James Chase - The World in My Pocket

‘I’ll give you eighteen hundred dollars for this,’ Kitson said in a flat, take-it-or-leave-it voice. ‘That’s the best I can do.’

Carter’s insincere smile widened.

‘There’s nothing I would like better, Mr. Harrison, than to do business with you, but not on those terms. Eighteen hundred for a job like this would put me right in the red. But since you are really interested in this job, suppose we say two thousand, three hundred and fifty? That’s the very lowest I can quote.’

Kitson felt his temper rising. He resisted the impulse to take Carter by his shirt front and shake him. The smooth talk, the easy manner, the shrewd calculating eyes goaded him. This man was something that Kitson would have liked to be in his immaculate clothes and his air of superiority.

‘But we can’t afford so much, Mr. Carter,’ Ginny said, and Kitson felt a spurt of anger run through him as he saw the way she was looking at Carter, her eyes large and appealing. Somehow she managed to convey a sex appeal that infuriated Kitson. She had never looked like this at him. ‘Couldn’t you possibly make it two thousand? Frankly, that is all we have.’

Carter ran his thumbnail along his pencil-lined moustache.

As he appeared to hesitate, his eyes moved over Ginny’s body with an intent interest, then he lifted his shoulders in a mock helpless gesture.

‘I can’t resist that appeal. For you, Mrs. Harrison, and for no one else, it’s a sale. I don’t mind telling you I lose a hundred bucks on the deal, but what is money? You are on your honeymoon. Well, okay, consider this a wedding present. If you really want it, it’s a sale at two thousand bucks.’

Kitson’s face went a deep red and his hands closed into fists.

‘Now, look, fella,’ he began, but Ginny’s restraining hand stopped him.

‘Thanks, Mr. Carter,’ she said, her smile suggestive and charming. ‘Then it’s a sale, and we’re both very obliged to you.’

‘You certainly have a bargain,’ Carter said. ‘Make no mistake about that. I’ll get my boys to couple it up with your car while we go to the office and complete the sale.’ He looked at Kitson, his smile now a little patronizing. ‘My congratulations, Mr. Harrison. You’ve certainly found a wife who can make a very sharp deal.’

Back in the little office and the sale completed, Carter seemed inclined to dally. Holding the receipt between his fingers, he looked at Ginny, unconcealed admiration in his eyes.

‘And where do you plan to go, Mrs. Harrison?’ he asked. ‘Where’s the honeymoon ground going to be?’

‘We’re going up into the mountains,’ Ginny said. ‘My husband is fond of fishing. We’re looking forward to it. It should be a lot of fun.’

Kitson reached forward and took the receipt from Carter’s hand. The way Carter was looking at Ginny was more than he could bear.

‘We’ll have to get going,’ he said. ‘We have a lot to do.’

Carter again gave him the same patronizing smile as he got to his feet.

‘I can imagine,’ he said. ‘Well, happy journey to you both. Anytime you want to trade this job in for something better, come and see me.’ He shook hands with Ginny, holding her hand a little longer than necessary.

Kitson, determined not to shake hands with him, pushed his hand deep into his trousers pockets and slouched to the door.

The caravan was now coupled to the Buick and they went down the path with Carter still talking to Ginny.

It inflamed Kitson’s anger at the way Carter handed Ginny into the car, and he could scarcely contain himself as Carter gave him a patronizing pat on his back and wished him luck.

‘This is just what we want,’ Ginny said as they drove away from the Caravan Mart. ‘Morgan will be pleased.’

Kitson said in a low, furious voice, ‘The way that jerk was looking at you. I should have taken a poke at him.’

Ginny turned her head sharply, staring at him, her sea-green eyes suddenly hostile.

‘What do you mean?’

‘What I say!’ Kitson said, beside himself. ‘The way he looked at you! The jerk! I should have hit him!’

‘What does it matter to you how any man looks at me?’ she asked, her voice ice cold. ‘You’re not married to me, are you? What are you getting so heated about?’

Kitson’s big hands gripped the wheel, his face flushing.

He maintained a sulky silence all the way back to Gypo’s workshop.

It took little less than two weeks to make the caravan ready for the task for which it was needed.

During those eleven days, Bleck took up quarters with Gypo, bunking with him in his rather sordid shed. He had done this deliberately because he realized he had lost considerable ground with Morgan, and he was anxious to show Morgan he now meant business.

Sharing the same sleeping quarters with Gypo had been a trial. Gypo was an Italian peasant. His personal habits grated on Bleck’s nerves, his sublime indifference to dirt and discomfort was something that Bleck failed to understand.

Each morning, Kitson had come to the workshop around eight o’clock in the morning and had left just after midnight. The three men had slaved on the caravan to get it ready to take the weight of the truck.

It was during this time that both Bleck and Kitson were forced to realize Gypo’s worth as a technical man. Without his skill and his ingenuity, they would have got nowhere. Bleck, who had always despised Gypo, was startled to find him so much superior to himself when it came to a technical job.

It irked him to realize that, without Gypo’s sound craftsmanship, the job they were working on just could not have been done. On the other hand, Kitson, who liked Gypo, was quick to admire the Italian’s ability, and he looked forward to the work each day, feeling that, for the first time in his life, he was learning something useful.

The work was completed on Tuesday night, and on this night, Morgan had called a meeting to be held in Gypo’s workshop. None of them had seen Ginny during these eleven days. She had given Morgan a telephone number at which she could be contacted in the case of a change of plan, but neither he nor the other three had any idea where she was living or what she did with herself during this time.

While Kitson worked on the caravan, he thought continually about her. He was now in love with her, entirely against his will, feeling sure that nothing would come of it as he felt sure that nothing but disaster would come of this job they were planning to do.

But his feelings for Ginny were too strong for him to struggle against. The girl was in his blood like a virus, and he had to accept the fact.

While the others had been working on the caravan, Morgan had been spending a lot of time on the route between the Truck Agency and the Rocket Research Station. He had been investigating every bye-road, seeking the best means of escape, timing every move, checking, rechecking and making maps. There was nothing haphazard in Morgan’s methods. Once the truck had been captured, he knew everything depended on making a quick getaway. It was essential to put as many miles between the place of the ambush and themselves as possible before the heat was turned on.

This called for the most careful planning and the familiarizing of the district. He was feeling optimistic as he drove up to Gypo’s workshop around eight o’clock for the meeting.

For the first time during the month, there was rain which fell steadily on the parched ground, releasing a smell of dampness that pleased Morgan.

There was no light showing from the carefully screened windows of the workshop and the big shed had a deserted appearance.

As he got out of the Buick and, just before turning out the headlights, he heard quick, light footfalls coming towards him.