The World in My Pocket

by James Hadley Chase

  Neither Kitson nor Bleck, sitting in front, knew what was happening, and Morgan shifted away from the girl, leaving her alone.

  ‘What’s the loot like?’ Kitson asked, driving carefully now as he headed for Gypo’s workshop.

  ‘Should be okay. At least fifty wallets and the till was loaded,’ Morgan said. He lit a cigarette, noticing with a sense of pride how steady his hands were.

  He could still hear Bleck’s laboured breathing. He had watched Bleck while they were in the cafe, and he had an idea he might crack. This bothered him. He had been under the impression that Bleck’s nerve was reliable, but the way he had acted and the way he had let that big jerk knock his gun out of his hand warned Morgan that from now on Bleck would have to be watched.

  Kitson too had been in a pretty bad way when they had scrambled into the car. He hadn’t got going as he should have done. If Morgan hadn’t yelled at him, he would have driven away so slowly someone from the cafe could have got a description of the car.

  Before the big one, there would have to be some tightening up. At least he was now sure of the girl. She had handled herself magnificently. She was the best of the whole bunch.

  He glanced at her again. She had stopped crying, and was sitting up, her white face wooden, her eyes a little glassy, and she was staring out of the window.

  Morgan pushed his cigarette towards her.

  ‘Here, take it,’ he said curtly.

  She took the cigarette and put it between her lips, not saying anything.

  As Morgan lit another cigarette for himself, Kitson drove up the rough road that led to Gypo’s workshop.

  The workshop consisted of a big shed and a wooden shack in which Gypo lived. It was in the shed that he did occasional welding work, made wrought iron gates when anyone wanted gates, which was seldom, or cut a key or fixed a lock for the hardware stores in town.

  The workshop gave Gypo a legitimate excuse to keep a few cylinders of acetylene as well as a few cylinders of undiluted hydrogen which were useful when he had to cut into a safe. He scarcely made enough profit from the workshop to pay for the rent of the shed.

  They found him waiting anxiously for them, and as the headlights of the Lincoln lit up the double doors, he appeared, shoving open the doors with the frantic clumsiness of a frightened man.

  Kitson drove the Lincoln into the shed, and they all got out.

  ‘Well?’ Gypo asked as soon as he had closed the doors. ‘What happened?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Morgan said. ‘We could all do with a drink. Here, Kitson, get those number plates off and drain out the water from the radiator and fill it up with cold. You never know: the cops may give this joint a rumble. Snap it up. Gypo, get us a drink.’ He looked over at Bleck who was lighting a cigarette with a shaking hand. ‘Give Kitson a hand.’

  Having got some action, he crossed over to Ginny and smiled at her.

  ‘Okay?’

  Her mouth tightened. She was still looking pretty bad and her skin still had the bluish tinge.

  ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘You handle the big one the way you handled this one,’ Morgan said, ‘and you’ll do.’

  ‘Oh, stop talking to me as if I were a child,’ the girl said irritably and turned away, moving over to the workbench where she began to finger the tools aimlessly.

  Morgan shrugged, then when Gypo came hurrying up with a bottle of whisky and glasses, he made five drinks and carried two glasses over to Ginny. He offered her one.

  ‘If you need this the way I need it, you need it,’ he said.

  She took the whisky and swallowed a little, grimacing, then the blueness went out of her face.

  ‘It was tougher than I imagined,’ she said. ‘I nearly cracked.’

  ‘But you didn’t.’ Morgan paused to drink half his whisky, then went on, ‘You were fine. Let’s get over there and see what the haul is.’

  While Gypo, Kitson and Bleck worked feverishly on the car, Morgan emptied the contents of the sack on to the workbench and began to strip out the wallets. Ginny worked with him.

  ‘This is his,’ the girl said, picking up a pigskin wallet. ‘The one I hit.’

  ‘Let’s see what he was trying to protect,’ Morgan said. ‘How much?’

  She hooked out ten one hundred dollar bills and laid them on the bench.

  ‘No wonder he acted tough.’

  The other three, having fixed the car, came over and stood watching. After a few minutes, Morgan and the girl finished stripping out the wallets, then Morgan sat down on a box and began counting the money.

