PART THREE

Outside, the rain beat on the windows. Below, the streets were empty and glistening in the yellow lights of the street lamps.

Myra paced the room restlessly, a cigarette in her mouth. No word from Dillon. She looked impatiently at the clock. Then she turned and, pulling back the curtain, looked into the empty street.

Her mind was alive with doubts. She went over to the telephone, lifted the receiver, hesitated, then put it back on its cradle. Where the hell was Dillon? she kept asking herself. He said he’d be there at nine o’clock; it was just after eleven.

She walked into her bedroom and switched on the table-light. The room was well furnished, looking rather like a movie set. She stood looking round, seeing nothing.

Six months had gone by since the day they had got Hurst out of a jam. Six months of unrest and feverish activity. Hurst had paid them back for what they had done. Dillon was his right-hand man now. They were no longer petty gangsters. They were in the money now. Dillon’s job was to see Hurst’s racket ran smooth. He had a tough mob to work for him, while Hurst was content to sit in the background and collect the money as it rolled in.

Hurst’s racket was this. He manufactured automatic machines of every description. He had gambling machines, moving-picture machines of a doubtful kind, food machines, cigarette machines and even prophylactic machines. On the face of it, a good sound business. It was where he put the machines that made his game a racket.

His mob went round with a truck planting the machines on small shopkeepers, or hotels, apartment houses and suchlike. These people were forced to take them. Those foolish enough to resist were either beaten up or had their windows smashed. They got no rake-off from the machines and Hurst had no over-heads. He sent men round weekly to clear the money, and he made a big thing out of it. His gambling machines were foolproof. Foolproof for Hurst. A sucker simply could not win anything from them, but still they tried. Hurst had over six thousand automatic machines in operation.

It was Myra who suggested the schools. Hurst was nervous that there would be a row, but Myra had planned carefully. Nearly every school had a favourite candy shop, and it was in the candy shop that the automatic was planted. They put a smut movie automatic and a gambling automatic, and the kids flogged all their candy money in these machines. It brought in a new and pretty big revenue.

Dillon kept all the shopkeepers on the jump. He had to find fresh fields to plant the automatics, and he had to supervise the collecting of the money Hurst gave him a ten per cent cut on what he turned in.

It was not quite the big job Dillon had planned but it was bringing them in fifteen hundred dollars a week. Also, Dillon was running a mob, and it was a mighty tough mob at that.

Myra had money to burn. She kept away from Dillon’s headquarters, and lived the life of a rich business man’s wife.

For six months Dillon had been coming back each night around nine o’clock, and they would go out some place and eat. And now there was no sign of him’.

She wondered if he’d run into trouble. After his one attempt to get rid of Hurst, Little Ernie had sunk in the background. Myra began to think maybe Dillon had got himself knocked off in a gun fight.

The bell whirred suddenly, making her start round.

She ran to the front door. Roxy was standing there, his black fedora tilted over his eyes, and his hands in his pockets.

Myra said, “Why, Roxy!” She was pleased to see him.

“H’yah, baby.” Roxy stood smiling at her. “Ain’t seen you for a long time.”

“Come right in.” She stood aside to let him pass.

Roxy wandered in, his eyes roving round the room. He raised his eyebrows a little. “Swell joint you got here,” he observed.

“Do you like it?” Myra led him over to the leather couch.

“Sure, I think it’s class. You two must be knockin’ the berries off the bush all right.”

Myra nodded. “We get along,” she said. “And you, Roxy, how are you makin’ out?”

Roxy shrugged. “About the same,” he said. “I’d like somethin’ more steady, but I ain’t moanin’.”

Myra said, “Maybe Dillon’d fix it for you.”

“You think he would?” Roxy sounded eager.

Myra nodded. “I guess he’d be glad to. I’ll speak to him when he blows in.” The look of uncertainty came back.

“Ain’t he around?” Roxy sounded disappointed. “I loped to see that guy.”

Myra shook her head. “I’m worried,” she said. “He ain’t given me a buzz or nothin’.”

Roxy leant back. “Well, he’ll be along… you see.”

Myra moved about the room. “What’ll you drink, Roxy?” she asked.

