1958 - The World in My Pocket

by James Hadley Chase

  As he got to his feet, Morgan came into the room.

  Gypo said breathlessly, ‘Stop them, Frank! They’re going to fight!’

  Morgan took four quick sliding steps forward so he was between the two men, his back to Kitson while he faced Bleck.

  ‘Gone out of your head?’ Morgan asked with artificial politeness, his snake’s eyes glittering.

  Bleck hesitated, then he shrugged, pulled his coat into shape, ran his fingers through his hair, jerked out a chair and sat down.

  He stared down at the table, rubbing his aching jaw.

  Morgan turned and looked at Kitson.

  ‘You start trouble in this mob,’ he said, ‘and you’ll be in plenty of trouble yourself. I’m not telling you a second time. Sit down!’

  Kitson slouched to a chair away from Ginny and Bleck and sat down.

  Still nervous, Gypo came over to the table and hesitated beside Ginny.

  ‘Mind if I sit here?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Why should I?’

  Smirking with embarrassment, Gypo sat down.

  Morgan began to prowl around the room, a cigarette hanging from his thin lips, his hat tilted over his eyes.

  ‘Okay, fellows,’ he said, ‘pay attention. We do the job tonight at ten minutes past twelve. That’s when the place will be full, and the chances of anyone busting in on us small. Kitson handles the car.’ He paused to stare at Kitson. ‘You know the district. You remain with the car with the engine running. If it turns sour, you wait for us, then take the first on the left to cut out the traffic lights. I’ll leave it to you to shake off whoever is following us. Okay?’

  Still scowling, Kitson nodded.

  ‘Ginny: you and Ed and me,’ Morgan went on, continuing his prowling, ‘will go inside. Lu’s lending me a machine gun. You, Ed, will have your gun. Ginny goes in after me, then Ed will take care of the door. As soon as we’re in, Ed’ll pull down the blind on the door. I’ll get up on the bar so I can cover the whole room. The chopper should cool any hothead. As soon as we have them where we want them, Ginny will go around and collect the wallets. We don’t want anything but cash. If anyone comes in, it’s your job to handle them, Ed. The whole job shouldn’t take more than five minutes if we work fast. That depends on you, Ginny. Watch it no smart Alec makes a grab at you as you take his wallet. We don’t want any shooting unless it really turns sour.’

  Gypo’s small black eyes rolled as he listened. He was glad he wasn’t participating in this job.

  Kitson rubbed his knuckles and stared down at the table. He too was thankful he had charge of the car. It needed a hell of a nerve to walk into that cafe and quell some forty to fifty people and he wasn’t sure if he would have had the nerve to do it.

  Bleck was still seething with fury that Kitson had hit him, but Morgan’s words shifted his mind away from Kitson and he experienced a cold, tight feeling in his stomach.

  ‘Well, okay,’ he said, ‘if you’re satisfied this is the way to do it, Frank, but I don’t like it. We could take on something not so rugged.’

  Morgan paused in his prowling.

  ‘I know that, but we’re doing this one because it’s going to get us into the right shape for the big job. I know what I’m doing, Ed. This job will tell me if anyone of you is likely to sour the big one. That’s why I’ve picked it.’ He came over to the table and looked directly at Ginny. ‘This is your test. You’ve talked a lot and it has sounded convincing. Now I want to see if it is all talk.

  That’s why I’ve given you the tough end of the deal.’

  The girl looked steadily at him.

  ‘I’ll handle it,’ she said. ‘It’s not all that tough.’

  Morgan smiled.

  ‘We’ll see. Well, okay, that’s it. Let’s break it up now. Kitson, you bring Gypo’s car to the cafe at twelve-ten. Is your watch right? What do you make it now?’

  ‘Eight-twenty,’ Kitson said, consulting his strap watch.

  ‘Eight twenty-three,’ Morgan said, checking his watch. ‘Lu will give you the machine gun. Have it on the back seat. You come to the cafe on your own. Ed and me will come on foot. As I go in I’ll pick the gun out of the car.’ He looked over at Ginny. ‘You come along Maddux Street. Be there at twelve-ten. We’ve all got to be dead on time. Have you got a watch?’

  Ginny nodded.

