The waiter’s contempt went away. He pointed.
“Excuse me. Please go ahead. First door behind the bar.”
Toni found Luigi Moro behind a desk as big as a billiard table. He was scribbling figures on a scratch pad and as Toni walked in, he leaned back in his chair and nodded.
Luigi Moro was around sixty-five years of age, enormously fat, his nose slightly flattened—a gift from a tough cop when he had been young—his dark, shifty eyes as animated as the eyes of a dead fish.
“Sit down… have a cigar.” He waved to a chair and pushed a silver box containing Havanas in Toni’s direction.
Toni wasn’t a cigar smoker. He sat down on the edge of the chair. He had heard about Luigi Moro, one of the Mafia’s favourites: a man people had to respect or there was trouble.
Moro lit a cigar, taking his time, looking thoughtfully at Toni.
“I’ve heard about you: you’re good with a gun.” Toni nodded.
“How’s Joe?”
“He’s okay.”
“A big steal.” Moro laughed. “I bet he’s flipping his lid.”
Toni didn’t say anything.
“We got this tip,” Moro said. “We’ve got over a hundred tips but this one looks good. I’ve got all my men out checking other tips so suppose you go out to Little Creek and take a gander? It could be negative and I don’t want to pull my boys off the work they’re doing. You take a gander and if it’s straight up, call me and we’ll go out there and get him.”
Toni felt a chill go up his spine.
“Don’t you send anyone with me?”
Moro stared at him.
“I told you… the boys are busy.” He flicked ash into the big,
silver ash-tray on his desk. “You’re Massino’s top gunman, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine. You can handle this.” He pressed a button on his desk and a minute or so later the door opened and a young long-haired Italian came in. “Take this guy to Little Creek, Leo, wise him up. Introduce him to Salvadore. Tell the old buzzard my compliments.”
The young man stared at Toni, then jerked his head to the door. Toni followed him out into the passage, hating him: a possible homo : very lean, white-faced, glittering eyes, could be on pot.
In silence they walked out of the building by the back exit to a shabby Lincoln.
Leo slid under the wheel and Toni got in the passenger’s seat.
Leo turned and stared at Toni.
“I heard about you… a trigger man.” He grinned, showing good white teeth. “Rather you than me.”
“Get going,” Toni snarled. “Rest the lip.”
“Tough too?” Leo laughed. “You watch the telly?”
“Get moving!”
Leo opened the glove compartment and dropped a pair of powerful field glasses in Toni’s lap.
“They’re for you.”
Thirty minutes later they pulled up outside Salvadore Bruno’s store.
“This is where I kiss you off,” Leo said. “Have a ball. If it’s him, call us. Okay?”
The time now was 11.45. There was some activity on the waterfront. As Toni got out of the car he was aware people were looking curiously at him. He slung the field glasses by their strap on his shoulder and walked into the store as Leo drove away.
Salvadore was busy serving customers. When he saw Toni, he called and his fat wife appeared to take over.
Salvadore beckoned to Toni who followed him behind the curtain and into Salvadore’s living-room. “You from Luigi?”
“Yeah.”
Salvadore opened a drawer in the table and took out a largescale map.
“Here’s where we are: here’s where he is,” he said, pointing with a pencil. “You can take my boat or you can take my car and drive around the lake.”
Toni blotted sweat off his face with his sleeve.
“Maybe the boat is better.”
He didn’t want to get too close to Johnny if this suspect was Johnny.
“Yes. There are always fishermen on the lake.” Salvadore eyed the field glasses. “With those you can see without being seen. I’ll loan you a fishing rod. Just go out on the lake and act you’re fishing.. okay?”
“Yeah.”
A pause, then Salvadore said, “If it’s him, I get the reward… yes?”
“How the hell do I know?” Toni snarled. “Why the hell should I care anyway?”
“That’s no way to talk to your betters,” Salvadore said. “I ask a polite question: I expect a polite answer.”
“So get stuffed!” Toni snarled. “How’s about something to eat?”
Salvadore moved forward. His hand caught Toni’s wrist in a grip of steel, his vast belly, rock hard, smashed into Toni’s side, driving the breath out of him. His arm was twisted and he found himself gasping and on his knees. He felt a hard, sweaty hand slap him heavily around his ears, then dazed, he groped for his gun as Salvadore released him.
“Don’t do it!”
The snap in Salvadore’s voice made him turn and look up. He found himself looking into the menacing barrel of a .45.
“All right, my friend,” Salvadore said gently, “so now you’ll be polite. I may be fat and old, but I’ve eaten boys like you for breakfast. So now you ask politely for dinner.”
Toni got unsteadily to his feet.
Salvadore put his gun back into its holster, hidden under his thin coat.
“Look,” he said and the gun appeared in his hand, then he chuckled. “I was Lucky’s best man. I’m still good. Okay, so I’m old, but I’ve never lost the sharpness,” and the gun disappeared. He patted Toni’s shoulder. “So you want something to eat, huh?”
“Yes, please and thank you,” Toni said huskily. “I guess I could eat something.”
Salvadore put his thick arm around Toni’s shoulders.
“Come.” He led him into the kitchen. “Always in my home there is good food.”
An hour later, Toni got into Salvadore’s small fishing boat, awkwardly carrying a fishing rod and the field glasses. Salvadore had fitted him out in a dark blue shirt, a pair of Levis and a bush hat. He showed him how to start the outboard engine.
“Just put the rod in here,” he said pointing to a clip on the side of the boat. “Don’t get too close to the houseboat. If anyone comes up to you… there are many fishermen on the lake… tell them you are my friend. They won’t bother you.”
Toni steered the boat out into the middle of the lake, then cut the engine. He could see, in the distance, the houseboat. He clipped the rod into position, then focused the glasses on the houseboat.
He was startled at the power of the glasses.
The houseboat seemed to spring forward at him as he peered through the eyepieces. He could see the sun burning his back and settled himself to flaked paint, the holes in the deck and the rust on the rails. There was no one to be seen. He sat there, feel-watch.
NINE
The previous evening just before Scott had gone to bed, Johnny had asked permission to borrow the 12 bore
