I watched him, my heart thudding.
Finally, he said, ‘Not bad. I see, Stevens, you intend to cooperate. For a first attempt, this is encouraging.’
I sat back in my chair, feeling a surge of relief run through me.
‘That will do for today. Tomorrow, you will try again.’ He regarded me with his hard, ruthless eyes. ‘You have three days in which to perfect the signature.’ He turned to Mazzo. ‘Clear up this mess, then attend to Stevens’ needs,’ and he left.
Mazzo found a wastepaper basket and began picking up the balls of paper. I helped him. When the room was tidy again, Mazzo smiled at me.
‘Palsy, you’re going to survive. Anyone who can please that sonofabitch is smart.’
I didn’t say anything, but I registered the fact that Mazzo had no time for Durant.
‘Well, palsy, how about a little workout in the gym?’ Mazzo asked. ‘A big guy like you doesn’t want to sit on his butt all day. Let’s go and loosen up.’
I was glad to get out of my prison and walk along the corridor to an elevator. He and I sank between floors, and when the elevator stopped, the door swung open. Mazzo led the way into a large, fully equipped gymnasium.
‘I’ve seen you on TV, palsy. You’re a good fighter,’ Mazzo said, giving me his rat smile. ‘Let’s put on the gloves, huh?’
I did consider myself a good scrapper. When playing the roles of baddies in Westerns, I had prided myself not to have a double. But, looking at this man mountain, I felt a qualm.
‘I have to be careful of my hands, Mazzo,’ I said. ‘I have this writing job.’
Again the rat smile.
‘Sure . . . sure. Nothing to it, palsy. We wear gloves. Just a little sparring. Nothing to it.’
He went to a locker and produced two pairs of sparring gloves. Seeing there was no way out, I took off my jacket and shirt while he did the same. The sight of his huge muscles alarmed me. I put on the gloves and waited until he also put on the gloves, then we faced each other.
I pranced around him, noting he was slow on his feet: a man of his size had to be slow. He pushed out his left and I shifted my head and poked him hard on his nose.
He shuffled away, and I saw surprise in his little eyes.
He sent over a left hook. It was telegraphed, and I took it on my right glove, but the force of the hook sent me back. I knew if one of his punches landed, I would be flattened. He hit like a pile driver.
We pranced politely around. I poked his head back when he came too close and he snorted. This went on for some minutes, then I saw an evil smile flicker on his lipless mouth. I felt instinctively, he was about to launch a blockbuster. I didn’t give him time to get set.
I weaved towards him, jabbing with my left in his face, throwing him off balance, then I let fly with my best right hand hook with all my weight behind it. My fist smashed on his jaw and he went down as if the bones in his legs had turned to putty. His shoulders crashed down on a wrestling mat: his eyes rolled back: he was out to the world.
I tore off the gloves and knelt beside him, lifted his shaven head, patting his cheeks.
I was scared witless that when he recovered, he would tear me apart.
It took more than ten seconds for him to come to the surface. When I saw the light of life come into his eyes, I pushed him into a sitting position, then I stood away as one might stand away from a drugged tiger, getting to its feet.
He peered at me, then he smiled: not a rat smile this time, but a wide, friendly grin.
‘That was a beaut, palsy,’ he said, and shook his head. ‘Man, can you sock!’ He offered me his hand and I dragged him to his feet. He rubbed his jaw, then burst out laughing. ‘And I was dim enough to take you for a phoney.’
I drew in a long, slow breath of relief.
‘I’m sorry, Mazzo. You had me scared. If you had caught me with one of your blockbusters, I couldn’t have worked for Mr. Durant. I had to uncork my best.’
He peeled off his gloves and again rubbed his jaw, staring at me, then he nodded his shaven head.
‘You’re right, palsy. Listen, don’t say anything about this to that sonofabitch. He would have my balls. Okay?’
‘Sure, and would you skip the palsy routine. Call me Jerry.’
He stared at me for a long moment, then nodded.
‘Yeah. Well, come on, Jerry, let’s have a workout.’
Although I was practically sure he was a killer and I feared him, I had a feeling that now he just might be on my side. We worked together throwing a medicine ball around and with the bars until we were both sweating.
I felt I had made a major step forward.
After we had showered and redressed, he led me back to my room.
By now, I was hungry.
‘You ask, you get,’ Mazzo said when I said it was time to eat. ‘Anything goes here.’
So I asked for chicken Maryland.
He patted me on my shoulder.
‘You like that, Jerry? Me too.’ He rubbed his jaw and widened his smile. ‘You’re going to survive.’ He tapped his vast chest. ‘I’m telling you,’ and he went away.
* * *
The next day was a replica of the previous day.
When Mazzo wheeled in the breakfast trolley, I found another credit note in my favor for one thousand dollars. This was encouraging.
Breakfast over, I sat at the table and worked on John Merrill Ferguson’s signature. I was in a more relaxed mood, and I began to feel more confident.
After an hour, I discarded the tracing paper and kept on writing the signature on ordinary paper. I was still doing this, an hour later, when the door slid back and Durant came in. He stood over me, studying my many attempts.
‘Take a fresh piece of paper and write the signature,’ he said.
I did as I was told. He took the paper and examined the signature.
‘Yes. You are doing well, Stevens. Keep at it. I want you to be as familiar with this signature as you are with your own.’ He moved away. ‘I have been making arrangements for you. I have paid your rent, and your clothes and personal effects have been packed and are here. I have seen your agent, Prentz, and have paid him the commission he asked for. I have told him you are now in Europe, working for me. You have no further ties nor debts.’ He paused to stare at me. ‘You are entirely at my disposal.’
I felt scared. There was something in his staring eyes that sent a red light flashing in my mind.
‘Continue with the signature,’ he went on. ‘Tomorrow, if I am satisfied, you will be moved from here, and you will begin the impersonation.’
‘Where do I go?’ I asked huskily.
‘You will be told later. So far, Stevens, you are proving satisfactory. Remember, you don’t ask questions,’ he said curtly and left me.
It took me some minutes before I could bring myself to begin again the dreary chore of writing the signature.
I was committed. At least, so far, I was giving satisfaction and making money.
Lunchtime arrived. Mazzo wheeled in the trolley.
The meal was a big prawn salad, decorated with slices of lobster meat.
‘Okay?’ he said, smiling at me. ‘Build yourself up, Jerry. You have work to do this afternoon.’
Two hours later, when I was still working on the signature, the door opened. Mazzo, followed by Charles, came in.
Charles was carrying his make-up box. Mazzo had a suit over his arm and a pair of shoes in his hand.
‘Mr. Stevens!’ Charles exclaimed rather breathlessly. ‘We must get to work.’ His eyes were darting with
