1958 - The World in My Pocket
Read 1958 - The World in My Pocket Online
Authors: James Hadley Chase
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The World in My Pocket
James Hadley Chase
1958
CHAPTER ONE
I
F
our men sat around a table on which were scattered playing cards, poker chips, a couple of loaded ashtrays, glasses and a bottle of whisky.
The room was in semi-darkness except for a green, shaded light that fell directly on the table. A smoke haze hung overhead and spread out, drifting away into the shadows. Morgan, a big man with cold, restless eyes and a thin mouth, laid down four kings and sat back, drumming gently with his fingertips on the table.
There was a pause, then with grunts of disgust the other three men threw in their cards.
Gypo, born Giuseppe Mandini, a fat ball of a man with black curly hair, going grey at the temples, a swarthy complexion and a small beaky nose, flicked his chips across the table to Morgan and grinned ruefully.
‘That cleans me,’ he said. ‘What luck! Nothing better than a nine all the evening!’
Ed Bleck fingered his neat stack of chips, removed four of them and pushed them over to Morgan. He was tall, fair and heavily sunburned. He had a vicious handsomeness that appealed to women but made men wary. He wore a neatly pressed grey flannel suit and his tie was hand painted: yellow horseshoes on a bottle-green background. Of the four men, he was the best dressed.
The fourth man was Alex Kitson. He was the youngest of the four, around twenty-three. He was solidly built, dark, with high cheekbones, a flattened nose of a professional fighter and dark, uneasy eyes. He wore an open-neck shirt and a pair of black corduroy trousers. He tossed the last of his chips over to Morgan, grimacing.
‘Me too,’ he said. ‘I had four queens. I thought. . .’ He broke off, aware the other two were looking intently at Morgan and not listening to what he was saying. Morgan was making the chips he had received into three neat piles. A cigarette hung from his thin lips, and the other three men listened to his quick, steady breathing. When he had arranged the chips to his liking, he looked up. His black snake’s eyes moved slowly from face to face.
Bleck said impatiently, ‘What’s on your mind, Frank? Something’s been biting at you all the evening.’
Morgan continued to drum on the table with his fingertips for some seconds, then he said abruptly, ‘How would you boys like to pick up two hundred thousand bucks?’
The three stiffened. They knew Morgan well enough by now to be certain he wouldn’t kid about a thing like that.
‘What was that again?’ Gypo asked, leaning forward.
‘Two hundred thousand bucks each,’ Morgan said, emphasizing the last word. ‘It’s there for the taking, but it’ll be a tough one.’
Bleck took out a pack of cigarettes. He tapped a cigarette out and then began to roll it between his fingers while he regarded Morgan thoughtfully.
‘You mean the complete take is eight hundred Gs?’ he asked.
‘A million,’ Morgan said. ‘There’ll be a five-way split if you three want to come in on it.’
‘Five? Who’s the fifth?’ Bleck asked sharply.
‘We’ll get to that,’ Morgan said. He pushed back his chair and stood up. Putting his hands flat on the table, he leaned forward. His thin white face was tense as he said, ‘This is the big one. It’s tough, but it yields a million bucks in hard cash: money you can stick in your pocket without your pocket catching fire. Nothing bigger than a ten-dollar bill. But make no mistake about it - it’s a tough one.’
‘Two hundred thousand bucks?’ Gypo was gaping. ‘There ain’t that much money in the world!’
Morgan grinned at him. The expression on his face made him look like a hungry wolf.
‘It’s the big one,’ he repeated. ‘With that amount of dough, you’ll have the world in your pocket!’
‘Let me guess, Frank,’ Bleck said. ‘It’s the Rocket Research Station’s payroll.’
Morgan sat down. He nodded, grinning.
‘You’re smart, Ed. That’s the one. How do you like it? The payroll is worth exactly a million: all in small bills. It’s there to be had.’
He looked directly at Kitson who was staring at him, a startled expression on his face.
‘You heard me, kid,’ Morgan said. ‘It’s there to be had.’
‘Are you crazy?’ Kitson said, his big hands turning into fists. ‘That’s one job we don’t do, Frank, and I know what I’m talking about.’
Morgan smiled at him, the way an older man smiles at a younger man who has said something stupid. His eyes moved to Bleck, knowing that if Bleck had a feeling for the job, something might be done about it. Bleck was the one with the brains. This kid, Kitson, had guts, was fast with his fists and could handle a car, but there was nothing in his head. If Bleck said it couldn’t be done, then he might have to think again.
‘What do you say, Ed?’
Bleck lit the cigarette, frowning.
‘It’s the one job I wouldn’t pick in spite of the size of the payoff, but if you have an angle, I’m willing to listen.’
That was like Bleck. He never expressed an opinion unless he had all the facts.
Gypo moved his fat body uneasily, looking from Kitson to Morgan, a puzzled expression on his face.
‘What’s so tough about the job then?’ he asked.
Morgan waved his hand at Kitson.
‘You tell him, kid. You should know. You worked for the outfit.’
‘Yes,’ Kitson said. ‘I do know. This is the one job no one swings. Anyone who is crazy enough to try to grab that payroll is yelling for trouble.’ He looked around the table at the other three, uneasy to be talking this way to three men much older than himself and unsure of himself. ‘I’m not kidding. The Welling Armoured Truck Agency is really organized for trouble. I should know. As Frank said, I worked there once.’
Gypo rubbed his face with his hand and frowned at Morgan.
‘But you have an angle, haven’t you, Frank?’
Morgan ignored him. He continued to stare at Kitson.
