James Chase - The World in My Pocket

Ginny said, ‘I’ll talk to him. Leave it to me.’

He looked quickly at her, marvelling at her nerve. He wondered what the three in the caravan were thinking. They couldn’t see the road block and they must be wondering why they were scarcely moving. Again he was thankful he wasn’t back there, and he hoped Gypo wouldn’t do something stupid.

Ten minutes later — minutes that stretched Kitson’s nerves to breaking point — they drew up at the road block.

Ginny deliberately pulled her skirt above her knees, crossing her legs. She leaned out of the car window.

The patrol officer who came over to her looked from her face to her knees, and his leathery red face split into an appreciative grin. He didn’t even look at Kitson.

‘Where have you come from, miss?’ he asked, leaning against the side of the Buick, staring at her, admiration in his eyes.

‘From Dukas,’ Ginny said. ‘We’re on our honeymoon. What’s all the excitement about?’

‘Did you see a Welling Armoured truck on the road?’ the officer asked. ‘You couldn’t have missed it if you had seen it. It has a big sign on the back.’

‘Why, no,’ Ginny said and turning, she said to Kitson. ‘We didn’t see any truck, did we, honey?’

Kitson shook his head. His heart was thumping so violently he was scared the cop would hear it.

‘Have you lost it?’ Ginny said and giggled.

The cop grinned, his eyes on her knees.

‘Never mind. You get moving. Have a good honeymoon.’ He looked at Kitson and winked. ‘I bet you do. Move on, bud.’

Kitson sent the car forward and a moment later they were through the road block and heading down the open road.

‘Phew!’ Kitson gasped, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. ‘The way you handled that guy!’

Ginny adjusted her skirt, covering her knees and she shrugged her shoulders impatiently.

‘Give a man something to look at, and he’s just another sucker,’ she said. She opened her handbag and took out a pack of cigarettes. ‘Do you want one?’

‘I guess so.’

She lit the cigarette and gave it to him. There was a smear of lipstick on it, and it gave him an odd satisfaction to know her lips had touched the cigarette before his.

She lit another cigarette for herself.

For the next ten miles they drove in silence, then Ginny said, ‘You take the first on your right. It’s the road that leads to Fawn Lake.’

Kitson nodded. As he looked ahead, he caught sight of a hover-plane coming towards them, flying not more than three hundred feet above the road.

‘Look at that!’

The hover-plane went over the Buick and the caravan with a violent swish of wind.

Ginny said, ‘They’ve moved into action fast enough.’

She looked at her watch. The time was ten minutes after midday. Although only forty-five minutes had elapsed since they had stopped the truck, it seemed to her like a lifetime.

Morgan, Gypo and Bleck also heard the swish of wind from the hover-plane as it passed over them and Gypo cringed down. He knew instinctively the machine was looking for them. While they had crawled through the road block, the three men had crouched on the floor. Morgan had his gun in his hand, determined to shoot it out with any cop who tried to get into the caravan.

They all relaxed as they felt the Buick pick up speed. Morgan opened his coat and looked at the pad Ginny had put on his wound. It was saturated with blood and the wound was obviously bleeding again.

Anxious to ingratiate himself once more with Morgan, Bleck got to his feet. Stepping over Gypo’s body, he went to one of the bunks and took out the first-aid kit that Morgan had insisted on taking along with them.

‘I’ll fix it for you, Frank,’ he said.

Morgan was feeling faint. He was alarmed at the amount of blood he had lost. He nodded, bracing himself against the side of the caravan.

Gypo stared at him with horror, thinking: If Frank goes, what are we going to do? There’s no one like him for handling a tough situation. We’ll be sunk if he dies.

Bleck squatted down beside Morgan and got to work. After some minutes he got a pad on that stopped the bleeding.

‘You’ll be okay now,’ he said and rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘How about a drink?’

‘Go ahead,’ Morgan said bitterly. ‘You have every reason to celebrate.’

Bleck made three stiff whiskies and handed the glasses around.

As they were drinking, they felt the Buick swing off the highway and immediately the caravan began to bump and sway as its two wheels bounced over the surface of the dirt road. The three men hastily finished their drinks. Morgan’s mouth drew down into a hard line of pain as he was jerked about on the floor of the caravan.

After a while the Buick slowed down, then finally stopped.

There was a pause, then the back of the caravan swung up and Ginny and Kitson looked in.

‘All right?’ Kitson asked anxiously. He was shocked to see how white Morgan was.

Morgan looked beyond Kitson and saw they had pulled off the road and were in the shadow of a fir forest. The road, about thirty feet away, was deserted. It twisted up hill, leading, after a six-mile run, directly to Fawn Lake.

Overhead, they could hear the drone of aircraft, a sound that warned Morgan of the danger of remaining here.

‘He’s still alive,’ he said to Kitson and jerked his thumb towards the truck. ‘We’ve got to take him. This is as good a place as any. Shut the caravan and leave it to us. You take the wheel off the Buick as if you’ve got a flat. If you see a car coming, bang on the side of the caravan. Ginny, you sit by the edge of the road. Take the food basket. Act like you’re preparing a picnic. Get moving.’

His face set, Bleck handed out the food basket.

Kitson looked shocked.

‘What are you going to do with him?’ he asked.

Morgan’s mouth moved into a ruthless smile.

‘What do you think? Shut the caravan and do what I say!’

‘Wait!’ Gypo said, his voice shrill. ‘I’m getting out of here! I’m not having anything to do with this! This isn’t my job! I’m here to open the truck.’

‘Shut up!’ Morgan snarled and his gun jumped into his hand, threatening Gypo. ‘You’re opening that goddamn shutter! You do what I say or I’ll damn well kill you!’

The expression on his face terrified Gypo.

‘You wouldn’t do that to me, Frank!’ His hands waved imploringly. ‘Let me out of here!’

Morgan looked at Kitson.

‘Do what I tell you! Shut the caravan and work on that wheel!’

Pale and shaky, Kitson shut the back of the caravan. He was breathing hard and fast as he opened the trunk of the Buick and took out the jack.

Morgan was saying to Gypo in a flat, deadly voice, ‘Listen, Gypo, from now on you start to earn your share of the loot. You’ve had it soft up to now, but from now on, it’s going to be rugged, so make up your mind to it! Get that goddamn shutter open!’

His breath whistling through his nose, Gypo approached the shutter and stared at it.

Bleck watched him, his eyes flickering from Gypo to Morgan and back to Gypo again.

Gypo saw the shutter wasn’t difficult. It didn’t fit tightly: it wasn’t in the same class as the door at the back of the truck.

Morgan was also quick to see that.

‘Get a tyre lever and a hammer,’ he said. ‘We can bust this one.’

Gypo flinched. He was thinking of the moment when he had prised open the shutter.

‘That guy in there will be waiting,’ he said hoarsely. ‘As soon as he sees me, he’ll shoot me.’

‘Get on with it!’ Morgan snarled.

Gypo opened the tool cupboard, took a tyre lever and a hammer from one of the racks. His hands were shaking so badly he could scarcely hold the tools.