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

and he was pretty serious about it. I didn’t want to. I had a good chance for the title, but when the Doc said I should quit, I quit.’
    This was his version of the story. His manager would have told her something completely different. He looked anxiously at her to see if she accepted the explanation, but her expressionless face told him nothing.
    ‘What made you pick on Frank?’ he asked after a long pause.
    ‘Who else is there in this town to pick on?’ she said. ‘Here comes the bus.’
    They boarded the bus. She let him buy the tickets, and they sat side by side, their faces reflected in the glass of the window. The bus was full. Except for a moment’s interest when the men in the bus stared at her as she went to her seat, no one paid any attention to them.
    They rode back to town in silence.
    At the railroad station, she said, ‘This is where I get off. See you tomorrow at eleven.’
    He got up to let her pass and he felt a surge of blood move through him as her body brushed against his.
    As the bus moved off, he pressed his face against the window, looking out into the darkness, trying to get a last glimpse of her.
     

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    I
     
    A t eleven o’clock the following morning, Kitson drove Morgan’s Buick out of town and headed towards Marlow, a sixty-mile drive on Highway 10.
    By his side sat Ginny, whom he scarcely recognised. She looked what she was supposed to look: a young girl who had just got married and was about to experience the excitement and the fun of a honeymoon. The simple summer frock she wore gave her youthful charm. Her expression had softened and she was surprisingly talkative.
    Kitson was a little stunned by this transformation. He had taken pains with his appearance, and he now gave the impression of being a fairly prosperous young man, just married and embarrassed that anyone should know he was off on his honeymoon.
    Morgan had brought the Buick, towing tackle now in position, to Kitson’s place. Gypo had followed him in the Lincoln and he had become sentimental as he watched Kitson and Ginny drive away.
    ‘They look made for each other, don’t they?’ he said to Morgan as he stared after the swiftly moving Buick. ‘She’s not as hard as she makes out. A girl with a body like that is made for love. They look like a honeymoon couple. They could have beautiful children.’
    ‘Stop napping with your mouth!’ Morgan said. ‘What’s the matter with you? You’re talking like an old woman!’
    Gypo spread his hands and lifted his shoulders.
    ‘Okay, so I flap with my mouth. So I shut up, but without a little love in this world, where is the happiness?’
    ‘Come on. We’ve got work to do. Take me over to Ed’s place,’ Morgan said, scowling.
    This sort of sloppy talk was bad, he thought. They had a dangerous job ahead of them. This was no time for sentiment.
    Bleck had a two-room apartment in a brown stone building that overlooked the river.
    Morgan took the elevator to the fourth floor, walked along the passage and dug his thumb into Bleck’s bell push.
    There was a delay, then Bleck opened the door.
    He was wearing a pair of black pyjamas with white piping and his initials in white on the pocket. His hair was tousled and his eyes heavy and a little bleary.
    ‘For the love of Mike!’ he said, staring at Morgan. ‘What’s the time then?’
    Morgan moved forward and rode Bleck back into the small sitting room, comfortably furnished, but untidy, with a number of empty gin and whisky bottles lined up on the window seat. There was a stale smell of cigarette smoke and perfume that made Morgan wrinkle his nose.
    ‘It smells like a cat house in here,’ he said. ‘Can’t you open a window?’
    ‘Why, sure.’ Bleck went to the window and threw it open. He looked at the clock on the overmantel and saw it was twenty minutes after eleven. ‘You’re early, aren’t you? Kitson gone?’
    ‘They’ve gone,’ Morgan said. He looked across the room to the bedroom door.