The World in My Pocket

I

Morgan had called a meeting for eight o’clock and Bleck was a little early. He arrived at Lu Strieger’s Poolroom at seven forty-five for no other reason except his watch was fast. He moved through the crowded, smoke-hazed bar to where Strieger, a red-faced, enormously fat man was watching a game of pool.

‘Anyone gone up yet, Lu?’ Bleck asked.

‘No, but the door’s unlocked. Help yourself,’ Strieger said.

‘I’ll have a Scotch,’ Bleck said, and when Strieger had served him, he wandered off into a corner of the room and sat down, pushing his hat to the back of his head and loosening his tie.

Bleck was feeling off-colour and moody that night. This café holdup idea of Morgan’s worried him.

Bleck had begun with many more advantages than the other three. His father had been a successful storekeeper who had given his son a good education. He had wanted him to become a doctor, but the drudgery of study had been too much for Bleck. After a couple of years at college he had suddenly quit and had left home. He had become a car salesman and, at the same time, had discovered an insatiable appetite for women. He had spent more than he had earned, and when his debts had got out of hand, he had helped himself to the contents of the firm’s safe which had amounted to nearly four thousand dollars. He had been under the mistaken impression that he had covered his tracks, and it came as a shock to him when two detectives closed in on him before he had had the chance of spending more than two hundred dollars of the loot. He went to prison for six months. This happened when he was twenty-two. Since then he had served two further sentences in prison: one of two years and one of four. He had now a horror of prison.

While serving his last sentence, he had met Morgan who was completing his fifteenth year: a sentence that had turned Bleck’s blood cold. They came out together, and when Morgan suggested they should join forces, Bleck had agreed.

He had agreed because of Morgan’s reputation. Those in the know had told him that Morgan was going to be Mr. Big one of these days. They said that sooner or later Morgan would pull the big one, and when he did, it would be a job to remember.

Bleck was thirty-five, and he knew his future would be bleak unless he was prepared to put everything into a gamble that offered the highest possible return. He had a feeling that Morgan was big enough to handle a job that would put him in the money for the rest of his life.

As he sat in the corner of the poolroom, sipping his whisky, Bleck’s mind dwelt on his share of the money they would get from the truck. Two hundred thousand dollars! He would travel. He would try out the girls in every country in Europe. He would go to Monte Carlo and bust the bank there. He would…

Then he saw Ginny Gordon come in and his daydreams were abruptly interrupted. She came through the smoke haze, her chin tilted, her eyes hostile while the men in the poolroom stared at her, grinning at each other, winking and nudging. If it hadn’t been that Lu Strieger didn’t stand for mashing in his poolroom, she would have been besieged as she entered the bar.

Some dish, Bleck thought, eyeing her as she paused at the door that gave on to the steep staircase that led to the room Strieger rented to those who wanted some privacy.

Ginny was wearing a pair of black slacks, tight across her seat, and a bottle-green shirt, open at the neck.

But she’s a toughie, Bleck thought, finishing his whisky. Where does she come from? She could be fun. Maybe I’ll soften her up a little. After the job, we might go places together for a week or so. She’s got spirit, and with a body like that.

He got to his feet and crossed the room and followed the girl up the stairs. He overtook her as she reached the landing.

‘Hi, Ginny,’ he said. ‘We’re the first two. Those pants certainly suit your geography.’

She turned and looked at him. Her sea-green eyes were disconcertingly bleak.

‘Think so?’ she said, then she opened the door and entered the room, flicking on the light as she did so. She went over to the table and sat down. Opening her bag, she took out a comb and a mirror and began to tidy her copper-coloured hair.

Bleck pulled out a chair and sat opposite her. He stared admiringly at her, watching the way her breasts lifted under the soft material of her shirt as she raised her arms.

‘Well, if s fixed for tonight,’ he said. ‘Scared?’

She put the comb and mirror away and took out a pack of cigarettes.

‘Scared? What’s there to be scared about?’ she asked, indifferently.

‘You’re pretty cool,’ Bleck said, staring at her. ‘I don’t believe you are scared.’

He reached across the table, offering the flame of his cigarette lighter.

For a long moment she studied the flame before leaning forward to dip the end of her cigarette into it. Her full, red lips curved into a smile that came and went so quickly Bleck wasn’t sure if she had smiled.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asked, his voice sharpening.

