1958 - The World in My Pocket (2 page)

Gypo nodded while the other two stared at Morgan, waiting.

‘Not big stuff,’ Morgan went on, ‘but you all had some dough. But sooner or later the cops are going to get wise to us. We can’t go on and on pulling little jobs for peanut money without getting a rumble. So I figure we should try the big one, collect the dough, break up the mob and go our own ways. Two hundred thousand can buy a lot of fun. The world is in our pockets with that kind of dough. This job can be done. It’s just a matter of working on it. I know it’s tough. Kitson has given you most of the dope. What he says is right, but he’s forgotten one thing.’ He looked at the three men, seeing Gypo was uneasy, Kitson obstinate and scared, Bleck still indifferent, still waiting to be convinced. ‘What he forgot to tell you is that this new truck has been on the hoof now five months, week in and out, and everyone believes it is foolproof. Everyone, including Kitson, is sold on the idea that no one in his right mind would try to grab the truck. When you get that kind of idea into your head, you lower your guard and your chin’s uncovered. It only needs a quick right-hand punch, and you’re licked.’

He deliberately used the parlance of the ring because he wanted to catch Kitson’s interest. He had to have him as well as Gypo on his side. He saw he had been successful. Kitson was now looking less obstinate and more interested.

‘Everything Kitson has told you about the truck I read in papers months ago,’ Morgan went on. ‘These guys were so cocky about their truck they gave it wide publicity. They are certain no one can bust into it, and they figure the more details they give out about it, the tougher they make it sound, the more business they’ll drum up for the agency. Ever since I read about that truck, I’ve had it at the back of my mind to bust it. We can do it if you guys have the guts to work with me. It’ll need guts, but don’t forget the payoff is two hundred grand each.’

Bleck crushed out his cigarette and immediately lit another.

He was staring at Morgan, his pale eyes narrowed.

‘And you’ve got an angle?’ he asked.

‘Yeah.’ Morgan lit a cigarette, blowing smoke across the table towards Gypo. ‘I’ve got an angle. At least we have plenty of time to think about it. That truck is going to deliver a million bucks to the Research Station every week now for five years, and maybe longer. I admit they are organized for trouble, but as the weeks go by, they are going to get less watchful, less alert, and that’s when we step in and sock them.’

‘Now, wait a moment,’ Kitson said, leaning forward, his face flushing. ‘This is a lot of crap. How long does it take a guy, even if he is half-asleep to press a button? Two seconds? Certainly not more. Six seconds to press three buttons, then the truck turns into a steel tortoise and there’s nothing you nor anyone else can do about it. Do you imagine you can stop that truck, break open the door and handle the driver and guard in six seconds? Talk sense! This is a goddamn pipe dream!’

‘You think so?’ Morgan said jeeringly.

‘I know so! Stop that truck, and before you can get within a yard of it, the steel shutters will be down, the time lock scrambled and the radio screaming for help!’

‘Sure?’ Morgan said and his jeering smile made Kitson itch to hit him.

‘I’m sure, and nothing you can say will convince me otherwise,’ Kitson said, controlling his temper with difficulty.

‘Suppose you pipe down and let Frank give us his angle?’ Bleck said. ‘If you think you’ve got better brains than he has, then why the hell don’t you run this outfit?’

Kitson flushed scarlet, shrugged angrily and tilted back his chair. He looked sullenly at Bleck and then at Morgan.

‘Okay, but I tell you it can’t be done,’ he said.

Bleck looked over at Morgan.

‘Go ahead and tell us how you figure to work it, Frank.’

‘Yesterday I took a look at the route from the Agency to the Research Station,’ Morgan said. ‘It’s quite a trip: ninety-three miles by the clock. Seventy of these miles are on the highway, twenty on a secondary road, ten on a dirt road and three on a private road leading directly to the Research Station. I was looking for a place where we could stop the truck. The highway is out. The secondary road is out too. The traffic on both these roads is continuous and heavy. The private road is guarded night and day so that’s out too. That leaves us with the dirt road.’ He flicked ash off his cigarette, screwing up his black eyes as he stared around at the three men facing him. ‘Ten miles of road. Four miles from the secondary road and up the dirt road, there’s a branch road leading to Highway 10. Most of the traffic, and it isn’t heavy, uses the road past the Research Station gates because it is a better road and two miles shorter than the other dirt road. A couple of miles before you get to the Research Station gates there’s a bottleneck made by two big rocks either side of the road. Besides the rocks, there are a lot of scrub bushes. It’s a pretty good place for an ambush or an accident.’