“A rye if you’ve got it,” Roxy said. “You sure have moved up in the world.” He watched her mix the drinks, then he said casually, “You heard about Fan?”

Myra came over and gave him the rye. She shook her head. “No,” she said. “What’s Fan been doin’?”

Roxy held the glass up to the light and looked at the liquor thoughtfully. “She pulled out about three weeks ago. Left me flat. I miss that dame.”

Myra raised her eyebrows. “What she want to do that for?” she asked.

“You know how it is. I guess we got along all right, but we just didn’t think much of each other. She ran into some bird who’d got a lotta dough, and she joined up with him.”

Myra said, “Who’s the bird?”

Roxy shook his head. “She didn’t tell me that,” he said, stretching his legs out and looking at his feet. “Went off kind of mysteriously. Didn’t even leave an address. She just said she’d found some guy who was goin’ to stake her for a good time, and off she went.”

Outside they heard the front door click, and Dillon walked in. He stood in the doorway looking at Roxy, a little startled. Roxy put his glass on the table and stood up. “Hello, Bud,” he said. “I guess it’s good to see you.”

Dillon came over and shook hands. He didn’t look at Myra. “For the love of Mike,” he said, “this is a surprise.”

Myra said, “Where’ve you been? I’m starvin’.”

Dillon looked at her. “Yeah,” he said, “I guess I’ve dealt you a raw hand. I got held up by Hurst just as I was leavin’, and that guy jawed until right now. I’d’ve given you a buzz, only you know how he is.”

Myra relaxed a little. “I was gettin’ the jitters. I thought maybe you had been in a fight.”

Dillon grinned. “I don’t get into fights,” he said. “This was just business.”

Roxy thought he was lying, but he wasn’t sure.

Myra said, “Look, honey, can you work Roxy in your outfit?”

Dillon hesitated a moment, then he nodded. “Sure, I’d be glad to. Suppose you come down to the office tomorrow an’ let’s talk it over.”

Roxy was impressed in spite of himself. This Dillon was certainly a big shot now. He nodded. “I guess I’ll blow,” he said. “You two want to eat.”

Myra saw him to the door. “Good, night, Roxy,” she said. “Don’t you worry. He’ll find you a job. We owe you somethin.”

Roxy tipped his hat and grinned, then he let himself out of the apartment.

Myra came back. “Suppose we have somethin’ to eat right here?” she said. “It’s too late to go out.”

Dillon was lying back in a chair, his eyes half shut. “You go ahead, I’ve had somethin’.”

Myra stood looking at him, her mind suddenly suspicious. She started to say something, but changed her mind. She went into the kitchen and cut a meat sandwich. She stood, leaning against the kitchen table, thinking. When she had finished the sandwich she went back into the other room.

Dillon had gone into the bedroom. She could hear the bathwater running. She finished her rye and lighted a cigarette. She stood waiting until she heard him go into the bathroom, then she walked over to the telephone and dialled a number.

Hurst came on. He sounded irritable. Myra said, “I’m worried about Dillon, Mr. Hurst. You ain’t seen him, have you?”

“Hasn’t he come in?” Hurst sounded bored.

“No, I don’t know where he is…. I haven’t seen him all day.”

“Wasn’t he with you tonight?”

“I tell you I haven’t seen him all day,” Hurst snapped. “He’ll be along,” and he hung up.

Myra dropped the receiver into its cradle. Her eyes were stormy. There was only one reason why Dillon had lied to her. So the heel was two-timing. Who was the woman? Her hands clenched at her side, wave after wave of rage ran through her. For a moment she played with the idea of shooting Dillon there and then, but she knew he was now in too strong a position to be cast aside. Myra knew that without Dillon she would have to start all over again. No longer would she have an apartment or money…. No, Dillon must not be touched. It was the woman she’d have to go for.

Her rage subsided as she turned the problem over. The more she thought about it, the more she realized the danger she herself was in. Let Dillon find someone who really pleased him, and there was nothing to stop him from ditching her. He had Hurst and a tough mob at his back, and although she had given him ideas, and had helped him, she knew he was ruthless enough to toss her aside if she tried to make trouble for him.

