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
* * *
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
Similar Books