  The four watched him.

  Morgan looked up as he laid the last five—dollar bill down on the bench.

  ‘Two thousand, nine hundred and seventy-five bucks,’ he said. ‘Well, here’s our working capital. Now we can go straight ahead.’

  ‘Is that right she had to hit a guy?’ Gypo asked, his eyes as round as marbles.

  ‘She hit him,’ Morgan said, carefully stacking the money. ‘He asked for it and he got it. She handled him better than I could, better than any of you could.’

  Ginny turned away and walked over to the car.

  The four men looked at her and exchanged glances.

  ‘She’ll do,’ Morgan said quietly. ‘If you boys do as well, the big one is in the bag.’

  He looked directly at Bleck who tried to meet his eyes, but couldn’t make it. He took out a cigarette and went through an elaborate search for a match, aware that Morgan’s glittering eyes were still probing at him.

  ‘Hear me, Ed?’

  Bleck lit his cigarette.

  ‘Sure.’

  Sensitive to the atmosphere, Gypo asked, ‘Something go wrong, Frank?’

  ‘Ed let a guy knock his gun out of his hand,’ Morgan said. ‘That could have soured the whole caper.’

  Bleck moved his powerful shoulders under his coat, scowling.

  ‘He caught me on the wrong foot. It could have happened to anyone.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Morgan said, ‘but don’t let it happen again.’ Turning to Kitson, he went on, ‘And you: you were too slow off the mark. You should have got the car away a lot faster.’

  Kitson knew Morgan was right. The sound of the gun going off had paralysed him. He had imagined someone in the cafe had been killed and this job had turned into a murder rap.

  ‘Ginny.’

  The girl turned at the sound of Morgan’s voice and came over to where the four men were standing.

  ‘We can go ahead with the big one now,’ Morgan said. ‘You and Kitson go into Marlow tomorrow and get the caravan. Gypo will give you the measurements.’ Morgan sat on the bench, his cigarette sending a thin spiral of smoke past his nose. ‘Keep the price as low as you can. We’ll need every cent of this dough. I don’t have to tell you that.’ He looked over at Kitson. ‘You know the setup: you and she have just got married and want this caravan for your honeymoon. Most young people buy caravans for that reason, and we’ve got to make sure the guy who sells you the caravan doesn’t remember either of you.’

  Kitson glanced suspiciously at Bleck, but Bleck was feeling pretty sick with himself, knowing that he hadn’t made much of a showing at the hold-up, and he wasn’t in the mood to jeer.

  ‘Try to stop looking like a block of wood, will you?’ Morgan went on. ‘Act like you’re in love with the girl or this guy will wonder what kind of honeymoon you’re on.’

  Gypo chuckled.

  ‘Maybe I should handle the job,’ he said. ‘I am affectionate by nature. Me and Ginny would make a very pretty couple.’

  Even Ginny joined in the laughter.

  ‘You’re too fat and old, Gypo,’ Morgan said. ‘The guy might remember you. It’s got to be Kitson.’

  He counted out two thousand dollars and handed the bills to Kitson.

  ‘Try and get it cheaper. I’ll bring the Buick with the towing tackle to your place at eleven tomorrow.’ He looked over at Gypo. ‘You follow me to Kitson’s place in the Lincoln. I’ll need transport b
ack.’

  ‘Sure,’ Gypo said.

  ‘Okay, let’s break it up now,’ Morgan said. ‘I’ve got to take the chopper back to Lu. You come with me, Ed.’ He looked at Ginny and Kitson, ‘You two take the bus. It’ll be safer if we four aren’t seen together.’

  He put the rest of the money in his hip pocket.

  ‘You two arrange where you meet,’ he said to Ginny. ‘I want you both back here with the caravan by tomorrow afternoon.’ He jerked his head at Bleck. ‘Let’s go.’

  When they had gone, Ginny took off the green scarf and shook her copper-coloured hair free.

  Looking at her uneasily, Kitson thought she was beautiful. He stood against the workbench, rubbing his knuckles, awkward and ill at ease.

  ‘Another drink?’ Gypo asked.

  The girl shook her head.

