1958 - The World in My Pocket (10 page)

‘Skip it, will you?’ he growled. ‘You mind your own business, and I’ll mind mine. Now, come on.’

She shrugged helplessly.

‘Well, all right, darling, but remember what I said. I can’t do more, Eddy. Morgan’s bad trouble. You shouldn’t mix with him.’

‘Okay, okay, so he’s bad trouble,’ Bleck said impatiently. ‘Come on, for Pete’s sake! I’m in a hurry!’

‘Will I see you tonight?’

‘No. I’m busy. I’ll call you. Maybe next week, but not before.’

She looked at him, her expression worried.

‘So you’re planning something with him. Oh, Eddy, please.’

He took her by her arm and hustled her out of the apartment, locking the door behind him. As he was turning the key, he said, ‘Will you pipe down? I’m not going to tell you again. There are plenty of other fish in the sea. Remember that, will you?’

‘All right, Eddy. The least I can do is to warn you, but if that’s the way you feel about it.’

‘That’s just the way I do feel about it,’ he said, hurrying down the stairs. ‘Just pipe down, will you?’

As they reached the front door, she said, ‘I’ll be waiting for you. Don’t be too long.’

‘Sure, sure,’ Bleck said indifferently and waving his hand, he set off at a rapid walk towards the distant bus stop.

Sitting in the bus, feeling the hot sunshine on his face, his mind drifted to Ginny. Now, there was a girl! What a difference between her and Glorie. What a nerve she had! In smart clothes, she could be class whereas anyone could see Glorie was just a tramp.

He scowled to think Kitson was with her on his own now, acting the part of a newlywed. Not that anyone in his right mind would regard that punch-drunk bum as a likely rival. Bleck rubbed his sore jaw, his eyes suddenly vicious as he thought how Kitson had hit him. That was something he wasn’t going to forget. A time would come when he would get even, and Kitson would be sorry he had hit him.

He was still thinking about Ginny as the bus pulled up at the stop near Gypo’s workshop, and as he walked up the rough road leading to the workshop, he wondered what Kitson was finding to say to her.

Kitson was finding very little to say to Ginny, and he thought of the stretch of sixty miles he had to drive with her with a feeling of dismay.

He had always been talkative enough with the girls he usually went around with, but Ginny did something to him. She gave him a feeling of inferiority and made him tongue-tied, and yet she excited him as no other girl had ever excited him.

To his surprise, she was talkative, but only in spasmodic bursts, asking him abrupt questions about his fighting days, if he remembered so-and-so and such-and-such who at one time had had big reputations in the ring and what did he think of them.

Kitson would reply hesitantly, his face tight with concentration as he tried to make intelligent replies. Then they would drive for three or four miles in silence, and then she would start asking questions again.

Suddenly she asked, ‘What are you going to do with the money when you get it?’

As she looked at him, she crossed one slim leg over the other, showing her knees for a brief moment before she adjusted her skirt with a movement so prim that it caught Kitson’s attention and he had to swing the wheel to put the car back on course.

‘I haven’t got it yet,’ he said. ‘I don’t make plans so far in advance.’

‘You don’t really believe you are going to get it, do you?’

He hesitated, then slowly, his eyes fixed on the road, he said, ‘We’ll be lucky if we do get it. I know that. I’ve worked with those two. They’re not quitters.’

‘That depends on us,’ she said quietly. ‘They’ll quit if they’re sure we mean business. Anyway, they don’t matter. We can handle them. We’re going to get this money. I am sure of it.’

‘We’ll be lucky if we do,’ Kitson repeated. ‘The plan is pretty good. I know that. Hiding the truck inside a caravan is a smart idea, but that doesn’t mean we’ll be able to open the truck.

Suppose we have some luck and do open it, what are we going to do with the money? Two hundred grand is a heap of jack. You can’t put it in a bank. The cops will be watching for just that move. What can you do with all that money in cash?’

‘You put it in a safe deposit vault,’ Ginny said. ‘That’s not so hard, is it?’

‘Would that be so smart? Someone knocked a bank off last year and stuck the money in a safe deposit vault. The cops opened every vault in town and they found it,’ Kitson said, his big hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

‘So you don’t put it in a vault in town. You take it to New York or Frisco or even some little town miles away from here. They can’t open every vault in the country, can they?’

