James Chase - The World in My Pocket

‘Take it steady,’ Morgan called.

Ginny began to move the Buick against the truck. Although the truck’s handbrake was on, the steady pressure from the Buick began to shift the truck.

Kitson and Bleck kept kicking the front wheels, steering the truck up the ramp of the caravan. Slowly, the truck moved into the caravan. The front wheels of the Buick mounted the ramp as it pushed the truck right inside.

‘Stop!’ Morgan called. ‘That’s got it! Ed, get the crowbars and the rifle. Kitson, couple up the caravan! Hurry! We haven’t a minute to waste!’

Ginny manoeuvred the Buick past the caravan, then turned and backed to the coupling pin which Kitson dropped into the slots.

She slid out of the driver’s seat and Kitson got in under the wheel. He turned the Buick and the caravan to face down the road.

Morgan and Bleck got into the caravan.

Both men were startled to see how much space the truck took up in the caravan. There was only about eighteen inches of clearance either side and two feet at the back. They had reckoned on sitting in the cab of the truck and it was obvious the travelling in this small space was going to be uncomfortable. If Kitson took a bend too fast the truck might shift and crush either of them.

‘Watch it,’ Morgan said as he got in. ‘If this damn truck shifts.’

Kitson nodded.

‘I’ll watch it.’

‘Hadn’t we better block the wheels?’ Bleck asked, hesitating at the door.

‘Get in, damn you!’ Morgan snarled. ‘There’s no time for that! Get going, Kitson!’

Kitson closed the back of the caravan, then ran to the driver’s seat and slid under the wheel.

Ginny had taken off her bloodstained skirt and blouse and was struggling into another grey skirt.

Kitson looked quickly at her, seeing how deadly pale she was.

Engaging gear, he drove fast down the road, feeling the sluggish response of the Buick as it dragged the great weight behind it.

As Ginny pulled up the zipper on the side of her skirt, he asked, ‘What happened?’

Briefly, her voice unsteady, she told him.

‘You mean there’s a dead man in the truck?’ Kitson asked, horrified.

‘If he’s not dead,’ Ginny said, ‘he’ll be radioing for help and we’ll be in trouble. Morgan said he had killed him.’

‘We’re going to this caravan camp with him in there?’

‘Oh, stop talking!’ Ginny said, her voice breaking. She turned away from him and hid her face in her hands.

Inside the caravan, Morgan sat with his back against the wall of the caravan, his feet braced against the rear wheel of the truck. He was thinking: Well, I’ve got it! Now I’ve got to hang on to it. I’ve killed two men for this. That was their luck. They had a lot of guts. Especially the driver. He knew I’d kill him if he moved and he did move. He had more guts than I’ve got. I wouldn’t have moved. I wouldn’t have tried for those buttons, not with a gun within a foot of my face, but he did it and he got the shutters shut. This puts us in a hell of a jam. We’re landed with his body. We’ve got to break into the truck and get him out. I hope he’s dead. If he comes to and gets that radio signal working, we’ll be sunk.

He stared up at the massive steel truck, thinking that just beyond that steel wall was a million dollars. The nagging, hot pain in his side meant nothing to him beside the excitement he felt as he thought of all that money so close to him now. On the other side of the truck, out of Morgan’s sight, Bleck squatted on the floor watching the truck, uneasy that it might shift and crush him. He had recovered his nerve now and he had got his second wind.

They had got the truck and he hadn’t been forced to kill a man. He had sidestepped the final step in his criminal career, and he realized now it was the thought of this step that had broken up his nerves. Now he was ready to tackle anything. He wasn’t after all a man apart, but he knew Morgan wouldn’t ever trust him again and he would have to watch him in case he tried to gyp him out of his share.

When Kitson had driven a couple of miles, he saw Gypo walking fast up the road towards the approaching Buick.

Kitson pulled up and Gypo ran towards him.

‘Have you got it?’ he asked, his eyes round. ‘It went all right?’

‘Yes,’ Kitson said. ‘Come on: get in the back!’

He got out and opened the back of the caravan. He went around with Gypo and looked inside.

‘Okay?’ he said to Morgan, who looked pale, his mouth drawn down with pain.

‘Yeah. get going!’ Morgan growled. ‘Come on in, Gypo!’

Gypo stared, coming to an abrupt stop.

‘What are you doing there? Why aren’t you riding in the truck?’

‘Get in!’ Morgan snarled. ‘We’ve got to get moving.’

‘I’m not getting in like that!’ Gypo said, his voice shooting up a note. ‘If that truck shifts, you’ll be squashed like a fly!’

Morgan pulled his .45 from his shoulder holster. As he did so, his coat opened and Gypo could see the bloodstained bandage across his chest.

‘Get in!’ Morgan said.

Kitson grabbed Gypo and shoved him into the caravan, then he ran around and pulled the lever down, shutting the back.

He got into the driving seat.

The car and the caravan headed fast towards the highway.

Gypo stood with his broad back pressed hard against the wall of the swaying caravan, his eyes goggling at the steel wall of the truck that was only a few inches from his protruding stomach.

Bleck had come around the truck and was standing at the back of it, looking down the side where Morgan and Gypo were standing.

The three men were bracing themselves as the caravan swayed and bumped behind the fast-moving Buick.

‘Santa Maria!’ Gypo exclaimed. ‘Then there’s a man in there?’

‘Yeah, but he won’t worry you,’ Morgan said. ‘He’s dead. Now look, Gypo, you’ve got to get that shutter open. We’ve got to be sure he hasn’t the radio signal on.’

Bleck came out with his first constructive suggestion since the job began.

‘The radio is run from the battery,’ he said. ‘Can’t we get under the truck and cut the leads?’

‘That’s it!’ Morgan said. ‘Get under there, Gypo, and find the leads. Get going!’

‘I don’t want to get under there. The truck might shift and crush me,’ Gypo said, his face sagging.

‘You heard what I said!’ Morgan snarled. ‘Hurry!’

Muttering, Gypo opened the cupboard door where he kept his tools, took from it a pair of wire cutters and a screwdriver. Morgan glanced through the curtain that covered the window on his side.

They were now on the secondary road, and Kitson was driving fast. The caravan was swaying about dangerously. If there was a traffic cop around, he would be after them. There was no way to warn Kitson to slow down. Morgan hoped he would cut his speed before they reached the highway.

Gypo was down on the floor, struggling to get under the truck. It was a tight fit and he was badly scared. He finally got himself under and Morgan handed him a flashlight. As he edged himself under the truck’s engine, Gypo saw on the floor boards, a few inches from his face, a big patch of red and even as he recognized it to be blood, some of it dripped down on him, hot and sticky against his neck.

He heaved his body away from it, shuddering, knowing the dead man was only separated from him by the thinness of the boards.

His hands shaking, his body quivering, he strove desperately to locate the battery leads. If it hadn’t been for Morgan who was kneeling and peering under the truck at him, Gypo would have declared he had cut the leads, but with Morgan’s eyes on him, he didn’t dare do that. Finally he spotted one of the leads, but it was well out of his reach ‘I can’t get at it, Frank,’ he panted. ‘We’ll have to do it from the top.’