Johnny Bianco. For all we know he has lost his memory and imagine he's Bianco and not Bianda. The more I look at this photo, now I've put on the beard, the surer I am this is the man they want. Ten thousand dollars! Imagine! What do you think?'
Johnny held his breath. What she would say must tell him if he could trust her or not.
'He doesn't act like a man who's lost his memory.' Freda's voice was calm. 'We were talking this afternoon. He was telling me about his rent-collection experiences. No . . . you're pipe dreaming.'
'Suppose I call these people: Dyson & Dyson? Where's the harm? They can send someone to take a look at him. They will probably have dozens of people telephoning so what have we to lose? We might hit the jackpot.'
'And if we do . . . what happens?'
'Ten thousand dollars! You want to leave me, don't you? You've had enough of this, haven't you?'
'Yes.'
'Fine. So I give you two thousand and the rest I buy three more trucks and I'm in business. Tomorrow, I'll call these people from Richville. If we're unlucky, it's too bad, but if we aren't . . .'
Johnny's heart now was thumping so hard he was scared they would hear.
'Let's make sure,' Freda said. 'I'll send him out fishing tomorrow and while he's on the lake, I'll go through his things. This thing about a St. Christopher medal. He might have one. If I find it, we'll know for sure it's him.'
'What's wrong with me telephoning tomorrow? They can but look at him.'
A pause, then she said, 'Can't you use your brains? If we are really sure we can ask for more . . . we could ask for fifteen thousand: Five for me and ten for you.'
'I hadn't thought of that. Yeah . . . but you don't get five, baby. You'll get four.'
'So all right. I get four.' Scott stood up.
'You check his things. Imagine! Fifteen thousand dollars!'
Johnny moved silently back to his bedroom, closed the door and lay on the bed.
So he could trust her! She was clever! She had gained a day . . .but what then?
There was no sleep for him that night.
Carlo Tanza came into Massino's office, kicked the door shut and dumped his heavy body into a chair.
'We've certainly started something with that ad!' he exclaimed. 'Already it has produced three hundred and forty-nine telephone calls. Dyson is flipping his lid. Every call has to be checked out.'
Massino glared at him.
'It was your bright idea.'
'It was a good idea, but how was I to know so many bastards resemble this bastard? So, okay, we're checking them out but it's going to take time.'
'That's your business,' Massino said. 'I pay . . . you produce. One thing I do know, if the money is in one of those lockers across the street, the sonofabitch will never get it . . . that's something I'm damn well certain about!'
EIGHT
The sound of the truck had scarcely died away when Johnny's bedroom door opened and Freda came in.
In the grey light of the dawn, she looked to Johnny the most desirable woman in the world, but this was no time for love.
She sat on the side of his bed.
'He talked to me last night,' she said.
'I know. I heard every word,' Johnny said and put his hand on hers. 'You played it smart, but when he comes back tonight . . . what's going to happen?'
'I'll tell him I'm sure you're not the man he thinks you are. I'll tell him I've seen your driving license and it's in the name of Bianco. I'll say there's no St. Christopher medal.'
Johnny shook his head.
'That won't stop him. He's money hungry. As he said; what's there to lose except the price of a telephone call?'
'Then let's get out of here,' Freda said. 'Let's get the money and get lost. I know where I can hire a car in the village. We'll drive to East City, pick up the money, then head North? What do you say?'
He lay back on his pillow and marvelled at her ignorance of the net that was closing around him. 'If only it could be as simple as that,' he said. 'But they don't know me!' Freda said impatiently.
