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

blood spurted. He fell backwards, his hand going to his face, a grunting sound forcing itself out of his mouth.
    She leaned across the table and hit him again. The barrel of the gun coming down hard on the top of his head, so he slumped forward, half unconscious. The woman in the mink stole gave a shrill scream and slid out of her chair in a faint.
    Morgan yelled, ‘Hold it! Just one move out of anyone of you and you’ll get it!’
    His voice was so loaded with menace that even Bleck froze for a brief moment.
    Ginny stepped close to the half-unconscious man, jerked him upright and pulled out his wallet from his inside pocket. She gave him a hard shove so he fell across the table as she dropped the wallet into the sack.
    That was enough.
    Wallets appeared on the tables as if by magic. All Ginny now had to do was to walk swiftly down the aisle, picking them up and dropping them into the sack.
    Bleck was so fascinated that he had taken his attention off the door, and it came as a shock when the door jerked open and a big, broad-shouldered man came in.
    Bleck stared stupidly at the man. The big man looked from Bleck to the gun Bleck was holding slackly in his hand. The big man moved swiftly. His hand came down in a chopping blow on Bleck’s wrist. The gun flew out of Bleck’s grip and slid across the floor to land near the bar.
    As the big man set himself to throw a punch at Bleck, Morgan shifted the machine gun in his direction and yelled at him: ‘Hold it! Get your hands up! You hear me?’
    The big man’s eyes went to Morgan and the machine gun and his courage sagged. He backed away from Bleck and put up his hands.
    A thickset man with a pugnacious face who had shed his wallet and who was sitting at a table at which Ginny was standing, seeing Morgan’s gun wasn’t aiming in his direction, made a sudden grab at Ginny’s .38 as she picked up his wallet. His hand closed over the gun butt and her wrist and he tried to jerk the gun out of her grasp.
    She held on to the gun and looked into his reckless, scared eyes. She squeezed the trigger. The gun went off with a crash that rattled the windows of the cafe. The man released his grip as if he had caught hold of something red hot. The bullet cut through his sleeve, grazing his arm.
    Ginny stepped back, threatening him with the gun while Morgan yelled and cursed at him.
    ‘Get on! Get on!’ Morgan shouted to Ginny. ‘Hurry!’
    As calm as a model at a dress show, Ginny moved on, picking up the wallets and dropping them into the sack. No one moved. They sat frozen, white-faced, their fear riveted on their faces.
    Outside in the car, Kitson heard the crash of gunfire and he flinched. It needed a tremendous effort of self-control not to put the car into gear and drive away.
    He sat motionless, his hands gripping the wheel, sweat on his face, holding on to himself, willing himself to stay where he was.
    Then suddenly it was all over.
    There was a sound of rushing of feet. He heard the rear door of the Lincoln jerk open and bodies spilt into the car. He felt a hot, sweating body thud against his as Bleck sprawled on to the front seat. Automatically, he started the car moving.
    ‘Go on! Go on!’ Morgan bawled in his ear from the rear seat. ‘Get the hell out of here fast!’
    Kitson, his breath whistling between his clenched teeth, sent the car surging forward. He swung left with a scream of tortured tires, cut down the narrow alley and out into the in street.
    With the skill that was his natural talent, he skipped the car cross the main street, and into another side street, slackening speed slightly, flicking on his headlights and flicking them off immediately as he drove across the intersections.
    Morgan twisted around, was staring out of the rear window, intent on seeing if they were being followed. After a half a mile of such driving, he said abruptly, ‘Okay, no one is on us, let’s
    get over to Gypo’s place.’
    There was a general relaxation of tension.
    ‘Well,