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

Sammy had promised to do’ something… but what?

Then his job as Mr. Joe’s chauffeur. Driving a Rolls had sounded fine. The grey uniform with its black piping had made Sammy proud and happy, but he quickly learned this was a job without a song. He was on constant call. After he had driven Mr. Joe to his office, he had to rush back up town to take Mrs. Joe shopping and, man! was she a bitch! She always seemed to want to go to some shop where parking was impossible and he had to circle and circle, getting snarled up in the traffic, and if he kept her waiting did she curse him and could she curse! Sammy thought wistfully of those days when he had collected the Numbers money with Johnny. He had been scared, but being scared was better than this rat-race. Then in the evening Mr. and Mrs. Joe went to nightclubs and he had to sit in the car until after 02.00 waiting for them. He had to keep the car immaculate or Mrs. Joe would curse him. What a mug he had been to take this job!

Wearily, he got into his uniform. He had to pick up Mr. Joe at nine. It took him a good half hour to drive up town against the traffic. As he was sipping his coffee, his telephone bell rang. He winced. This could be Cloe, screaming at him again. He hesitated, then lifted the receiver as if it were a ticking bomb.

“Sammy?”

A rush of cold blood went down his spine and he began to shake. This was too much!

Johnny!

“Yeah… this is me,” Sammy said huskily.

“Listen, Sammy, I want you to go to the Greyhound bus station and take a look around. I want to know if it’s still staked out.”

“Mr. Johnny… I can’t! I’ve got enough troubles. You took my money. Cloe is in trouble again. My brother is in trouble again. Everyone is yelling me!” Sammy was close to tears. “Please leave me alone.”

“This is important, Sammy!” Johnny’s voice was hard. “You’ve got to do it! You do it and I promise you I’ll give you back your money plus another three thousand dollars I promise you!”

Sammy stiffened.

“You really mean that, Mr. Johnny?”

“Have I ever let you down? You check the bus station and if it’s clear, you’ll get six thousand… that’s a promise.”

Sammy hesitated.

“But suppose it ain’t clear?”

“Then you keep on checking and as soon as it’s clear, you’ll get the money.”

Again Sammy hesitated. Six thousand dollars! Cloe would get her abortion! His goddamn brother would be in the clear and he’d have money back in his steel box!

“Okay, Mr. Johnny, I’ll do it.”

“I’ll call you this time tomorrow,” and Johnny hung up.

Sammy was shaking with fear, but if he could get hold of six thousand dollars all his troubles would be over! And when Mr. Johnny made a promise, it was a promise.

Putting on his peak cap, he left his apartment and walked fast to the garage. Why was Mr. Johnny so anxious to know if the bus station was being watched? Sammy cringed. It could mean only one thing, but he refused to let his mind dwell on it.

He drove Massino to his office.

“Get home pronto,” Massino said. “Mrs. Massino has shopping to do. We’ll be going out tonight. She’ll tell you about it.” He paused to look at Sammy, seeing his grey complexion and the sweat glistening on his face. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing, boss,” Sammy said, cringing. “I’m fine, boss.”

Massino grunted, then strode across the sidewalk into his office building.

Sammy looked across at the Greyhound station, then after a long hesitation, he got out of the Rolls.

As Massino entered his office, he found Andy standing at the window.

“Let’s get at it,” Massino barked. “Have you got…?” He stopped as Andy raised his hand, then beckoned to him. Frowning, Massino joined him at the window. He saw Sammy crossing the street, look furtively right and left, hesitate, then enter the bus station.

“What’s that big bastard doing?” Massino growled. “I told him to get back right away to my wife.”

“Watch it,” Andy said quietly.

There was a long delay, then Sammy came out of the bus station, again looked furtively to right and left, then he crossed the street, got in the Rolls and drove away.

“So what?” Massino demanded.

He could see by Andy’s expression that he had just seen something he didn’t understand but Andy did.

“He looked like a dip, didn’t he?” Andy said. “He was scared.”

“That’s right. I asked him what was the matter. He was sweating like a pig… so what?”

Andy sat down by Massino’s desk.

“All along I’ve thought Bianda wasn’t working alone. I was sure someone helped him steal the money. I thought it was Fuselli. I never thought of Sammy.” Massino grew still, his eyes glittering.

“Bianda has worked with Sammy for years,” Andy went on. “When you start to think about it, it slicks out like a boil. It’s my bet Sammy is in contact with Bianda. The money’s over there, Mr. Joe, in one of those lockers and Sammy is checking to see if we’re still covering the lockers. That’s my reading. Bianda had to have someone to work with… it’s my bet Sammy rushed the two bags over to the locker while Bianda rushed back to establish his alibi.”

Massino sat down, his face congested with rage.

“Get Ernie and Toni to pick up that sonofabitch and bring him here. I’ll talk to him! I’ll smash him to a pulp!”

“No,” Andy said quietly. “We want Bianda and the money. So we set a trap. This afternoon, you and me will take a drive uptown and with Sammy listening you’ll tell me you’ve heard from Luigi that Bianda is now in Havana and you’ve kissed the money goodbye. We then call off the boys watching the lockers so when Sammy checks again he finds the coast clear. He’ll tell Bianda and he’ll come back.” Andy stared at Massino. “All we need is Toni sitting up here with a target rifle and a silencer.”

“I want that bastard alive.”

“It’s better to have him dead and the money back, isn’t it?”

Massino thought about this.

“Maybe.”

“More than maybe, Mr. Joe. We don’t have to pay the Big Man. We handle this ourselves. It’ll save us a lot of money.” Massino showed his teeth in a savage grin.

“Now you’re using your head.” He patted Andy’s arm. “At least I can take care of that big bastard.” He brooded for a moment, his face savage. “And the whore.”

The Greyhound bus had dropped them at the Brunswick bus station. Johnny had gone to the information desk and asked the girl for a decent, cheap hotel.

She was a pretty little thing with blonde curls and long, false eyelashes and she was helpful.

“You could call me biased,” she said, “but my uncle runs the Welcome hotel. It’s thirty dollars a day, everything included and the food’s wonderful. That’s for the two of you.” She fluttered her eyelashes first at Freda, then at him. “Honest, you’ll be happy there.”

“Okay and thanks,” Johnny said. “Where do I find it?”

“Third on the left up Main Street: it’s not far.” Carrying their bags and with Freda at his side, Johnny walked up Main Street. He was a little worried about the price. He had no idea how long they would have to stay at the hotel.

But when they were shown into the big room, with a double bed, two comfortable arm chairs, a shower room and a colour T.V. set, Johnny ceased to worry.

They both took showers, then got on the bed.

They had spent the rest of the afternoon in each other’s arms. Around 19.30, they went down to the restaurant and enjoyed a good meal.

Johnny was pleased to see Freda was much more relaxed and even gay. They watched T.V. until midnight, then went to bed. Neither of them spoke of the Mafia nor of the money, consciously enjoying this comfort, and desperately clinging to what they both knew was an interval free of danger.