She walked into the bedroom and began to undress. Dillon came out of the bathroom, humming to himself. She caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. His eyes were dull; dark rings under them gave him a tired, heavy look. She caught her breath sharply, sitting there, her heart beating hard.

Dillon got into bed and snapped off the lamp at his side. “Come on,” he said, “I wantta go to sleep.”

She stood up, passing the comb through her hair. “You are tired tonight,” she said, keeping her voice steady with an effort.

“Yeah,” Dillon grunted, “I’m damn tired. Get into bed for Gawd’s sake.”

She put the comb down on the dressing-table and came over to him. She sat on the bed, looking at him with glittering eyes. “Shall I come in with you?” she almost snarled at him.

Dillon’s heavy face hardened. He sat up on his elbow. “Didn’t I tell you I’m beat?” he snapped. “Get into bed. I wantta sleep.”

“Too tired, even for love?” The gritty, suppressed rage startled him into wakefulness.

“What the hell’s this?” he said. “Can’t I get tired sometimes?”

“Not the way you’ve been gettin’ tired,” she shrilled. “I’m on to you—”

Dillon pulled back the bedclothes and swung his feet to the floor. He reached out and gripped her throat in his hand. She struck at him wildly, but his arm was too long. He held her away from him.

“That’s the way it is, huh?” he said softly. “You’re gettin’ too big for your pants. Jest because you’ve been laid a few times you think you can talk big. Okay, sister, here it is.”

He smacked her across her face hard with his open hand, at the same time releasing his grip on her throat. She fell off the bed and rolled on the floor. He kicked her hard in her ribs with his bare foot. She slid away with the force of the kick across to her own bed.

“Now get to sleep an’ shut your trap. You ain’t got anythin’ more than any other woman… get it?”

He pulled up the bedclothes and snapped out the light. She remained sobbing with rage on the cold floor.

Dillon used Jakie’s Poolroom on Nineteenth for his headquarters. The boys spent a lot of their time pushing the balls around, waiting for something to turn up. Dillon had a little office at the far end of the poolroom. It was quite a place. He had a roll-top desk and several modern chairs of chromium and leather. The door had a ground-glass panel with ‘AUTOMATICS, LTD.’ painted on it, and in smaller letters at the bottom right-hand corner, ‘Manager’. Dillon liked that, it made him feel good.

When Roxy blew in during the early afternoon the poolroom was full. Dillon’s boys were drinking, talking and playing snooker. They glanced up when Roxy came in, looked at him suspiciously and glanced at one another.

Roxy stood in the doorway, his hat tipped over his eyes. “Mr. Dillon around?” he asked.

One of them jerked his thumb to the door. “In there,” he said briefly.

Roxy started across the floor. A big bird suddenly got in his way. “Hey!” he said. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

Roxy said patiently, “I wantta see Dillon.”

The big bird said, “Wait.” He ran his hands over Roxy, feeling for a gun, then he knocked on the door and put his head round. He withdrew after a moment and nodded at Roxy. “Go ahead,” he said. “You’re okay.”

Dillon was thumbing through a newspaper, half hidden by the top of the desk. He glanced up and looked at Roxy thoughtfully.

“Jeeze! Quite the big shot,” Roxy said.

Dillon said coldly, “Come on in, an’ shut the door.”

Roxy closed the door and sat down. He ran his fingers over the stove-pipe furniture. “Hot, ain’t it?” he said admiringly. “This is some joint.”

Dillon opened a drawer and took out a box of cigars. He pushed them over to Roxy. “You wantta join up?” he said.

Roxy selected a cigar, bit the end off and spat it from his mouth. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like to get into somethin’ steady. My racket is gettin’ shot to hell.”

Dillon looked at him thoughtfully. “What I’m goin’ to tell you ain’t to go further,” he said, keeping his voice low.

Roxy looked a little startled, but he nodded. “Sure, I don’t talk,” he said. “You should know that!”

Dillon hitched his chair closer. “I’m figgerin’ you’re the guy I’ve been lookin’ for,” he said. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think so. Listen. At the moment I’m runnin’ this automatic racket an’ I’m picking up around fifteen grand a week. Nice, but nothin’ to rave about. Hurst’s got a grand organization. He’s got protection. He’s got a real tough crowd workin’ for him. This Hurst guy gets so far, but he don’t go the limit. With his organization, he could go the limit.”

