‘The will?’
‘Of course. When John married me two years ago, he made a will leaving me all his possessions.’
‘But you told me he hasn’t made a will.’
‘He hasn’t, but I have. I have a watertight, legal will completely protecting me. All it needs is his signature.’
Again the evil little smile. ‘Your forged signature, Jerry.’
I grabbed at straws.
‘A will has to be witnessed.’
She made an impatient movement.
‘When we were married in Las Vegas two years ago, the two poor blacks also witnessed the will. I have their signatures on the will. That has been arranged.’
I sat there staring at her.
‘For your cooperation and for your future silence, Jerry, I will pay you two million dollars. What do you say?’
‘You haven’t two million dollars,’ I said huskily.
Again the evil little smile.
‘I will have. You and I will have to wait until John dies, but don’t worry. Two million is worth waiting for, isn’t it? John could die within a month or so. I told you, he is getting rapidly worse.’
Was she now planning to murder John Merrill Ferguson? Looking at her, seeing that smile, I felt sure she was. I felt sure also that she would never pay me two million dollars. Once she had the forged signatures, I would cease to exist.
I had to play for time.
‘Durant? Does he know what you are planning?’
‘Don’t worry about Durant. He has his future to consider. He goes the way the wind blows.’
‘The mother?’
‘There is nothing she can do once I can prove I am John’s wife. Don’t worry about her. I am asking you, for two million dollars, will you cooperate?’ Her voice was like steel.
Because I knew I was in a trap, and for the moment, I could see no way out, and because I knew if I refused, it would be the end of me, I said, ‘You can rely on me to cooperate.’
She stared at me for a long moment, her violet eyes glittering, then she smiled, got up and left me.
* * *
Four hours later, I was still sitting in the chair when Mazzo wheeled in the breakfast trolley.
‘Sleep well, Mr. Ferguson?’ he asked as he poured coffee. He gave me a sly little grin.
I didn’t bother to answer him. I looked at the pile of scrambled eggs and sausages. My stomach cringed.
‘Nothing to eat,’ I said, and reached for the cup of coffee.
The sixth credit note from the Chase National Bank lay on the trolley.
‘You’re getting to be a rich man,’ Mazzo said. ‘All that nice loot piling up in the bank.’
Did I detect a jeering note in his voice?
I picked up the credit note and put it in my pocket.
‘Another big day, Mr. Ferguson,’ Mazzo went on. ‘We go to the office again. Get the mask on when you’re ready,’ and he left.
During those dawn hours, I had done a lot of thinking. Loretta’s promise to pay me two million dollars made no impact. I was as sure as I was sure I was a prisoner in this house, that she would never pay me. I had gone to the window and had looked down at the vast expanse of immaculate lawn. Two shadowy figures were moving around. I had gone to the bedroom window and had looked down at the swimming pool. Two more shadowy figures stood by the pool.
I was a closely guarded prisoner, and returning to the living room, I vainly tried to think of a way to escape.
Now, sipping the coffee, a disturbing thought, sparked off by the faint jeer of Mazzo’s voice, dropped into my mind.
How did I know that one thousand dollars a day was being credited to an account in my name at the Chase National Bank? I took out the credit note and examined it.
It stated that $1,000 had been credited to account number 445990, Mr. Jerry Stevens.
I remembered, in the past, when I had paid in cash, I had received a credit note, stamped and initialed. This credit note wasn’t stamped, but it was initialed.
Maybe I was scaring myself for nothing, but I had to know. If these six credit notes I had received were fakes, then I was on a short term of life.
I had to know.
I was going to the office. I thought of Sonia Malcolm. She could be a remote lifeline.
Getting to my feet, I went to the desk, found a sheet of paper and wrote: Top secret: Ask Chase National Bank, Seamore Street, Frisco if they have an account number 445990 in the name of Jerry Stevens. If yes, nod your head. If no, shake your head, but say nothing.
I scrawled John Merrill Ferguson’s signature, then folded the paper into a thin strip and tucked it under the strap of my watch.
