, Al, as I forget it.”

“You suffer from headaches?” Johnny asked.

“Oh, sure. If you had been in my game, you’d have headaches too.” Davis increased the speed of the truck. “Believe it or not, one time I was heavyweight contender for the crown.” He grinned. “Never made it, but I was sparring partner for Ali at his greatest. Man! Did I have a ball!” He snorted. “All gone now. All I’ve got is a nagging wife and this old truck.”

Johnny suddenly realized there was something badly wrong with this man: something that made him uneasy. He remembered all the truckers in Reddy’s café hadn’t spoken to Davis or even waved to him.

“Your head ache now?” he asked.

“It’s fine. I give the old nut three or four whams and then it behaves itself.”

Johnny lit a cigarette.

“Want a smoke?”

“Not me. Never have, never will. Where are you from, Al?”

“New York,” Johnny lied. “I’ve never been south… thought I’d take a look.”

“Sort of travelling light, huh?”

“My stuff’s coming by train.”

“Good idea.” A long pause, then Davis said, “Did you see Cooper knock Ali on his pants?”

“Saw it on the telly.”

“I was right there. You ever been in London?”

“No.”

“Ali took me with the rest of the mob. Some city.” Davis grinned. “Those chicks! Skirts way up beyond their fannies.” He thumped his head again. “You see Frazier beat Ali?”

“On the telly.”

“I was right there. He’ll come back… the greatest.”

Johnny stared through the dusty windshield. They were driving between citrus orchards, either side of the freeway. He looked at his watch. The time was now 07.30.

“How long to Jacksonville?”

“Ten hours if this bitch keeps going. You in a hurry?”

“I’ve all the time in the world.”

There was a long silence as the truck roared on, then Davis asked, “You married?”

“Me? No.”

“I guessed that. You wouldn’t be on a trip like this if you were. You know something? A guy can find a good woman or a bad woman… I guess I had no luck.”

Johnny didn’t say anything.

“You’re lucky not to have kids,” Davis went on. “I’ve got a girl. Sex is all she thinks about and her mother doesn’t give a goddamn.” Davis thumped his head so violently Johnny winced. “What can you do? If I took a strap to her, the cops would arrive. There ain’t a thing a father can do if his daughter has the hots.”

Johnny thought of Melanie. What was happening to her? Had Massino…? He flinched and forced the thought from his mind.

“Getting hot.” Davis said and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “This is a hell of a haul.” He kept the shuddering truck at seventy miles an hour. They were now out of the farming country and coming to the swamp land. “This I hate,” Davis said. “Snakes, jungle… you watch it. We’ll get by. After a while, we’ll come to the real country… the south!”

Watching this big man as he crouched over the driving wheel, seeing the glazed expression in his eyes, Johnny knew something bad was about to happen.

“You’re driving too fast!” he shouted. “Cut it down!”

“You call this fast?” Davis turned his head to look at Johnny who felt a chill go up his spine. The small eyes with their scar tissue were turning sightless. “The greatest… like me! He’ll come back!”

“Watch the road!” Johnny shouted. “Joe!”