  ‘Okay,’ Morgan said. ‘Collect the gun as you go out, Kitson. You go with him, Gypo, and make sure that heep of yours doesn’t let us down. See you at twelve-ten, huh?’

  Kitson got to his feet. He paused, looking uneasily at Morgan, then his eyes moved to Ginny and away again. He turned and walked across the room to the door with Gypo following him.

  When they had gone, Morgan sat down.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  She lifted her eyebrows.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Look, don’t give me that stuff,’ Morgan said sharply. ‘I’ve done dozens of these jobs in the past, but I still get a little scared. Don’t try to bluff me. I’m asking you - are you okay? Do you still want the tough end of this job?’

  She held out her hand, a half-burned cigarette between her slim fingers. The smoke curled straight up. The cigarette was rock steady.

  ‘Do I look scared?’ she asked, then she pushed back her chair and stood up.

  The two men stared at her while she looked directly at Morgan.

  ‘Twelve-ten,’ she said. ‘Be seeing you.’

  She turned and made for the door, her hips moving provocatively as she walked. She opened the door and went out, shutting the door behind her without looking back.

  ‘A toughie,’ Bleck said and grimaced.

  ‘Maybe,’ Morgan said soberly, ‘but I’ve seen the tough ones crack at the wrong moment. We’ll see.’ He got to his feet. ‘Okay: let’s get out of here.’

  II

  At five minutes past midnight, Morgan and Bleck got off the streetcar at the corner of Maddux Street. They crossed the road and paused in a dark shop doorway, looking across at the Palace All-Night Cafe.

  Lights showed through the curtained windows. They could see part of the bar through the glass door.

  Morgan flicked his half-smoked cigarette into the street.

  ‘There it is,’ he said.

  ‘I bet Gypo’s thanking his stars he isn’t on this caper,’ Bleck said, aware that his heart was thumping sluggishly and his hands were moist.

  ‘I’m thanking my stars he isn’t on it either,’ Morgan said. He too was aware that his heart was thumping and that his mouth was dry. ‘As soon as Kitson drives up, we cross the street.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Bleck said, his hand going to his hip pocket and resting on the cold butt of his .38. ‘There she is,’ he went on as he saw Ginny walking towards the cafe. She was still wearing her black slacks and the bottle-green shirt, but she had concealed her hair under a green scarf, and as she passed under a streetlight, Bleck realized how much the copper-coloured hair helped her kind of beauty. Now it was concealed she looked quite plain. At that moment the dusty Lincoln came down the street and pulled up outside the cafe.

  ‘Here we go,’ Morgan said, and crossed the road with long, swift strides.

  The street was deserted. They could hear the jukebox grinding out a waltz from inside the cafe.

  Morgan paused long enough to reach into the back of the Lincoln and snatch up the machine gun.

  ‘Take it easy,’ he said to Kitson. ‘When we go, we go fast.’

  Kitson grunted; his hands tight on the steering wheel.

  Bleck had taken out his handkerchief and was tying it across the lower part of his face. His hands were shaking so badly he had trouble in fixing the knot.

  Ginny had already masked her face, and she was standing by the cafe door. Down by her side, she held a .38 Police Special.

  Morgan didn’t bother to mask his face. He was an old hand at this game, and he knew everyone got so scared they seldom were able to give the police any useful de
scription.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said, drawing in a quick, deep breath.

  He moved up close to Ginny.

  ‘You open the door, then get out of my way.’

  ‘I know.’

  Her voice was flat and steady, and he glanced at her, their eyes meeting.

  Well, she’s cool enough, he thought. I wouldn’t have thought it possible. a kid like her.

  She opened the door and leaned against it, giving him room to pass her. He stepped into the noisy, overheated cafe. Bleck, sweat soaking the handkerchief tied across the lower part of his face, moved forward as Ginny followed Morgan. He closed the door and pulled down the blind.

  There were two men at the bar who looked casually over their shoulders as they felt the sudden night air come through the open doorway. They stared at Morgan, and then at the machine gun in his hands. Their unbelieving eyes moved to Ginny’s masked face and they stiffened, their faces turning white.

  Morgan shouted: ‘Get out of the way! Get back!’

