Knock Knock Who's There?

If Massino was convinced by Freda's story, the heat must cool. But would he be convinced? He (Johnny) would have to stay under cover for at least another four days, then he would have to get to a telephone and call Sammy. He wouldn't dare show himself in Little Creek. Where else was a telephone? He would have to ask Freda that. If Sammy could assure him the heat was off, then he and Freda would go back to East City, take a chance, collect the money and get out of town. If Massino was sure he was in Havana, he could see no danger in again driving south. Problems! First getting to a telephone and then getting a car. There was no question now of Freda hiring a car from Little Creek. Maybe they would have to walk to New Symara . . . some walk in this heat!

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.