James Chase - The World in My Pocket

He thought: well, go on, be brave. The radio signal is the most important. Get that going first. All you have to do is to turn over on your side and reach up. The switch is just above your head. Push that down and, in half an hour or less, there’ll be a flock of patrol cars on their way and you’ll be a hero. Try it anyway. What’s a little pain?

But it took him some minutes to screw up his courage to move, and when he finally did, the flash of pain was so intense that he fainted again, and he lay still, his hand beyond the clutch pedal.

The unexpected sound of hammering brought him to and he opened his eyes.

Facing him was the steel shutter covering the driver’s window. He could see a slit of daylight now coming through the shutter. As he focused his eyes, he saw the end of a tyre lever being forced between the shutter and the window frame.

He thought: so they are coming to finish me. Well, that’s okay by me, but I’ll take one of them with me if they give me a chance. That’s the least I can do. Mike wouldn’t think much of me unless I hit back for him. I’d like to take two of them, but the way I’m placed I’ll be lucky to get one.

Weakly, his hand groped for his gun which he hadn’t a chance to draw when Morgan had shot him. The gun was a .45 Colt automatic, and as it slid out of its holster, it felt very heavy; so heavy that Thomas nearly dropped it.

He made the effort, and got the gun down by his right side, the sight lifted and pointing at the window. He thought: well, come on, you punk! I’ve got something for you that’ll surprise you. Don’t keep me waiting. I’m not going to live much longer, so hurry up!

He heard someone say sharply, ‘Someone’s coming! Hold it!’

There was a long pause. He felt his consciousness beginning to leave him, and it was only with a tremendous effort of will that he fought off the feeling of faintness.

He muttered under his breath: ‘Hurry. Hurry.’

Then he heard a man say, ‘If this punk starts shooting, they’ll hear the shot.’

Another voice said, ‘It doesn’t matter. They must hunt in these woods. They’ll imagine it’s some guy after game. Come on! Let’s take him!’

The gun in Thomas’s hand was growing heavier, and he realized that he could no longer keep the sight on the window. He would have to wait until they opened the door. He would have a good chance for a body shot then.

He heard the tyre lever creaking as someone on the other side of the shutter bent his weight on it, and he waited, pain making it difficult for him to breathe, but intent and as dangerous and as vicious as a cornered and wounded lion.

‘Get another lever,’ a voice said, ‘and help me.’

Another lever end appeared through the opening. There was more creaking, then a sudden snapping noise and the shutter slid up.

Both Morgan and Bleck kept away from the open window.

They stood either side of the door of the cab and listened.

They didn’t hear anything and they looked at each other.

‘Do you think he’s foxing?’ Bleck asked, breathing with difficulty.

‘He could be,’ Morgan said.

Still keeping out of sight, he slid his arm through the open window and groped for the door handle.

Thomas watched him, his eyes half shut, his finger tightening a little on the trigger of his gun, taking in the slack.

Morgan got the door open. It swung Bleck’s way, preventing him from looking into the cab. Morgan looked in quickly, ducked forward and immediately pulled back. He had a brief glimpse of a man lying huddled on the floor of the cab, his eyes closed, his face the colour of wet clay. Morgan’s breath hissed through his teeth.

‘It’s okay,’ he said to Bleck. ‘He’s dead.’

Thomas thought: not quite, pal. You’ll find that out in a moment. Nearly dead, but not quite. He forced his will to lift his gun hand and he felt the gun, like a ton weight, move slightly as Morgan moved into the open doorway of the truck.

Morgan’s gun was pointing at Thomas, but this was merely a precautionary measure. He was quite satisfied that Thomas was dead. No one with that ghastly smashed face and that colour could possibly be alive.

‘We’d better get him out of here and bury him,’ he said and looked at Bleck, who was leaning forward staring through the window of the door, the door pressed against him, looking at Thomas.

Thomas opened his eyes.

‘Look out!’ Bleck yelled and tried to get his gun up, but he was handicapped by the door pressing against him. Thomas squeezed the trigger of his gun as Morgan shot him. The two guns went off simultaneously, sounding like one.

Morgan’s bullet hit Thomas in the throat, killing him instantly.

Thomas’s bullet hit Morgan in the stomach, and he folded at the knees, falling into the cab, his face in Thomas’s lap.

Gypo gave a long, shuddering cry.

For a long moment Bleck remained frozen. Then he pushed the truck door against Morgan’s legs and squeezed himself between the door and the side of the caravan.

He leaned into the cab, pulling Morgan over on to his back.

Morgan looked at him, his eyes glazed.

‘It didn’t work out,’ he muttered, his voice so low Bleck could scarcely hear him. ‘Good luck, Ed. You’ll need it. You’ll all need it.’

Bleck straightened. He found himself thinking that if they ever did succeed in breaking into the truck, they would each have two hundred and fifty thousand dollars now, since, instead of five, there were only four left to share the loot.

The cabin consisted of a bedroom, a sitting room, a tiny kitchen and a shower cabinet. It was pleasantly furnished with twin beds in the bedroom and two lounging chairs and settee in the sitting room. With a little improvisation, it was possible to sleep four there.

It had the advantage of being the most isolated cabin along the lake. It was the honeymoon cabin, the man in charge told Ginny with a knowing smile. They were lucky he could offer it.

The last couple who had had it only moved out last night. The man — his name was Hadfield — had got into the Buick with Ginny and Kitson and had directed them to the cabin. From time to time he glanced at Kitson, wondering why he looked so tense and why he scarcely spoke a word. He thought the guy was probably nervous, facing his first night as a husband, although why any man should feel nervous with a girl as pretty as this one, Hadfield couldn’t understand.

The girl was nervous too, but that was to be expected. All nice girls, Hadfield thought sentimentally, were nervous on their honeymoon and he couldn’t do enough for her. He showed her where she could park the caravan, right beside the cabin, and pointed out the boat house where they could hire a boat if they wanted one. He said they wouldn’t be disturbed.

‘Folks here are pretty sociable, Mrs. Harrison,’ he told her after he had unlocked the cabin and had shown her where everything was kept. ‘They drop in on each other, but I guess you two would like a little privacy, anyway for a day or two,’ and he winked at Kitson, who stared stonily at him. ‘I’ll pass the word around. You won’t be bothered until you are good and ready.’

There had been nothing the four of them could do until dark.

That had been the worst period of this eventful day for them.

Ginny had gone into the bedroom and had lain down on the bed. After a while she had dropped off into a sleep of exhaustion.

Kitson had remained on guard, smoking and keeping an eye on the caravan. Bleck and Gypo had been forced to remain in the caravan with the dead bodies of Morgan and Thomas for company. It had been a bad period.

When it was dark, Bleck and Gypo had come into the cabin. Gypo was in a bad way. He flopped into an armchair and hid his face in his hands. He had a big bruise on the side of his jaw where Bleck had hit him. There had been a time, when driving up to Fawn Lake, when Gypo had tried to break out of the caravan. He had started to yell and beat on the walls of the caravan. He had behaved as if he had gone off his head.