'Where have you hidden the money? Why can't I get it while you wait, out of sight?'
'East City is swarming with Massino's Men. Every one of them will have a description of the bags, holding the money. Two shabby red hold-alls with black leather handles,' Johnny said. 'Anyone seen carrying two such bags wouldn't survive five minutes.'
'Then we'll buy a trunk and put the two bags in the trunk . . . what's the matter with that?'
Johnny now felt he had to tell her everything.
'The bags are in a left-luggage locker in the Greyhound bus
station, right opposite Massino's office. You couldn't load them into a trunk without being seen.'
'But there must be some way I could get them!'
'Massino's sharp. Maybe he has thought of the lockers. Maybe he has them staked out. Before we do anything, I've got to check.' Johnny thought for a moment. 'Where's the nearest call booth?'
'In the village . . . the local store.'
'I've a contact in East City. He'll tell me what's happening. How soon does the store open?'
'Seven-thirty.'
He looked at his watch. The time was 05.30.
'Will you take me across in the boat?'
She hesitated.
'They're all eyes and ears over there. So far, they don't know you exist. You could cause a sensation.'
'I've got to get to a phone.'
She thought for a long moment.
'Suppose I tell Salvadore you're my step-brother on a visit? Be nice to him. He's easy to con: you just have to be nice to him.'
'An Italian?' Johnny stiffened. 'Who's he?'
'He owns the store: Salvadore Bruno. He's harmless. If we time our arrival as the store opens, no one will be around. You really mean you must phone?'
'Yes.'
'You mean once you know it will be all right, we can hire a car and get the money?'
'I've got to know first.'
She nodded.
'I'll get coffee. There's time.'
He reached out and pulled her down on him. 'There's also time for coffee.'
The motorboat drifted into the little harbour. Johnny could see the store: a low, ramshackle building, facing the waterfront. He glanced at his watch. It was a minute after 07.30 and he saw the door leading into the store, was standing open.
He was wearing his bush jacket to conceal his gun and holster. His eyes darted along the waterfront, but there was no sign of life.
Freda jumped onto the quay. Johnny tossed the rope to her and she secured the boat.
Together they crossed the dirt road and walked into the store.
'The phone's there,' Freda said and pointed.
As Johnny stepped into the call booth, he saw a short, fat man come out from behind a curtain. He shut the door, then turned his back and inserted coins. He called Sammy's apartment.
There was a delay, then Sammy's sleepy voice came over the line.
'Who's this?'
'Sammy! Wake up! This is Johnny!'
'Who?'
'Johnny!'
A low moan of fear came over the line.
'Listen, Sammy . . . what's happening up there? What's the news?'
'Mr. Johnny . . . I asked you . . . I begged you not to contact me. I could get into real trouble. I . . .'
'Cut it out,' Sammy! You're my friend . . . remember? What's happening?'
'I don't know. I don't know nothin'. No one talks any more, Mr. Johnny. I swear I don't know nothin'!'
'I want you to do something for me, Sammy.'
'Me? Haven't I done enough, Mr. Johnny? You've got all my money. Cloe keeps worrying me for money and I've got none now to give her. My brother. . .'
'Skip it, Sammy! I told you: you'll get your money back. Now listen carefully. You know the Greyhound bus station?'
