“So what?”
“Do you think Johnny is interested in boats? Do you think his plan was to skip in a boat?”
Massino became attentive.
“Yeah… another pointer to the South.”
“And this.” Andy picked up a gaudy Christmas card that Toni had also found. Written in a spidery handwriting was the legend:
“Where the hell is Jackson and what’s so important about this goddamn thing?”
“Jackson is around thirty miles from Jacksonville, Florida.”
Then the telephone bell rang. Ernie was on the line.
“Got something, boss,” he said, his voice excited. “Just been talking to a young punk who says he gave a ride to a guy who matches up with Bianda’s description. He dropped him off at Reddy’s cafe.”
“Get him over here. I’ll show him Bianda’s photo.” Massino hung up, then looked at Andy. “Looks like Johnny got a ride out of town to Reddy’s cafe: that’s where the truckers stop before driving South, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“South!” Massino said. “It all points south, doesn’t it? That’s where the bastard’s gone!”
Fifteen minutes later, Ernie, accompanied by Joey, looking uneasy, came into the office.
Massino pushed the photo across the desk.
“That him?”
Joey peered at the photo, then nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay.” Massino took out his wallet, found a five dollar bill and tossed it at Joey. “Get his name and address,” he said to Ernie, “and get him out of here.”
“Wait.” Andy came forward as Joey started for the door. “This guy you gave a ride to was carrying two heavy bags… right?” Joey shook his head.
“He wasn’t carrying a thing.”
“He didn’t have even one bag?”
“Nothing.”
“Goddamn it!” Massino snarled. “He must have been carrying two bags!”
Joey paled, but shook his head.
“Honest, sir, he wasn’t carrying a thing!”
“Okay,” Andy said quietly, “take him away.”
As the office door shut, Massino glared at Andy. “You reckon the money’s still in town?”
“No. Let’s look at this, Mr. Joe. Don’t let’s rush it.”
Andy began to pace up and down and because Massino knew this little man was no fool, he restrained his impatience while he waited. Andy paused. “Bianda is a loner. He has no friends we’ve been able to dig up, yet he gets this Christmas card so he does have someone. He takes off, but he hasn’t the money with him and he must know he could never dare show his snout again in this town if he stashed it so it looks to me that he wasn’t working alone. Call this a hunch, Mr. Joe,” Andy paused, then went on, “Suppose this other guy Bianda was working with rushed the money out of town while Bianda was looking for his medal? Are you getting my thinking, Mr. Joe? Bianda and this other guy do the job. This other guy takes the money. Bianda goes back to his whore. The idea is none of us would suspect him of the steal. Then he finds the medal gone. He knows he’s cooked if the medal is found in my office. He has to be sure, but Benno has the cops here so Bianda panics, gets a ride out of town and beads south to join this other guy.” Andy leaned forward and tapped the Christmas card. “Fuselli. It’s my guess he’s this other guy.”
Massino glowered at him.
“You’re nuts! This Fuselli… how do you know because he sent a Christmas card that he is working with Bianda?”
“I don’t know, but Bianda is a loner and here is someone who
kept in touch with him… someone living south.”
Massino hesitated.
“Well… could be. I’ll call Carlo. He’ll turn the Florida mob onto Fuselli.”
“Just a moment, Mr. Joe,” Andy said. “There’s no rush to call in Tanza. We could handle this ourselves. Have you thought how much the Big Man will take if they go after Bianda? They would take half: $93,000! They could even take more. We know the way the Big Man operates. If he puts a finger on a man, sooner or later, that man’s dead. It might take a couple of years, but once the sign is on, that man’s dead. Suppose we send Toni and Ernie down to Jackson and check this Fuselli out first? If he’s our man, we save ourselves $93,000. If he’s in the clear and Bianda isn’t there, then we turn it over to Tanza. We lose a few days, but we can afford to do that. What do you think?”
Massino considered this, then nodded.
“Now you’re using your head, Andy,” he said. “Okay, get those two off by the first plane. Let’s take a look at Fuselli.”
Ernie and Toni arrived at Jacksonville airport some minutes after 11:00. They went immediately to Hertz Rent-a-car bureau and hired a Chevvy. While waiting for the car, Ernie asked the girl the best way to Jackson.
“Follow the freeway to your right,” he was told. “No problem: Jackson is sign-posted: around thirty miles from here.”
Ernie got in the passenger’s seat. When he could avoid any form of work, he did so. After all, Toni was five years his junior, was his reasoning, so why the hell shouldn’t he do the driving?
On the freeway, he said, “Let’s get this organized, Toni. If we run into Johnny, you take care of him and Ill take care of Fuselli… right?”
Toni stiffened.
“Where do you get this I take care of Johnny crap?” Ernie hid a sly grin.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it? You’ve always said you could beat Johnny to a draw. Looks to me, we’re heading for a show down. This is your chance to prove you’re better and faster with a gun than he is.”
Toni shifted uneasily. Johnny’s past reputation had always hung over him like a dark cloud and was still hanging over him.
“Maybe both of us had better take care of him,” he said. “That punk can shoot.”
“So can you.” Ernie relaxed. “Didn’t you tell me only last week that Johnny was old and washed up? You take care of him. This Fuselli might be as fast as Johnny.”
Toni felt sweat beads suddenly on his forehead.
“So that’s fixed, huh?” Ernie said, enjoying himself. “We shoot first and talk after, huh?”
Toni didn’t say anything. He was aware of a tight ball of fear in his guts. He drove in silence for ten miles, then aware that Ernie was dozing off, he said. “Do you think Johnny really took all that bread?”
“Why not?” Ernie shook himself awake and lit a cigarette. “Boy! Could I use money like that! You know something, Toni? Johnny has more guts than you or me.”
“Maybe, but he can’t get away with it. If we don’t find him, the Big Man will. The bastard’s stupid.”
“Maybe, but he’s tried and that’s more than you and me would have done. There’s always a chance he just might get away with it.”
Toni glanced at his fat companion.
“You’re nuts! No one has ever beaten the organization and no one ever will. If it takes years, they’ll find him, if we don’t.”
“But think of what he could do with all that bread even if he lasted only two years.”
“To hell with the money! I’d rather stay alive!”
“There’s the sign post,” Ernie said. “Jackson five miles.”
“I can read,” Toni said and the knot of fear in his guts tightened.
Jackson turned out to be a tiny fruit-growing town with a Main street, a number of fruit-canning factories and out-lying farms. Toni drove down the Main street, passing a small, clean-looking hotel, the Post Office, a general