Again her eyes went to the flame of the lighter and he looked at it too. He saw it was far from steady, and he realized his hand was shaking. He snapped out the flame and sat back, forcing a grin.

‘You’re right. I’m scared, and I’ll tell you why.’ He folded his arms on the table and leaned on them. ‘I’m scared we’ll foul up this job tonight and sour the big one. I don’t like this job. I tried to talk Frank out of it. It would be safer and easier to stickup that service station at Dukas, but he won’t have it. With this cafe job, someone might turn brave. If that happens you have a shooting on your hands. If someone gets shot tonight, the heat’ll be on so bad the big one could come unstuck.’

She let smoke drift down her nostrils as she stared at him.

‘Then we must take care no one does turn brave.’

‘Easier said than done.’

She lifted her eyebrows.

‘Is it? If you show a vicious dog you’re not scared of it, it’ll behave. It’s the same with brave people.’

Bleck frowned.

‘I can’t make you out. Have you worked for a mob before?’

Her eyes became cloudy.

‘Then don’t make me out,’ she said curtly.

Bleck shrugged.

‘Okay, if you want to play it mysterious, go ahead. But remember this: you have the toughest end of the job tonight. You have to collect the wallets. Some guy might make a grab at you. So watch it.’

Because he was so uneasy about the job himself, he hoped she too would become uneasy, but there was no change in her expression as she said, ‘No one will make a grab at me.’

The door opened and Kitson and Gypo came in.

Kitson paused abruptly when he saw Ginny and Bleck alone together and his face flushed, his eyes becoming angry.

‘Here comes the bridegroom,’ Bleck said, and he began to sing Mendelssohn’s Wedding March in a raucous voice.

Gypo chuckled, his small black eyes dancing with merriment.

He thought the joke harmless and a good one.

Kitson turned white.

‘Shut up!’ His voice shook. ‘Cut it out!’

Bleck stopped singing and leaned back in his chair, a jeering grin on his face.

‘So what? You and she? He waved towards Ginny who sat motionless, her eyes on Kitson. ‘You two are the newlyweds, aren’t you? Frank said you and she were renting the caravan for your honeymoon.’

‘I said cut it out!’ Kitson said.

‘What’s biting you, stupe? Don’t you want to have a honeymoon with her?’ Bleck said. ‘You have the soft end of this job. What could be nicer than to have a baby like her all alone in a caravan: that is if you know what to do when you’ve got her alone.’

Kitson took two quick steps that brought him to the table. His fist flashed up and slammed against Bleck’s jaw. Bleck went over backwards, taking the chair with him and landed on the floor with a crash that shook the room. He sprawled there, staring up at Kitson, his eyes dazed.

‘Get up, you louse!’ Kitson said, ‘and I’ll shove your teeth through the back of your head!’

‘Hey, kid!’ Gypo cried, horrified.

He grabbed hold of Kitson’s arm, but Kitson gave him a shove that sent him reeling across the room.

Bleck shook his head. His eyes became full of hate as he stared up at Kitson.

‘I’ve always wanted to take you, you punch-drunk bum,’ he said. ‘Now I’ll show you what fighting really means.’

As he got to his feet, Morgan came into the room.

Gypo said breathlessly, ‘Stop them, Frank! They’re going to fight!’

Morgan took four quick sliding steps forward so he was between the two men, his back to Kitson while he faced Bleck.

‘Gone out of your head?’ Morgan asked with artificial politeness, his snake’s eyes glittering.

Bleck hesitated, then he shrugged, pulled his coat into shape, ran his fingers through his hair, jerked out a chair and sat down.

He stared down at the table, rubbing his aching jaw.

Morgan turned and looked at Kitson.

‘You start trouble in this mob,’ he said, ‘and you’ll be in plenty of trouble yourself. I’m not telling you a second time. Sit down!’

Kitson slouched to a chair away from Ginny and Bleck and sat down.

Still nervous, Gypo came over to the table and hesitated beside Ginny.

‘Mind if I sit here?’

She shook her head.

‘Why should I?’

Smirking with embarrassment, Gypo sat down.

Morgan began to prowl around the room, a cigarette hanging from his thin lips, his hat tilted over his eyes.

‘Okay, fellows,’ he said, ‘pay attention. We do the job tonight at ten minutes past twelve. That’s when the place will be full, and the chances of anyone busting in on us small. Kitson handles the car.’ He paused to stare at Kitson. ‘You know the district. You remain with the car with the engine running. If it turns sour, you wait for us, then take the first on the left to cut out the traffic lights. I’ll leave it to you to shake off whoever is following us. Okay?’