Bleck nodded.

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘I’ve been over that road myself and I very nearly had a pile-up there. If you take the bend too fast you’re on this bottleneck before you know it. They’ve put up a sign now because of the number of accidents.’

‘That’s right,’ Morgan said. ‘Well, imagine those two guys in the truck. In this weather it’ll be damned hot in the cab. They’ve driven over the same route dozens of times, and what with the heat and the boredom of the ride, they’ll be down on their heels. They come to the bottleneck. As they turn into the bend, they’ll see a car, smashed up against the rock, but off the road. Lying in the middle of the road will be a woman, with blood on her and looking pretty bad.’ He leaned forward, staring directly at Bleck. ‘You tell me something: what are those two guys going to do - keep going and drive over the woman or stop and find out how badly hurt she is?’

Bleck grinned. He looked at Kitson.

‘Are you listening, stupe?’ he said. ‘Some pipe dream!’

‘What are they going to do?’ Morgan repeated as Kitson shifted in his chair, his face turning red.

Bleck said, ‘They’ll stop. I guess one of them will get out of the truck and the other will use the radio to get help. That is if they are as security minded as Kitson says they are.’

Morgan looked over at Kitson.

‘What do you say? What do you think they would do?’

Kitson hesitated, then grudgingly shrugged his shoulders, he said, ‘I guess Ed’s right. Dirkson would get out of the truck and Thomas would stay where he was. Dirkson would find out how badly hurt she was, move her off the road, go back to the truck, radio for help, and then they’d go on, leaving her for the ambulance to pick up.’

‘Okay. That’s what I think too,’ Morgan said. He didn’t bother to ask Gypo his opinion. Gypo seldom expressed an opinion that was worth listening to except when it had to do with the busting of a safe or the opening of some tricky lock. ‘So we have this situation,’ Morgan went on. ‘We have one guard out of the truck and the other guard inside the truck. Now tell me something else.’ He was looking directly at Kitson. ‘Would the driver scramble the time lock and drop the steel shutters across the windows and the windshield in a situation like that?’

Kitson took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.

‘I guess not,’ he said sullenly.

Morgan looked over at Bleck.

‘What do you think?’

‘Of course he wouldn’t,’ Bleck said decisively. ‘From what Kitson says if the time lock is scrambled, it takes an expert to fix it, and this guy wouldn’t start a thing like that unless he thought the truck was in danger. He wouldn’t operate the shutters because he’d be curious to see what his pal was doing and how badly hurt the woman was.’

Morgan nodded.

‘Well, at least we’re getting somewhere. The truck has stopped and the buttons haven’t been pushed.’ He pointed a finger at Kitson. ‘That’s the situation you said wasn’t possible. You said it was crazy talk and a pipe dream. What do you say now?’

‘Where’s it going to get you anyway?’ Kitson said angrily. ‘Okay, so I was wrong, but for all the good it’s done you, I could have been right.’

Morgan blew a thin stream of smoke towards the ceiling. He now looked as if he were enjoying himself.

‘All the same I haven’t done so badly,’ he said. ‘I’ve stopped the truck and I’ve got the guard out into the open. Now imagine this bottleneck. That’s where the truck will be stopped. On each side there’s thick cover where two or three guys can hide. The guard gets out of the truck and walks to where the woman is lying. Don’t tell me in this heat those two drive for ninety-three miles with their windows shut. Do you imagine the driver will close the windows when the guard leaves him?’

Kitson again hesitated, then reluctantly shook his head.

‘I guess not.’

‘I’m damned sure not. It’ll be hot enough in that steel box without him closing the windows. Well, then, we have the truck at a standstill, close enough to the shrubs where two men can easily hide. The driver is watching through the windshield what his pal is doing. His pal is moving towards the woman. They’re not expecting trouble. This is an accident spot. There have been five bad smashes there within six months. I’ll be in the shrubs. I’ll have about ten feet between me and the truck. I’ll come out behind the truck as the guard bends over the woman, and I’ll come up to the driver’s window and stick a gun in his face. At the same time the woman sticks a gun in the guard’s face.’ He reached forward and crushed out his cigarette. ‘Now, tell me something. What are these two birds going to do? Make heroes of themselves?’

