The World in My Pocket

The work was completed on Tuesday night, and on this night, Morgan had called a meeting to be held in Gypo’s workshop. None of them had seen Ginny during these eleven days. She had given Morgan a telephone number at which she could be contacted in the case of a change of plan, but neither he nor the other three had any idea where she was living or what she did with herself during this time.

While Kitson worked on the caravan, he thought continually about her. He was now in love with her, entirely against his will, feeling sure that nothing would come of it as he felt sure that nothing but disaster would come of this job they were planning to do.

But his feelings for Ginny were too strong for him to struggle against. The girl was in his blood like a virus, and he had to accept the fact.

While the others had been working on the caravan, Morgan had been spending a lot of time on the route between the Truck Agency and the Rocket Research Station. He had been investigating every bye-road, seeking the best means of escape, timing every move, checking, rechecking and making maps. There was nothing haphazard in Morgan’s methods. Once the truck had been captured, he knew everything depended on making a quick getaway. It was essential to put as many miles between the place of the ambush and themselves as possible before the heat was turned on.

This called for the most careful planning and the familiarizing of the district. He was feeling optimistic as he drove up to Gypo’s workshop around eight o’clock for the meeting.

For the first time during the month, there was rain which fell steadily on the parched ground, releasing a smell of dampness that pleased Morgan.

There was no light showing from the carefully screened windows of the workshop and the big shed had a deserted appearance.

As he got out of the Buick and, just before turning out the headlights, he heard quick, light footfalls coming towards him.

He looked searchingly into the darkness, his hand automatically closing on the butt of his .38.

Ginny came out of the darkness and into the beam of the car’s headlights. She was wearing a blue plastic mac that glistened in the rain. Her copper-coloured hair was protected by a plastic hood.

‘First wet night for weeks,’ Morgan said. ‘I’d have picked you up if I knew where you lived.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, her voice curt.

Morgan moved between her and the workshop, hunching his shoulders against the rain.

‘Just where do you live, Ginny?’

She paused, the rain beating down on her and she looked at him.

‘That’s my business.’

He put his hand on her arm, pulling her to him.

‘That’s no way to talk to me, kid,’ he said. ‘You’re playing it a shade too mysterious. I don’t know who you are, where you come from, how you dreamed up this idea or even where you live. You could fade away if anything goes wrong and you might never have existed.’

She jerked free.

‘Would that be such a bad idea?’ she said and moving quickly around him, she walked up to the workshop door and knocked on it.

For a moment or so, Morgan remained motionless, his flat, black eyes narrowed, then as Kitson opened the door, he joined the girl and entered the workshop.

‘Hello there,’ he said, shaking the rain off his coat. ‘How’s it going?’

‘It’s finished,’ Kitson said, his eyes on Ginny as she stripped off her wet mac and tossed it on to the work bench. She was wearing a grey coat and skirt with a green blouse that set off the colour of her hair. Kitson felt a little pang in his heart to see how beautiful she looked. He stared searchingly at her. But for one brief glance at him, she paid him no attention. Picking up a brown-paper parcel she had brought with her and which she had put on the bench while she had taken off her mac, she walked over to where Gypo was standing by the caravan and gave it to him.

‘Here are the curtains,’ she said.

Morgan came over.

‘Well?’ he asked, looking at Gypo, who beamed at him, his fat face full of pride.

‘It’s finished, and it’s a good job, Frank,’ Gypo said, stripping off the paper from the curtains. ‘Just let me get these up and then you can see the sonofabitch.’

Bleck came out of the shadows, cleaning his hands on a lump of cotton waste. He saw Kitson was staring at Ginny and he looked at her intently himself.

He had been cut off from the society of women now for eleven days and he found Ginny irresistibly desirable. It amused him to see the way Kitson was staring at her. What did the punch-drunk bum imagine? Did he seriously think he could get to first base with a girl like her? He must be out of his head if he did!

‘Hello there,’ he said moving up to Ginny. ‘Long time no see. Where have you been hiding yourself?’

The girl smiled at him and this was unexpected. Bleck had imagined he would have had to work hard to get even a smile from her.

‘Oh, I’ve been around,’ she said casually. ‘Here and there, but I haven’t been hiding.’