Knock Knock Who's There? by James Hadley Chase Page B

seventy."
    Ernie gaped at him.
    "Seventy?"
    "That's right. He had his seventy-second birthday last month, but he's tough. Make no mistake about that . . . spry as a man half his age."
    "Well, I guess we'll be getting along. Nice meeting you, Mr. Dukes."
    After shaking hands, Ernie followed Toni out into the sunshine. "Canned stuff and bread and a bottle of Scotch."
    "What the hell for?" Toni demanded.
    "Go get enough food to last us a couple of days," Ernie said. "Can't you see all these old creeps are watching us?"
    Toni went down the street to the general store while Ernie got into the passenger's seat of the car. He pushed his hat over his eyes and rested.
    After a while Toni came back with a big bag of groceries and a bottle of Scotch. He put the bag on the back seat, then got under the driving wheel.
    "So now what?"
    "We go to Hampton hill or whatever the hell it's called," Ernie said.
    "Is that such a hot idea?"
    "Use your nut. We flew down here. Johnny and Fuselli are driving down. We have four or five hours start ahead of them. It's my bet they'll bring the money here. When they arrive, we'll be all over them before they know what's hit them, but we could have a wait."
    Toni thought about this, then grunted.
    "Okay."
    Engaging gear, he drove fast along the broad road, lined on either side with trees heavy with oranges and headed for Hampton hill.

FIVE

    A cup of coffee before him, Johnny sat at a small table and looked around the crowded cafe. There was a steady roar of voices as long-haul truckers greeted each other, ate hamburgers, swigged numerous cups of coffee, then heaved themselves to their feet and went out into the pale sunshine as other truckers came in.
    Johnny glanced at his watch. The time was 05.25. He had to get moving soon, he told himself, but up to now, he had held back as every trucker seemed to know every other trucker and he was uneasy about approaching a group of them. He had tried one man who stood near him while waiting for ham and eggs, but the man shook his head.
    "No luck, pal. No passengers: against the Company's rules."
    Then a powerfully-built man came in and Johnny noted with surprise no one greeted him. This man went to the bar and ordered pancakes and syrup and coffee, then looked around for a vacant seat.
    Johnny waved to him and carrying the plate of food, the big man came over and sat down.
    Johnny looked searchingly at him: an ex-boxer, he thought. The flat nose and the scar tissues made this an easy guess. The face was lined, worried and sullen and yet there was something likeable about this man.
    "Hi!" the man said as he set down the food. "Joe Davis. This goddamn place is always over full."
    "Al Bianco," Johnny said.
    Davis began to eat while Johnny lit a cigarette. Again he looked at his watch. Time was moving along. He wondered if Massino had alerted the organization or what he was doing.
    "Going south?" he asked.
    Davis glanced up.
    "Yeah. You ain't trucking?"
    "Looking for a ride," Johnny said. "I pay my way. Would you be going near Jacksonville?"
    "Right through to Vero Beach." Davis regarded Johnny, ate some more, then said, "You're welcome. It won't cost you a thing. I welcome company."
    "Thanks." Johnny finished his coffee. "You reckon to take off soon?"
    "As soon as I've got this junk down my throat. It's a hell of a haul."
    "I'll be outside, waiting." Johnny said and got to his feet. "I'll get myself a wash."
    After paying for his coffee, Johnny went into the toilet, washed his face and hands, then went out into the cool crisp air.
    He stood around, watching the big trucks take off and go roaring down the freeway. What a hell of a job! he thought. Then his mind again switched to Massino. He felt a little knot of fear. He knew the organization had never failed to find their man, nor failed to kill him.
    There is always the first time, he told himself and grinned mirthlessly. Who knows? He could make history. The first man to beat the Mafia. With the cold wind fanning