The World in My Pocket

Bleck was pacing up and down, smoking.

‘All fixed?’ he said to Kitson.

‘I got everything.’

Kitson looked at Gypo and then at Bleck, his eyes question marks.

‘Gypo’s okay now,’ Bleck said. ‘I’ve talked to him and he’s ready to cooperate.’

‘You force me to do it,’ Gypo said, his voice shaking. ‘Nothing good will come of it. I’ve warned you before. Now I’m warning you again.’ He looked up suddenly at Kitson. ‘You were my friend. Some friend! You keep away from me! I don’t want anything more to do with you!’

‘What’s the matter then?’ Kitson asked, staring at him.

‘I had to get a little tough with him,’ Bleck said. ‘I had to convince him if he didn’t cooperate, he would run into a lot of trouble.’

‘He said he would break my hands,’ Gypo said in a low, shaking voice. ‘How can a man live without his hands?’

Kitson started to say something, but Bleck shook his head at him.

‘Come on, let’s get going,’ Bleck said. ‘Anyone around out there?’

Ginny and Kitson went outside.

There were boats on the lake, but no one in the immediate vicinity.

Kitson coupled up the caravan to the Buick, then backed the caravan close to the cabin door.

‘You guys ready?’

Bleck came to the door with Gypo.

Kitson opened the back of the caravan, and Bleck and Gypo got in quickly and Kitson shut the back. The move didn’t take a couple of seconds.

‘I’ll stay here while you settle with the office,’ Kitson said, giving Ginny his wallet.

While he waited, Kitson lit a cigarette and leaned against the side of the caravan. His nerves were tense now. They were going out into the open. It was asking for trouble, but there seemed no other way if they were going to open the truck.

‘Hey, mister!’

Kitson started and looked quickly around.

A small boy, in jeans and a red and white checkered shirt, a straw hat on his head came from around the other side of the caravan.

‘Hello,’ Kitson said.

The boy stared at him, his head a little on one side.

‘You know my pop,’ he said. ‘I’m Fred Bradford junior.’

‘Is that right?’ Kitson said, trying to sound casual.

The boy frowned at him, then transferred his attention to the caravan.

‘That yours?’ he asked, jerking his thumb at the caravan.

‘That’s right,’ Kitson said.

The boy studied the caravan.

‘I like ours better.’

Kitson didn’t say anything. He wished feverishly that Ginny would come back and they could get the hell out of here.

The boy squatted down and stared under the caravan.

‘Say! You’ve got enough steel on her, haven’t you?’ he said, looking up at Kitson. ‘What’s the idea? It only adds to the weight, doesn’t it?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Kitson rubbing his jaw uneasily. ‘It was like that when I bought it.’

‘Pop said two of your friends were in it yesterday. Is that right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What was the matter with them?’

‘Nothing.’

The boy studied him. Kitson found his young eyes were extraordinarily disconcerting.

‘There was something wrong with them. I heard them yelling at each other.’

‘They always yell at each other,’ Kitson said. ‘There’s nothing to that.’

The boy stepped back and stared at the caravan.

‘Can I see inside, mister?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Kitson said, turning hot. ‘My wife’s got the key.’

The boy looked surprised.

‘My pop never lets my ma have keys. She always loses them.’

‘My wife doesn’t.’

The boy squatted down again and began to pull at the grass, scattering the blades right and left.

‘Your friends in there now?’

‘No.’

‘Where are they then?’

‘At home.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘St. Lawrence.’

‘They live together then?’

‘That’s right.’

‘They were yelling at each other. They scared me.’

Kitson shrugged his shoulders.

‘That’s nothing. They always yell at each other.’

The boy took off his hat and began to put grass into it.

‘One of them called the other a yellow creep because he couldn’t do something. What was it he couldn’t do?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kitson said, and he lit a cigarette.

‘They sounded pretty mad at each other.’

‘They’re good friends. You don’t have to worry about them.’

Having filled the hat with grass, the boy bent forward, dipped his head into the hat and pulled it on.

‘This keeps my head cool,’ he explained, seeing Kitson staring at him. ‘It’s my own invention. There could be money in it.’

‘Yeah,’ Kitson said. ‘Look, son, maybe you’d better go home. Your pop may be wondering where you’ve got to.’

‘No, he won’t. I told him I was going to look for that truck that’s been stolen - the one with all that money in it. He doesn’t expect me back for another hour. Did you read about the truck, mister?’

‘I read about it.’

‘Know what I think?’

‘Yeah - your pop told me.’

The boy frowned.

‘He shouldn’t have done that. If he tells everyone, I could lose the reward.’

Kitson suddenly caught sight of Ginny hurrying along the path towards him.

‘I’m going to collect that reward,’ the boy went on. ‘Five thousand bucks. Do you know what I’m going to do with it when I get it?’

Kitson shook his head.

‘I’m not going to give it to my pop: that’s what I’m going to do with it.’

Ginny came up.

‘This is Bradford, junior,’ Kitson said.

‘Hello,’ Ginny said and smiled.