Bleck watched him, his lips drawn off his teeth in a snarl.
The boy, clad in jeans and a white and red checkered shirt, his feet bare, a battered straw hat on the back of his head, stared curiously at the door of the caravan, his sunburned face puzzled. There was a long pause as the boy continued to stare at the caravan, then, as if making up his mind, he moved forward and hooked his fingers on the windowsill, preparing to hoist himself up to peer through the window.
Gypo, seeing the sudden murderous, frightened expression on Bleck’s face, got up off the stool and joined Bleck at the window. He caught his breath sharply when he saw the boy, and his hand clamped down on Bleck’s wrist.
‘No!’ Gypo hissed. ‘Not a kid! Are you crazy?’
Bleck wrenched his wrist free, relaxing as he saw the boy hadn’t the strength to pull himself up as far as the window. The boy dropped back, and again stared up at the caravan, his expression frustrated. After staring at the caravan for some moments, he turned abruptly and hurried off down the path that ran along by the lakeside.
‘Do you think he heard us?’ Bleck asked anxiously.
‘I don’t know,’ Gypo said. The shock of the boy’s unexpected appearance had brought him abruptly to his senses.
‘He certainly scared me,’ Bleck said and wiped his face with his hand. ‘Here, you sit down, Gypo, and take it easy. Suppose I try to fix this goddamn lock?’
‘You?’ Gypo’s face wrinkled in disgust. ‘No! You could dislodge the first tumbler if you don’t have the feel of it. Keep away from it!’
Bleck reached out and took hold of Gypo’s shirt front, giving him a hard shake.
‘So if I don’t do it and you damn well won’t do it, how do we open it?’ he demanded, his voice thick with rage.
‘Don’t you understand?’ Gypo said. ‘We’re not going to open it! For three days I’ve worked on it! Hour after hour after hour! What happens? One tumbler falls, then nothing. That lock has at least six tumblers. I’ve got five more to find. Okay, maybe in a week I’ll find the second one; maybe I won’t. If I find it, I’ve got four more to find. By that time I’ll be crazy in the head! No one can work in this heat! No one! I’m quitting! I can’t do any more! I’ve had enough! No money is worth this! You hear me? No money can be worth this!’
‘Aw, shut up!’ Bleck shouted violently. ‘Don’t start that again!’
But he was worried. He realized that Gypo was talking sense. The thought of being cooped up in this oven of a caravan for another three or four weeks appalled even him.
Gypo had slumped down on the stool again, holding his hand to his aching face as he stared hopelessly at the dial.
‘Could you cut the door open?’ Bleck asked.
‘Here? Impossible! People would see the flame through the curtain. Then think of the heat! The caravan would catch fire.’
‘Suppose we take the caravan up into the mountains? Frank said we might have to do that, and it looks to me that’s what we’ll have to do,’ Bleck said. ‘Then you can work with the back of the caravan open. It would be okay like that, wouldn’t it?’
Gypo took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his bleeding cheek.
‘I’ve had enough. I want to go home. No one’s going to open that sonofabitch — no one!’
‘We’ll talk to the other two,’ Bleck said, a rasp in his voice. ‘Where are your guts? There’s a million bucks behind that door! A million bucks! Think of it!’
‘I wouldn’t care if there were twenty million,’ Gypo said, his voice shaking. ‘I’ve had enough, I tell you! Can’t you understand English?’
‘Relax, will you?’ Bleck said, sitting on the floor. ‘We’ll talk to the other two.’
Unaware of Gypo’s crack up, Ginny and Kitson were returning from town, some fifteen miles from the caravan camp, after an afternoon’s shopping.
They had decided it would be unsafe to shop any more at the store on the camp. The storekeeper was certain to notice the amount of food they were buying and would know it couldn’t have been for two people, so now they did a daily run into town.
During the past two days, Ginny and Kitson had been constantly in each other’s company. Ginny was still trying to make up her mind whether to join up with Kitson when they got the money. She knew he was in love with her and she found that she was growing to like him. Unlike Bleck, there was nothing dangerous about him and she felt safe with him.
As they drove along the highway, heading back to the caravan camp, she kept glancing at him. Apart from his broken nose, he was quite handsome, she thought, and she had a sudden urge to confide in him
‘Alex.’
Kitson glanced at her and then back to the road. When he had her by his side, he was a very careful driver.
‘Yeah? Something bothering you?’
‘Well, yes.’ She lifted her copper-coloured hair off her shoulders and then let it drop back into place. ‘You asked me once how I knew about the truck and the payroll. Do you still want to know?’
Kitson was surprised, ‘Well, I’ve wondered, but it’s no business of mine,’ he said. ‘What made you think of that?’
‘You’ve been pretty nice to me,’ Ginny said. ‘Most men in your place would have been troublesome. I appreciate it, I want you to know I’m not a gangster’s moll.’
Kitson shook his head, ‘I never thought that.’
‘Morgan did. He thought I had stolen the plan from a mob I had been working with and brought it to him for a bigger share. He didn’t say so, but I knew that’s what he thought.’
Kitson shifted uncomfortably. He knew that was exactly what Frank had thought.
‘Well, maybe. I didn’t.’
‘I knew about the payroll and the truck because my father was the gate man at the Research Station,’ Ginny said quietly.
‘He was?’ Kitson gave her a quick look. ‘Yeah, so you would know about it.’
‘I’m not trying to whitewash myself,’ Ginny said, leaning her head back against the seat. ‘My mother was no good. I guess I have a lot of her badness in me. She left my father when I was ten. She was always talking about money, telling me without it, I’d never do anything. My father was a good man, but he didn’t earn much. He was good to me, but that didn’t stop me having an itch for money. As I grew up, the itch got worse. It tormented me. I never had any decent clothes. I seldom went to the movies. I used to spend all my time staring into the windows of the luxury shops, envying people who could buy what I saw there and what I wanted. My father often talked about the payroll, and I often dreamed of having all that money. Then the new truck arrived. My father thought they were crazy not to insure the payroll any longer. He said it wouldn’t be so hard to hijack the truck. He and I used to discuss it. It was his idea to hide the truck in a caravan. Don’t imagine he ever thought of doing such a thing. There was nothing like that about him, but it made me think and the idea of grabbing that truck became an obsession with me.’
Kitson was driving slowly now and listening. He watched the sun, like a red ball of fire, dip behind the mountains.
‘My father was a sick man,’ Ginny went on, lacing her fingers over one knee. ‘He had two years to go before he got his pension, and he tried to hang on, but in the end he had to quit.
They gave him time off, but when he wasn’t well enough to come back when they thought he should, they sacked him, and away went his pension. I went to see the staff manager to explain, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He treated me as if I were a beggar. So, when my father died, I decided I would get even. I would be killing two birds with one stone: I’d settle the score and I’d become rich. I had the plan all worked out in my mind and I had to find someone to help me. I was in a cafe one night, and I overheard some men talking about Morgan. From what they said, I decided he was the one to go to. So I went to him. That’s the story. It was my father’s plan, but he would never have used it.’