  The buzz of conversation throughout the room suddenly began to peter out. Morgan’s voice had cut the air the way a razor cuts through silk.

  The two men nearly fell over themselves as they crowded back.

  Morgan put one hand on the bar and vaulted up on to it. He kicked glasses and bottles out of his way and the sudden smashing of breaking glass brought people to their feet and the buzz of conversation to an abrupt silence.

  ‘Take it easy!’ Morgan bawled, sweeping the room with the muzzle of the machine gun. ‘This is a hold-up! Don’t make a move and you won’t get hurt! Sit down, all of you! Anyone who starts anything will get a gutful of lead! Just stay still and you’ll be okay!’

  Nearly blinded by sweat, his heart hammering so violently he could scarcely breathe, Bleck dragged down the handkerchief mask which was suffocating him. He held his .38 in a hand that was shaking, while he looked across the packed cafe, praying that some fool wouldn’t start something.

  A woman screamed. Two men started to get to their feet, but were immediately dragged back into their seats by the women with them. Everyone else in the cafe froze into statues.

  ‘Okay,’ Morgan said, pitching his voice high. ‘We want cash. Put your wallets on the tables. Come on! Get moving!’

  Most of the men began fumbling in their hip pockets and this was Ginny’s cue. She pulled the canvas sack that Morgan had given her from her pocket, then, holding the sack in her left hand and the .38 in her right, she started her lone walk down the aisle, stopping at each table to pick up the wallets that were lying on the table and dropping them into the sack.

  Bleck, standing by the door, watched her. She moved slowly and cautiously like someone walking on brittle ice, but there was no hesitation. She paused at each table, collected the wallet that lay there, dropped, it into the sack and moved on.

  Morgan yelled: ‘Come on! Come on! Get your wallets out! I’ve got an itchy finger, but I don’t want to hurt anyone unless I have to! Get those wallets out!’

  Bleck began to relax.

  Morgan and the girl were swinging this, he thought. Talk about nerve! The snap in Morgan’s voice was something to hear and the way he stood, slightly crouching, his machine gun pushed forward made him a blood chilling, menacing figure.

  The girl suddenly stopped her mechanical movement forward.

  She had reached a table where a woman, wearing a mink stole and a fat, hard-faced man were sitting. There was no wallet on the table.

  She looked at the man, who stared at her, his small grey eyes glittering.

  ‘Come on, mister,’ she said softly. ‘Hand it over.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing for you, you tramp,’ the man said. ‘I don’t carry money.’

  Bleck began to sweat. He smelt trouble. He looked anxiously at Morgan, who stood motionless, the machine gun rigid. He was watching Ginny, his lips slightly off his teeth, his expression wolfish.

  ‘Hand it over!’ Ginny said, raising her voice.

  ‘I’ve got nothing for you, you little bitch,’ the man said, staring at her.

  His companion suddenly went as white as a fresh fall of snow and shut her eyes. Her massive body began to sag against the man who shoved her off impatiently.

  Ginny lifted her gun.

  ‘Shed it, fatso,’ she said, her voice suddenly strident, ‘or you’ll get a dose of lead poisoning!’

  The man’s face tightened, but he said, ‘I’ve got nothing for you! Get out of here!’

  Morgan shifted the muzzle of his gun around to cover the man, but he knew the movement was futile. He knew the man must realize he wouldn’t shoot because Ginny was in the direct line of fire. This was Ginny’s show, and Morgan watched her anxiously, knowing this was the test. The cards were down and the pressure on. Would she crack?

  He got his answer sooner than he expected it.

  Ginny smiled at the man: a flickering smile that came and went beneath the mask, but showed for a brief flash in her eyes. Then she pistol-whipped the man across his face. Her movement was so quick he had no chance of protecting himself. The barrel of the .38 slashed him across his nose and cheek and blood spurted. He fell backwards, his hand going to his face, a grunting sound forcing itself out of his mouth.

  She leaned across the table and hit him again. The barrel of the gun coming down hard on the top of his head, so he slumped forward, half unconscious. The woman in the mink stole gave a shrill scream and slid out of her chair in a faint.

  Morgan yelled, ‘Hold it! Just one move out of anyone of you and you’ll get it!’

