James Chase - You Can Say That Again

‘It is going to work!’ There was a whiplash snap in her voice that made my heart skip a beat.

‘But how?’

‘You know nothing about the power of big money. With money, anything can be arranged. When Durant told me you could forge John’s signature perfectly, I saw the solution. I made inquiries in Las Vegas. There is an elderly priest who retired two years ago, around the time I met John. He has a marriage register. I flew down there yesterday and talked to him. He needs money. His wife has cancer. His son is on drugs. We did a deal.’ She smiled her sardonic smile. ‘The day after tomorrow Durant goes to Washington. I have arranged for this priest to come here. He will give me a marriage certificate, dated two years back, when I met John. You will sign the register in John’s name, and hey, presto! I am married to John.’

I thought, then said, ‘Have you really fixed it? There should be witnesses.’

Her eyes like granite, she made an impatient gesture.

‘Jerry! It is all arranged. This supposed marriage was secret. Two witnesses were supposed to have been taken off the street. I found two poor blacks who, for a few dollars, signed the register. All that is necessary is for you to sign the register, and John and I are married.’

I could see the danger.

‘Wait a moment. You do realize that you are leaving yourself wide open to blackmail? This priest, these two witnesses, could come back again and again, and bleed you.’

She smiled. I have never seen such a cold, evil smile.

‘No one blackmails a Ferguson, Jerry.’

My mind switched to Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine. I was suddenly horribly sure that this priest and these two poor blacks would have fatal accidents.

‘Then there is another important thing you have to do,’ she said. ‘It is only the signature. The will.’

‘The will?’

‘Of course. When John married me two years ago, he made a will leaving me all his possessions.’

‘But you told me he hasn’t made a will.’

‘He hasn’t, but I have. I have a watertight, legal will completely protecting me. All it needs is his signature.’

Again the evil little smile. ‘Your forged signature, Jerry.’

I grabbed at straws.

‘A will has to be witnessed.’

She made an impatient movement.

‘When we were married in Las Vegas two years ago, the two poor blacks also witnessed the will. I have their signatures on the will. That has been arranged.’

I sat there staring at her.

‘For your cooperation and for your future silence, Jerry, I will pay you two million dollars. What do you say?’

‘You haven’t two million dollars,’ I said huskily.

Again the evil little smile.

‘I will have. You and I will have to wait until John dies, but don’t worry. Two million is worth waiting for, isn’t it? John could die within a month or so. I told you, he is getting rapidly worse.’

Was she now planning to murder John Merrill Ferguson? Looking at her, seeing that smile, I felt sure she was. I felt sure also that she would never pay me two million dollars. Once she had the forged signatures, I would cease to exist.

I had to play for time.

‘Durant? Does he know what you are planning?’

‘Don’t worry about Durant. He has his future to consider. He goes the way the wind blows.’

‘The mother?’

‘There is nothing she can do once I can prove I am John’s wife. Don’t worry about her. I am asking you, for two million dollars, will you cooperate?’ Her voice was like steel.

Because I knew I was in a trap, and for the moment, I could see no way out, and because I knew if I refused, it would be the end of me, I said, ‘You can rely on me to cooperate.’

She stared at me for a 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.’