Johnny. You don’t ever seem to worry.”
Johnny thought of the steal. Worry? No! After all be was over forty: half way to death. Even if the steal turned sour, he could tell himself when the crunch came that at least he had tried to achieve an ambition. But the steal wasn’t going to turn sour. There would be no crunch.
Out in the rain, the two men—one white, the other black— looked at each other. There was an awkward pause, then Johnny offered his hand.
“Well, so long, Sammy,” he said. “We’ll keep in touch.”
They gripped hands.
“Keep saving your money,” Johnny went on. “I’ll be around. Anytime, anywhere if you want to yak… you know.”
Sammy’s eyes grew misty.
“I know, Mr. Johnny. I’m your friend… remember, Mr. Johnny. I’m your friend.”
Johnny gave him a light punch on his chest, then walked away. As he walked he felt a shutter was closing down, cutting off a slice of his life. The clang of the shutter in his mind warned him that he was now even more out on his own.
Driving slowly, he reached his apartment at 17.20, climbed the stairs and let himself in. He felt in need of a drink, but he resisted it. No alcohol. He had to be sharp for this job: no whisky to make him feel reckless. He thought of the hours ahead: the dinner with Melanie: the slow creeping minutes. He went to the window and looked down on the narrow, traffic- congested street, then he stripped off and took a shower, put on his best suit and then looked at his watch. It was now 18.00. God! he thought, when waiting, how time crawled!
He checked the things he would need: a weighted rubber cosh, a
folded newspaper, a pair of gloves, his cigarette lighter, the key to the safe and the left- luggage locker key. All these he laid out on the table. There was nothing else he needed except luck. He put his fingers inside his shirt and touched the St. Christopher medal. In two years’ time, he told himself, he would be at sea with the spokes of a tiller in his hands, steering a forty-five-footer into the bay with the sun on his face and the roar of powerful motors making the deck tremble.
Sitting before the window, he listened to the noise of the street floating up to him, the sound of the traffic and the kids yelling until the hands of his watch crawled to 19.30. Then he got to his feet, slid the cosh into his hip pocket, strapped on his gun harness, checked his .38, took the newspaper into the bathroom and dampened it under the tap before putting it into his jacket pocket, put the two keys and the gloves in another pocket and he was ready to go.
He drove to Melanie’s apartment, arriving there just on 20.00. She was waiting in the doorway and got into the car as Johnny pulled up.
“Hi, baby!” He tried to make his voice sound casual. “Everything okay?”
“Yes.” Her tone was flat. He could see she was uneasy and he hoped to God she hadn’t changed her mind.
The meal wasn’t a success although Johnny extravagantly ordered lobster cocktails and turkey breasts done in hot chili sauce. Neither of them did more than pick at the food. Johnny couldn’t help thinking of the moment when he would have to tackle Benno. The business of rushing the two heavy bags across to the Greyhound station. He would have to leave the operation until after 02.00: between 02.00 and 03.00. Everything depended on luck and putting down his fork, he touched the St. Christopher medal through his shirt.
“I wish you would tell me what you are going to do, Johnny,” Melanie said suddenly. She pushed her turkey away, only half eaten. “It worries me so. It’s nothing bad, is it?”
“A job. Forget it, baby. You don’t want to know anything about it… it’s the best way. You want coffee?”
“No.”
“Let’s go to a movie. Come on, baby, snap out of it. It’s going to be all right.”
Going to a movie was a good idea. It had grip and even Johnny forgot what he was going to do in a few hour’s time. They returned to Melanie’s apartment just after midnight and went up the stairs.
On the stairs, they ran into a girl who had an apartment opposite Melanie’s. They paused to have a word. The girl knew Johnny and got on well with Melanie.
“Out of cigarettes!” she said. “My luck!”
This chance meeting pleased Johnny. Just in case anything turned sour, this girl could say he was with Melanie.
The girl went on down the stairs and Melanie and Johnny went on up. Johnny had left his car parked outside the entrance and the girl would see it.
“Want coffee?” Melanie asked, dropping her coat on the settee.
“A lot of it, baby.” Johnny sat down. “I don’t leave here for a couple of hours. I’ve got to stay awake.”
After a while, she came back with a large pot of coffee, a cup and saucer which she set down on the table beside him.
“Thanks, baby, now you go to bed,” Johnny said. “There’s nothing to worry about. Go to bed… go to sleep.”
She stood hesitating, looking at him, then silently she went into the bedroom and shut the door. Johnny grimaced as he poured strong, black coffee into the cup.
He sat there, sipping coffee until 02.25, then he got to his feet and moving silently, he opened the bedroom door and looked into the darkness of the room.
“You going now?” Melanie asked out of the darkness, her voice quavering.
“Why aren’t you asleep, for God’s sake?”
“I can’t sleep. I’m so worried, Johnny.”
Women! he thought. Maybe he should have picked on someone else for his alibi. He shook his head in despair. What the hell was the matter with him? He wouldn’t need an alibi! The way he had fixed this, Massino would never think he had taken the money.
“I’ll be back in thirty minutes, baby. Take it easy… try to sleep,” and he closed the door.
He left the apartment and walked down to the deserted street. Keeping in the shadows, he walked fast, heading for Massino’s office.
It took him ten minutes of fast walking to reach the entrance of Massino’s office block. He approached it from across the street and he saw a light on in Andy’s office. That meant Benno was up there, either sleeping or smoking or doing some goddamn thing, while he kept watch.
Johnny looked to right and left. The street was deserted. He crossed the street, entered the dimly lit lobby and took the elevator to the fourth floor. Closing the elevator door gently, he walked up the two remaining flights to Massino’s office.
The job had to be done fast so his alibi would stand up. Reaching the passage leading to Massino’s and Andy’s offices, be took out his handkerchief and removed the two electric light bulbs in the corridor. The stream of light coming through Andy’s glazed door was enough for him to see. He took the newspaper from his pocket. It was still slightly damp. He paused for a moment to listen, then he crumpled the newspaper and put it down hard against Andy’s office door. He lit his lighter and touched off the newspaper. Small flames made smoke. Johnny stood back, cosh in hand, and waited.
He didn’t have to wait long. He heard a muttered curse, then the door was unlocked and Benno, squat, heavily built, stood in the doorway, gaping at the smouldering paper. Johnny waited, pressed against the wall.
Benno moved forward as Johnny knew he would. As he began to stamp on the smouldering newspaper, Johnny’s cosh descended on the back of his bead.
Johnny didn’t pause to make certain he had put Benno away. He knew he had and there was no point in wasting seconds. He stepped to the safe, took the key from his pocket and opened the safe. He dragged out the two bags. Sweat was running down his face. The bags were a lot heavier than he had expected.
Taking the safe key, carrying the bags, he stepped over Benno’s inert body, paused for a brief moment to stamp out the smouldering newspaper, then thumbed the elevator button.
Descending to the ground floor, he looked cautiously into the deserted lobby, then carrying a bag in either gloved hand, he moved into the street. Again he paused, then satisfied he had the street to himself, he bolted across to the Greyhound bus station.
A big negro was sleepily brushing up and he didn’t look at Johnny as he opened the locker. As Johnny heaved
