1958 - The World in My Pocket Read online

  Fred Bradford stood just outside.

  ‘Hello there, Mr. Harrison,’ he said. ‘Pardon me for calling at this time. I guess Mrs. Harrison is getting supper ready.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kitson said, blocking the doorway. ‘Was there something?’

  ‘I guess so. Could I come in a moment? I won’t keep you folks long.’

  Seeing Kitson hesitate, Ginny came quickly to the door.

  ‘Why, hello, Mr. Bradford, come right in,’ she said, smiling. ‘I haven’t started supper yet so there’s nothing to spoil.’

  Bradford moved into the sitting room. He looked self-conscious and a little uneasy.

  ‘Give Mr. Bradford a drink, Alex,’ Ginny said.

  ‘No, I don’t think I will, thanks,’ Bradford said. He sat down, rubbing his knees with the palms of his hands. ‘I mustn’t take up too much of your time. My kid was around here this afternoon.’ Bradford looked directly at Kitson. ‘He tells me there were two men in your caravan.’

  Kitson felt his heart give a little bounce. He looked over at Ginny, not knowing what to say.

  ‘They were two of our friends,’ Ginny said calmly. She smiled at Bradford. ‘We promised to lend them the caravan for their vacation and they came down when we were out to look at it.’

  Bradford relaxed.

  ‘Well, what do you know? I told my kid it was something like that, but he wouldn’t have it. He said they were quarrelling and shouting at each other, and it sort of scared him. He thought they were robbers.’

  Ginny laughed.

  ‘I wouldn’t go so far as that,’ she said, ‘but I wouldn’t trust them too far in a deal. They’re always shouting at each other, but that doesn’t stop them planning a vacation together.’

  ‘They certainly scared my kid,’ Bradford said. ‘I thought I’d better have a word with you. There have been robberies on this lake, Mrs. Harrison. Well, if they’re friends of yours.’

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s nice of you to have bothered. Are you sure you won’t have a drink, Mr. Bradford?’

  ‘No, no, thanks. I guess I mustn’t keep you.’ He pulled at his long nose, frowning. ‘You know, for his age, that kid of mine is remarkably smart. He’s got an idea about this missing truck. Know what he thinks? He thinks it’s hidden in a caravan.’

  Kitson’s hands turned into fists, and he hastily pushed them out of sight into his trousers’ pockets.

  Ginny stiffened a little, but her expression remained unchanged.

  ‘In a caravan? What gave him that idea?’

  ‘Oh, I guess it’s because he’s surrounded by caravans right here,’ Bradford said, smiling indulgently. ‘But mind you, it’s not a bad idea. He says the police would never think of hunting through a place like this for a truck, and he could be right.’

  ‘I suppose he could,’ Ginny said. ‘He’s certainly got imagination.’

  ‘That’s a fact. He wants me to go to the police and tell them. He reckons if they find the truck hidden in a caravan, they’ll give him the reward. Did you see they’ve raised the reward now to five thousand? That’s quite a slice of money.’

  There was a pause, then Ginny said, ‘I can’t imagine them giving him the reward, can you, Mr. Bradford?’ Her smile was a little stiff. ‘You know how the police are about rewards.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Bradford said. ‘I can’t make up my mind whether to go to the police or not. Mind you, I think the kid’s got something, but maybe they’ll tell me to mind my own business.’

  ‘Since you own a caravan, Mr. Bradford, it wouldn’t surprise me if they suspected you had stolen the truck yourself. I remember my father once found some pearls and gave them to the police, claiming the reward. They promptly arrested him, and it took weeks of expense to clear him, and he never got the reward.’

  Bradford’s eyes opened very wide.

  ‘You don’t say! I hadn’t thought of that. I guess that settles it. I’ll leave well alone. I’m glad I talked to you. I sure hadn’t thought of that angle.’

  He got to his feet.

  ‘This is goodbye, Mr. Bradford,’ Ginny said, smiling at him. ‘We are leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘You are? Why, that’s a shame! Don’t you like it here then?’

