Read 1980 - You Can Say That Again for Free Online Page A

suspecting some vast financial deal was being planned and that secrecy was essential, these people wouldn’t let Larry free after kidnapping him, sure he would talk.
    So there had been a murderous accident.
    This wasn’t going to happen to me! I would cooperate.
    Man! Would I cooperate!
    With a sweating, unsteady hand, I drew the tracing paper and the signature towards me and began to try, desperately, not only to earn my one thousand dollars a day, but also to keep alive.
     
    * * *
     
    Two hours later, I threw down the pen and stared at my last effort. The floor was littered with screwed up tracing paper. My last effort to forge John Merrill Ferguson’s signature was worse than my first.
    My hand ached, my fingers were stiff, and panic made my heart pound.
    I pushed back my chair and stood up. I began to pace the room. Suppose I couldn’t forge the signature? Would Durant look for someone else? Would this result in a prick of a needle and an accident skillfully arranged?
    I had to succeed!
    I flexed my fingers, then walked into the bathroom and ran water into the toilet basin until it ran hot. I immersed my aching hand in the water. When the water cooled, I emptied the basin and refilled it with hot water. After a while my hand became relaxed. I returned to the table and began work again.
    I was still at it, an hour later, when the door slid back and Durant, followed by Mazzo, came in.
    Durant looked at the mess of screwed up paper on the floor, then he came over to the table and picked up my last effort and studied it.
    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