This beautiful, sensual woman, sitting opposite me, telling me secrets, gave me no confidence. I had an instinctive feeling that once I had done what they wanted me to do, I too would be murdered.
She looked at the clock on the overmantel.
‘I must go. This morning you will be taken to the office with Durant.’ She stood up, smiling at me, then coming around the trolley as I got to my feet, she moved close to me. I put my arms around her.
‘Shall I come tonight?’ Her kiss was soft and inviting.
‘Of course. Does Mazzo know what’s going on?’
‘Don’t worry about him.’ She drew away from me. ‘Remember, Jerry, you could be John,’ then turning, she left me.
I drew in a long, deep breath. What did she mean: You could be John ? She was planning something, but what? I had time. I needed all the information I could get from her. I was sure I was walking on a lethal tightrope.
I now knew Ferguson was with a nurse in the left wing of this enormous house, and he was rapidly turning into a vegetable. I now had learned that his vast kingdom was built on borrowed money and one leak that he was mentally ill could bring his kingdom crashing down.
Mazzo came in at this moment.
‘Office today, Mr. Ferguson,’ he said. ‘Get with the mask.’
Twenty minutes later, wearing a dark business suit, the mask, the dark goggles, plus the hat, I followed Mazzo down the stairs to the waiting Rolls.
Durant was sitting in the car, reading documents. I sat by his side.
Mazzo got in beside the Jap chauffeur.
As Durant put the papers back in his briefcase, he said, ‘There are always pressmen waiting outside the building. When you get out of the car, walk with Mazzo. Your bodyguards will keep the press away. You have papers to sign. Your new secretary is Sonia Malcolm. She hasn’t seen Mr. Ferguson. There will be no problem. You will not meet any of the other staff.’
‘Anything you say, Joe.’
He turned on me.
‘I told you to call me Mr. Durant when we are alone!’ he snarled.
Feeling confident, behind the screen of the mask, I smiled at him.
‘Don’t talk that way to me, Joe. I am the Boss . . . remember?’
Looking as if he were about to have a stroke, he said in a strangled voice, ‘Listen to me, you goddam, two- bit actor . . .’
I cut him short.
‘Shut your big mouth!’ I rasped in Ferguson’s voice. ‘You listen to me! The press are waiting. All I have to do is to take off this mask and you’ll be in the shit! So stop leaning on me or I’ll damn well lean on you!’
He stared at me the way Frankenstein must have stared at the monster he had created. He opened and shut his mouth, but no words came. We did an eyeball to eyeball confrontation, then he heaved himself around and stared out of the car’s window.
Man! Was I pleased with myself!
Well, at least, I was having a try.
* * *
It was quite a morning. I played the role of a billionaire, and loved it.
First, there were four press photographers at the entrance to the Ferguson Electronic & Oil Corporation, but five tough bodyguards brushed them aside as I walked into the big lobby. Durant, looking like a demon, I and Mazzo entered a plush elevator. We were whisked to the twenty-fourth floor.
John Merrill Ferguson’s office was something out of a movie set: vast, luxurious, picture windows, overlooking the harbor and beach, vast desk and so on.
The elevator took us straight into this room. Durant moved to the desk.
‘Sit there. There are many papers for you to sign.’ He now had control of his temper. ‘You had better have a trial run with the signature. These papers are important.’
I gave Mazzo my hat, then walked to the executive chair and sat down. The desk was big enough to play billiards on.
Durant regarded me the way a film director looks at an actor as he fixes a camera angle.
‘Lower the sun blind,’ he said to Mazzo.
When the room became dim, he nodded and went away.
There was a long pause while I scribbled Ferguson’s signature on a scratch pad. Then satisfied, I threw the torn sheets into the trash basket by my side and helped myself to a cigarette from a gold box.
‘The Boss don’t smoke,’ Mazzo said.
‘The new secretary doesn’t know. Relax with your mouth, Mazzo,’ I said.
There came a tap on the door and a girl came in, carrying a pile of folders.
‘Good morning, Mr. Ferguson,’ she said, coming to the desk. ‘These are for your signature, please.’
I leaned back in the chair and regarded her.
She was quite a woman: tall, well built, auburn hair, piled to the top of her head, attractive features, without being beautiful, big green eyes. She was wearing a pale blue dress with white collar and cuffs.
‘You’ll be Miss Malcolm?’ I said.
‘Yes, Mr. Ferguson.’ She looked directly at me.
‘I hope you’ll be happy here, Miss Malcolm.’
‘Thank you.’
She put the files on the desk.
Durant came in.
‘All right, Miss Malcolm,’ he said curtly. ‘Get that agreement typed right away.’
‘Yes, sir.’
I watched her cross the room. I liked her graceful walk, her slim hips and her straight back. When she had gone, Durant said, ‘Show me the signature.’
I wrote Ferguson’s signature and pushed it across the desk to him. He studied it, then nodded.
‘Sign all these letters and papers,’ he said, indicating the file. Then to Mazzo, he went on, ‘Sit by his side. He is not to read anything he signs. Understand?’
‘Sure, Mr. Durant,’ Mazzo said, and pulled up a chair. He sat down beside me.
‘Be careful how you sign,’ Durant went on to me. ‘Take your time and don’t get careless.’
‘Okay, Joe,’ I said, and reached for the first file.
‘I’ll do that,’ Mazzo said. He produced a sheet of paper from a drawer, then opening a file he took from it a letter. He laid the paper over the contents of the letter. ‘You sign there, Mr. Ferguson.’
Durant watched for a moment, then left.
The signing went on for the next two hours with long pauses to smoke a cigarette and to let my hand remain flexible. I suppose I must have signed over a hundred letters and some fifty legal documents.
When the signing was over, Mazzo pressed a switch on the intercom and said, ‘Collect the files, will you?’
Miss Malcolm came in and picked up the files.
‘Would you like coffee, Mr. Ferguson?’ she asked, pausing to give me a tiny smile.
‘That would be nice,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
When she had gone, Mazzo said in a disapproving voice, ‘The Boss don’t drink coffee.’
‘Oh, button up!’ I said. ‘She’s like me, new here.’
Mazzo shrugged and sat away from the desk, rubbing his shaven head and looking bored.
I examined all the gadgets on the desk and the panel of press buttons. I had no idea what they were all about, but they intrigued me.
Miss Malcolm came in with coffee.
‘Milk or black, Mr. Ferguson?’
‘Black, please and no sugar.’