Still scowling, Kitson nodded.

‘Ginny: you and Ed and me,’ Morgan went on, continuing his prowling, ‘will go inside. Lu’s lending me a machine gun. You, Ed, will have your gun. Ginny goes in after me, then Ed will take care of the door. As soon as we’re in, Ed’ll pull down the blind on the door. I’ll get up on the bar so I can cover the whole room. The chopper should cool any hothead. As soon as we have them where we want them, Ginny will go around and collect the wallets. We don’t want anything but cash. If anyone comes in, it’s your job to handle them, Ed. The whole job shouldn’t take more than five minutes if we work fast. That depends on you, Ginny. Watch it no smart Alec makes a grab at you as you take his wallet. We don’t want any shooting unless it really turns sour.’

Gypo’s small black eyes rolled as he listened. He was glad he wasn’t participating in this job.

Kitson rubbed his knuckles and stared down at the table. He too was thankful he had charge of the car. It needed a hell of a nerve to walk into that cafe and quell some forty to fifty people and he wasn’t sure if he would have had the nerve to do it.

Bleck was still seething with fury that Kitson had hit him, but Morgan’s words shifted his mind away from Kitson and he experienced a cold, tight feeling in his stomach.

‘Well, okay,’ he said, ‘if you’re satisfied this is the way to do it, Frank, but I don’t like it. We could take on something not so rugged.’

Morgan paused in his prowling.

‘I know that, but we’re doing this one because it’s going to get us into the right shape for the big job. I know what I’m doing, Ed. This job will tell me if anyone of you is likely to sour the big one. That’s why I’ve picked it.’ He came over to the table and looked directly at Ginny. ‘This is your test. You’ve talked a lot and it has sounded convincing. Now I want to see if it is all talk.

That’s why I’ve given you the tough end of the deal.’

The girl looked steadily at him.

‘I’ll handle it,’ she said. ‘It’s not all that tough.’

Morgan smiled.

‘We’ll see. Well, okay, that’s it. Let’s break it up now. Kitson, you bring Gypo’s car to the cafe at twelve-ten. Is your watch right? What do you make it now?’

‘Eight-twenty,’ Kitson said, consulting his strap watch.

‘Eight twenty-three,’ Morgan said, checking his watch. ‘Lu will give you the machine gun. Have it on the back seat. You come to the cafe on your own. Ed and me will come on foot. As I go in I’ll pick the gun out of the car.’ He looked over at Ginny. ‘You come along Maddux Street. Be there at twelve-ten. We’ve all got to be dead on time. Have you got a watch?’

Ginny nodded.

‘Okay,’ Morgan said. ‘Collect the gun as you go out, Kitson. You go with him, Gypo, and make sure that heep of yours doesn’t let us down. See you at twelve-ten, huh?’

Kitson got to his feet. He paused, looking uneasily at Morgan, then his eyes moved to Ginny and away again. He turned and walked across the room to the door with Gypo following him.

When they had gone, Morgan sat down.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

She lifted her eyebrows.

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘Look, don’t give me that stuff,’ Morgan said sharply. ‘I’ve done dozens of these jobs in the past, but I still get a little scared. Don’t try to bluff me. I’m asking you — are you okay? Do you still want the tough end of this job?’

She held out her hand, a half-burned cigarette between her slim fingers. The smoke curled straight up. The cigarette was rock steady.

‘Do I look scared?’ she asked, then she pushed back her chair and stood up.

The two men stared at her while she looked directly at Morgan.

‘Twelve-ten,’ she said. ‘Be seeing you.’

She turned and made for the door, her hips moving provocatively as she walked. She opened the door and went out, shutting the door behind her without looking back.

‘A toughie,’ Bleck said and grimaced.

‘Maybe,’ Morgan said soberly, ‘but I’ve seen the tough ones crack at the wrong moment. We’ll see.’ He got to his feet. ‘Okay: let’s get out of here.’

II

At five minutes past midnight, Morgan and Bleck got off the streetcar at the corner of Maddux Street. They crossed the road and paused in a dark shop doorway, looking across at the Palace All-Night Cafe.

Lights showed through the curtained windows. They could see part of the bar through the glass door.