  ‘No, thanks.’ She took out her pack of cigarettes and putting a cigarette between her lips, she looked at Kitson. Kitson fumbled for matches, lit one with a hand that was far from steady and held the flame so she could light the cigarette. She put her cool fingers on his hand to steady the flame and the touch of her flesh on his sent a surge of hot blood through his veins.

  She moved away over to the double doors.

  ‘Well, so long,’ she said to Gypo.

  ‘So long,’ he said, winking at Kitson, who ignored him and followed the girl out into the hot night air. They walked side by side down the road and on to the highway.

  ‘Where do you live?’ Ginny asked as they paused at the bus stop.

  ‘Lennox Street,’ Kitson said.

  ‘Then I’ll be waiting at the corner tomorrow at eleven.’

  ‘I can pick you up at your place if you like.’

  ‘It’s not necessary.’

  There was a pause while Kitson kept eyeing her as she stood at his side.

  ‘The other night,’ he said abruptly. ‘I wouldn’t have hit you. I — I guess I lost my temper. I’m sorry.’

  She smiled.

  ‘I thought you were going to. You scared me.’

  Kitson flushed.

  ‘I wouldn’t have done it. I don’t hit anyone smaller than myself. I wouldn’t have done it.’

  ‘If you had, it would have served me right. I was asking for it.’ She flicked her cigarette away. ‘Was it such a good idea to hit Bleck?’

  Kitson scowled.

  ‘It’s time someone took a poke at that punk,’ he said. ‘He had it coming.’

  ‘Yes, but it wasn’t such a good idea. You’ll have to watch him. He’s not the type to forget.’

  Kitson shrugged.

  ‘I can handle him.’

  ‘I think you can. I saw you in the ring about a year ago. When you beat Jackie Lazards. That was quite a scrap.’

  Kitson looked at her, his face lighting up. That had been quite a scrap. He had been lucky to have beaten Lazards. They had fought nine slugging rounds, and it had been anyone’s fight.

  ‘He was a good fighter.’

  ‘You weren’t so bad yourself. Why did you quit the ring?’

  This was an embarrassing question and Kitson hastily improvised.

  ‘After my last fight I got double vision,’ he said, running his fingers through his curly hair. ‘That scared me. I was doing all right, but this double vision. The Doc said I should quit, and he was pretty serious about it. I didn’t want to. I had a good chance for the title, but when the Doc said I should quit, I quit.’

  This was his version of the story. His manager would have told her something completely different. He looked anxiously at her to see if she accepted the explanation, but her expressionless face told him nothing.

  ‘What made you pick on Frank?’ he asked after a long pause.

  ‘Who else is there in this town to pick on?’ she said. ‘Here comes the bus.’

  They boarded the bus. She let him buy the tickets, and they sat side by side, their faces reflected in the glass of the window. The bus was full. Except for a moment’s interest when the men in the bus stared at her as she went to her seat, no one paid any attention to them.

  They rode back to town in silence.

  At the railroad station, she said, ‘This is where I get off. See you tomorrow at eleven.’

  He got up to let her pass and he felt a surge of blood move through him as her body brushed against his.

  As the bus moved off, he pressed his face against the window, looking out into the darkness, trying to get a last glimpse of her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I

  At eleven o’clock the following morning, Kitson drove Morgan’s Buick out of town and headed towards Marlow, a sixty-mile drive on Highway 10.

  By his side sat Ginny, whom he scarcely recognised. She looked what she was supposed to look: a young girl who had just got married and was about to experience the excitement and the fun of a honeymoon. The simple summer frock she wore gave her youthful charm. Her expression had softened and she was surprisingly talkative.

  Kitson was a little stunned by this transformation. He had taken pains with his appearance, and he now gave the impression of being a fairly prosperous young man, just married and embarrassed that anyone should know he was off on his honeymoon.

  Morgan had brought the Buick, towing tackle now in position, to Kitson’s place. Gypo had followed him in the Lincoln and he had become sentimental as he watched Kitson and Ginny drive away.

  ‘They look made for each other, don’t they?’ he said to Morgan as he stared after the swiftly moving Buick. ‘She’s not as hard as she makes out. A girl with a body like that is made for love. They look like a honeymoon couple. They could have beautiful children.’

