The World in My Pocket

As they were drinking, they felt the Buick swing off the highway and immediately the caravan began to bump and sway as its two wheels bounced over the surface of the dirt road. The three men hastily finished their drinks. Morgan’s mouth drew down into a hard line of pain as he was jerked about on the floor of the caravan.

After a while the Buick slowed down, then finally stopped.

There was a pause, then the back of the caravan swung up and Ginny and Kitson looked in.

‘All right?’ Kitson asked anxiously. He was shocked to see how white Morgan was.

Morgan looked beyond Kitson and saw they had pulled off the road and were in the shadow of a fir forest. The road, about thirty feet away, was deserted. It twisted up hill, leading, after a six-mile run, directly to Fawn Lake.

Overhead, they could hear the drone of aircraft, a sound that warned Morgan of the danger of remaining here.

‘He’s still alive,’ he said to Kitson and jerked his thumb towards the truck. ‘We’ve got to take him. This is as good a place as any. Shut the caravan and leave it to us. You take the wheel off the Buick as if you’ve got a flat. If you see a car coming, bang on the side of the caravan. Ginny, you sit by the edge of the road. Take the food basket. Act like you’re preparing a picnic. Get moving.’

His face set, Bleck handed out the food basket.

Kitson looked shocked.

‘What are you going to do with him?’ he asked.

Morgan’s mouth moved into a ruthless smile.

‘What do you think? Shut the caravan and do what I say!’

‘Wait!’ Gypo said, his voice shrill. ‘I’m getting out of here! I’m not having anything to do with this! This isn’t my job! I’m here to open the truck.’

‘Shut up!’ Morgan snarled and his gun jumped into his hand, threatening Gypo. ‘You’re opening that goddamn shutter! You do what I say or I’ll damn well kill you!’

The expression on his face terrified Gypo.

‘You wouldn’t do that to me, Frank!’ His hands waved imploringly. ‘Let me out of here!’

Morgan looked at Kitson.

‘Do what I tell you! Shut the caravan and work on that wheel!’

Pale and shaky, Kitson shut the back of the caravan. He was breathing hard and fast as he opened the trunk of the Buick and took out the jack.

Morgan was saying to Gypo in a flat, deadly voice, ‘Listen, Gypo, from now on you start to earn your share of the loot. You’ve had it soft up to now, but from now on, it’s going to be rugged, so make up your mind to it! Get that goddamn shutter open!’

His breath whistling through his nose, Gypo approached the shutter and stared at it.

Bleck watched him, his eyes flickering from Gypo to Morgan and back to Gypo again.

Gypo saw the shutter wasn’t difficult. It didn’t fit tightly: it wasn’t in the same class as the door at the back of the truck.

Morgan was also quick to see that.

‘Get a tyre lever and a hammer,’ he said. ‘We can bust this one.’

Gypo flinched. He was thinking of the moment when he had prised open the shutter.

‘That guy in there will be waiting,’ he said hoarsely. ‘As soon as he sees me, he’ll shoot me.’

‘Get on with it!’ Morgan snarled.

Gypo opened the tool cupboard, took a tyre lever and a hammer from one of the racks. His hands were shaking so badly he could scarcely hold the tools.

‘Come on! Come on!’ Morgan shouted furiously. ‘What’s scaring you, you fat jelly?’

‘If he shoots me, who’ll open the truck?’ Gypo panted, playing his trump card.

Morgan drew in a long, exasperated breath.

‘Give me the tools, you creep!’ he snarled. ‘But I’ll fix you and I’ll fix your pal, Ed, too! If you two imagine you’re going to get your full share, you’ve another think coming!’

Right at that moment Gypo would have gladly given up the whole of his share if he could have been transported from this horrifying caravan to his little shed he called his home. He backed away as Morgan snatched the tools out of his hand.

Holding the end of the tyre lever against the gap between the steel shutter and the window, he hammered it home. The lever sank between the frame and the shutter, forcing the shutter back slightly.

Morgan continued to hammer until he had driven four inches of the lever out of sight, then he dropped the hammer and looked at Bleck.

‘You going to be yellow too?’ he said.

Bleck pulled his .38 from his shoulder holster and moved up close to Morgan.

‘When you are ready, I am,’ he said, his face set, his eyes determined.

Morgan grinned crookedly at him. ‘Trying to save your share?’

‘Skip it, Frank. Go ahead. I’m ready to take him.’

As Morgan was about to throw his weight on the lever, there came three quick thumps on the side of the caravan that stopped him dead.

‘Someone’s coming,’ he said. ‘Hold it!’

Bleck moved to the window and peered through the curtain. A car, towing a caravan, had stopped within a few yards of where Ginny was sitting by the side of the road. A middle-aged man whose jolly fat face was burned red by the sun, was getting out of the car. There was a woman and a young boy in the car, looking towards the Buick and the caravan.