Morgan flicked his half-smoked cigarette into the street.

‘There it is,’ he said.

‘I bet Gypo’s thanking his stars he isn’t on this caper,’ Bleck said, aware that his heart was thumping sluggishly and his hands were moist.

‘I’m thanking my stars he isn’t on it either,’ Morgan said. He too was aware that his heart was thumping and that his mouth was dry. ‘As soon as Kitson drives up, we cross the street.’

‘Yeah,’ Bleck said, his hand going to his hip pocket and resting on the cold butt of his .38. ‘There she is,’ he went on as he saw Ginny walking towards the cafe. She was still wearing her black slacks and the bottle-green shirt, but she had concealed her hair under a green scarf, and as she passed under a streetlight, Bleck realized how much the copper-coloured hair helped her kind of beauty. Now it was concealed she looked quite plain. At that moment the dusty Lincoln came down the street and pulled up outside the cafe.

‘Here we go,’ Morgan said, and crossed the road with long, swift strides.

The street was deserted. They could hear the jukebox grinding out a waltz from inside the cafe.

Morgan paused long enough to reach into the back of the Lincoln and snatch up the machine gun.

‘Take it easy,’ he said to Kitson. ‘When we go, we go fast.’

Kitson grunted; his hands tight on the steering wheel.

Bleck had taken out his handkerchief and was tying it across the lower part of his face. His hands were shaking so badly he had trouble in fixing the knot.

Ginny had already masked her face, and she was standing by the cafe door. Down by her side, she held a .38 Police Special.

Morgan didn’t bother to mask his face. He was an old hand at this game, and he knew everyone got so scared they seldom were able to give the police any useful description.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, drawing in a quick, deep breath.

He moved up close to Ginny.

‘You open the door, then get out of my way.’

‘I know.’

Her voice was flat and steady, and he glanced at her, their eyes meeting.

Well, she’s cool enough, he thought. I wouldn’t have thought it possible. a kid like her.

She opened the door and leaned against it, giving him room to pass her. He stepped into the noisy, overheated cafe. Bleck, sweat soaking the handkerchief tied across the lower part of his face, moved forward as Ginny followed Morgan. He closed the door and pulled down the blind.

There were two men at the bar who looked casually over their shoulders as they felt the sudden night air come through the open doorway. They stared at Morgan, and then at the machine gun in his hands. Their unbelieving eyes moved to Ginny’s masked face and they stiffened, their faces turning white.

Morgan shouted: ‘Get out of the way! Get back!’

The buzz of conversation throughout the room suddenly began to peter out. Morgan’s voice had cut the air the way a razor cuts through silk.

The two men nearly fell over themselves as they crowded back.

Morgan put one hand on the bar and vaulted up on to it. He kicked glasses and bottles out of his way and the sudden smashing of breaking glass brought people to their feet and the buzz of conversation to an abrupt silence.

‘Take it easy!’ Morgan bawled, sweeping the room with the muzzle of the machine gun. ‘This is a hold-up! Don’t make a move and you won’t get hurt! Sit down, all of you! Anyone who starts anything will get a gutful of lead! Just stay still and you’ll be okay!’

Nearly blinded by sweat, his heart hammering so violently he could scarcely breathe, Bleck dragged down the handkerchief mask which was suffocating him. He held his .38 in a hand that was shaking, while he looked across the packed cafe, praying that some fool wouldn’t start something.

A woman screamed. Two men started to get to their feet, but were immediately dragged back into their seats by the women with them. Everyone else in the cafe froze into statues.

‘Okay,’ Morgan said, pitching his voice high. ‘We want cash. Put your wallets on the tables. Come on! Get moving!’

Most of the men began fumbling in their hip pockets and this was Ginny’s cue. She pulled the canvas sack that Morgan had given her from her pocket, then, holding the sack in her left hand and the .38 in her right, she started her lone walk down the aisle, stopping at each table to pick up the wallets that were lying on the table and dropping them into the sack.

Bleck, standing by the door, watched her. She moved slowly and cautiously like someone walking on brittle ice, but there was no hesitation. She paused at each table, collected the wallet that lay there, dropped, it into the sack and moved on.

Morgan yelled: ‘Come on! Come on! Get your wallets out! I’ve got an itchy finger, but I don’t want to hurt anyone unless I have to! Get those wallets out!’

Bleck began to relax.

