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    Now here was Friday 29th. One more collection and he would then move into the world of one-arm bandits and Bernie would gratefully bow out. These past four days had told Johnny that the job wasn't all that bad. Unlike Bernie, he had the reputation behind him to wave in people's faces: he realized no one respected Bernie and he marvelled that Bernie had lasted as long as he had.
    Johnny touched off the ash of his cigarette as he stared up at the ceiling. He was relieved that he had no qualms, no feeling of nerves. He thought of all that money: $150,000! He mustn't be too successful with the one-arm bandits, he warned himself. He wanted to retire from the scene in two years. He could wait that long, but no longer. His first year would be good.
    Maybe, he might even qualify for the one per cent deal, but the following year, he would slow down, appearing to lose his grip, and knowing Massino and Andy, they would look around for a younger man. Then he could bow out as Bernie was now bowing out.
    Melanie stirred and half sat up.
    "You want coffee, honey?" she asked sleepily.
    He stubbed out his cigarette and leaned over her.
    "There's time." His fingers caressed her breast and she sighed happily.
    Later, when they were having breakfast, Johnny said casually, "I'll see you tonight, baby. We'll go to Luigi's."
    Melanie, happily eating pancakes and syrup, nodded.
    "Yes, Johnny."
    He paused, not quite sure how to tell her. Goddamn it! He thought, this can't be complicated. Tell her half the truth. She'll buy anything . . . just half the truth.
    "Baby, I have a job to do tonight," he said as he cut into his pancake. "Are you listening?"
    She looked up. The syrup was making a tiny trickle down her chin.
    "Yes."
    "This job is nothing to do with my boss and he wouldn't want me to do it. It means a little more money for me, but Massino mustn't know about it." He paused and looked at her. She was listening. Her black eyes were already showing signs of panic. She had always been terrified of Massino and hated Johnny working for him. "There's nothing to worry about," he went on, his voice soft and soothing. "You know what an alibi means?"
    She put down her knife and fork and nodded.
    "I need an alibi, baby, and I want you to supply it. Nov listen, tonight, we eat at Luigi's, then we come here. I leave my car outside. Around midnight, I'll leave you for thirty minutes while I do this job. I come back and if any questions are asked you say I didn't leave you once we got back after dinner. Get it?"
    Melanie put her hands to her face and her elbows on the table. It was a bad sign, Johnny told himself that she had now lost interest in her food.
    "What job?" she asked.
    He too suddenly didn't want anything more to eat. He pushed his plate aside and lit a cigarette.
    "That's something you needn't know, baby," he said. "It's a job. All you have to tell anyone who might ask is that we spent the night here together and I didn't leave you for a second. Will you do that?"
    She stared at him, her soft black eyes frightened. "Who will ask?"
    "The chances are no one will ask, baby." He forced a smile. "But maybe the fuzz will ask . . . maybe Massino."
    She flinched.
    "I don't want trouble, Johnny. No . . . don't ask me to do it."
    He pushed back his chair and stood up. He had half expected this reaction, knowing Melanie as he did. He moved to the window and looked down at the slow- moving traffic. He was sure of her. She would do it, he told himself, but she needed to be persuaded.
    He let a long silence build up, then turning, he came back to the table and sat down.
    "I've never asked you to do anything for me, have I? Not once. I've done a lot for you. You have this apartment, the furniture, you have lots of things I have given you, but never once have I asked you to do anything for me . . . now, I'm asking. It's important."
    She stared at him.
    "I just have to say that you were here tonight and you didn't leave?"
    "That's it. You