‘But you’ve got to get it there,’ Kitson said. ‘Imagine all that money! It’ll fill a suitcase! Imagine getting on a train with a suitcase full of hot money, not knowing if the cops are going to search the train. When we pull this job, the heat will be fierce. The cops won’t stop at a thing to get the money back.’

‘You certainly look for trouble, don’t you?’ Ginny said, and he was surprised there was a sympathetic note in her voice. ‘If you feel that way about it, why did you vote to do the job?’

That was something he didn’t intend telling her.

‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘I guess I’m flapping with my mouth as Frank says. I guess it’ll work out all right. What are you going to do with your share?’

She leaned back, resting her head on the back of the seat so her chin was tilted upwards. He could see her reflection in the windshield and he thought how beautiful she was.

‘Oh, I have plans, but they wouldn’t interest you,’ she said. ‘There are so many things one can do when one has money. My father died last year. If he had had some money, he might have been alive now. At the time I was working as an usherette in a movie house. I couldn’t help him. I made up my mind when he died that I’d never be in his position. That’s why I dreamed up

this plan to hijack the truck.’

This unexpected, unasked for revelation intrigued Kitson. That she should make up her mind to do this thing impressed him enormously.

‘But how did you know about the truck and the payroll?’ he asked.

She started to say something then abruptly stopped.

There was a pause, and when Kitson glanced at her, his heart sank when he saw the wooden, cold expression back on her face.

‘Don’t think I’m prying,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I was just curious. But forget it. I don’t want to know.’

She looked at him, her sea-green eyes impersonal, then she leaned forward and turned on the radio. After fiddling with the station control, she tuned into a dance band and turning the volume up, she leaned back, tapping her foot in time with the music.

This, Kitson realized, was a broad hint that she didn’t intend to talk anymore, and sick with himself, he increased the speed of the car.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled up outside the Caravan Mart.

The Quality Car and Caravan Centre was situated on the main highway, half a mile from the centre of Marlow. It consisted of a waste lot full of second-hand cars and a number of caravans and a neat wooden hut, painted white and green, that served as an office.

Kitson had scarcely brought the Buick to a standstill before a young man came hurriedly out of the wooden hut. He was the type that Kitson loathed more than most. He was handsome, bronzed and fair with a deep crimp in his hair. He wore a white tropical suit, a cream-coloured shirt and a flame-red tie. On his thin, bronze wrist was a gold expanding bracelet that held a gold Omega watch in position.

He came down the drive towards them like an ambitious bee who sees an exotic flower that must be milked for honey. Moving fast, he went around to the off-side door of the Buick and opened it to let Ginny out. He gave her a wide, friendly smile that made Kitson itch to hit him.

‘Welcome to Caravan Centre,’ the man said as he helped Ginny alight. ‘How wise of you to come to us! You’re looking for a caravan, aren’t you? You couldn’t have come to better people!’

Kitson who had got out of the car grunted. This buzzing, handsome wasp of a man badly bothered him.

‘Let me introduce myself,’ the man went on, moving quickly around the Buick and grasping Kitson’s flaccid hand and shaking it.

‘You’re right,’ Ginny said, suddenly very young and gay. ‘We are looking for a caravan, aren’t we, Alex?’

‘The best place,’ the man said, beaming. ‘I’m Harry Carter. This is an important moment for you, but I assure you, you can relax. We have never sold a thing to anyone unless we are sure they are satisfied. We have all kinds of caravans. Just what had you in mind?’

Freeing his hand, Kitson growled, ‘Something cheap.’

‘We have them at all prices,’ Carter said, his eyes on Ginny’s long, slim legs. ‘Suppose we walk around? You can then see what we have to offer, and I can tell you the price of anything that catches your eye.’

They followed him down the path made between the weeds to where the caravans were drawn up in two long lines. It took some time to find the one Kitson was looking for. It had to be at least sixteen feet long and not elaborately equipped. He found it in the middle of the second row and he paused to examine it.

It was a white trailer caravan with a blue roof with two side windows and two windows at the rear and in the front.

‘This might do,’ he said, looking at Ginny, who gave him a quick nod. ‘What are the exact measurements?’

‘This one?’ Carter seemed surprised. ‘I don’t think you’d be comfortable in this one.’ He looked at Kitson. ‘I didn’t get your name.’

‘Harrison,’ Kitson said. ‘What are the measurements?’

