He hooked the medal onto the chain and squeezed the hook tightly shut.
But lying there, watching the rising moon, listening to the sounds of the wind in the trees, the medal cold against his sweating chest, gave him no comfort.
He lay sleepless until the dawn came and then he slept and while he slept two cars, with the pick of Massino's mob, converged on the scene of the truck accident.
Lu Berilli was in charge of the operation. The cars pulled up as the sun began to climb, lighting the jungle.
Berilli surveyed the dense jungle facing him and grimaced. This, he now realized, was going to be a hell of an operation. If Johnny was hiding somewhere in these thickets, someone could get hurt, and Berilli had no stomach to come up against a man with Johnny's reputation for fast shooting. He wished he had kept his mouth shut, but it was now too late. Eight men crowded around him, waiting. They were all tough and trigger-happy: specially picked by Massino.
'This is the spot,' Berilli said, trying to sound confident. 'We'll split up. Three of you to the left: three to the right. Freddy, Jack and me go down the centre. Watch it! He's in there somewhere. Don't take any chances.'
The two he had picked to go with him—Freddy and Jack—were button men who had worked for the Mafia and had been loaned to Massino as the New York police were hunting for them: ruthless killers, utterly without nerves.
Freddy was in his late twenties: thin, hard, dark with stony eyes and an irritating habit of whistling through his teeth. Jack was five years older than Freddy. He was a garotte artist, short, squat with restless flat eyes and an inane grin that was a fixture on his fat face.
The men split up and moved into the dark jungle.
Reaching the burned-out truck, Berilli paused.
'Some smash,' he said. He looked down the path that led deeper into the jungle. 'Jack, you go ahead. I follow you. Freddy keeps in the rear. Take it slow. He could be holed up anywhere in this goddamn mess.'
Johnny came awake as Freeman opened his bedroom door.
'Good night?' Freeman asked and gave Johnny a cup of tea.
'Fair.' Johnny sat up and gratefully sipped the tea.
'I'm off into the jungle,' Freeman said, 'but I'll take a look before I go.' He went out and returned with a bowl of ice water, changed the bandage, then nodded his satisfaction. 'It's coming along, the inflammation has gone. I won't be back for seven or eight hours. I'll leave you some cold stew. You want a book?'
Johnny shook his head.
'I don't read books. I'll be okay.'
'I'll lock you in and pull the shutters. You don't have to worry. No one ever comes here, but let's play it safe.'
Johnny's fingers touched his gun.
'I'll be fine . . . and thanks for everything.'
With a bowl of cold rattlesnake stew by his side, a supply of cigarettes and a flask of ice water, Johnny settled down on his hard little bed. Freeman swung the heavy slatted wooden shutter's closed.
'It'll be hot later,' he said, 'but better too hot than sorry.' He seemed to sense the danger Johnny was in. 'Sorry to leave you, but I've got to find a cranebrake rattler. The hospital is yelling for its serum. Could take me all day.'
'I'm fine,' Johnny said. 'Maybe I could use a book . . . anything but the Bible.'
Freeman went into the living-room and, after a while, came back with a copy of
Johnny hadn't read a book since he had left school. When he found this book was the story of the Mafia organization he became absorbed in it. Time fled away. So absorbed was he that he forgot to eat the cold stew and it wasn't until he found the light was fading as it came through the slatted shutters and he had difficulty in seeing the print that he realized he was hungry, that his ankle no longer ached and it was 17.20 by his watch.
'If books are as good as this one,' he thought, 'I've been missing something.'
He was finishing the cold stew and about to light a cigarette when he heard the lock turn in the cabin door. Hurriedly, he dropped his cigarette and reached for his gun.
'It's me,' Freeman called and came into the small bedroom. 'I think there's trouble. There are three men heading this way. They didn't see me. They're all carrying guns.'
Johnny struggled upright.
'They'll be here in ten minutes or less. Come on, Johnny, I can hide you where they won't think of looking.' Freeman hoisted Johnny up on his left foot. 'You hop. Don't put any weight on your bad foot.'
Johnny grabbed his gun and holster, then supported by Freeman, he hopped through the living-room and out into the sunshine. Freeman steered him to the big lean-to behind the cabin.
'This is my snake house,' Freeman said. 'You don't have to be scared. They're all in cages and can't touch you.'
He manoeuvred Johnny into the semi-darkness and Johnny could hear the dry rattling sound a rattlesnake makes when alarmed. Freeman propped him up against the wall, then moving to a big eight-foot-high cage, he dragged it forward. Johnny saw the cage was alive with writhing rattlesnakes. Freeman caught hold of him and got him behind the cage and propped him against the wall.
'You'll be okay,' he said. 'Don't worry. I'll fix the bed. They won't know you're here,' then he moved the cage