I wondered.
How would Sonia react? Mazzo would be watching. When I gave her the strip of paper, would she keep her cool? I decided she would. There was something about this woman that gave me confidence. She was far from being a dumb secretary.
I went into the bathroom and put on the mask.
Driving down to the Ferguson Electric & Oil Corporation, Durant, I and Mazzo went through the same rigmarole as the previous day. The press still tried to speak to me. Camera men let off their flashlights, the bodyguards shoved them aside.
Durant, looking sour, had nothing to say during the drive. He studied document after document. I had nothing to say to him.
In the big office, he waved me to the executive chair behind the desk.
‘I’ll have papers for you to sign. Wait,’ and he went away.
Mazzo sat away from the desk, crossed his legs and grinned at me.
‘It beats me what these guys do with all these goddamn papers,’ he said. ‘Without paper, they would starve.’
‘Yeah, I guess that’s right.’
Sonia Malcolm came in, carrying a stack of files.
‘Good morning, Mr. Ferguson.’
I watched her cross the room. I compared her with Loretta. What a difference! How women can differ!
I eased the strip of paper from my watch strap as she laid the files on the desk.
‘These are for signature, Mr. Ferguson.’
I took a quick look at Mazzo who was yawning.
‘Thank you, Miss Malcolm,’ I said, then standing up, coming around the desk, with my back towards Mazzo, I thrust the strip of paper into her hand. As I did so, I looked steadily into her dark brown eyes.
Her fingers closed over the paper and the strip disappeared.
No reaction. No startled expression. I couldn’t have wished for a better performance.
‘When you are ready, Mr. Ferguson, please ring,’ and she left.
I was so relieved, I could have shouted aloud. I had bet on her, and I had won!
Mazzo came to the desk, pulled up a chair, took out a sheet of paper, and said, ‘Okay, Mr. Ferguson, let’s get at it.’ He opened one of the files, took out a letter, covered it with the paper, then said, ‘You sign here.’
I had to force myself to concentrate. What would Sonia think when she read my note? Suppose Durant was out there and saw her reading it? Suppose she went to him and showed him the note?
‘Hey!’ Mazzo barked. ‘You sign here!’
I realized I had been staring into space, my pen idle.
Again I forced myself to continue signing. This went on for the next hour. Then I could stand it no longer. I dropped the pen and shoved back my chair.
‘Cramp,’ I said and stood up, flexing my fingers. ‘Let’s have a drink, Mazzo.’
He grinned, got up and went to the cocktail cabinet.
‘What’ll you have, Mr. Ferguson?’
‘Join me in a beer, Mazzo.’
‘Fine.’
He opened the refrigerator and found two cans. As he snapped the lids, he said, ‘Dead easy tomorrow. Mr. D. goes to Washington. We’ll have two days easy. Some tennis, huh?’
I took the glass of beer from him.
‘Sure.’
We saluted each other and drank.
‘Seen anything of the Boss?’ I
asked casually. ‘Mrs. Ferguson tells me he’s real bad.’
‘They all like to think he’s bad, but he ain’t . . .’ He stopped short and stared at me. Into his eyes came the look of a tiger on the hunt. ‘Don’t ask questions,’ he said, finished his beer and walked back to the desk. ‘Let’s go.’
He had made a slip.
Was he going to say: He ain’t that bad?
I carried my glass to the window and looked down at the ocean and the beach and the happy people disporting themselves. How I longed to join them!
‘We’d better get to work,’ Mazzo rasped. ‘Mr. D. wants this finished pronto.’
I returned to the desk, sat down and continued to sign.
By midday, I had finished the last document. I pushed back my chair as I watched Mazzo flick down the intercom switch.
I swear my heart was thudding. Would Sonia give me the information I so badly needed? My mind raced.
If she gave the ‘yes’ signal, it would mean my life could be spared. I couldn’t believe these people would stash six thousand dollars in an account to my credit and then murder me. That would be throwing money away.