  His voice was so loaded with menace that even Bleck froze for a brief moment.

  Ginny stepped close to the half-unconscious man, jerked him upright and pulled out his wallet from his inside pocket. She gave him a hard shove so he fell across the table as she dropped the wallet into the sack.

  That was enough.

  Wallets appeared on the tables as if by magic. All Ginny now had to do was to walk swiftly down the aisle, picking them up and dropping them into the sack.

  Bleck was so fascinated that he had taken his attention off the door, and it came as a shock when the door jerked open and a big, broad-shouldered man came in.

  Bleck stared stupidly at the man. The big man looked from Bleck to the gun Bleck was holding slackly in his hand. The big man moved swiftly. His hand came down in a chopping blow on Bleck’s wrist. The gun flew out of Bleck’s grip and slid across the floor to land near the bar.

  As the big man set himself to throw a punch at Bleck, Morgan shifted the machine gun in his direction and yelled at him: ‘Hold it! Get your hands up! You hear me?’

  The big man’s eyes went to Morgan and the machine gun and his courage sagged. He backed away from Bleck and put up his hands.

  A thickset man with a pugnacious face who had shed his wallet and who was sitting at a table at which Ginny was standing, seeing Morgan’s gun wasn’t aiming in his direction, made a sudden grab at Ginny’s .38 as she picked up his wallet. His hand closed over the gun butt and her wrist and he tried to jerk the gun out of her grasp.

  She held on to the gun and looked into his reckless, scared eyes. She squeezed the trigger. The gun went off with a crash that rattled the windows of the cafe. The man released his grip as if he had caught hold of something red hot. The bullet cut through his sleeve, grazing his arm.

  Ginny stepped back, threatening him with the gun while Morgan yelled and cursed at him.

  ‘Get on! Get on!’ Morgan shouted to Ginny. ‘Hurry!’

  As calm as a model at a dress show, Ginny moved on, picking up the wallets and dropping them into the sack. No one moved. They sat frozen, white-faced, their fear riveted on their faces.

  Outside in the car, Kitson heard the crash of gunfire and he flinched. It needed a tremendous effort of self-control not to put the car into gear and drive away.

  He sat motionless, his hands gripping the wheel, sweat on his face, holding on to himself, willing himself to stay where he was.

/>   Then suddenly it was all over.

  There was a sound of rushing of feet. He heard the rear door of the Lincoln jerk open and bodies spilt into the car. He felt a hot, sweating body thud against his as Bleck sprawled on to the front seat. Automatically, he started the car moving.

  ‘Go on! Go on!’ Morgan bawled in his ear from the rear seat. ‘Get the hell out of here fast!’

  Kitson, his breath whistling between his clenched teeth, sent the car surging forward. He swung left with a scream of tortured tires, cut down the narrow alley and out into the in street.

  With the skill that was his natural talent, he skipped the car cross the main street, and into another side street, slackening speed slightly, flicking on his headlights and flicking them off immediately as he drove across the intersections.

  Morgan twisted around, was staring out of the rear window, intent on seeing if they were being followed. After a half a mile of such driving, he said abruptly, ‘Okay, no one is on us, let’s

  get over to Gypo’s place.’

  There was a general relaxation of tension.

  ‘Well, that was rugged!’ Bleck said, wiping his face with the back of his hand. ‘That could have turned pretty sour if we hadn’t had the chopper with us. Phew! When that jerk tried to grab Ginny’s gun.’

  ‘What happened?’ Kitson demanded, his voice shaking. ‘What was the shooting? Did anyone get hurt?’

  ‘No. Some guy tried to grab Ginny’s gun and the gun went off. No one got hurt. It certainly put the fear of the devil into that punk. Then a guy took me by surprise and knocked the gun out of my hand. That was pretty rugged too.’

  Ginny was sitting next to Morgan, and he could feel her body was trembling. He looked sideways at her, and as they passed under a street lamp, he saw she was looking bad, her skin a bluish white.

  He patted her knee.

  ‘You did fine, kid,’ he said. ‘You really did fine. The way you handled that fat jerk! I’ve never seen anything like it for nerve.’

  She moved her knee away.

  ‘Oh, stop it!’ she said, and to his surprise, she turned her head away and began to cry.