1958 - The World in My Pocket by James Hadley Chase

still looking pretty bad and her skin still had the bluish tinge.
    ‘I’m all right.’
    ‘You handle the big one the way you handled this one,’ Morgan said, ‘and you’ll do.’
    ‘Oh, stop talking to me as if I were a child,’ the girl said irritably and turned away, moving over to the workbench where she began to finger the tools aimlessly.
    Morgan shrugged, then when Gypo came hurrying up with a bottle of whisky and glasses, he made five drinks and carried two glasses over to Ginny. He offered her one.
    ‘If you need this the way I need it, you need it,’ he said.
    She took the whisky and swallowed a little, grimacing, then the blueness went out of her face.
    ‘It was tougher than I imagined,’ she said. ‘I nearly cracked.’
    ‘But you didn’t.’ Morgan paused to drink half his whisky, then went on, ‘You were fine. Let’s get over there and see what the haul is.’
    While Gypo, Kitson and Bleck worked feverishly on the car, Morgan emptied the contents of the sack on to the workbench and began to strip out the wallets. Ginny worked with him.
    ‘This is his,’ the girl said, picking up a pigskin wallet. ‘The one I hit.’
    ‘Let’s see what he was trying to protect,’ Morgan said. ‘How much?’
    She hooked out ten one hundred dollar bills and laid them on the bench.
    ‘No wonder he acted tough.’
    The other three, having fixed the car, came over and stood watching. After a few minutes, Morgan and the girl finished stripping out the wallets, then Morgan sat down on a box and began counting the money.
    The four watched him.
    Morgan looked up as he laid the last five—dollar bill down on the bench.
    ‘Two thousand, nine hundred and seventy-five bucks,’ he said. ‘Well, here’s our working capital. Now we can go straight ahead.’
    ‘Is that right she had to hit a guy?’ Gypo asked, his eyes as round as marbles.
    ‘She hit him,’ Morgan said, carefully stacking the money. ‘He asked for it and he got it. She handled him better than I could, better than any of you could.’
    Ginny turned away and walked over to the car.
    The four men looked at her and exchanged glances.
    ‘She’ll do,’ Morgan said quietly. ‘If you boys do as well, the big one is in the bag.’
    He looked directly at Bleck who tried to meet his eyes, but couldn’t make it. He took out a cigarette and went through an elaborate search for a match, aware that Morgan’s glittering eyes were still probing at him.
    ‘Hear me, Ed?’
    Bleck lit his cigarette.
    ‘Sure.’
    Sensitive to the atmosphere, Gypo asked, ‘Something go wrong, Frank?’
    ‘Ed let a guy knock his gun out of his hand,’ Morgan said. ‘That could have soured the whole caper.’
    Bleck moved his powerful shoulders under his coat, scowling.
    ‘He caught me on the wrong foot. It could have happened to anyone.’
    ‘Yeah,’ Morgan said, ‘but don’t let it happen again.’ Turning to Kitson, he went on, ‘And you: you were too slow off the mark. You should have got the car away a lot faster.’
    Kitson knew Morgan was right. The sound of the gun going off had paralysed him. He had imagined someone in the cafe had been killed and this job had turned into a murder rap.
    ‘Ginny.’
    The girl turned at the sound of Morgan’s voice and came over to where the four men were standing.
    ‘We can go ahead with the big one now,’ Morgan said. ‘You and Kitson go into Marlow tomorrow and get the caravan. Gypo will give you the measurements.’ Morgan sat on the bench, his cigarette sending a thin spiral of smoke past his nose. ‘Keep the price as low as you can. We’ll need every cent of this dough. I don’t have to tell you that.’ He looked over at Kitson. ‘You know the setup: you and she have just got married and want this caravan for your honeymoon. Most young people buy caravans for that reason, and we’ve got to make sure the guy who sells you the caravan doesn’t remember either of you.’
    Kitson glanced suspiciously at Bleck, but