James Chase - The World in My Pocket

Gypo came to the bedroom door and stood, listening.

‘Well, tomorrow we go,’ Bleck went on. ‘We can’t take a chance on that kid trying a fast one.’ He turned to Kitson. ‘Suppose you get out of here and stay with the caravan? That kid might take it into his head to come back and start snooping.’

Kitson nodded. He went to the door, unlocked it and went out into the night.

Gypo said in a flat, final voice, ‘Tomorrow, I go home. Understand? I’ve had enough. Now I’m going to bed.’

He went back into the bedroom and shut the door.

‘I’ll fix him,’ Bleck said, an ugly expression in his eyes. ‘I’m getting plenty tired of that creep.’

Ginny went into the kitchen and began preparing supper.

Bleck came to the door and leaned against it.

‘You handled that guy pretty well, baby,’ he said. ‘Have you thought any more about my proposition? I’m smart; you’re smart, so that makes us two smart people. How about it?’

She slid two big steaks into the frying pan.

‘I wouldn’t be interested if you were the last man left alive,’ she said not looking at him.

‘Okay, baby,’ he said. ‘We’ll see.’

He was grinning as if he had a secret joke as he wandered over to the armchair and sat down.

Early next morning, Kitson drove into town, leaving Ginny to sit near the caravan on guard while Bleck and Gypo remained in the cabin. This was taking a risk, but Gypo had been so difficult Bleck didn’t feel he could cope with him in the caravan.

Bleck and Kitson had had to tie Gypo to the bed and gag him: that was how bad he had been. When they had finally fastened him to the bed, Bleck, breathing heavily, a vicious expression in his eyes, waved Kitson out of the room. ‘You leave this jerk to me,’ he said. ‘I’ll persuade him to change his mind. By the time you get back, he’ll be willing to travel with us.’

Kitson hated leaving Gypo like that, but he knew they couldn’t hope to get the truck open without Gypo’s skill, and as Gypo seemed to have gone slightly off his head, he was relieved to push the responsibility onto Bleck.

In town, Kitson bought a fair-sized tent and a large stock of canned food. They had discussed the food problem and had decided that it wouldn’t be safe to go down to the town to shop once they were up in the mountains and they would have to take enough provisions to last them until Gypo opened the truck. He returned to the cabin with the trunk of the Buick full of his purchases.

Ginny came over as he got out of the car.

‘Anything happen?’ he asked.

She shook her head.

‘No, but I’m glad you’re back. I keep thinking of that kid. The sooner we leave the better.’

They went into the cabin together.

Gypo was sitting in one of the armchairs. His face was white and his eyes sunk deep into his head. He didn’t look up when they came in.

Bleck was pacing up and down, smoking.

‘All fixed?’ he said to Kitson.

‘I got everything.’

Kitson looked at Gypo and then at Bleck, his eyes question marks.

‘Gypo’s okay now,’ Bleck said. ‘I’ve talked to him and he’s ready to cooperate.’

‘You force me to do it,’ Gypo said, his voice shaking. ‘Nothing good will come of it. I’ve warned you before. Now I’m warning you again.’ He looked up suddenly at Kitson. ‘You were my friend. Some friend! You keep away from me! I don’t want anything more to do with you!’

‘What’s the matter then?’ Kitson asked, staring at him.

‘I had to get a little tough with him,’ Bleck said. ‘I had to convince him if he didn’t cooperate, he would run into a lot of trouble.’

‘He said he would break my hands,’ Gypo said in a low, shaking voice. ‘How can a man live without his hands?’

Kitson started to say something, but Bleck shook his head at him.

‘Come on, let’s get going,’ Bleck said. ‘Anyone around out there?’

Ginny and Kitson went outside.

There were boats on the lake, but no one in the immediate vicinity.

Kitson coupled up the caravan to the Buick, then backed the caravan close to the cabin door.

‘You guys ready?’

Bleck came to the door with Gypo.

Kitson opened the back of the caravan, and Bleck and Gypo got in quickly and Kitson shut the back. The move didn’t take a couple of seconds.

‘I’ll stay here while you settle with the office,’ Kitson said, giving Ginny his wallet.

While he waited, Kitson lit a cigarette and leaned against the side of the caravan. His nerves were tense now. They were going out into the open. It was asking for trouble, but there seemed no other way if they were going to open the truck.

‘Hey, mister!’

Kitson started and looked quickly around.

A small boy, in jeans and a red and white checkered shirt, a straw hat on his head came from around the other side of the caravan.

‘Hello,’ Kitson said.

The boy stared at him, his head a little on one side.

‘You know my pop,’ he said. ‘I’m Fred Bradford junior.’

‘Is that right?’ Kitson said, trying to sound casual.

The boy frowned at him, then transferred his attention to the caravan.

‘That yours?’ he asked, jerking his thumb at the caravan.

‘That’s right,’ Kitson said.

The boy studied the caravan.

‘I like ours better.’

Kitson didn’t say anything. He wished feverishly that Ginny would come back and they could get the hell out of here.

The boy squatted down and stared under the caravan.

‘Say! You’ve got enough steel on her, haven’t you?’ he said, looking up at Kitson. ‘What’s the idea? It only adds to the weight, doesn’t it?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Kitson rubbing his jaw uneasily. ‘It was like that when I bought it.’

‘Pop said two of your friends were in it yesterday. Is that right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What was the matter with them?’

‘Nothing.’

The boy studied him. Kitson found his young eyes were extraordinarily disconcerting.

‘There was something wrong with them. I heard them yelling at each other.’

‘They always yell at each other,’ Kitson said. ‘There’s nothing to that.’

The boy stepped back and stared at the caravan.

‘Can I see inside, mister?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Kitson said, turning hot. ‘My wife’s got the key.’

The boy looked surprised.

‘My pop never lets my ma have keys. She always loses them.’

‘My wife doesn’t.’

The boy squatted down again and began to pull at the grass, scattering the blades right and left.

‘Your friends in there now?’

‘No.’

‘Where are they then?’

‘At home.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘St. Lawrence.’

‘They live together then?’

‘That’s right.’

‘They were yelling at each other. They scared me.’

Kitson shrugged his shoulders.

‘That’s nothing. They always yell at each other.’

The boy took off his hat and began to put grass into it.

‘One of them called the other a yellow creep because he couldn’t do something. What was it he couldn’t do?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kitson said, and he lit a cigarette.

‘They sounded pretty mad at each other.’

‘They’re good friends. You don’t have to worry about them.’

Having filled the hat with grass, the boy bent forward, dipped his head into the hat and pulled it on.

‘This keeps my head cool,’ he explained, seeing Kitson staring at him. ‘It’s my own invention. There could be money in it.’

‘Yeah,’ Kitson said. ‘Look, son, maybe you’d better go home. Your pop may be wondering where you’ve got to.’

‘No, he won’t. I told him I was going to look for that truck that’s been stolen — the one with all that money in it. He doesn’t expect me back for another hour. Did you read about the truck, mister?’