Johnny drew in a long deep breath.
'Okay. I'll be along. Where?'
'At his place and right now. I'll take the doll back to her pad.' Toni smirked. 'A pleasure.'
'Get the hell out of here, you cheap punk,' Johnny said quietly and dangerously. 'I'll be there, but in my time.'
Toni sneered.
'Okay, if you want to cut your throat . . . that's fine with me. I'll tell the boss,' and he walked out of the restaurant.
Melanie turned, her eyes wide.
'What is it, Johnny?'
He wished he knew. He had never been called to Massino's house before. He felt cold sweat start out on his forehead.
'Sorry, baby,' he said gently. 'I have to go. Suppose you finish your dinner, then take a taxi home and wait for me.'
'Oh, no! I . . .'
He got up and was moving around the table.
'Do it, baby, to please me,' he said, a hard note creeping into his voice.
There was something now about him that frightened her. He had lost colour, seemed to have shrunk a little and there were sweat beads on his forehead.
She forced a smile.
'Okay, Johnny, I'll be waiting for you.'
He had a word with the waiter and slipped him a bill, then giving her a wave, he went out on to the street.
It took him some twenty minutes in the heavy traffic to reach Massino's house on 10th street. He found parking with difficulty and walked up the marble steps leading to the massive front door.
While he had been driving, his mind had been racing. What in God's name, he wondered, did Massino want him for at this hour? Never before had he been summoned to this opulent house. He rang the bell, and as he was wiping his sweating hands on his handkerchief, the door opened and a lean, hard-faced man wearing a tail coat and a winged collar ( for God's sake! ) aping an English butler from the old movies, stood aside to let Johnny enter the vast hall, lined on either side with oil paintings in gilt frames and several suits of polished armour.
'Go ahead, bud,' the butler said out of the side of his mouth. 'First door right.'
Johnny entered a large room, lined with books and full of heavy dark furniture. Joe Massino was lounging in a big wing chair, smoking a cigar, a glass of whisky and water at his elbow. Sitting in the shadows was Ernie Lassini, picking his teeth with a splinter of wood.
'Come on in, Johnny,' Massino said. 'Sit down.' He waved to a chair opposite him. 'What'll you drink?' Johnny sat down stiffly.
'A whisky will do fine, thank you,' he said.
'Ernie, get Johnny a whisky and then get your ass out of here.'
There was a long pause while Ernie fixed the drink which he handed to Johnny, his fat, scarred face dead pan, then he left the room.
'Cigar?' Massino asked.
'No, thanks, Mr. Joe.'
Massino grinned.
'Did I interrupt something?'
'Yeah.' Johnny stared at the big man. 'You sure did.'
Massino laughed, then leaning forward he slapped Johnny on his knee.
'It'll keep. She'll be all the more eager when you get to her.'
Johnny didn't say anything. Holding the drink in his sweating hand, he waited.
Massino stretched out his thick legs, drew on his cigar and puffed smoke to the ceiling. He looked very relaxed and amiable, but Johnny didn't relax. He had seen Massino in this mood before. It could change into snarling rage in seconds.
'Nice little pad I've got here, huh?' Massino said, looking around 'the room. 'The wife fixed it up. All these goddamn books. She reckons they look fancy. You ever read a book, Johnny?'
'No.'
'Nor do I. Who the hell wants to read a book?' The little cold grey eyes moved over Johnny. 'Well, never mind that. I've been thinking about you, Johnny. You've worked for me close on twenty years . . .
Here it is, Johnny thought. The kiss-off. Well, he had been expecting it, but not quite as soon as this.
'I guess it's around twenty years,' he said.
'What do I pay you, Johnny?'
'Two hundred a week.'
