The World in My Pocket

‘Okay. We’ve talked enough,’ Morgan said. ‘She’s really worked this thing out, and I’m satisfied she can handle it. Let’s vote. What you’ve got to make up your minds about is whether you are ready to get hurt or if you are prepared to hurt, and by that I mean, someone, either on our side or on the other side, could get killed. If the other side gets killed, then we all face a murder rap. Whatever happens, if no one gets hurt, and we make a slip, we face from ten to twenty years in jail. Against that, there’s the payoff. Each one of us will have two hundred thousand dollars, and that’s quite a slice of money. That’s the position. Let’s vote, unless anyone else wants to ask any more questions.’ He paused, looking at the three men. ‘Once we’ve voted, we go ahead on the decision. You all know the rules of this outfit. Whoever is outvoted, if there is a majority against him, works with us or quits for good. Don’t rush at this. The take is two hundred grand. If we make a mess of it, we land in jail for maybe twenty years or if we make even a bigger mess of it, we land on the hot seat. That’s the setup. Do you guys want a little time to think about it?’

He looked first at Bleck who was relaxed, looking at Ginny, genuine admiration in his eyes. Morgan then looked at Gypo who was staring thoughtfully down at the table, his face puckered, his thick, black eyebrows drawn down in a frown. Then he looked at Kitson who was staring at Ginny, his breath coming in short, sharp snorts through his broken nose.

‘Let’s vote,’ Bleck said and reaching forward, he picked up one of the slips of paper.

Ginny picked up another.

Morgan picked up the three remaining slips, tossed one in front of Gypo and the other in front of Kitson and then taking a ball pen from his pocket, he scribbled on the remaining slip, folded it and dropped it in the middle of the table.

Ginny borrowed his pen, scribbled on hers and laid it beside his.

Bleck had already written on his slip with a gold-capped fountain pen. He waved the slip in the air, then folded it and put it by the other two slips in the middle of the table.

Gypo spent two moments staring down at his slip. Finally, with a stub of pencil, he scrawled something on his slip, folded it and placed it with the other slips.

That left Kitson, who looked worried as he stared at his slip.

The girl and the other three watched him.

‘Take your time,’ Morgan said, the jeering note back in his voice. ‘We have all night.’

Kitson looked up, stared at him, then his eyes moved to the girl. For a long moment they regarded each other, then abruptly he picked up Morgan’s ball pen, scribbled something, folded his slip and tossed it on top of the other four.

There was a pause, then Morgan pulled the five slips towards him and unfolded one.

‘Yes.’

He unfolded another.

‘Yes.’

His fingers moving fast, he unfolded the remaining three slips.

‘Yes and yes and yes.’

He looked around the table, his thin mouth curving into its wolfish smile.

‘So we’re going to do this job. That’s the way I hoped it would work out. Two hundred thousand bucks each! Some job, but some payoff!’

Kitson looked across the table at Ginny.

She stared back at him, her chin tilted, then suddenly her expression softened and she smiled at him.

CHAPTER TWO

I

A little after eight o’clock the following morning, a black, dusty Buick Century slid to a standstill a few yards from the entrance to the Welling Armoured Truck Agency. On either side of the broad street were parked cars, left overnight, and the Buick immediately blended in the scene as just another parked car.

Morgan sat at the wheel, his greasy stained hat tilted over his nose, a cigarette hanging from his thin lips. Ed Bleck sat at his side.

The two men looked over at the high wooden gates of the Agency. There was nothing to see except barbed wire tangled on the top of each gate, a glittering brass knob that was the bell-pull and the big sign screwed to one of the doors on which was printed in bold red letters on a white background the following legend:

The Welling Armoured Truck Agency You want security - We have it.

The Safest and Best Trucking Service in the World

‘They seem to think a lot of themselves,’ Bleck said when he had read the sign. ‘Well, they’re due for a surprise.’

‘Or we are,’ Morgan said with his jeering grin.

‘I have a hunch we’re going to get away with this job,’ Bleck said. ‘This frill has really worked it out, hasn’t she?’