  ‘We love it, but we plan to make a long trip. We’re heading for Stag Lake, and then we’re going on to Deer Lake.’

  ‘That’s quite a trip! Well, I wish you happiness.’ Bradford shook hands. He stayed talking at the door for several more minutes while Ginny and Kitson stood there willing him to go. Then finally he waved his hand and went off along the moonlit path towards his own cabin.

  Ginny shut the door and turned the key.

  ‘Well, as Mr. Bradford says, that settles it. We must go.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Kitson said. ‘You certainly handled that guy. You were terrific!’

  ‘Okay, okay, plough boy,’ Bleck said from the bedroom door. ‘Don’t get hysterical. That damned kid! I had an idea he heard us.’

  Gypo came to the bedroom door and stood, listening.

  ‘Well, tomorrow we go,’ Bleck went on. ‘We can’t take a chance on that kid trying a fast one.’ He turned to Kitson. ‘Suppose you get out of here and stay with the caravan? That kid might take it into his head to come back and start snooping.’

  Kitson nodded. He went to the door, unlocked it and went out into the night.

  Gypo said in a flat, final voice, ‘Tomorrow, I go home. Understand? I’ve had enough. Now I’m going to bed.’

  He went back into the bedroom and shut the door.

  ‘I’ll fix him,’ Bleck said, an ugly expression in his eyes. ‘I’m getting plenty tired of that creep.’

  Ginny went into the kitchen and began preparing supper.

  Bleck came to the door and leaned against it.

  ‘You handled that guy pretty well, baby,’ he said. ‘Have you thought any more about my proposition? I’m smart; you’re smart, so that makes us two smart people. How about it?’

  She slid two big steaks into the frying pan.

  ‘I wouldn’t be interested if you were the last man left alive,’ she said not looking at him.

  ‘Okay, baby,’ he said. ‘We’ll see.’

  He was grinning as if he had a secret joke as he wandered over to the armchair and sat down.

  II

  Early next morning, Kitson drove into town, leaving Ginny to sit near the caravan on guard while Bleck and Gypo remained in the cabin. This was taking a risk, but Gypo had been so difficult Bleck didn’t feel he could cope with him in the caravan.

  Bleck and Kitson had had to tie Gypo to the bed and gag him: that was how bad he had been. When they had finally fastened him to the bed, Bleck, breathing heavily, a vicious expression in his eyes, waved Kitson out of the room. ‘You leave this jerk to me,’ he said. ‘I’ll persuade him to change his mind. By the time you get back, he’ll be willing to travel with us.’

  Kitson hated leaving Gypo like that, but he knew they couldn’t hope to get the truck open without Gypo’s skill, and as Gypo seemed to have gone slightly off his head, he was relieved to push the responsibility onto Bleck.

  In town, Kitson bought a fair-sized tent and a large stock of canned food. They had discussed the food problem and had decided that it wouldn’t be safe to go down to the town to shop once they were up in the mountains and they would have to take enough provisions to last them until Gypo opened the truck. He returned to the cabin with the trunk of the Buick full of his purchases.

  Ginny came over as he got out of the car.

  ‘Anything happen?’ he asked.

  She shook her head.

  ‘No, but I’m glad you’re back. I keep thinking of that kid. The sooner we leave the better.’

  They went into the cabin together.

  Gypo was sitting in one of the armchairs. His face was white and his eyes sunk deep into his head. He didn’t look up when they came in.

  Bleck was pacing up and down, smoking.

  ‘All fixed?’ he said to Kitson.
<
br />   ‘I got everything.’

  Kitson looked at Gypo and then at Bleck, his eyes question marks.

  ‘Gypo’s okay now,’ Bleck said. ‘I’ve talked to him and he’s ready to cooperate.’

  ‘You force me to do it,’ Gypo said, his voice shaking. ‘Nothing good will come of it. I’ve warned you before. Now I’m warning you again.’ He looked up suddenly at Kitson. ‘You were my friend. Some friend! You keep away from me! I don’t want anything more to do with you!’

  ‘What’s the matter then?’ Kitson asked, staring at him.