Morgan and the girl were swinging this, he thought. Talk about nerve! The snap in Morgan’s voice was something to hear and the way he stood, slightly crouching, his machine gun pushed forward made him a blood chilling, menacing figure.

The girl suddenly stopped her mechanical movement forward.

She had reached a table where a woman, wearing a mink stole and a fat, hard-faced man were sitting. There was no wallet on the table.

She looked at the man, who stared at her, his small grey eyes glittering.

‘Come on, mister,’ she said softly. ‘Hand it over.’

‘I’ve got nothing for you, you tramp,’ the man said. ‘I don’t carry money.’

Bleck began to sweat. He smelt trouble. He looked anxiously at Morgan, who stood motionless, the machine gun rigid. He was watching Ginny, his lips slightly off his teeth, his expression wolfish.

‘Hand it over!’ Ginny said, raising her voice.

‘I’ve got nothing for you, you little bitch,’ the man said, staring at her.

His companion suddenly went as white as a fresh fall of snow and shut her eyes. Her massive body began to sag against the man who shoved her off impatiently.

Ginny lifted her gun.

‘Shed it, fatso,’ she said, her voice suddenly strident, ‘or you’ll get a dose of lead poisoning!’

The man’s face tightened, but he said, ‘I’ve got nothing for you! Get out of here!’

Morgan shifted the muzzle of his gun around to cover the man, but he knew the movement was futile. He knew the man must realize he wouldn’t shoot because Ginny was in the direct line of fire. This was Ginny’s show, and Morgan watched her anxiously, knowing this was the test. The cards were down and the pressure on. Would she crack?

He got his answer sooner than he expected it.

Ginny smiled at the man: a flickering smile that came and went beneath the mask, but showed for a brief flash in her eyes. Then she pistol-whipped the man across his face. Her movement was so quick he had no chance of protecting himself. The barrel of the .38 slashed him across his nose and cheek and blood spurted. He fell backwards, his hand going to his face, a grunting sound forcing itself out of his mouth.

She leaned across the table and hit him again. The barrel of the gun coming down hard on the top of his head, so he slumped forward, half unconscious. The woman in the mink stole gave a shrill scream and slid out of her chair in a faint.

Morgan yelled, ‘Hold it! Just one move out of anyone of you and you’ll get it!’

His voice was so loaded with menace that even Bleck froze for a brief moment.

Ginny stepped close to the half-unconscious man, jerked him upright and pulled out his wallet from his inside pocket. She gave him a hard shove so he fell across the table as she dropped the wallet into the sack.

That was enough.

Wallets appeared on the tables as if by magic. All Ginny now had to do was to walk swiftly down the aisle, picking them up and dropping them into the sack.

Bleck was so fascinated that he had taken his attention off the door, and it came as a shock when the door jerked open and a big, broad-shouldered man came in.

Bleck stared stupidly at the man. The big man looked from Bleck to the gun Bleck was holding slackly in his hand. The big man moved swiftly. His hand came down in a chopping blow on Bleck’s wrist. The gun flew out of Bleck’s grip and slid across the floor to land near the bar.

As the big man set himself to throw a punch at Bleck, Morgan shifted the machine gun in his direction and yelled at him: ‘Hold it! Get your hands up! You hear me?’

The big man’s eyes went to Morgan and the machine gun and his courage sagged. He backed away from Bleck and put up his hands.

A thickset man with a pugnacious face who had shed his wallet and who was sitting at a table at which Ginny was standing, seeing Morgan’s gun wasn’t aiming in his direction, made a sudden grab at Ginny’s .38 as she picked up his wallet. His hand closed over the gun butt and her wrist and he tried to jerk the gun out of her grasp.

She held on to the gun and looked into his reckless, scared eyes. She squeezed the trigger. The gun went off with a crash that rattled the windows of the cafe. The man released his grip as if he had caught hold of something red hot. The bullet cut through his sleeve, grazing his arm.

Ginny stepped back, threatening him with the gun while Morgan yelled and cursed at him.

‘Get on! Get on!’ Morgan shouted to Ginny. ‘Hurry!’

As calm as a model at a dress show, Ginny moved on, picking up the wallets and dropping them into the sack. No one moved. They sat frozen, white-faced, their fear riveted on their faces.

Outside in the car, Kitson heard the crash of gunfire and he flinched. It needed a tremendous effort of self-control not to put the car into gear and drive away.

