James Chase - The World in My Pocket

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.

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.