James Chase - The World in My Pocket

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 back.’

‘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.