He sat motionless, his hands gripping the wheel, sweat on his face, holding on to himself, willing himself to stay where he was.

Then suddenly it was all over.

There was a sound of rushing of feet. He heard the rear door of the Lincoln jerk open and bodies spilt into the car. He felt a hot, sweating body thud against his as Bleck sprawled on to the front seat. Automatically, he started the car moving.

‘Go on! Go on!’ Morgan bawled in his ear from the rear seat. ‘Get the hell out of here fast!’

Kitson, his breath whistling between his clenched teeth, sent the car surging forward. He swung left with a scream of tortured tires, cut down the narrow alley and out into the in street.

With the skill that was his natural talent, he skipped the car cross the main street, and into another side street, slackening speed slightly, flicking on his headlights and flicking them off immediately as he drove across the intersections.

Morgan twisted around, was staring out of the rear window, intent on seeing if they were being followed. After a half a mile of such driving, he said abruptly, ‘Okay, no one is on us, let’s

get over to Gypo’s place.’

There was a general relaxation of tension.

‘Well, that was rugged!’ Bleck said, wiping his face with the back of his hand. ‘That could have turned pretty sour if we hadn’t had the chopper with us. Phew! When that jerk tried to grab Ginny’s gun.’

‘What happened?’ Kitson demanded, his voice shaking. ‘What was the shooting? Did anyone get hurt?’

‘No. Some guy tried to grab Ginny’s gun and the gun went off. No one got hurt. It certainly put the fear of the devil into that punk. Then a guy took me by surprise and knocked the gun out of my hand. That was pretty rugged too.’

Ginny was sitting next to Morgan, and he could feel her body was trembling. He looked sideways at her, and as they passed under a street lamp, he saw she was looking bad, her skin a bluish white.

He patted her knee.

‘You did fine, kid,’ he said. ‘You really did fine. The way you handled that fat jerk! I’ve never seen anything like it for nerve.’

She moved her knee away.

‘Oh, stop it!’ she said, and to his surprise, she turned her head away and began to cry.

Neither Kitson nor Bleck, sitting in front, knew what was happening, and Morgan shifted away from the girl, leaving her alone.

‘What’s the loot like?’ Kitson asked, driving carefully now as he headed for Gypo’s workshop.

‘Should be okay. At least fifty wallets and the till was loaded,’ Morgan said. He lit a cigarette, noticing with a sense of pride how steady his hands were.

He could still hear Bleck’s laboured breathing. He had watched Bleck while they were in the cafe, and he had an idea he might crack. This bothered him. He had been under the impression that Bleck’s nerve was reliable, but the way he had acted and the way he had let that big jerk knock his gun out of his hand warned Morgan that from now on Bleck would have to be watched.

Kitson too had been in a pretty bad way when they had scrambled into the car. He hadn’t got going as he should have done. If Morgan hadn’t yelled at him, he would have driven away so slowly someone from the cafe could have got a description of the car.

Before the big one, there would have to be some tightening up. At least he was now sure of the girl. She had handled herself magnificently. She was the best of the whole bunch.

He glanced at her again. She had stopped crying, and was sitting up, her white face wooden, her eyes a little glassy, and she was staring out of the window.

Morgan pushed his cigarette towards her.

‘Here, take it,’ he said curtly.

She took the cigarette and put it between her lips, not saying anything.

As Morgan lit another cigarette for himself, Kitson drove up the rough road that led to Gypo’s workshop.

The workshop consisted of a big shed and a wooden shack in which Gypo lived. It was in the shed that he did occasional welding work, made wrought iron gates when anyone wanted gates, which was seldom, or cut a key or fixed a lock for the hardware stores in town.

The workshop gave Gypo a legitimate excuse to keep a few cylinders of acetylene as well as a few cylinders of undiluted hydrogen which were useful when he had to cut into a safe. He scarcely made enough profit from the workshop to pay for the rent of the shed.

They found him waiting anxiously for them, and as the headlights of the Lincoln lit up the double doors, he appeared, shoving open the doors with the frantic clumsiness of a frightened man.

Kitson drove the Lincoln into the shed, and they all got out.

‘Well?’ Gypo asked as soon as he had closed the doors. ‘What happened?’

‘It’s okay,’ Morgan said. ‘We could all do with a drink. Here, Kitson, get those number plates off and drain out the water from the radiator and fill it up with cold. You never know: the cops may give this joint a rumble. Snap it up. Gypo, get us a drink.’ He looked over at Bleck who was lighting a cigarette with a shaking hand. ‘Give Kitson a hand.’

