So suppose they caught up with them as Johnny seemed to think they would? So 'suppose they walked in and shot them to death as Johnny had shot those two apes to death?
What was death anyway? She tried to believe it as an escape.
But three years with $186,000 . . . that would be living!
She sat there, her eyes closed and reviewed her own life. What a stinking, hell of a life! Her dreary home, her dreary parents, the gruesome men in and out of her life, Ed and the boredom!
But at the back of her mind was the fear of the moment when a knock could come on the door. She forced the fear away and opened her eyes. Somehow she managed to smile.
'You and me, Johnny, together. I don't opt out.'
The bus roared north and they sat, hand in hand, silent now, but both knowing whatever the future, they could now trust each other.
Sammy the Black rolled out of bed around 07.30. Feeling depressed and half asleep, he went into the shower room. Fifteen minutes later he emerged, shaved and showered and started the coffee perculator.
He had a number of reasons for feeling depressed, but the main reason which had kept him awake half the night was that Cloe had got herself pregnant again. How the hell this could have happened defeated Sammy. She swore she was on the pill, and now she was yelling for a quick abortion . . . and that cost! They had had a distressing meeting last night. She demanded $300!
'I'm not having any of your bastards!' she had shrilled. 'Come on . . . give me the money!'
But he had no money. Johnny had taken all his savings. He didn't tell her this, but he did say he had no $300.
She had stared at him, her big, black eyes glittering.
'Okay, if you haven't the bread, I'll look elsewhere. Jacko wants me and he'll pay.'
Sammy had regarded her: lush, tall, with a body like a goddess, and his heart quailed. He couldn't lose her! He knew Jacko: a big, black buck who was always on the fringe of her life, waiting.
'Give me a little time, honey,' he pleaded. 'I'll get the money somehow.'
'I'll give you six days . . . no more!'
That was one problem: then his goddamn brother was again in trouble. Sammy's mother had come to him. Only a matter of $150. 'You can't let your brother go to jail!'
Sammy had promised to do' something . . . but what?
Then his job as Mr. Joe's chauffeur. Driving a Rolls had sounded fine. The grey uniform with its black piping had made Sammy proud and happy, but he quickly learned this was a job without a song. He was on constant call. After he had driven Mr. Joe to his office, he had to rush back up town to take Mrs. Joe shopping and, man! was she a bitch! She always seemed to want to go to some shop where parking was impossible and he had to circle and circle, getting snarled up in the traffic, and if he kept her waiting did she curse him and could she curse! Sammy thought wistfully of those days when he had collected the Numbers money with Johnny. He had been scared, but being scared was better than this rat-race. Then in the evening Mr. and Mrs. Joe went to nightclubs and he had to sit in the car until after 02.00 waiting for them. He had to keep the car immaculate or Mrs. Joe would curse him. What a mug he had been to take this job!
Wearily, he got into his uniform. He had to pick up Mr. Joe at nine. It took him a good half hour to drive up town against the traffic. As he was sipping his coffee, his telephone bell rang. He winced. This could be Cloe, screaming at him again. He hesitated, then lifted the receiver as if it were a ticking bomb.
'Sammy?'
A rush of cold blood went down his spine and he began to shake. This was too much!
Johnny!
'Yeah . . . this is me,' Sammy said huskily.
'Listen, Sammy, I want you to go to the Greyhound bus station and take a look around. I want to know if it's still staked out.'
'Mr. Johnny . . . I can't! I've got enough troubles. You took my money. Cloe is in trouble again. My brother is in trouble again. Everyone is yelling me!' Sammy was close to tears. 'Please leave me alone.'
'This is important, Sammy!' Johnny's voice was hard. 'You've got to do it! You do it and I promise you I'll give you back your money plus another three thousand dollars I promise you!'
Sammy stiffened.
'You really mean that, Mr. Johnny?'
'Have I ever let you down? You check the bus station and if it's clear, you'll get six thousand . . . that's a promise.'
Sammy hesitated.
'But suppose it ain't clear?'
'Then you keep on checking and as soon as it's clear, you'll get the money.'
Again Sammy hesitated. Six thousand dollars! Cloe would get her abortion! His goddamn brother would be in the clear and he'd have money back in his steel box!
'Okay, Mr. Johnny, I'll do it.'
'I'll call you this time tomorrow,' and Johnny hung up.
