James Chase - The World in My Pocket

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.’

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 description.

‘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.