The punk had turned on Sammy who was sweating with fright, but Johnny had stepped between them so the punk had hit him. To Sammy, it seemed a hell of a punch, but Johnny didn't even grunt. He swayed a little, then the punk took a bang on the jaw that broke it and flattened him. Sammy hadn't seen the punch: it had been too fast, but he had seen the effect.
Yes, Johnny- was as tough as teak, but he was fine with Sammy. He didn't talk a lot. In fact, Sammy, after going around with him for ten years, knew little or nothing about him except that he had been Massino's gunman for some twenty years, was maybe forty- two or three years of age, unmarried, no relations, lived in a two-room apartment and Massino thought a lot of him.
Whenever Sammy got worried or had woman trouble or his young brother was playing up or something he would consult Johnny, and Johnny, speaking in his quiet voice, always managed to make Sammy feel good even if he didn't solve his problem.
When they began the collection together, Johnny had been more talkative. He had said something that Sammy had never forgotten.
'Listen, Sammy,' Johnny had said. 'You'll make good money from this racket, but don't let it kid you. You put by ten per cent of what you earn every week. Understand? Out of every ten dollars you earn, put one dollar aside and don't touch it. In a few years you'll have enough to be independent and you can get out of this racket, for as sure- as God made little apples, sooner or later, you'll want to get out.'
Sammy had followed this 'advice. It made sense to him. He bought a steel box and every week when he got paid he put ten per cent of his earnings in the box which he kept under his bed. Of course there had been times when he had been forced to milk the box. There was that business with his brother who had to have five hundred dollars or go to jail. Then there was that business with Cloe who had to have an expensive abortion, but over the years the ten per cent mounted up and the last time Sammy checked the amount he was astonished to find he was worth three thousand dollars.
The box which wasn't large was getting too full of ten dollar bills for comfort and Sammy began to worry whether to buy another box. There was something about Johnny these days that made him hesitate to ask his advice. He was sure Johnny had something on his mind and he didn't want to be a nuisance. He thought maybe he would wait a little longer before consulting him. Maybe he would get whatever it was off his mind and then, he would be in the mood to advise him.
They drove in silence to Massino's office: a large room with a big desk, a few chairs and a filing cabinet. Massino believed in austerity when he was downtown, although he had a Rolls, a sixteen-bedroom house up-town, a yacht and a ten-bedroom house in Miami.
He was at his desk when Johnny and Sammy came in. Leaning against the wall was Toni Capello, one of Massino's bodyguards: a thin, dark man with snake's eyes and nearly as fast as Johnny with a gun. Sitting on a hardbacked chair, picking his teeth with a splinter of wood was Ernie Lassini, another of Massino's bodyguards: a fat, hulking man with a razor 'Sear down the left side of his face: another good man with a gun.
Sammy shambled up to the desk and put the bag in front of Massino who leaned back in his chair and grinned at the bag.
At the age of fifty-five, Joe Massino was massively built. Medium height, he had barn-door shoulders, no neck, a heavy fat face with a flattened nose, a straggly moustache and bleak grey eyes that scared men, but intrigued women. Massino was a great womanizer. Although fat, he was still tough and there had been times when he had personally disciplined one of his mob and that man hadn't been fit for active service for two or even three months.
'No problems, Sammy?' Massino asked and his small grey eyes shifted to Johnny who shook his head. 'Okay . . . get Andy.'
But Andy Lucas, Massino's accountant, had already come into the office.
Andy was sixty-five years of age: a tiny, bird-like man with a computer for a brain. Fifteen years ago he had served a -stretch for fraud and when he had come out, Massino, realizing Andy's brilliance, had hired him to control his financial kingdom. As with most things Massino did, this was a wise choice. There was no one in the State as smart as Andy when it came to a tax form, an investment or an idea to make money.
Andy unlocked the handcuff from Sammy's sweating wrist, then pulling up a chair by Massino, he began to check the contents of the bag while Massino watched as he chewed a dead cigar.
Both Sammy and Johnny moved away and waited. The count came to sixty-five thousand dollars.
Andy put the money back in the bag, then nodding to Massino, he carried the bag into his office and put it in the big, old-fashioned safe.
'Okay, you two,' Massino said, looking at Johnny and Sammy, 'take time off. I don't need you until next Friday. You know what next Friday is?' His hard little eyes rested on Johnny.
'The 29th.'
Massino nodded.
'That's it; the freak day: Leap year's day. It's my bet the take will be around $150,000.'
'Solly said the same.'
'Yeah.' Massino dropped the dead cigar into the trash basket. 'So . . . Ernie and Toni will go with you. You'll collect in the car. Never mind the traffic. I'll have a word with the Commissioner. Next Friday, the cops will look the other way if you have to double park $150,000 is a hell of a lot of money and maybe some hop-head just might try,' He eyed Sammy. 'Take it easy, boy, you'll be protected. Don't sweat so.'
Sammy forced a sick grin.
'I'm not worried, boss,' he lied. 'You tell me what to do and I'll do it.'
Out in the drizzle, Johnny said, 'Come on, Sammy, let's have a beer.'
This was the usual ritual after the collection and Sammy walked along beside the short, thickset man, gradually relaxing until they came to Freddy's bar. They went into the warm darkness, climbed on stools and ordered beer.
They drank in silence, then Sammy ordered more beer.
'Mr. Johnny . . .' He paused and looked uneasily at the hard, expressionless face. 'Excuse me, but have you got worries? You're sort of quiet these days. If there's anything I can do . . .' He began to sweat, scared he had talked out of turn.
