The World in My Pocket

‘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?’