‘Sixteen and a half by nine. Frankly, Mr. Harrison, the trouble with this one is it’s been designed for a hunting trip and it’s pretty rugged. There are no conveniences. Not the kind of thing your wife would like to live in,’ Carter said, his eyes again straying to Ginny’s legs. ‘But if you like the layout I have another that’s fully equipped. Let me show it to you.’

Kitson didn’t move. He eyed the blue and white caravan, looking at the wheels, noting their strength, and the automatic brakes which he had been told by Gypo were important.

‘My husband is clever with his hands,’ Ginny said. ‘We plan to make the caravan we buy comfortable ourselves. Could we see inside this one?’

‘Why, sure. See this one, and then take a look at the other. You’ll see what I mean then. This one is really just a shell.’

He opened the door and Ginny and Kitson peered inside.

Kitson saw at once this was the one they were looking for.

The fitments were flimsy and could easily be removed. The floor looked strong and, when he stepped inside, he found he could move around upright with a few inches to spare.

They went to look at the other caravan which was the same shape and size, but much more elaborately fitted, and Kitson only had to take a quick look inside to satisfy himself that it wasn’t the one to buy.

‘I guess the other one is what we’re looking for,’ he said, and as he walked back to the blue and white caravan, he asked, ‘How much is it?’

Pausing beside the caravan, Carter eyed him over. His eyes seemed to be calculating what Kitson might be worth.

‘Well, it’s a strong, well-built job, Mr. Harrison. It’s not flimsy, and it’ll give you years of good service. The list price is three thousand, eight hundred dollars. That is what you would have to pay for it new. This one is second-hand, but as you see, there’s not a scratch on it. Two fellows bought it off me for a hunting trip. They weren’t away more than six weeks so you could say it’s practically new. Since you’re struck on it, and since you’re on your honeymoon, I’ll make a special price. Suppose we say two thousand, five hundred. That’s practically a giveaway price.’

‘Oh, no, we couldn’t possibly afford that,’ Ginny said quickly, cutting off Kitson’s growling protest. ‘If that’s the best you can do, Mr. Carter, then I’m afraid we must look elsewhere.’

Carter smiled at her.

‘It’s a reasonable price, Mrs. Harrison, and you won’t find caravans, lining the road in this district. If you went to St. Lawrence you’ll find caravans, but you’ll also find the prices are a lot sharper than ours. Maybe if this comes a little too high, I can fix you with something smaller. I have a caravan over there that comes out at fifteen hundred, but it’s small, and it’s not overstrong.’

‘I’ll give you eighteen hundred dollars for this,’ Kitson said in a flat, take-it-or-leave-it voice. ‘That’s the best I can do.’

Carter’s insincere smile widened.

‘There’s nothing I would like better, Mr. Harrison, than to do business with you, but not on those terms. Eighteen hundred for a job like this would put me right in the red. But since you are really interested in this job, suppose we say two thousand, three hundred and fifty? That’s the very lowest I can quote.’

Kitson felt his temper rising. He resisted the impulse to take Carter by his shirt front and shake him. The smooth talk, the easy manner, the shrewd calculating eyes goaded him. This man was something that Kitson would have liked to be in his immaculate clothes and his air of superiority.

‘But we can’t afford so much, Mr. Carter,’ Ginny said, and Kitson felt a spurt of anger run through him as he saw the way she was looking at Carter, her eyes large and appealing. Somehow she managed to convey a sex appeal that infuriated Kitson. She had never looked like this at him. ‘Couldn’t you possibly make it two thousand? Frankly, that is all we have.’

Carter ran his thumbnail along his pencil-lined moustache.

As he appeared to hesitate, his eyes moved over Ginny’s body with an intent interest, then he lifted his shoulders in a mock helpless gesture.

‘I can’t resist that appeal. For you, Mrs. Harrison, and for no one else, it’s a sale. I don’t mind telling you I lose a hundred bucks on the deal, but what is money? You are on your honeymoon. Well, okay, consider this a wedding present. If you really want it, it’s a sale at two thousand bucks.’

Kitson’s face went a deep red and his hands closed into fists.

‘Now, look, fella,’ he began, but Ginny’s restraining hand stopped him.

‘Thanks, Mr. Carter,’ she said, her smile suggestive and charming. ‘Then it’s a sale, and we’re both very obliged to you.’