Having got some action, he crossed over to Ginny and smiled at her.

‘Okay?’

Her mouth tightened. She was still looking pretty bad and her skin still had the bluish tinge.

‘I’m all right.’

‘You handle the big one the way you handled this one,’ Morgan said, ‘and you’ll do.’

‘Oh, stop talking to me as if I were a child,’ the girl said irritably and turned away, moving over to the workbench where she began to finger the tools aimlessly.

Morgan shrugged, then when Gypo came hurrying up with a bottle of whisky and glasses, he made five drinks and carried two glasses over to Ginny. He offered her one.

‘If you need this the way I need it, you need it,’ he said.

She took the whisky and swallowed a little, grimacing, then the blueness went out of her face.

‘It was tougher than I imagined,’ she said. ‘I nearly cracked.’

‘But you didn’t.’ Morgan paused to drink half his whisky, then went on, ‘You were fine. Let’s get over there and see what the haul is.’

While Gypo, Kitson and Bleck worked feverishly on the car, Morgan emptied the contents of the sack on to the workbench and began to strip out the wallets. Ginny worked with him.

‘This is his,’ the girl said, picking up a pigskin wallet. ‘The one I hit.’

‘Let’s see what he was trying to protect,’ Morgan said. ‘How much?’

She hooked out ten one hundred dollar bills and laid them on the bench.

‘No wonder he acted tough.’

The other three, having fixed the car, came over and stood watching. After a few minutes, Morgan and the girl finished stripping out the wallets, then Morgan sat down on a box and began counting the money.

The four watched him.

Morgan looked up as he laid the last five—dollar bill down on the bench.

‘Two thousand, nine hundred and seventy-five bucks,’ he said. ‘Well, here’s our working capital. Now we can go straight ahead.’

‘Is that right she had to hit a guy?’ Gypo asked, his eyes as round as marbles.

‘She hit him,’ Morgan said, carefully stacking the money. ‘He asked for it and he got it. She handled him better than I could, better than any of you could.’

Ginny turned away and walked over to the car.

The four men looked at her and exchanged glances.

‘She’ll do,’ Morgan said quietly. ‘If you boys do as well, the big one is in the bag.’

He looked directly at Bleck who tried to meet his eyes, but couldn’t make it. He took out a cigarette and went through an elaborate search for a match, aware that Morgan’s glittering eyes were still probing at him.

‘Hear me, Ed?’

Bleck lit his cigarette.

‘Sure.’

Sensitive to the atmosphere, Gypo asked, ‘Something go wrong, Frank?’

‘Ed let a guy knock his gun out of his hand,’ Morgan said. ‘That could have soured the whole caper.’

Bleck moved his powerful shoulders under his coat, scowling.

‘He caught me on the wrong foot. It could have happened to anyone.’

‘Yeah,’ Morgan said, ‘but don’t let it happen again.’ Turning to Kitson, he went on, ‘And you: you were too slow off the mark. You should have got the car away a lot faster.’

Kitson knew Morgan was right. The sound of the gun going off had paralysed him. He had imagined someone in the cafe had been killed and this job had turned into a murder rap.

‘Ginny.’

The girl turned at the sound of Morgan’s voice and came over to where the four men were standing.

‘We can go ahead with the big one now,’ Morgan said. ‘You and Kitson go into Marlow tomorrow and get the caravan. Gypo will give you the measurements.’ Morgan sat on the bench, his cigarette sending a thin spiral of smoke past his nose. ‘Keep the price as low as you can. We’ll need every cent of this dough. I don’t have to tell you that.’ He looked over at Kitson. ‘You know the setup: you and she have just got married and want this caravan for your honeymoon. Most young people buy caravans for that reason, and we’ve got to make sure the guy who sells you the caravan doesn’t remember either of you.’

Kitson glanced suspiciously at Bleck, but Bleck was feeling pretty sick with himself, knowing that he hadn’t made much of a showing at the hold-up, and he wasn’t in the mood to jeer.

‘Try to stop looking like a block of wood, will you?’ Morgan went on. ‘Act like you’re in love with the girl or this guy will wonder what kind of honeymoon you’re on.’

Gypo chuckled.