But if she gave a negative sign, then I would know, eventually, when I was no longer of any use to them, the thumb would be turned down.
I tried to keep calm. Sweat was running down inside this hated mask. I sat at the desk watching Mazzo pile up the files. This was the worst moment I had ever experienced.
The door opened and Sonia came in. She walked to the desk and picked up the files while Mazzo wandered away across the room.
She looked at me and I looked at her.
‘Will that be all, Mr. Ferguson?’ she asked, holding the files against her.
Then slowly, still looking at me, she shook her head, giving me the negative sign.
If it wasn’t for the mask, she would have seen my stark fear.
‘That’s it, baby,’ Mazzo said and came between us.
She turned and left.
‘That’s a nice piece,’ Mazzo said. ‘I wouldn’t mind giving her a ride.’
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.
On the way back to the Ferguson residence, Mazzo, who was sitting beside me in the Rolls, said suddenly, ‘Something biting you, Mr. Ferguson?’
That was, of course, the understatement of the year.
I was in a major panic. I had this thought hammering in my mind: How much longer would. I stay alive? Was this Ape of a man, sitting by my side, going to be my executioner? I remembered his jeering voice when he had said I was piling up money in the bank. I was sure he knew Durant was gypping me.
I made an effort and got control of my panic.
‘Put yourself in my place, Mazzo,’ I said. ‘I’m getting bored with this business.’
He gave a little snigger.
‘Think of all the loot you’re collecting, Mr. Ferguson. I’d go along with anything if I got paid the way you’re getting paid.’
‘How long is this to go on?’ I asked.
‘Not long now. Mr. D. is finalizing the deal. He leaves for Washington tomorrow. Then there’ll be more papers for you to sign, and that’s it.’
‘A couple of weeks?’ I was desperately probing.
‘Maybe: could be less. It depends how Mr. D. gets on with the big shots in Washington.’
‘My Agent is fixing a TV job for me at the end of the month,’ I lied. ‘Think I’ll make it?’
Mazzo stared at me, his eyes savage and hungry.
‘Why should you sweat? You’ll have lots of loot. Who wants a pissy TV job when you are rolling in the stuff?’
Then I knew for sure, they planned to murder me.
I had my panic under control.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I said.
The Rolls drew up outside the entrance to the residence.
The Jap chauffeur got out and opened the rear door, taking off his cap and bowing.
Mazzo and I climbed the steps.
‘How about some tennis this afternoon?’ Mazzo asked.
I now realized if I was going to survive, Mazzo must have no idea that I knew what was going to happen to me. I must give the appearance of a man doing a job and at ease.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘What’s for lunch?’
‘I’ll go talk to the Chef. You know your way up.’
‘I wouldn’t mind a couple of lean lamb chops and a salad. Nothing heavy if I’m playing tennis.’ I walked up the broad stairs, paused at the head, but Mazzo had disappeared. I hesitated for a brief moment. I was tempted to bolt down the stairs and out into the garden, and down to the gates. Then I heard a faint sound and looking around, saw one of the bodyguards sitting in a dark corner, watching me. As I looked at him, he tipped his hat. Ignoring him, I walked down the corridor to the study, entered, closed the door and went over to the cocktail cabinet. I poured myself a stiff martini, then carrying the drink to the desk, I sat down. I looked at the three telephones on the desk. I lifted the receiver of one of them: the instrument was dead. I tried the other two: also dead.
I lit a cigarette and considered my future. At first glance, it looked horrifyingly bleak. I felt sure that as soon as this deal had been completed, I would go the way Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine had gone. I sipped the drink while I thought. Panic had now receded. I began to think clearly. It occurred to me that if they had me in a trap, I also, had them in a trap.
Without my signature, the big, vital deal would fall flat on its face!
Let’s look at this, Jerry, I said to myself. Let’s take a close look at this situation.
They had gone so far down the road, they now couldn’t do without me!
