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:
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.