‘Maybe I should handle the job,’ he said. ‘I am affectionate by nature. Me and Ginny would make a very pretty couple.’

Even Ginny joined in the laughter.

‘You’re too fat and old, Gypo,’ Morgan said. ‘The guy might remember you. It’s got to be Kitson.’

He counted out two thousand dollars and handed the bills to Kitson.

‘Try and get it cheaper. I’ll bring the Buick with the towing tackle to your place at eleven tomorrow.’ He looked over at Gypo. ‘You follow me to Kitson’s place in the Lincoln. I’ll need transport back.’

‘Sure,’ Gypo said.

‘Okay, let’s break it up now,’ Morgan said. ‘I’ve got to take the chopper back to Lu. You come with me, Ed.’ He looked at Ginny and Kitson, ‘You two take the bus. It’ll be safer if we four aren’t seen together.’

He put the rest of the money in his hip pocket.

‘You two arrange where you meet,’ he said to Ginny. ‘I want you both back here with the caravan by tomorrow afternoon.’ He jerked his head at Bleck. ‘Let’s go.’

When they had gone, Ginny took off the green scarf and shook her copper-coloured hair free.

Looking at her uneasily, Kitson thought she was beautiful. He stood against the workbench, rubbing his knuckles, awkward and ill at ease.

‘Another drink?’ Gypo asked.

The girl shook her head.

‘No, thanks.’ She took out her pack of cigarettes and putting a cigarette between her lips, she looked at Kitson. Kitson fumbled for matches, lit one with a hand that was far from steady and held the flame so she could light the cigarette. She put her cool fingers on his hand to steady the flame and the touch of her flesh on his sent a surge of hot blood through his veins.

She moved away over to the double doors.

‘Well, so long,’ she said to Gypo.

‘So long,’ he said, winking at Kitson, who ignored him and followed the girl out into the hot night air. They walked side by side down the road and on to the highway.

‘Where do you live?’ Ginny asked as they paused at the bus stop.

‘Lennox Street,’ Kitson said.

‘Then I’ll be waiting at the corner tomorrow at eleven.’

‘I can pick you up at your place if you like.’

‘It’s not necessary.’

There was a pause while Kitson kept eyeing her as she stood at his side.

‘The other night,’ he said abruptly. ‘I wouldn’t have hit you. I — I guess I lost my temper. I’m sorry.’

She smiled.

‘I thought you were going to. You scared me.’

Kitson flushed.

‘I wouldn’t have done it. I don’t hit anyone smaller than myself. I wouldn’t have done it.’

‘If you had, it would have served me right. I was asking for it.’ She flicked her cigarette away. ‘Was it such a good idea to hit Bleck?’

Kitson scowled.

‘It’s time someone took a poke at that punk,’ he said. ‘He had it coming.’

‘Yes, but it wasn’t such a good idea. You’ll have to watch him. He’s not the type to forget.’

Kitson shrugged.

‘I can handle him.’

‘I think you can. I saw you in the ring about a year ago. When you beat Jackie Lazards. That was quite a scrap.’

Kitson looked at her, his face lighting up. That had been quite a scrap. He had been lucky to have beaten Lazards. They had fought nine slugging rounds, and it had been anyone’s fight.

‘He was a good fighter.’

‘You weren’t so bad yourself. Why did you quit the ring?’

This was an embarrassing question and Kitson hastily improvised.

‘After my last fight I got double vision,’ he said, running his fingers through his curly hair. ‘That scared me. I was doing all right, but this double vision. The Doc said I should quit, and he was pretty serious about it. I didn’t want to. I had a good chance for the title, but when the Doc said I should quit, I quit.’

This was his version of the story. His manager would have told her something completely different. He looked anxiously at her to see if she accepted the explanation, but her expressionless face told him nothing.

‘What made you pick on Frank?’ he asked after a long pause.

‘Who else is there in this town to pick on?’ she said. ‘Here comes the bus.’

They boarded the bus. She let him buy the tickets, and they sat side by side, their faces reflected in the glass of the window. The bus was full. Except for a moment’s interest when the men in the bus stared at her as she went to her seat, no one paid any attention to them.

They rode back to town in silence.

At the railroad station, she said, ‘This is where I get off. See you tomorrow at eleven.’

He got up to let her pass and he felt a surge of blood move through him as her body brushed against his.

As the bus moved off, he pressed his face against the window, looking out into the darkness, trying to get a last glimpse of her.