Suppose they were stupid enough to get rid of me as they had got rid of Larry Edwards? So what? They would have to begin again. To find some actor to impersonate Ferguson, to get him to learn to forge Ferguson’s signature, to get him to imitate Ferguson’s voice would be a real problem. Durant had already tried one impersonator who had failed him. He had found me. This time, his luck had held. He not only had found a man who could pass for Ferguson, but had the talent to forge his signature and imitate his voice. It could take months, even with all the money in the world, to replace me.
My mind shifted to Loretta. Durant was leaving for Washington tomorrow. Loretta had told me as soon as he had gone, a retired priest would arrive with a marriage certificate.
In return for signing the register and also the will, she would eventually pay me two million dollars. That stupid, lying bribe hadn’t even been believable to me. I had agreed because I remembered Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine, but both Loretta and Durant were far too committed for either of them to murder me.
Without me they were sunk!
Did this thought give me a lift!
All you have to do, I told myself, is to refuse to forge any more signatures. You have them over a barrel. You . . .
The door opened and Mazzo came in pushing a trolley.
‘Here’s your lunch, Mr. Ferguson, as ordered.’
He laid the table while I watched him. I felt good. I still had a lot of thinking to do, but, for the first time since I had been kidnapped, I could see a bright light at the end of this frightening tunnel.
‘There you are, Mr. Ferguson,’ Mazzo said, setting down the dish. ‘I’ll go feed my face. I’ll be back in an hour and a half, then we’ll play tennis . . . right?’
I ate with appetite. My panic was now forgotten.
Tonight, Loretta would come to my room. This would be the first showdown. She would be in for a surprise and there was nothing she could do about it.
I felt so good, I took eight games off Mazzo in three sets. I hit the ball with all my weight and strength and I could see, by his startled expression, as my passing shots zipped by him, how surprised he was. He had to pull out all his expertise to keep ahead.
When the game was over, we were both sweating and coming to the net, he grinned at me.
‘You could become quite a player, Mr. Ferguson. I ha
ven’t had such a good game in years.’
‘I’ll beat you yet,’ I said, and walked to where I had left my sweater. I remembered Loretta had said that John Merrill Ferguson lived with a nurse in a suite in the left wing of the house.
As I began pulling on the sweater, I looked to the left of the big house. On the top floor there were three big windows, and each window was protected by iron bars.
Iron bars? A prison? Was John Merrill Ferguson a prisoner? I remembered Mazzo had said: She likes to think he’s bad, but . . . Had I discovered something?
‘Let’s have a shower, Mr. Ferguson,’ Mazzo said and he picked up the racquets.
As we walked off the court, my mind was busy. Suppose John Merrill Ferguson wasn’t mentally ill? Suppose he had been locked away to give Durant and Mrs. Harriet free rein to control the Ferguson empire?
Was this story Loretta had told me that Ferguson was suffering from a strange mental illness a lie to explain to me why I had been hired to impersonate him? Why keep a man behind iron bars if he was a mental vegetable?
We reached the bottom of the steps leading to the entrance to the residence. Then abruptly I came to a stop.
Standing on the top step, was a white, toy poodle.
* * *
As I was stripping off in the bedroom for a shower, Mazzo poked his head around the door.
‘Hurry it up, Mr. Ferguson, the old lady wants to see you,’ he said, and I could see he looked worried.
‘Mrs. Harriet?’
‘Yeah. She’s just arrived. Hurry it up.’
I took a quick shower. Mazzo had put out an open neck shirt and linen slacks.
‘What’s she doing here?’ I asked as I struggled into the clothes.
‘How do I know? She’s here, so watch it.’
‘Do I put on the mask?’
‘No. She’ll be here in a minute. Go out there, and wait for her.’
I put on sandals and went into the living room.
Mazzo’s worried, flustered look became infectious. I too began to get worried. What was this old woman doing here, and what did she want with me?
I hadn’t been in the living room for more than a few minutes when the door opened and Harriet, carrying the poodle, came in.
‘Surprised to see me again?’ She smiled at me, pausing in the doorway.
1980 - You Can Say That Again Page 9