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

He threw off the sheet and got out of bed. A cup of coffee would go well with his cigarette.

“Johnny?”

Freda came out of her bedroom. Her blonde hair was mussed, but to Johnny, with the softness of sleep still on her, she looked beautiful.

“Just getting coffee, baby. Want some?”

“Hmmm.”

She went into the bathroom.

As Johnny poured coffee into a saucepan, he thought about her. A whore! So what? Lots of women were whores, trading their bodies not for money but for presents, jewels, furs… whatever they yearned for. She was his woman, he told himself. Who cares about anyone’s past if there is love and Johnny knew he was in love with her. He wasn’t much anyway, but he would be! $186,000 made any man something!

He could feel it was going to be hot and he thought with dismay that from now on there would be no swimming, no fishing. He would have to stay out of sight.

He poured the hot coffee into a cup and as he was about to pour more coffee into a second cup, he heard a car drive up.

Moving swiftly, he put the second cup away, then darted into his bedroom, snatched up his gun, pulled the sheet up over the bed, then darted into Scott’s bedroom, the window of which gave a view onto the jetty.

He saw a dusty Lincoln parked at the foot of the jetty and from it spilled two men: one big, like an ape, the other small, white-faced with staring eyes. They both wore black suits, white shirts and white ties. They stood looking around, then they started across the jetty, taking their time as Johnny moved into the passage.

Freda, still in her shortie nightdress, was standing in the bathroom door.

“Trouble,” Johnny said softly. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

“No! Get out of sight!” Freda whispered fiercely. “I’ll take care of it! Get in the closet and wait!”

She caught hold of his arm and shoved him towards the big closet. For a moment he hesitated, then when a knock sounded on the door, he slid into the closet and shut the door.

Freda ran into her bedroom, snatched up a wrap and struggled into it as the knock came again.

She braced herself, then went to the door and opened it. When she saw Bernie and Clive, she felt a rush of cold blood up her spine. But she kept control of herself.

“What do you want?”

Bernie, smelling of sweat, his moronic grin terrifying, moved forward, forcing her back.

“You, dolly-bird. We want to talk to you about Johnny.”

But it was the other one Freda feared: the little, white-faced horror with his evil, sadistic eyes who followed behind the ape man.

“He’s gone,” she said.

They were now in the living-room and she had retreated to the far wall.

“Tell us about him, dolly-bird. We’re looking for him,” Bernie said.

“He left yesterday.”

“That’s what we heard.” Bernie shuffled forward and snatched off her wrap leaving her in her shortie nightdress. “Yeah, we heard that,” then he slapped her across her face so violently she bounced back against the wall and then sprawled on the floor. He reached down and tore off her nightdress, “but we don’t believe it, dolly-bird. Feed us another story.”

She lay naked at his feet, staring up at him.

“He went to Miami yesterday morning early,” she said, her voice steady. “Get out of here, you apes!”

Bernie sniggered.

“Go ahead, Clive, work on her,” he said. “When you’re tired, I’ll take over.”

In the closet, Johnny listened. He quietly opened the closet door, gun in hand and moved into the passage. He was wearing only pyjama trousers, his feet were bare and he made no sound as he entered the living-room.

Clive had caught hold of Freda and had hauled her to her feet. He was setting himself to slap her as Johnny killed him.

The bang of the gun made Freda scream. She hid her face in her hands and dropped to her knees.

Clive, shot through the back of his head, heaved forward and fell.

Snarling, Bernie, groping for his gun, spun around to face Johnny who shot him through the face. The big man crashed down on top of Clive, his right arm catching Freda on the back of her neck as he fell. She sprawled on her face, then twisted and half sat up, staring at the two dead men, her eyes wide with horror, her mouth open in a soundless scream.

Dropping his gun, Johnny went to her, got her to her feet and half carried her, half dragged her into her bedroom: He laid her gently on the bed.

“Stay here. Don’t think about a thing.”

He ran into his room and struggled into his shirt and trousers. He slid his feet into his shoes, then he returned to the living-room.

Freda lay still, her eyes closed. She struggled with hard, dry, choking sobs. It seemed to her she lay there for a long time. She couldn’t move. The horror of seeing the two men shot dead paralyzed her.

The sun was climbing and it came through the open window, hurting her eyes. She put her arm across her face, moaning.

She lay there, not caring, wanting only to believe this was a horrible nightmare.

Then a hand touched her gently.

“Let’s go, baby,” Johnny said. “Come on. This is where we duck out.”

She opened her eyes and stared up at him.

“Go… where?”

“We have their car. It’s our chance. We’ve got to go!”

He hauled her off the bed and she leaned against him.

“What’s happened… those men?”

“Forget them. They’re in the lake. Get dressed. We’ve got to hurry… every minute is important.” She stood in a daze, staring at him.

“Come on, baby!” His voice sharpened. “Get dressed! You’ve got to pack! Hurry!”

“You killed them! I can’t go with you! You killed them!”

“You can’t not go with me,” Johnny said. “Get dressed!”

Those words made an impact. She shuddered, then making an effort, she opened her closet and took from it the man’s shirt and the stretch pants. Her closet was pathetically bare: a cheap cotton dress, a pair of worn Levis, a pair of broken-down shoes.

She pulled on her panties and the stretch pants. “You want to take any of this other junk?”

“No.”

“Come on.” He waited until she had put on the shirt and run a comb through her hair, then he led her into the living-room. “You’ve got to write a letter to Ed. Got any writing paper?”

Shaking, she sat at the table.

“In that drawer.”

He found a block of cheap notepaper and an envelope. He found a biro.

“Write this: Dear Ed. I’m sick of it here. I’m going with Johnny. We love each other, Freda.”

Somehow she wrote the note, her hand shaking. Johnny put it in the envelope and laid it on the table.

“Let’s go!”

He picked up his suitcase and, taking her by her arm, he hurried her across the jetty to the Lincoln.

As he started the motor, he looked at his strap watch. The time was o6.4o. At best, he thought, they had a three hour start before Luigi would begin to wonder where the two apes had got to. Then he would investigate, phone, and the organization would swing into action.

In a car like this you could go some way in three hours.

Driving steadily, with Freda still in shock at his side, he headed for the freeway.

They had been driving for over an hour in silence. Johnny kept the car moving but he was careful to keep just under the speed limit. He knew it would be a disaster for both of them if they were stopped by a speed cop. He longed to let the powerful car out and put more mileage behind him, but he restrained him- self.

He by-passed Daytona Beach, anxious not to get snarled up in any heavy traffic, and kept on up highway 1, heading north. As he drove, his mind was active. From time to time, he glanced at Freda who was staring through the windshield, her face white, her eyes blank. He could see the shock was still hitting her. Well, now they were out in the open, he thought and in a stolen car. He was safe enough for another two hours, then he would have to get rid of the car.