Roxy drew on his cigar, letting the heavy smoke slide from his mouth. “What’s the limit?” he asked.

Dillon said very quietly, “Little Ernie’s the limit.”

Roxy’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t get that,” he said.

“I want to take over Ernie’s part of the town. Hurst won’t stand for it, but I guess if I did it he’d have to stick by me an’ like it.”

“What’s that to me?” Roxy asked cautiously.

Dillon looked at him hard. “The whole town’d be too big for me to handle. I gotta have a guy I could trust. You’d get in on this on the ground floor.”

Roxy said, “Maybe Hurst wouldn’t stand for it.”

Dillon got up and walked to the door. He opened it and glanced outside, then he came back and put his head close to Roxy’s. “Maybe what Hurst says won’t count any more.”

Roxy looked up into his black eyes. He shifted uneasily at the malevolence there. He hastily turned his eyes, and studied the grey ash of his cigar. “Got the mob at the back of you?” he asked.

Dillon nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Those guys out there see me all the time. I tell ’em to do this an’ that an’ they do it. Okay. When the time comes, an’ Hurst fades away, those guys ain’t asking questions. They’ll just go on takin’ orders from me… get it?”

Roxy thought a little, then he said, “You’ve got somethin’ there.”

Dillon nodded. “Yeah, I guess I got somethin’ there all right.”

Roxy said, “I bet Myra thinks that’s a good stunt.”

Dillon scowled. “That dame don’t count,” he said coldly. “She’s gettin’ big ideas, an’ she’s goin’ to get a surprise one of these days.”

Roxy looked startled. “I like Myra,” he mumbled. “She’s got what it takes.”

Dillon shrugged, and stood up. “When I’m ready, I’ll tell you,” he said. “Can I count on you?”

Roxy said, “Sure, you can count me in. I’ve been waiting for a break like this for some time. I guess I was too cautious when I was runnin’ around with Fan. You seen her, by the way?”

Dillon shot him a quick, suspicious glance. “I ain’t seen her,” he said.

Roxy sat down on the edge of the table. “Listen, Bud,” he said evenly. “Don’t let’s start this game with a double-cross. I ain’t sore you pinched Fan from me. I miss her just like I’d miss a deck of cards I got used to, but that’s all.”

Dillon clenched his fists. His eyes gleamed at Roxy. “You been checkin’ up on me?” he said, a gritty sound in his voice.

Roxy said hastily, “Hell! I wouldn’t do a thing like that. I just heard—”

Dillon said, “It’d better get no further. I don’t want that little bag Myra gettin’ ideas about Fan.”

Roxy shook his head. “She ain’t dumb,” he said thoughtfully. “You watch her. She’ll get on to it.”

Dillon began pacing the small office. “I’m gettin rattled with that dame. I guess she’s about washed up with me. She’ll have to get to hell out of it.”

Roxy touched the ash off his cigar into the tray. “You’ll have a little trouble,” he said. “I’d be careful how you handle that bird.”

Dillon shot him another cold look. “I can handle her,” he said. “You keep your nose clean on this. Anyway, suppose you get to work an’ wise yourself up on Little Ernie’s territory? What I want is a list of all the smalltime stores, hotels an’ suchlike who could take on automatic machine. You walk round an’ take a look at the ground. You’re on the pay-roll now, so you might as well get used to a little work.”

Roxy grinned. “I get it,” he said. “What you pay in’?”

“I’ll give you a couple of hundred bucks an’ ten per cent on the take when we get goin’.”

Roxy shrugged his shoulders. “I guess you’re right about gettin’ rid of the big shots. I could do with a little of their share.”

When he had gone, Dillon went over to the telephone and rang Fanquist. Her slow drawl floated to his ear. “Listen, baby,” he said, speaking close to the mouthpiece, “I’ve just had a word with Roxy. He knows, but that guy is shootin’ on the level. I’ve fixed him up to work for me, an’ he ain’t goin’ to start trouble.”

Fanquist started her old beef. “When are we really goin’ to get together? I’m sick of this jumpin’-in-an’-out-of-bed stunt of yours.”

