19.00, in time for dinner, a look at the telly and then bed: six days a week for one hundred and fifty dollars! At the present cost of living, what did that mean?
Suddenly, he could smell the sea. He sniffed at it the way a man will sniff at an outrageously expensive perfume. The Sea! His mind flashed to a white, beautiful forty-five footer . . . his! Once he had got all this money, waiting for him in the left-luggage locker, he would go to some ship builder and talk boats. His heart beat excitedly as he imagined the moment when he had signed the papers, paid the money, then walked on the gang plank and on to the deck. His! Then he thought of the danger: going back, getting those two heavy bags out of the left-luggage locker, then getting out of town. Not yet! He would have to be patient. He would have to remain in hiding until the heat had really cooled off. Patience! Discipline! He would do it. Suddenly he felt confident. Sooner or later, Massino and the Mafia Dons would get bored trying to find him. He would keep in touch with Sammy who would alert him of any danger. When Sammy finally told him that the heat was off, then he would go back, but not before.
Ahead of him, he saw the signpost: Eastling, and he slowed down. Reaching across, he shook Scott awake.
'Here we are,' he said. 'Eastling.'
'Pull over and stop,' Scott said, shaking himself awake. 'Phew! Seems only five minutes.' He dug sleep out of his eyes. 'I'll take her.'
They changed seats.
'Would there be somewhere for me to sleep?' Johnny asked.
Scott looked at him.
'I've a spare room: cost you five bucks a day and all found. Want it?'
'You have yourself a deal,' Johnny said.
Scott engaged gear and drove the truck on to the freeway.
While Johnny was driving Scott's truck, Massino was holding a meeting in his office. Present were Carlo Tanza and Andy Lucas.
Massino had just explained to Tanza that the lead they had on this old guy Giovanni Fuselli was a washout. It was only with difficulty that Massino contained his rage and he kept glaring at Andy who had been responsible for this waste of time.
'What we've got to remember is Johnny didn't have the money with him when he left town,' Massino said. 'It was Andy's idea he was working with someone else and we thought it could be this Fuselli, but it wasn't. Toni and Ernie are sure Fuselli is clean. So . . . one of two things. Either Johnny was working with someone we don't know about or he panicked and left the money stashed somewhere in town.' He looked at Tanza. 'What do you think?'
'There's a third possibility,' Tanza said. 'He could have put those two bags on a Greyhound bus. The station is right across the street. No problem there for him. You buy a ticket, stick the bags on a bus and they'll deliver to any Greyhound station on their route. I know that's what I would have done. I wouldn't have been nutty enough to stash the money here where I would have to come back for it, and from what I know about Bianda, he's far from nutty.'
'You don't think he was working with someone?' Tanza shrugged.
'Doesn't seem likely. He's a loner . . . the only friend he seems to have had is this smoke, Sammy the Black and he wouldn't have the guts to steal chewing gum from a kid. Yeah, seems to me that's what Bianda did. Grabbed the money, rushed it across to the bus station, got the bags on a bus, knowing they would be delivered to await arrival, then he went back to his whore, found he had lost his medal, flipped his lid and beat it out of town.'
'We can check,' Massino said. He looked at Andy. 'At that time there would be very few buses leaving. Get over there and check. Someone should remember if two heavy bags were put on a bus.'
Andy nodded and left the office.
Massino looked at Tanza.
'He's now been gone eight days.' His little eyes were like red beads. 'Think you can find him?'
Tanza grinned evilly.
'We always find them, but it costs.'
'So how much?'
'Depends on how long it takes. Let's say fifty per cent of the take.'
Massino said softly, 'I want him alive. You'll get fifty per cent if he's delivered to me alive. A third if he's dead.'
'He could be tricky to take alive.'
Massino closed his huge fists.
'I want him alive! I'm going to smash that sonofabitch to a pulp with my own hands.' His rage gave him an insane look and even Tanza who was ruthless and tough was shocked. 'So get after him! Get your wonderful organization hunting him!' Massino slammed his fists down on the desk. His voice rose to a snarling shout. 'I don't give a goddamn what it costs! I want him!'
'Nearly home,' Scott said, slowing the truck. 'A mile ahead and to the left is New Symara . . . that's where I load. Up here,' he swung the truck off the freeway and driving slowly climbed a narrow, sandy road, bordered either side with dense stands of pines, 'leads to Little Creek. It's little enough. A store, around a dozen cabins and the lake. We've got a houseboat on the far side of the lake. No one bothers us. People in Little Creek are too busy to earn a dollar to bother anyone.'
This was reassuring news to Johnny.
The sandy track was now edged with thistles, ferns and blue flags. The jungle behind was so thick it looked like a black curtain to Johnny.
