1958 - The World in My Pocket

Free 1958 - The World in My Pocket by James Hadley Chase

Book: 1958 - The World in My Pocket by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online
Authors: James Hadley Chase
fell over themselves as they crowded back.
    Morgan put one hand on the bar and vaulted up on to it. He kicked glasses and bottles out of his way and the sudden smashing of breaking glass brought people to their feet and the buzz of conversation to an abrupt silence.
    ‘Take it easy!’ Morgan bawled, sweeping the room with the muzzle of the machine gun. ‘This is a hold-up! Don’t make a move and you won’t get hurt! Sit down, all of you! Anyone who starts anything will get a gutful of lead! Just stay still and you’ll be okay!’
    Nearly blinded by sweat, his heart hammering so violently he could scarcely breathe, Bleck dragged down the handkerchief mask which was suffocating him. He held his .38 in a hand that was shaking, while he looked across the packed cafe, praying that some fool wouldn’t start something.
    A woman screamed. Two men started to get to their feet, but were immediately dragged back into their seats by the women with them. Everyone else in the cafe froze into statues.
    ‘Okay,’ Morgan said, pitching his voice high. ‘We want cash. Put your wallets on the tables. Come on! Get moving!’
    Most of the men began fumbling in their hip pockets and this was Ginny’s cue. She pulled the canvas sack that Morgan had given her from her pocket, then, holding the sack in her left hand and the .38 in her right, she started her lone walk down the aisle, stopping at each table to pick up the wallets that were lying on the table and dropping them into the sack.
    Bleck, standing by the door, watched her. She moved slowly and cautiously like someone walking on brittle ice, but there was no hesitation. She paused at each table, collected the wallet that lay there, dropped, it into the sack and moved on.
    Morgan yelled: ‘Come on! Come on! Get your wallets out! I’ve got an itchy finger, but I don’t want to hurt anyone unless I have to! Get those wallets out!’
    Bleck began to relax.
    Morgan and the girl were swinging this, he thought. Talk about nerve! The snap in Morgan’s voice was something to hear and the way he stood, slightly crouching, his machine gun pushed forward made him a blood chilling, menacing figure.
    The girl suddenly stopped her mechanical movement forward.
    She had reached a table where a woman, wearing a mink stole and a fat, hard-faced man were sitting. There was no wallet on the table.
    She looked at the man, who stared at her, his small grey eyes glittering.
    ‘Come on, mister,’ she said softly. ‘Hand it over.’
    ‘I’ve got nothing for you, you tramp,’ the man said. ‘I don’t carry money.’
    Bleck began to sweat. He smelt trouble. He looked anxiously at Morgan, who stood motionless, the machine gun rigid. He was watching Ginny, his lips slightly off his teeth, his expression wolfish.
    ‘Hand it over!’ Ginny said, raising her voice.
    ‘I’ve got nothing for you, you little bitch,’ the man said, staring at her.
    His companion suddenly went as white as a fresh fall of snow and shut her eyes. Her massive body began to sag against the man who shoved her off impatiently.
    Ginny lifted her gun.
    ‘Shed it, fatso,’ she said, her voice suddenly strident, ‘or you’ll get a dose of lead poisoning!’
    The man’s face tightened, but he said, ‘I’ve got nothing for you! Get out of here!’
    Morgan shifted the muzzle of his gun around to cover the man, but he knew the movement was futile. He knew the man must realize he wouldn’t shoot because Ginny was in the direct line of fire. This was Ginny’s show, and Morgan watched her anxiously, knowing this was the test. The cards were down and the pressure on. Would she crack?
    He got his answer sooner than he expected it.
    Ginny smiled at the man: a flickering smile that came and went beneath the mask, but showed for a brief flash in her eyes. Then she pistol-whipped the man across his face. Her movement was so quick he had no chance of protecting himself. The barrel of the .38 slashed him across his nose and cheek and

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