The World in My Pocket

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.