James Chase - You Can Say That Again

My mind shifted to Loretta. Durant was leaving for Washington tomorrow. Loretta had told me as soon as he had gone, a retired priest would arrive with a marriage certificate.

In return for signing the register and also the will, she would eventually pay me two million dollars. That stupid, lying bribe hadn’t even been believable to me. I had agreed because I remembered Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine, but both Loretta and Durant were far too committed for either of them to murder me.

Without me they were sunk!

Did this thought give me a lift!

All you have to do, I told myself, is to refuse to forge any more signatures. You have them over a barrel. You . . .

The door opened and Mazzo came in pushing a trolley.

‘Here’s your lunch, Mr. Ferguson, as ordered.’

He laid the table while I watched him. I felt good. I still had a lot of thinking to do, but, for the first time since I had been kidnapped, I could see a bright light at the end of this frightening tunnel.

‘There you are, Mr. Ferguson,’ Mazzo said, setting down the dish. ‘I’ll go feed my face. I’ll be back in an hour and a half, then we’ll play tennis . . . right?’

I ate with appetite. My panic was now forgotten.

Tonight, Loretta would come to my room. This would be the first showdown. She would be in for a surprise and there was nothing she could do about it.

I felt so good, I took eight games off Mazzo in three sets. I hit the ball with all my weight and strength and I could see, by his startled expression, as my passing shots zipped by him, how surprised he was. He had to pull out all his expertise to keep ahead.

When the game was over, we were both sweating and coming to the net, he grinned at me.

‘You could become quite a player, Mr. Ferguson. I haven’t had such a good game in years.’

‘I’ll beat you yet,’ I said, and walked to where I had left my sweater. I remembered Loretta had said that John Merrill Ferguson lived with a nurse in a suite in the left wing of the house.

As I began pulling on the sweater, I looked to the left of the big house. On the top floor there were three big windows, and each window was protected by iron bars.

Iron bars? A prison? Was John Merrill Ferguson a prisoner? I remembered Mazzo had said: She likes to think he’s bad, but . . . Had I discovered something?

‘Let’s have a shower, Mr. Ferguson,’ Mazzo said and he picked up the racquets.

As we walked off the court, my mind was busy. Suppose John Merrill Ferguson wasn’t mentally ill? Suppose he had been locked away to give Durant and Mrs. Harriet free rein to control the Ferguson empire?

Was this story Loretta had told me that Ferguson was suffering from a strange mental illness a lie to explain to me why I had been hired to impersonate him? Why keep a man behind iron bars if he was a mental vegetable?

We reached the bottom of the steps leading to the entrance to the residence. Then abruptly I came to a stop.

Standing on the top step, was a white, toy poodle.

* * *

As I was stripping off in the bedroom for a shower, Mazzo poked his head around the door.

‘Hurry it up, Mr. Ferguson, the old lady wants to see you,’ he said, and I could see he looked worried.

‘Mrs. Harriet?’

‘Yeah. She’s just arrived. Hurry it up.’

I took a quick shower. Mazzo had put out an open neck shirt and linen slacks.

‘What’s she doing here?’ I asked as I struggled into the clothes.

‘How do I know? She’s here, so watch it.’

‘Do I put on the mask?’

‘No. She’ll be here in a minute. Go out there, and wait for her.’

I put on sandals and went into the living room.

Mazzo’s worried, flustered look became infectious. I too began to get worried. What was this old woman doing here, and what did she want with me?

I hadn’t been in the living room for more than a few minutes when the door opened and Harriet, carrying the poodle, came in.

‘Surprised to see me again?’ She smiled at me, pausing in the doorway.

‘Pleasantly.’ I gave her my wide, movie smile of charm.

‘Yes.’ She moved to a chair and sat down. ‘I’ve been hearing all kinds of good things about you, Jerry. Mr. Durant is very satisfied.’

I relaxed a little, moved to a chair and sat down.

‘That’s what I’m being paid for,’ I said.

‘It won’t be long now.’ She regarded me, still smiling. ‘There will be a few more papers for you to sign, a few more appearances at the office, then you will be free to return to Hollywood and resume your talented career.’

I decided this was the moment to drop a spanner in the works.

‘Mrs. Harriet,’ I said, giving her my best smile. ‘I am sorry to tell you but I am not happy with the situation as it stands.’

Her little dark eyes hardened.

‘Not happy?’ There was a rasp in her voice.

‘No, and being so sympathetic to me, so generous in your praise for my small talent, I feel you wouldn’t want me to be unhappy.’

She raised her eyebrows, her back stiffening.

‘Why aren’t you happy, Jerry?’

‘Mr. Durant promised to pay me one thousand dollars a day to impersonate your son.’

She inclined her head, her eyes now like wet stones.

‘That was the arrangement, Jerry. It is a generous amount, and you agreed.’ She peered at me. ‘Are you asking for more money?’

‘No.’ I gave her my wide smile again. ‘You are an intelligent lady, Mrs. Harriet. Put yourself in my place. I am being constantly watched. I am, in fact, a prisoner. Frankly, I have no confidence in Mr. Durant.’

‘A prisoner?’ She gave a trilly laugh. ‘It is necessary to keep you secluded, Jerry. You must see that. Aren’t you happy with Mazzo? I have told him to give you good meals, to amuse you.’

‘To restore my confidence, I want to be sure that I am being paid one thousand dollars a day, Mrs. Harriet,’ I said, still smiling at her.

‘Dear Jerry! You have the daily credit notes. Mr. Durant has arranged this. Of course the money is being credited to you.’

‘Anyone can walk into the Chase National Bank and pick up a bunch of credit receipt slips. Anyone can put one thousand dollars on these slips in the favor of Jerry Stevens. Anyone can scrawl initials.’ I wiped off my smile. ‘Although I am just a two-bit actor, I’m not entirely a sucker. To be happy, I want to telephone the Chase National Bank and ask them if they have a credit account in my name.’ I waved to the telephones on the desk. ‘These have been cut off. I want to use a telephone that is not cut off. When I hear for myself that this money, promised to me and earned by me, is credited to an account in my name, then I will be happy again.’

She regarded me for a long moment, her face like stone.

‘Mr. Durant wouldn’t want you to use a telephone, Jerry,’ she said finally. ‘You must be reasonable.’

‘So, Mrs. Harriet, you are telling me I will not be allowed to use the telephone. I am not going to ask you why. I want you to listen to my side. So far, I have successfully impersonated your son. I have cooperated as required. Now it is your turn to cooperate with me. If I am not allowed to telephone the bank by tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, I will no longer cooperate.’

She looked down at the poodle and fondled its ears.

Then she looked up, smiled at me and nodded.

‘For an actor, Jerry, you have unexpected shrewdness,’ she said and got to her feet. ‘I will arrange that you can call the bank at ten o’clock tomorrow.’ She moved to the door.

I was ahead of her and had the door open.

She paused and laid her hand on my arm.

‘What a sensible young man not to trust anyone,’ she said.

I stared straight into those old, bleak eyes.