open.
For the first time in his life, he felt a cold clutch of fear.
'Look for it!' The snap of his voice and the expression in his eyes brought Melanie off the bed. Together they searched the bedroom, then the living- room, but the medal wasn't in the apartment.
He ran into the bedroom, struggled into his shirt, put on his holster, then his jacket.
Melanie said fearfully, 'What is it, Johnny? Tell me!'
'Go to bed . . . wait for me,' and he left the apartment. He paused to search the corridor, then the cage of the elevator . . . no medal. He rode down to the lobby, searched that, then went out onto the street. He was shaking now. He paused to drag down lungfuls of damp air as he tried to control his rising panic.
This was no way to act, he told himself. Where had he dropped the medal? Unlocking his car, he searched around the driver's seat . . . no medal.
He relocked the car and stood thinking. It could have dropped anywhere, but if it had dropped in Andy's office, he was cooked. God! Was he cooked! All his plans, his confident two-year wait before he bought the boat would be shrivelled in the heat that Massino would turn on. Leaving his medal in Andy's office was like leaving a signed confession that he had taken the money!
There was still a chance. He started to his car, then stopped. Think straight, you fool! he told himself. It could still be all right. Leave the car . . . it's part of your alibi!
He started down the street in a shambling run, covered the same ground, moving down the back streets, deserted but for a stray cat or an old drunk, sleeping in the doorway.
He had to make sure the medal wasn't in Andy's office. It didn't matter if it were found in the elevator, in Massino's office, but it would be fatal if it were found in Andy's office because no one except Andy and Benno were ever allowed into the office.
Breathing heavily, Johnny reached the corner of the street that led directly to Massino's office block. He came to an abrupt stop as he saw a police prowl car parked outside the office block.
Too late!
Benno had recovered and had alerted the fuzz and even as Johnny stood there in the shadows, he saw a Lincoln pull up and from it spilled Toni and Ernie who chased into the building.
Where had he dropped the medal?
He was no longer wearing it and he was superstitious enough to be certain that the medal was lying in front of the safe: a signed confession that he had taken the money! He looked across at the Greyhound station. He hadn't the nerve to go there, to take the two heavy bags and lug them back to his car. Toni or Ernie might look out of the window, down into the street and spot him. Anyway, now he dare not use his car. All the mob knew it by sight. He would have to go on the run. If he acted fast, he could make it. The money would be safe in the locker. He would wait until the heat cooled off, then sneak back, get the money and sneak out. He knew he was thinking like an idiot, but panic had its grip on him.
With screaming sirens, more police cars arrived. Then as Johnny stood against the wall, watching, his heart hammering, Massino's Rolls swept to the kerb. He watched Massino get out of his car and walk fast across the sidewalk and into the building.
He had to get out of town and fast, Johnny thought. Money? He must have money if he was to keep one jump ahead of Massino. He thought of all that money stashed away in the locker. No use to him right now. He had to have an immediate get-away stake.
Melanie? She never had any money. His mind raced. Maybe he was panicking for nothing. The medal could be anywhere, but in his bones, he was sure it was in Andy's office.
Sammy!
Sammy had three thousand dollars under his bed. Johnny had to have money! He couldn't hide from Massino without money.
He began to run down the back streets. It was a long run. Sammy's pad was half way across the town. The City's clock was striking the half hour as Johnny, panting, started up the stairs that led to Sammy's fourth-floor pad. He knocked on Sammy's door, but there was no answer. He listened, knocked again, then turned the handle: the door swung open.
'Sammy?'
His fingers groped and found the light switch and snapped it down.
The tiny room held a truckle bed, a two-ringed gas cooker, an armchair, a battered T.V. set, but no Sammy. Then Johnny remembered Sammy always shacked up with his girl, Cloe, on Friday nights.
He moved into the room and shut the door. Kneeling, he groped under the bed and found a small steel box in which Sammy had told him he kept his savings. He pulled the box out. It wasn't even locked! Lifting the lid he saw the box was crammed with ten dollar bills. He didn't hesitate, acutely aware that every second he wasted decreased his chances of escape.
He stuffed his pockets with the bills, leaving the box empty. For a brief moment he wondered how Sammy would react, then he told himself he was only borrowing the money. In a short while, he would repay Sammy with interest.
Leaving the room, he started down the stairs. Now to get out of town! He wondered how long the fuzz would take to set up road blocks. Here was the danger, but he had to get out! His fingers touched the butt of his .38. If he had to, he would shoot his way out!
Moving into the street, his mind raced. He had to have a hideout! Somewhere where he could be completely lost for at least a month. Where could he go? Then he thought of Giovanni Fusseli. It was an inspired thought. Fusseli had been Johnny's father's best friend. He must be over seventy now. Maybe he was dead! Johnny had heard from him five years ago. He had been living in a small town—what the hell was it's name? Jackson? Packson? Jackson! It was on the freeway to Miami. If he could get there, he was sure Fusseli would shelter him.
He would have to steal a car. If he could get to Reddy's cafe where all the south-bound truckers stopped for a meal, he could bribe one of them to take him to Jackson.
