Had Freda seen this? He decided by the way the newspaper was folded when she handed it to him she hadn't opened it.
With sweat beads on his face, he studied the photograph. It had been taken some twenty years ago: a prison shot and yet there was a likeness. His hand went to his beard. No! No one could recognize him from this photograph!
The cunning bastards!
She had seen the medal!
He looked furtively over his shoulder, his heart thumping. She wanted money! Ten thousand dollars would be more than tempting! All she had to do was to get over to the village and call Dyson & Dyson. They would be in his lap within twenty-four hours and that would be his end!
What to do?
His first reaction was to destroy the newspaper, but that wouldn't help. He knew enough of Tanza's thoroughness to be sure the ad would run a week . . . even longer. Sooner or later, either Scott or Freda would see
Get out fast?
He was miles from any place. If he left it would have to be in the dark. It must be a good ten miles down to the freeway and in the dark, he could get hopelessly lost.
Could he trust her? Could he trust anyone?
'Who's offering ten thousand dollars?'
She had come up silently behind him and was leaning over his shoulder. He sat rigid, wanting to crumple the newspaper and throw it in the lake, but fear paralysed him. He watched her hand take the paper from his grasp.
'Ten thousand dollars! Could I use money like that!' She came around and sat by his side.
He watched her read the letterpress and he knew at once when she came to the fatal line: Known to favour a St. Christopher medal. He saw her stiffen, stare at the photograph, then look at him.
'Is this you?' she asked and tapped the photograph.
Johnny hesitated, then he said huskily, 'Yes.'
'Have you lost your memory?'
He shook his head.
'Who are these people . . . Dyson & Dyson?'
His tongue touched his dry lips.
'Mafia people,' he said, watching her.
Her eyes widened.
'Mafia?'
'That's right.'
She put down the paper.
'I don't understand,' and he could see she was shaken, but not so shaken that it curtailed her curiosity.
'You don't want to understand.'
'Are you a mafioso?'
'No.'
'Then why are they offering all this money?'
'They want to find me and kill me,' Johnny said quietly.
She flinched.
'Kill you? Why?'
'I did something bad to them.'
She stared at him for several moments, then she tore the page containing the advert from the paper and offered it to him.
'You'd better burn this, hadn't you? Ten thousand is a lot of
money. If Ed sees it he could be tempted: it only means a telephone call, doesn't it?'
'You mean you wouldn't be tempted?'
'Do you think I would?'
He shrugged helplessly.
'As you said, it's a lot of money. You want money. I don't know.'
She got to her feet.
'I'm going for a swim.'