Dillon said sharply, “It ain’t time yet. Myra wants handlin’.”

Fanquist said, “Why the hell don’t you toss that piece of ass out on her can?” Her voice was suddenly strident and furious.

“I tell you it ain’t time for that yet,” Dillon snarled. “Suppose you leave this to me?”

“Am I seein’ you today?”

Dillon looked round his office, a harassed expression on his face. “You gotta have patience—” he began.

“That’s another tune I’m getting sick of,” Fanquist said bitterly. “You make me tired. I guess I’m a sucker to stand for it. All right, if that’s the way you feel I guess you can stay away.” She hung up.

Dillon slammed the receiver down on the prong and mopped his face with his handkerchief. Women were hell, he thought. Before Myra had come along and he had started fooling with her, he just kicked women around; now they had him crawling. What the hell had come over him?

The door opened and Hurst walked in. For a moment Dillon was startled. Hurst never came to this place. He got to his feet. Hurst looked at him thoughtfully, then nodded. He walked over to a chair and sat down. “I was passing, so I thought I’d look in and hear how things were going,” he said.

Dillon sat down. “They’re all right.”

“No trouble?”

Dillon shook his head. He gave a bland smile. “Why, no, Mr. Hurst, I guess things are goin’ mighty smooth just now.”

Was Hurst looking at him in an odd way, or was he imagining things?

Hurst said abruptly, “What’s wrong with your girlfriend?”

Dillon raised his eyes. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Myra? I don’t get it.”

Hurst shrugged. “She pulled me from a game last night asking where you were.”

Dillon suddenly went cold. Aw, she’s always like that if I’m a shade late,” he said carelessly. “I’ll tell her not to worry you.”

Hurst got to his feet. “That’s okay,” he said. “I just wondered.” He moved to the door. With the handle in his hand, he glanced back over his shoulder. “You ain’t causin’ Little Ernie any worries?”

Dillon knew now why he had come in. Since Little Ernie had sent two gunmen after him, Hurst was scared sick of any other trouble starting.

Dillon shook his head. “We’re leavin’ em alone,” he said quietly, and grinned to himself. This punk would have a tit if he knew what was going to happen.

Hurst nodded. “That’s it,” he said. “You leave those guys alone. We can get along without treading on their corns.

Dillon watched him go, and when the door had closed he stretched his neck and spat viciously into the brass spittoon by the desk.

The news that Myra knew that he wasn’t with Hurst the previous night infuriated him. He sat back in his chair and tried to reconstruct the scene between them. Myra was no sucker. She knew there was another woman. His brows came down. Just let her start something, he told himself. If she thought she could push him around, she’d got a surprise coming. Hurst and Myra. They both knew too much for his comfort. Maybe… He sat there thinking. Yeah, maybe… He’d have to watch those two. It looked like he’d have to do something.

His cold, sullen face became grimly set.

Myra waited until Dillon had left the apartment, then she began a systematic search. She knew Dillon had no head for addresses. Somewhere, she was sure, she would find a clue that would lead her to this broad. Her face hard and set and her hands impatient, she went carefully through Dillon’s wardrobe. She turned out every pocket, but she found nothing. She went through his drawers, careful not to disturb anything, but again she was unsuccessful.

She sat back on the bed thinking. This was getting her nowhere. He must have written the address down. She was certain of it. The only hope was he would be carrying it on him. That would make things difficult. She went once more to his compact room. Three soiled evening shirts caught her eye, hanging up on a peg. He’d been too lazy to throw them out for the wash.

On the cuff of one of them she found what she was looking for. Scribbled in pencil was an address—158 Sunset Avenue.

She stood there, holding the shirt in her hand, a cold fury sweeping over her. “You see, you two-timin’ bastard, this whore of yours is goin’ to get a shock.”

Putting the shirt carefully back in the cupboard, she went to her drawer and found her gun. It was a toy affair with a mother-o’-pearl handle, exceedingly unpleasant at close quarters. She put on her hat and coat and shoved the gun in her handbag. Then she stood hesitating. Maybe this wasn’t quite the job for a gun. A hard little smile reached her mouth. She took from Dillon’s drawer a length of solid rubber hose. She balanced it in her hand thoughtfully. Then, winding the thong round her wrist, she forced the hose up her sleeve.