‘Go on, kid,’ he said. ‘Keep talking. Tell them how tough it is.’
Kitson picked up one of Morgan’s poker chips. He began to turn it over and over between his thick fingers while he stared at it, frowning.
‘Before I quit the agency,’ he said, ‘they got delivery of a new truck. Before this truck arrived, they were using a sardine can with four outriders to protect it. This new truck doesn’t need outriders. It’s really the tops. They’re so sure it is foolproof they don’t even insure the load anymore.’
‘What’s so special about it?’ Morgan asked.
Kitson ran his thick fingers through his hair. It embarrassed him to talk but he was determined to prove that this time Morgan was wrong to suggest such a job. He had had, up to now, a lot of faith in Morgan. The four of them had been working as a team for the past six months, and they had pulled several pretty good jobs. The money hadn’t been much, but there had been no risk, and each one of these jobs had been Morgan’s brainchild. Kitson was willing to admit that two hundred thousand bucks was real money, but what was the use of thinking about it? Morgan had said it was to be had. But he was wrong! He just didn’t know what he was talking about!
‘Go on, kid,’ Morgan urged, a jeering expression in his eyes. ‘What’s so special about this new truck?’
Kitson drew in a deep breath.
‘You won’t get near it, Frank,’ he said. He was so anxious to make his point, his voice shook. ‘This truck is made of a special armoured plate alloy. You can’t cut into it. Maybe it would melt under continuous and intense heat, but the heat would have to be applied for hours, maybe days. The strongest part of the truck is the door. There’s a time lock on it. When the truck is loaded, they fix the lock. It takes the truck three hours fast driving to reach the Research Station. The lock is set to operate four hours after it has left the Agency. That gives the driver time in hand to take care of traffic blocks or a breakdown.’ He put the poker chip down and looked at the other two who were leaning forward, listening, intent expressions on their faces. ‘There’s a push button on the dashboard that controls the time lock. If there is any sign of trouble, the driver has only to punch the button and the time lock cancels out.’
‘Then what happens?’ Morgan asked jeeringly.
‘Once the button is punched, no one opens the door until the time lock is reset, and that’s an expert’s job.’ Kitson lit a cigarette and let the smoke drift down his wide nostrils. ‘Then there’s another thing: they carry a shortwave receiving and transmitter set in the truck, and from the moment they leave for the Research Station, they are in continuous radio communication with the Agency.’ Aware now that Morgan was grinning derisively at him, he turned his attention to Gypo and addressed him directly. ‘Look, suppose some nut tries to hold up the truck. Suppose this nut blocks the road and stops the truck. The driver and the guard automatically go into their routine. The driver punches the button that scrambles the time lock and the guard flicks down a switch that slams steel shutters over the windshield and the windows, turning the truck into a box that just can’t be bust open. Then the guard flicks down another switch on the transmitter which sets up a continuous signal. Any cop radio car can home on to this signal and no matter where the truck is, the radio car will find it. Once they’ve operated the three switches, all they have to do is to sit tight in their steel box and wait for help.’ He tapped ash off his cigarette, his hand shaking from nervous excitement. ‘Like I said: no one is going to hijack that truck. They are really organized for trouble.’
Gypo scratched the back of his neck, a sudden bored expression on his fat face. Bleck had picked up a deck of cards and was shuffling them aimlessly, his light-coloured eyes on Morgan.
‘How about the driver and the guard?’ Morgan asked. ‘Couldn’t they be got at?’
Kitson waved his hands.
‘Got at? Those two? Are you that crazy? Who’s been telling you what?’
An ugly glint came into Morgan’s eyes.
‘I asked you a question,’ he said. ‘Don’t flap with your mouth, and don’t ask me if I’m crazy. I don’t like it.’
Seeing his angry expression, Bleck said smoothly, ‘Take it easy, Frank. The kid’s doing all right. At least he seems to know what he’s talking about.’
Morgan sneered at him.
‘Yeah. Well, we’ll see.’ He looked at Kitson. ‘Go on. Tell me why these two can’t be got at.’
Kitson was beginning to sweat. Tiny beads of perspiration made his flattened nose shine in the hard light.
‘I’ve worked with them,’ he said, staring hard at Morgan. ‘I know them. The driver’s name is Dave Thomas and the guard is Mike Dirkson. They are tough and keen and quick with a gun. They know if they defeat a holdup, they will get a two thousand dollar bonus each. They know there’s no way of busting open the truck to get at the payroll so they wouldn’t be that crazy to throw in with us and lose a regular job that pays off. These two are on the beam. You’ll find that out fast enough if you start something with them.’
Gypo broke in, ‘If it’s going to be that tough, I don’t want anything to do with it. Okay, two hundred grand is fine, but no money is big enough if you ain’t alive to spend it.’
Morgan smiled.
Gypo was a defeatist. He had his qualities, but guts and staying power weren’t his strong points. He was a technical man. There were few locks that his sensitive fingers couldn’t master. He had opened many impossible locks in his time, but he had always worked in an atmosphere of quiet. He had never been called on to work under pressure, and Morgan knew this job would be working under the greatest possible pressure. He wondered if Gypo would make the grade. He had enough confidence in himself to be sure he could talk Gypo into tackling the job, but that didn’t mean much. When the time came: when the cards were down and the pressure was on, everything would depend on Gypo’s skill. If his nerves blew up, then the job would blow up too.
‘Relax,’ he said, putting his hand on Gypo’s shoulder. ‘Since we four ganged up, I’ve steered you all into good jobs. Right?’