He pulled himself together.
‘Shut your mouth!’ he snarled. ‘More talk like that and I’ll tear your goddamn head off!’
He went away, slamming the door.
I had sown a seed of fear in him. I was sure of it.
Tomorrow, I would try to escape.
chapter seven
I spent a restless night. Although I was determined to try to escape the following morning, the more I thought about my plan, the less confident I became.
I felt confident I could knock Mazzo out, but there was the Jap chauffeur. He bothered me: an unknown factor. There was the problem of the ignition key. Did the chauffeur leave the key in the ignition lock? I thought that was unlikely, but there were guards around, and he might just think no one could get at the car and steal it, and he could leave the key in the lock.
I then thought of the high iron gates. Would they withstand the shock of the Rolls, driven fast at them? It would be a hell of a letdown if the Rolls bounced off them.
In spite of these doubts, I was determined to try.
I was shaving when I heard Mazzo wheel in the breakfast trolley. I finished shaving, slapped on lotion and walked into the living room.
‘Morning, Mazzo,’ I said. ‘Let’s have some exercise this morning. How about a little jogging?’
My plan was to jog around the estate and finish up by the garage. I would tell Mazzo I hadn’t seen the engine of a Rolls, so let’s take a look. Once inside the garage, I planned to knock him cold, get into the Rolls, lock the doors, hope the ignition key would be in place and take off.
‘You’re going to the office this morning,’ Mazzo growled.
I looked sharply at him.
‘Is Mr. Durant back?’
‘Mrs. Harriet’s orders. Eat your breakfast.’
I suddenly wasn’t hungry. What was cooking? If Durant was back with the final papers to sign, time was running out for me.
I drank coffee, ate a piece of toast and ignored the ham and eggs.
Mazzo went into the bedroom. I followed him and watched him take a suit from one of the closets. I saw the suit was mine! I began to panic.
‘You don’t put on the mask,’ Mazzo said. ‘You go to the office as yourself. Get it?’
‘What’s the idea?’
‘You talk too much. You’re paid to do what you’re told. Get dressed! We leave in half an hour,’ and he left me.
I stood for a long moment, motionless, my heart thumping.
You go to the office as yourself!
This could mean only one thing: Durant was back with the final papers for my signature, then he would tell me I was free to go. Probably, he would tell Mazzo to take me to the Miami airport for a plane to Los Angeles.
During the drive to the airport, there would be a prick of a needle and I would cease to exist.
Man! Was I in a sweat!
I went to the liquor cabinet and poured myself an enormous Scotch. I drank it down as if it were water, then I stood still until the Scotch hit me. It stiffened my wilting spine.
Come on, Jerry, I said to myself. You’re not dead yet.
I decided, when I reached the office, I would refuse to sign. That would throw a spanner in their murderous works. What could they do? At least, delaying tactics would gain time for me.
Feeling a little high, I put on my own clothes and my own shoes. After wearing John Merrill Ferguson’s super suits, my suit looked terrible as I stared at myself in the wall mirror. I had forgotten how shabby I had been looking. No wonder Lu Prentz had stopped inviting me to lunch. I looked what I was: an unemployed, seedy, bit- part actor. Then I remembered I had seven thousand dollars in the bank. If I could get out of this mess, I would refit my wardrobe and pester
Lu until he found work for me. But I had to get out of this mess first!
‘You’ll want the make-up kit,’ Mazzo said. He had come silently into the room.
‘What’s all this about?’ I demanded, staring at him.
‘You heard me! Pack it!’
Take it easy, I told myself as I walked into the bathroom.
Remember, you have the last word: no signing.
I put the mask, the moustache and the eyebrows in the make-up box. Mazzo took the box from me. On the bed was a suitcase, packed with the dark mohair suit I had worn which belonged to John Merrill Ferguson.
Mazzo put the make-up box in the suitcase, closed the lid and snapped the locks.
‘Let’s go.’
We went down the stairs and to the open front doors.
There was a beat-up looking taxi waiting. At the wheel sat Marco, the night guard.
A man came out of the shadows of the hall and took the suitcase from Mazzo.
‘This is Pedro,’ Mazzo said. ‘He’ll take care of you. You do what he says . . . get it?’
I looked at the man: short, squat, broad shouldered, wearing a pale blue light weight suit and a dark brown panama hat.
During my movie days, I had come across all kinds of toughies and thugs, but this man took the Oscar. It flashed into my mind that he could be my executioner. He looked deadly enough to be just that. Had he murdered Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine?
‘Aren’t you coming?’ I asked Mazzo.
He gave a sly grin.
‘I’ve things to do. Go along with Pedro. He’ll take care of you.’
Pedro waved me to the taxi. I had an urge to bolt, but I saw two guards standing close by in the sun, watching. Sweating, I walked down the steps and climbed into the taxi. As I settled on the springless seat, Pedro sat by my side. The taxi drove off.
‘Relax, Mr. Stevens,’ Pedro said in a soft spoken voice. ‘You do your job, and I’ll do mine, huh?’
His job? To murder me?
I said nothing.
As we reached the high double gates, I leaned forward. A guard opened the gates. Looking at the gates, I felt sure, if ever I had the opportunity, I could smash my way through them in the Rolls, but would I ever now have the opportunity? Had I left it too late?
I sat back as the taxi left the Largo and headed for the City. Should I make a break to escape when I got out of the taxi to enter the Ferguson Electronic & Oil Corporation offices? The press would be there. Pedro wouldn’t dare pull a gun. I decided as soon as we reached the offices, I would bolt. The guards and Pedro couldn’t chase after me on the busy street.
Then I was suddenly aware that the taxi had turned off the main boulevard and was cutting down a side street.
Startled, I looked at Pedro.
‘This isn’t the way,’ I said, dry mouthed.
He gave a little grin.
‘We go in the back entrance, Mr. Stevens,’ he said. ‘That way we don’t have to worry about the news jackals.’
It was as if he had read my mind. Panic took hold of me again. Should I throw myself out of the car. I looked at the car door, then saw the car door handle had been removed.
Pedro’s heavy hand fell on my arm.
‘Take it easy, Mr. Stevens.’
