Knock Knock Who's There?

She nodded.

'I'm glad. I said it before and I'll say it again: you're all man. I'll come with you and I'll help on the boat.'

'If they find me here, they could kill you.'

'If I'm going to share this money with you, Johnny, I must share the risk . . . that's fair, isn't it?'

'Think about it. Let's talk about it tomorrow. I've still got to get the money.'

'Where have you hidden it?'

He smiled at her.

'Where they won't think of looking for it.'

'Isn't it dangerous to go back for it?'

'Yes . . . it's a hell of a risk.'

'But I could get it, couldn't I? They don't know me.'

A tiny red light of warning lit up in Johnny's mind. Suppose he told her where the money was? Suppose he gave her the locker key? She could hire a car and drive to East City, take the two bags, load them into the car and that would be the last time he would ever see her. How can anyone trust anyone when there was so much money involved? She said she loved him: she had said it in such a way that he believed her, but when she dragged those two heavy bags out of the locker might she not be tempted to betray him?

He remembered what she had said: You're not much to look at. He wasn't. He was fourteen years older than she. With all that money, with her looks, she could make a wonderful life for herself without having a short, heavily-built man of forty-two in her hair.

The sound of the approaching truck saved him from answering.

'Here's Ed. We'll talk tomorrow.'

'Yes.

She got up and went hastily into the kitchen.

Scott had his swim, admired the bass Johnny had caught, then came out on deck, joining Johnny while Freda cooked the dinner.

'Had a good day?' Scott asked, lighting a cigarette. He looked slyly at Johnny.

'Fine. And you?'

'The usual.' Scott flicked ash into the lake. 'Did she give out?'

Johnny stiffened.

'Come again?'

'Did you lay her?'

'Look, Ed, cut that talk out! I don't like it. She's your wife! Haven't you any respect for her?'

Scott gave a sneering laugh.

'I told you I couldn't care less. I was just curious to know if you made it.'

'Like I said . . . cut it out!'

Scott eyed him.

'Maybe you like it fancy. I do. If ever you want something fancy come to Richville with me. I know a couple of chicks . . .'

'I'm a lot older than you, Ed. You look after your sex life and I'll look after mine. Okay?'

Scott studied him, then shrugged.

'Yeah. I guess when I get as old as you, it won't be a problem.' He gave a sly grin. 'I bet Freda's disappointed. I get the idea she's itching for it.'

'Then why don't you give it to her?' Johnny tried to soften his voice, but his anger showed.

'She's not my style.'

Johnny suddenly hated this man as he had seldom hated any man. He got to his feet as Freda came on to the deck.

'You can eat,' she said.

It was while they were finishing the bass that Scott said, 'You got a younger brother, Johnny?'

Johnny became instantly alert. He paused to finish the last morsel of fish on his plate, then shook his head.

'I've no relations.'

'Just an idea.' Scott pushed aside his plate. 'There's an odd ad. in the Richville Times. I have it here.' He shoved back his chair and crossing to where he had left his jacket, he took out a folded newspaper.

Johnny and Freda exchanged quick glances as Scott put the paper in front of Johnny.

'What do you think of that . . . ten thousand dollars!'

Johnny pretended to read the letterpress, shrugged and reached for a cigarette.