  ‘I had to get a little tough with him,’ Bleck said. ‘I had to convince him if he didn’t cooperate, he would run into a lot of trouble.’

  ‘He said he would break my hands,’ Gypo said in a low, shaking voice. ‘How can a man live without his hands?’

  Kitson started to say something, but Bleck shook his head at him.

  ‘Come on, let’s get going,’ Bleck said. ‘Anyone around out there?’

  Ginny and Kitson went outside.

  There were boats on the lake, but no one in the immediate vicinity.

  Kitson coupled up the caravan to the Buick, then backed the caravan close to the cabin door.

  ‘You guys ready?’

  Bleck came to the door with Gypo.

  Kitson opened the back of the caravan, and Bleck and Gypo got in quickly and Kitson shut the back. The move didn’t take a couple of seconds.

  ‘I’ll stay here while you settle with the office,’ Kitson said, giving Ginny his wallet.

  While he waited, Kitson lit a cigarette and leaned against the side of the caravan. His nerves were tense now. They were going out into the open. It was asking for trouble, but there seemed no other way if they were going to open the truck.

  ‘Hey, mister!’

  Kitson started and looked quickly around.

  A small boy, in jeans and a red and white checkered shirt, a straw hat on his head came from around the other side of the caravan.

  ‘Hello,’ Kitson said.

  The boy stared at him, his head a little on one side.

  ‘You know my pop,’ he said. ‘I’m Fred Bradford junior.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Kitson said, trying to sound casual.

  The boy frowned at him, then transferred his attention to the caravan.

  ‘That yours?’ he asked, jerking his thumb at the caravan.

  ‘That’s right,’ Kitson said.

  The boy studied the caravan.

  ‘I like ours better.’

  Kitson didn’t say anything. He wished feverishly that Ginny would come back and they could get the hell out of here.

  The boy squatted down and stared under the caravan.

  ‘Say! You’ve got enough steel on her, haven’t you?’ he said, looking up at Kitson. ‘What’s the idea? It only adds to the weight, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Kitson rubbing his jaw uneasily. ‘It was like that when I bought it.’

  ‘Pop said two of your friends were in it yesterday. Is that right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What was the matter with them?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  The boy studied him. Kitson found his young eyes were extraordinarily disconcerting.

  ‘There was something wrong with them. I heard them yelling at each other.’

  ‘They always yell at each other,’ Kitson said. ‘There’s nothing to that.’

  The boy stepped back and stared at the caravan.

  ‘Can I see inside, mister?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Kitson said, turning hot. ‘My wife’s got the key.’

  The boy looked surprised.

  ‘My pop never lets my ma have keys. She always loses them.’

  ‘My wife doesn’t.’

  The boy squatted down again and began to pull at the grass, scattering the blades right and left.

  ‘Your friends in there now?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where are they then?’

  ‘At home.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘St. Lawrence.’

  ‘They live together then?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘They were yelling at each other. They scared me.’

  Kitson shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘That’s nothing. They always yell at each other.’

  The boy took off his hat and began to put grass into it.

  ‘One of them called the other a yellow creep because he couldn’t do something. What was it he couldn’t do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Kitson said, and he lit a cigarette.

  ‘They sounded pretty mad at each other.’

  ‘They’re good friends. You don’t have to worry about them.’

  Having filled the hat with grass, the boy bent forward, dipped his head into the hat and pulled it on.

  ‘This keeps my head cool,’ he explained, seeing Kitson staring at him. ‘It’s my own invention. There could be money in it.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Kitson said. ‘Look, son, maybe you’d better go home. Your pop may be wondering where you’ve got to.’

  ‘No, he won’t. I told him I was going to look for that truck that’s been stolen - the one with all that money in it. He doesn’t expect me back for another hour. Did you read about the truck, mister?’

  ‘I read about it.’

  ‘Know what I think?’

  ‘Yeah - your pop told me.’

  The boy frowned.

  ‘He shouldn’t have done that. If he tells everyone, I could lose the reward.’

  Kitson suddenly caught sight of Ginny hurrying along the path towards him.

