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

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She got to her feet. “Come on, lodger. You want me and I need a man. This time it’s for free. Next time, it’ll cost you. I’ve got to save money and get out of here or I’ll damn well drown myself.”

Johnny remained seated.

“I want you, Freda, but not on those terms,” he said, quietly. “I’ve never paid for it and I never will.”

She stared at him, then she smiled.

“I think I’m going to like you, Johnny,” she said. “I think you’re all man. No conditions… let’s see how good you really are.”

He got up and putting his arm around her waist, cupping her heavy breast, he went with her into his tiny bedroom.

“What’s the time?”

Her voice sounded lazy and sleepy.

Johnny lifted his wrist. It was a few minutes after 15.00. She lay naked, her body on his, her blonde head half on his shoulder and half on the pillow.

“Just after three.”

“Oh, damn! I must go to the village.” She swung off him and on

to her feet, standing, looking down at him.

He looked up, feasting his eyes on her suntanned body. He reached up to touch her, but she moved out of his reach.

“Do you want to come with me?”

He very nearly said he would, then he remembered it would be safer to keep out of sight, to keep away from the village.

“I guess I’ll stay: What have you got to go for?”

“The mail if any and the newspaper. Ed likes the newspaper.”

“Anything I can do while you’re away?”

“You’ve done enough.” She smiled down at him. “You’re not much to look at but you know how to satisfy a woman.”

“Good?”

“Hmmm.”

She went away and reaching for a cigarette Johnny lit up, then relaxed on the bed.

She had been good too, he thought: starving for it. He lay there, thinking about her for the next half hour, then getting off the bed, he took a swim.

He was dressed and sitting on the deck when she returned in the motorboat. The time now was 16.30. He helped her scramble up on deck, then tied up the boat.

“Want to see the paper?” She offered it to him. “I’ll stuff the bass,” and she left him.

Newspapers seldom interested Johnny except to read the Sport’s news. He glanced at the headlines, found nothing to hold his attention, turned to page two, paused to read an account of a girl who had been found raped and murdered, grimaced, then flicked through the rest of the pages until he came to the funnies. He read “Peanuts” and grinned, then as he was turning to the Sports’ page a headline caught his eyes.

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?

$10,000 Reward

Then with a sudden cold sick feeling he saw his own photograph.

With shaking hands he read the letterpress.

Dyson & Dyson! Carlo Tanza’s attorneys!

Had Freda seen this? He decided by the way the newspaper was folded when she handed it to him she hadn’t opened it.

With sweat beads on his face, he studied the photograph. It had been taken some twenty years ago: a prison shot and yet there was a likeness. His hand went to his beard. No! No one could recognize him from this photograph!

Known to favour a St. Christopher medal.

The cunning bastards!

She had seen the medal!

He looked furtively over his shoulder, his heart thumping. She wanted money! Ten thousand dollars would be more than tempting! All she had to do was to get over to the village and call Dyson & Dyson. They would be in his lap within twenty-four hours and that would be his end!

What to do?

His first reaction was to destroy the newspaper, but that wouldn’t help. He knew enough of Tanza’s thoroughness to be sure the ad would run a week… even longer. Sooner or later, either Scott or Freda would see

Get out fast?

He was miles from any place. If he left it would have to be in the dark. It must be a good ten miles down to the freeway and in the dark, he could get hopelessly lost.

Could he trust her? Could he trust anyone?

“Who’s offering ten thousand dollars?”

She had come up silently behind him and was leaning over his shoulder. He sat rigid, wanting to crumple the newspaper and throw it in the lake, but fear paralysed him. He watched her hand take the paper from his grasp.

“Ten thousand dollars! Could I use money like that!” She came around and sat by his side.

He watched her read the letterpress and he knew at once when she came to the fatal line: Known to favour a St. Christopher medal. He saw her stiffen, stare at the photograph, then look at him.

“Is this you?” she asked and tapped the photograph.

Johnny hesitated, then he said huskily, “Yes.”

“Have you lost your memory?”

He shook his head.

“Who are these people… Dyson & Dyson?”

His tongue touched his dry lips.

“Mafia people,” he said, watching her.

Her eyes widened.

“Mafia?”

“That’s right.”

She put down the paper.

“I don’t understand,” and he could see she was shaken, but not so shaken that it curtailed her curiosity.

“You don’t want to understand.”

“Are you a mafioso?”

“No.”

“Then why are they offering all this money?”

“They want to find me and kill me,” Johnny said quietly.

She flinched.

“Kill you? Why?”

“I did something bad to them.”

She stared at him for several moments, then she tore the page containing the advert from the paper and offered it to him.

“You’d better burn this, hadn’t you? Ten thousand is a lot of

money. If Ed sees it he could be tempted: it only means a telephone call, doesn’t it?”

“You mean you wouldn’t be tempted?”

“Do you think I would?”

He shrugged helplessly.

“As you said, it’s a lot of money. You want money. I don’t know.”

She got to her feet.

“I’m going for a swim.”

“Wait… I want you to understand. I…”

She had piffled off her shirt, struggled out of her stretch pants and pantees and dived into the lake.

Johnny set fire to the sheet of newspaper, then tossed it still burning into the water. He found he was shaking. He sat there, staring at her bobbing head, watching her swim further and further away. Could he trust her? In the night, might she not start thinking of what that money could mean to her? It only means a telephone call, doesn’t it? She would go across the lake to the village tomorrow. He wouldn’t know if she had telephoned or not until Toni, Ernie and the rest of the mob arrived. He wiped the sweat off his face. He had better get out: pack now and clear out. Yet he didn’t move. It dawned on him that this woman meant more to him than any woman he had ever met.

Suppose he decided to trust her? Suppose he stayed on? What about Scott? Sooner or later he would see the advert, but he knew nothing about the medal. It was the medal that alerted Freda. He was sure of that. It was the medal that had given him away. Why should Scott connect him with the advert? The photo was taken twenty years ago.

With shaking fingers he undid the chain around his neck and stared at the medal, lying in his palm.

As long as you wear this, nothing really bad can happen to you.

He thought of his mother: a poor, ignorant, superstitious peasant! Goddamn it! Twice the medal bad-landed him in real trouble! If it hadn’t been for the medal he wouldn’t now be in hiding. If it hadn’t been for the medal Freda wouldn’t have guessed who he was.

He stood up.

Away in the distance he could see Freda swimming. The sun was beginning to sink behind the pines.

Lifting his hand, he threw the medal and chain with all his strength into the gathering dusk.

He watched the tiny splash as the medal hit the water.