with a little money would come along and that would be that. Because he knew he would eventually lose her, he had never told her about his urge to own a boat, and now he was committed to the steal, he was thankful he hadn’t told her: that he had told no one. Massino was an expert at squeezing information from anyone when he wanted and if the steal turned sour and Massino even suspected it was he (Johnny ) who had taken the money he would brutally quiz everyone connected with Johnny. If Massino ever got the idea that Johnny was boat mad, it would be goodbye to the boat.
Most of Massino’s mob knew that Johnny’s girl was Melanie. You can’t take a girl out three times a week for three years without running into some of the mob at the restaurants Johnny could afford nor at a movie house showing the latest film. This thought worried Johnny a little, although he kept assuring himself that nothing would turn sour the way he had planned the steal and that Massino would never suspect he was the thief. He was fond of Melanie. Love? No, he told himself, he wasn’t in love with her. He felt that love didn’t come into his life. Love bound a man, but he was fond of her and wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.
He lit another cigarette. In the street below a child yelled, a woman called across the street to another woman, the car crawled by in low gear, making a racket of noise. Listening to the noise, he thought of the sea in the sunshine and felt the breeze against his face. His hands closed on the spokes of the tiller and he heard the murmur of the powerful engines. Patience, he told himself. Two or three years and he would be afloat.
Every Friday night he took Melanie out to dinner and then to a movie. This night—he glanced at his watch— he would be taking her out. Next Friday would be different, but he wouldn’t tell her tonight. He would jump it on her. Although she wasn’t a talker, if she knew beforehand that next Friday was going to be special, she might worry.
He spent the next two hours going over his plan again and again, then finally, realizing the futility of this constant rehashing, he got up, stripped off and took a shower.
An hour later he picked Melanie up outside her apartment and drove her to Luigi’s restaurant.
They had a good Italian dinner. They didn’t have much to say to each other. Melanie always seemed to be hungry and when the food was placed before her, she ate happily and in silence while Johnny, now thinking of Friday 29th, pushed his food around on the plate and didn’t eat much. He kept looking at her. His eyes took away her clothes and saw her olive-skinned, lush body naked and he thought of the wasted three hours ahead of them when they would sit in a stuffy movie house and watch some goddamn film before he could lay her on her back on the big double bed.
“Have you something on your mind, Johnny?” Melanie asked suddenly. She had devoured an enormous plate of spaghetti and was sitting back, eager for the next course, her big breasts forcing themselves against her cheap skimpy dress.
Johnny jerked his thoughts back to her and he smiled.
“Just looking at you, baby,” he said and put his hand over hers. “Right now, I’ve got the hots for you.”
She felt a hot rush of blood to her loins.
“Me too. Let’s skip the movie tonight. Let’s go back and have a real ball.”
That was what he wanted and his fingers closed tightly over the back of her hand.
“You have yourself a deal, baby.”
Then a shadow fell across the table and Johnny looked up.
Toni Capello was standing there. He was wearing a black suit, a yellow-and-white striped shirt and a yellow kipper tie. He looked very dressy, but his flat snake’s eyes remained snake’s eyes.
“Hi, Johnny,” he said and his eyes shifted to Melanie and then back to Johnny. “The boss wants you.”
Johnny turned hot with anger. He knew Toni was almost as good as he was (had been?) with a gun and he hated Toni as he knew Toni hated him.
He sensed Melanie was scared. He glanced at her and saw she was looking at Toni with wide, frightened eyes.
“What do you mean… he wants me?” Johnny demanded.
A waiter hovered to change the plates, then moved away.
“Like I said… he wants you and pronto.”
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