  ‘I’m going to collect that reward,’ the boy went on. ‘Five thousand bucks. Do you know what I’m going to do with it when I get it?’

  Kitson shook his head.

  ‘I’m not going to give it to my pop: that’s what I’m going to do with it.’

  Ginny came up.

  ‘This is Bradford, junior,’ Kitson said.

  ‘Hello,’ Ginny said and smiled.

  ‘Have you got the key of the caravan?’ the boy asked. ‘He says I can look inside.’

  Ginny and Kitson exchanged glances.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ginny said to the boy. ‘I’ve packed the key in one of the suitcases. I can’t get at it.’

  ‘I bet you’ve lost it,’ the boy said scornfully. ‘Well, I’ve got to go now. Pop says you are leaving.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ginny said.

  ‘You’re going now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, so long,’ the boy said and turning, he walked off down the path, his hands in his trousers pockets, whistling shrilly and out of tune.

  ‘Do you think?’ Kitson began, then stopped. ‘Well, come on. Let’s get out of here.’

  They got into the Buick.

  As they drove off, Fred Bradford, junior, who had left the path as soon as he had rounded the bend and was out of sight, and had returned through the thickets, stood motionless looking after the departing Buick and caravan. Then he took out a much thumbed notebook and wrote down the licence number of the Buick with a stub of pencil.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I

  The broad six-lane highway was full of traffic, including a number of cars hauling trailers.

  Every now and then a hover-plane would dip down and fly along the highway as if inspecting the traffic, and each time it did so, Kitson flinched inwardly.

  From time to time some big truck with a covered top would be stopped and checked by patrol officers, but it seemed the authorities had decided a caravan trailer wouldn’t be strong enough to take the truck, for no trailer was being stopped.

  All the same it was nervy work, driving, and Kitson had to hold onto himself to keep the car at a steady thirty miles an hour. For six long hours they kept going. Ginny, sitting at Kitson’s side, had very little to say, and Kitson didn’t feel like talking either.

  Every time they passed a police car or saw a motorcycle cop, t
heir hearts pounded. It wasn’t the trip where conversation came easily. They reached the road up to the mountains by seven in the evening.

  The sun had gone down behind the mountains, and darkness closed in quickly as Kitson sent the Buick up the first series of hairpin bends.

  It was tricky driving. Kitson knew if he misjudged a bend and the caravan ran off the road, there would be no hope of getting it back onto the road again.

  He could feel the drag on the Buick and the Buick’s sluggish response to the gas pedal. This bothered Kitson as he knew, some twenty miles further up the road, it really got rugged and steep. He kept glancing at the temperature gauge, seeing the indicator slowly moving from normal to hot.

  ‘She’ll be on the boil in a while,’ he said to Ginny. ‘It’s the drag that’s doing it. We’ve still got about twenty miles of this kind of road ahead, then we really strike trouble.’

  ‘Worse than this?’ Ginny asked as Kitson swung the wheel and pulled the Buick slowly around a steep sharp bend.

  ‘This is nothing. The bad bit was broken up by a storm a few weeks ago. It’s never been fixed. No one ever comes up here anyway. They use the Dukas tunnel through the mountain.’

  Three or four miles further up the road and with the indicator of the temperature gauge on boiling point, Kitson slowed and then pulled up.

  ‘We’ll give her a few minutes to cool off,’ he said and got out, collecting a couple of big rocks to block the back wheels of the car as Ginny opened up the back of the caravan.

  Kitson went around and peered in. It was too dark to see Bleck or for Bleck to see him.

  Bleck said, ‘What’s up?’

  ‘We’re boiling,’ Kitson said. ‘I’m letting her cool off.’

  Bleck climbed stiffly out of the caravan and moved over to the edge of the road, breathing in the cool mountain air.

  ‘Well, we’ve got so far. How much farther have we got to the top?’

  ‘About sixteen miles. The worst is to come.’

  ‘Think we’re going to do it?’

  Kitson shook his head.

  ‘I don’t. This is too big a weight to haul. It’ll be as much as I can do to get the caravan up there, let alone with the truck.’