‘They could do,’ Kitson said soberly. ‘They’re good men.’

‘Okay, so they are good men, but they’re not crazy. It’s my bet they’ll give up.’

There was a long, heavy pause, then Gypo said, a slight quaver in his voice, ‘Suppose they don’t give up?’

Morgan looked over at him, his black eyes glittering.

‘The take is a million bucks; two hundred thousand each. If they don’t give up, they’ll get hurt. You can’t pick up that kind of money without someone getting pushed around a little.’

There was another pause, then Gypo said, ‘I don’t like it, Frank. Maybe it’s too big for us.’

Morgan waved his hand impatiently.

‘What are you worrying about? You won’t be there. I’ve a special job for you and it won’t be too big for you. I promise you that.’

Kitson leaned forward.

‘How about me? I’m not crazy enough to get tied up in a murder rap! Count me out!’

Morgan looked over at Bleck who was lighting a cigarette.

‘I’ve heard these two chickens: how about you?’

Bleck pursed his lips as he flicked the dead match across the room.

‘It’s my bet those two will give up. If they don’t, then it’s going to be just too bad.’

‘That’s the way I feel about it,’ Morgan said. ‘Okay, then you and me and the girl will handle it. Gypo and Kitson can handle the soft end, but their cut will come lower. We take the risks so we get more dough. That’s fair, isn’t it?’

Kitson frowned uneasily. Already the thought of what two hundred thousand dollars would mean to him was beginning to take a hold of him.

‘Well, maybe. It depends what my cut would be,’ he said.

‘A hundred and twenty-five grand,’ Morgan said promptly. ‘Because Gypo’s a technical man, he’ll get a hundred and seventy-five grand. The hundred grand you two don’t get would be split between Ed and me.’

Kitson and Gypo exchanged glances.

‘If those guys act tough, one of us or maybe one of them could get killed,’ Kitson said, breathing heavily. ‘I don’t like it. Up to now the jobs we have pulled have been small and sweet.

The worst we could have drawn could have been a year in jail, but this is a murder rap. Count me out.’

‘That’s right,’ Gypo said. ‘Count me out too.’

Morgan smiled wolfishly.

‘Okay. Let’s vote on it. The rules of this outfit are that we always vote on a job. So let’s vote.’

‘We don’t have to vote,’ Kitson said sharply. ‘It’s a tie anyway even if Ed throws in with you. Your rules say if it’s a tie we don’t do the job - remember?’

‘Sure, I remember,’ Morgan said, grinning. ‘Let’s vote all the same. Let’s keep this outfit business-like. Whatever the decision, we stick to it - right?’

Kitson shrugged.

‘Yes, but why waste time?’

Morgan pushed back his chair and stood up. His big muscular frame threw a black shadow across the table.

‘Get the voting slips ready, Gypo.’

Gypo, his moon-shaped face puzzled, produced a notebook and tore a page from it. He cut the page into four strips with a penknife and dropped the strips of paper on the table.

‘There you are, guys,’ he said. ‘Help yourselves.’

Morgan said softly, ‘Why only four, Gypo?’

Gypo stared up at him blankly.

‘It’s always four, isn’t it?’

Morgan smiled.

‘This is a five-way split - remember? The girl has a vote too.’

He walked to the door, threw it open and said, ‘Come on in, Ginny. They want to vote on this job, and I need your vote.’

II

S
he came out of the darkness into the hard light from the overhead lamp and stood beside Morgan, looking at the three men who stared back at her. She was young, not more than twenty-three, and slightly above average height. She had copper-coloured hair, piled to the top of her head. Her eyes were large and greenish-grey and as expressionless and as impersonal as a cupful of seawater. Her mouth was over large, her lips full and sensual, and there was an arrogant, determined tilt to her chin.

She was wearing a blood-red silk shirt tucked into a black overlap skirt. Her body was full breasted and narrow waisted. Her full hips tapered down to long, slim legs. It was a body made fashionable by Italian film stars, and it caught the three men’s attention the way a hook catches a fish.

Morgan’s black eyes roved around the faces of the three men and he grinned. He knew the girl would make an impact on them and it interested him to see just how great the impact would be.

Gypo’s hand had gone to his string red tie, adjusting it, while he peeled his thick lips off his big, dazzling white teeth in a leering smile.