  ‘Stop napping with your mouth!’ Morgan said. ‘What’s the matter with you? You’re talking like an old woman!’

  Gypo spread his hands and lifted his shoulders.

  ‘Okay, so I flap with my mouth. So I shut up, but without a little love in this world, where is the happiness?’

  ‘Come on. We’ve got work to do. Take me over to Ed’s place,’ Morgan said, scowling.

  This sort of sloppy talk was bad, he thought. They had a dangerous job ahead of them. This was no time for sentiment.

  Bleck had a two-room apartment in a brown stone building that overlooked the river.

  Morgan took the elevator to the fourth floor, walked along the passage and dug his thumb into Bleck’s bell push.

  There was a delay, then Bleck opened the door.

  He was wearing a pair of black pyjamas with white piping and his initials in white on the pocket. His hair was tousled and his eyes heavy and a little bleary.

  ‘For the love of Mike!’ he said, staring at Morgan. ‘What’s the time then?’

  Morgan moved forward and rode Bleck back into the small sitting room, comfortably furnished, but untidy, with a number of empty gin and whisky bottles lined up on the window seat. There was a stale smell of cigarette smoke and perfume that made Morgan wrinkle his nose.

  ‘It smells like a cat house in here,’ he said. ‘Can’t you open a window?’

  ‘Why, sure.’ Bleck went to the window and threw it open. He looked at the clock on the overmantel and saw it was twenty minutes after eleven. ‘You’re early, aren’t you? Kitson gone?’

  ‘They’ve gone,’ Morgan said. He looked across the room to the bedroom door. ‘You got someone in there?’

  Bleck grinned sheepishly.

  ‘She’s asleep. You don’t have to worry about her.’

  Morgan reached forward and hooked his finger into Bleck’s pyjama pocket, pulling him close to him.

  ‘Listen, Ed, this is the big one. Your showing last night wasn’t so hot. You’ll have to do a damn sight better than that or you’re not going to be much help. Until we’ve done this job, cut out the women and the booze. You look like something a cat has sicked up.’

  Bleck jerked away, his face tightening.

  ‘You don’t talk that way to me, Frank.’

  ‘I do, pal. If you want it the hard way, s
ay so. I can handle you any time and don’t forget it. You do what I say or you’re out of this job.’

  The expression in the flat, black eyes chilled Bleck.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I’ll watch it.’

  ‘You’d better watch it,’ Morgan said.

  Bleck moved away.

  ‘Anything in the papers about last night?’

  ‘The usual junk. Everyone was so scared they couldn’t give the cops any kind of description. I guess we’re going to get away with that one. I want you to get down to Gypo’s place right away. He is getting the long bolts for the steel work now, but he’ll need help with the job. Get down there, will you?’

  ‘Okay,’ Bleck said grudgingly. He didn’t feel like working this morning.

  ‘And snap it up!’ Morgan barked. ‘I’m going over to Dukas to get an automatic rifle. Ernie has one and he’s willing to sell it.’

  ‘Sure,’ Bleck said. ‘I’ll get down there right away.’

  When Morgan had gone, Bleck cursed under his breath and walked into the bedroom, crossing the half-dark room and pulling up the blind, letting a stream of strong sunlight fall directly across the face of the girl, lying in his bed.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Eddy,’ the girl protested, sitting up and blinking at him. She was dark, her black hair cut across her forehead in a fringe. Her eyes were big and blue and her features were small. She had on a pair of yellow pyjamas that set off her well-made body.

  ‘On your way, baby,’ Bleck said as he struggled into his shirt. ‘I’ve got business. Come on! Make the legs walk!’

  ‘But, Ed. I’m dead beat. If you have to go out, I can stay, can’t I?’

  ‘No! I’m not leaving you here on your own. Come on! Get moving!’

  The girl — her name was Glorie Dawson — groaned, threw off the sheet and staggered out of bed. She stretched her arms, yawned and walked unsteadily into the bathroom.

  ‘But what’s the panic, honey?’ she asked, running her fingers through her dark hair. ‘Who was your boyfriend?’

  Bleck began to mow his beard with an electric razor.

  ‘Come on! Dress the body and beat it!’ he said. ‘I’m in a hurry.’