James Chase: The World in My Pocket

Four men sat around a table on which were scattered playing cards, poker chips, a couple of loaded ashtrays, glasses and a bottle of whisky.

The room was in semi-darkness except for a green, shaded light that fell directly on the table. A smoke haze hung overhead and spread out, drifting away into the shadows. Morgan, a big man with cold, restless eyes and a thin mouth, laid down four kings and sat back, drumming gently with his fingertips on the table.

There was a pause, then with grunts of disgust the other three men threw in their cards.

Gypo, born Giuseppe Mandini, a fat ball of a man with black curly hair, going grey at the temples, a swarthy complexion and a small beaky nose, flicked his chips across the table to Morgan and grinned ruefully.

‘That cleans me,’ he said. ‘What luck! Nothing better than a nine all the evening!’

Ed Bleck fingered his neat stack of chips, removed four of them and pushed them over to Morgan. He was tall, fair and heavily sunburned. He had a vicious handsomeness that appealed to women but made men wary. He wore a neatly pressed grey flannel suit and his tie was hand painted: yellow horseshoes on a bottle-green background. Of the four men, he was the best dressed.

The fourth man was Alex Kitson. He was the youngest of the four, around twenty-three. He was solidly built, dark, with high cheekbones, a flattened nose of a professional fighter and dark, uneasy eyes. He wore an open-neck shirt and a pair of black corduroy trousers. He tossed the last of his chips over to Morgan, grimacing.

‘Me too,’ he said. ‘I had four queens. I thought…’ He broke off, aware the other two were looking intently at Morgan and not listening to what he was saying. Morgan was making the chips he had received into three neat piles. A cigarette hung from his thin lips, and the other three men listened to his quick, steady breathing. When he had arranged the chips to his liking, he looked up. His black snake’s eyes moved slowly from face to face.

Bleck said impatiently, ‘What’s on your mind, Frank? Something’s been biting at you all the evening.’

Morgan continued to drum on the table with his fingertips for some seconds, then he said abruptly, ‘How would you boys like to pick up two hundred thousand bucks?’

The three stiffened. They knew Morgan well enough by now to be certain he wouldn’t kid about a thing like that.

‘What was that again?’ Gypo asked, leaning forward.

‘Two hundred thousand bucks each,’ Morgan said, emphasizing the last word. ‘It’s there for the taking, but it’ll be a tough one.’

Bleck took out a pack of cigarettes. He tapped a cigarette out and then began to roll it between his fingers while he regarded Morgan thoughtfully.

‘You mean the complete take is eight hundred Gs?’ he asked.

‘A million,’ Morgan said. ‘There’ll be a five-way split if you three want to come in on it.’

‘Five? Who’s the fifth?’ Bleck asked sharply.

‘We’ll get to that,’ Morgan said. He pushed back his chair and stood up. Putting his hands flat on the table, he leaned forward. His thin white face was tense as he said, ‘This is the big one. It’s tough, but it yields a million bucks in hard cash: money you can stick in your pocket without your pocket catching fire. Nothing bigger than a ten-dollar bill. But make no mistake about it — it’s a tough one.’

‘Two hundred thousand bucks?’ Gypo was gaping. ‘There ain’t that much money in the world!’

Morgan grinned at him. The expression on his face made him look like a hungry wolf.

‘It’s the big one,’ he repeated. ‘With that amount of dough, you’ll have the world in your pocket!’

‘Let me guess, Frank,’ Bleck said. ‘It’s the Rocket Research Station’s payroll.’

Morgan sat down. He nodded, grinning.

‘You’re smart, Ed. That’s the one. How do you like it? The payroll is worth exactly a million: all in small bills. It’s there to be had.’

He looked directly at Kitson who was staring at him, a startled expression on his face.

‘You heard me, kid,’ Morgan said. ‘It’s there to be had.’

‘Are you crazy?’ Kitson said, his big hands turning into fists. ‘That’s one job we don’t do, Frank, and I know what I’m talking about.’

Morgan smiled at him, the way an older man smiles at a younger man who has said something stupid. His eyes moved to Bleck, knowing that if Bleck had a feeling for the job, something might be done about it. Bleck was the one with the brains. This kid, Kitson, had guts, was fast with his fists and could handle a car, but there was nothing in his head. If Bleck said it couldn’t be done, then he might have to think again.

‘What do you say, Ed?’

Bleck lit the cigarette, frowning.

‘It’s the one job I wouldn’t pick in spite of the size of the payoff, but if you have an angle, I’m willing to listen.’

That was like Bleck. He never expressed an opinion unless he had all the facts.

Gypo moved his fat body uneasily, looking from Kitson to Morgan, a puzzled expression on his face.

‘What’s so tough about the job then?’ he asked.

Morgan waved his hand at Kitson.

‘You tell him, kid. You should know. You worked for the outfit.’

‘Yes,’ Kitson said. ‘I do know. This is the one job no one swings. Anyone who is crazy enough to try to grab that payroll is yelling for trouble.’ He looked around the table at the other three, uneasy to be talking this way to three men much older than himself and unsure of himself. ‘I’m not kidding. The Welling Armoured Truck Agency is really organized for trouble. I should know. As Frank said, I worked there once.’

Gypo rubbed his face with his hand and frowned at Morgan.

‘But you have an angle, haven’t you, Frank?’

Morgan ignored him. He continued to stare at Kitson.

‘Go on, kid,’ he said. ‘Keep talking. Tell them how tough it is.’

Kitson picked up one of Morgan’s poker chips. He began to turn it over and over between his thick fingers while he stared at it, frowning.

‘Before I quit the agency,’ he said, ‘they got delivery of a new truck. Before this truck arrived, they were using a sardine can with four outriders to protect it. This new truck doesn’t need outriders. It’s really the tops. They’re so sure it is foolproof they don’t even insure the load anymore.’

‘What’s so special about it?’ Morgan asked.

Kitson ran his thick fingers through his hair. It embarrassed him to talk but he was determined to prove that this time Morgan was wrong to suggest such a job. He had had, up to now, a lot of faith in Morgan. The four of them had been working as a team for the past six months, and they had pulled several pretty good jobs. The money hadn’t been much, but there had been no risk, and each one of these jobs had been Morgan’s brainchild. Kitson was willing to admit that two hundred thousand bucks was real money, but what was the use of thinking about it? Morgan had said it was to be had. But he was wrong! He just didn’t know what he was talking about!

‘Go on, kid,’ Morgan urged, a jeering expression in his eyes. ‘What’s so special about this new truck?’

Kitson drew in a deep breath.

‘You won’t get near it, Frank,’ he said. He was so anxious to make his point, his voice shook. ‘This truck is made of a special armoured plate alloy. You can’t cut into it. Maybe it would melt under continuous and intense heat, but the heat would have to be applied for hours, maybe days. The strongest part of the truck is the door. There’s a time lock on it. When the truck is loaded, they fix the lock. It takes the truck three hours fast driving to reach the Research Station. The lock is set to operate four hours after it has left the Agency. That gives the driver time in hand to take care of traffic blocks or a breakdown.’ He put the poker chip down and looked at the other two who were leaning forward, listening, intent expressions on their faces. ‘There’s a push button on the dashboard that controls the time lock. If there is any sign of trouble, the driver has only to punch the button and the time lock cancels out.’