Slamming the front door behind her, she took the elevator to the street level. A yellow taxi shot to the kerb and she nodded briefly. “Sunset Avenue,” she said. “An’ flog your horse.”

The taxi jerked away. The driver said, “This is a hell of a town. I’ve never run into any guy who ain’t in a hurry.”

Myra wasn’t in the mood to talk. She said nothing.

The taxi-driver studied her in the mirror thought she was easy on the eye, and let it go at that.

Sunset Avenue was at the far end of the town. It took them a good half-hour’s run to make it. The driver suddenly crammed on his brakes. “Here it is, lady: what number jer want?”

Myra said, “Stop here… this’ll do.” She got out of the cab and paid him off. Then she walked slowly down the Avenue looking for 158. Her fury was smouldering by the time she found it. The place was a neat little villa standing in a fair-size garden. A place like this would cost money to keep up, she thought, and for a moment she hesitated. Maybe she had made a mistake. This place might be where one of Dillon’s business associates hung out. Her step faltered. Then she thought she’d come this far, it wouldn’t take long to check it up.

She walked up the crazy pavement and rang on the bell. She stood waiting, uncertain of herself. The door jerked open and Fanquist gaped at her.

It was certainly a shock to Myra. She saw it in a flash. Dillon was the rich guy who was staking this floosie to a good time.

She said quietly, “Hello. I bet this is a surprise.”

Fanquist got her nerve back. She said, “My Gawd, it’s the kid again! What the hell you doin’ here?”

Myra said, “Dillon told me you had moved, so I thought I’d look you up.”

“Dillon told you?” Fanquist’s eyes hardened.

Myra nodded. “Sure. May I come in? I’d love to look around.”

Fanquist stood squarely in the doorway. She said in a hard voice, “Scram… go on, get to hell out of here!”

Myra could see two men wandering down the street. She had to get inside quick. Still keeping a smile on her face, she said, “Why, Fan, that ain’t the way to talk. I gotta message for you.” She opened her bag casually. Fanquist watched her, a puzzled look on her face. She wondered what the hell all this was leading to.

Myra took the gun out of her bag and showed it to Fanquist. “Get inside quick, you bow-legged street pushover,” she said with a rush.

Fanquist’s eyes opened very wide, and she went white under her rouge. She took a step back, and Myra stepped in and shut the door.

A big living-room opened out from the hall, and Myra drove Fanquist in there. The room was expensively furnished.

Myra said between her teeth, “So this is the love-nest, is it?”

Fanquist stammered, “You’re going to be sorry for this…. Wait until he hears about it.”

“Sit down, you bitch,” Myra said. “I’ve got a lot to talk to you about.”

Fanquist said harshly, “You ain’t throwin’ a scare into me. You better get out an’ get out quick.”

“Sit down,” Myra repeated. She held one hand behind her back, jerking the rubber club down from her sleeve.

Fanquist was getting her nerve back all right. She sneered. “That rod ain’t gettin’ you anywhere…. Get out!”

Myra swung the club round and hit Fanquist across her face with it. Fanquist staggered back, the chair struck her behind her knees, and she collapsed into it. She held both her hands over her face, the pain striking her dumb. Myra stepped back a little and waited.

“Maybe you’ll jump to it next time,” she said.

“You’re goin’ to pay for this,” Fanquist gasped. “My God, you’re goin’ to pay for this!”

“Listen, you bohunk. You’re goin’ to clear out of this town quick, an’ you’ll stay out. I’m just givin’ you a warning.”

Fanquist took her hands away from her face. Her eyes glittered murderously. She screamed suddenly, “You can’t make me get out!… Dillon’s mine now—He’s mine—do you hear?”

Myra’s face was hard. She took a step forward. The .25 was pointing directly at Fanquist. “That’s what you say,” she snapped. “You’re goin’ okay, and you’re goin’ for good.”

Fanquist moved like a snake striking. She smacked Myra’s hand away, sending the gun flying across the room. At the same time she sprang forward, her head down, and her hands grasping Myra’s waist.

Myra went over with Fanquist on top of her. They both hit the floor with a crash that jarred the room Fanquist shifted her hands quickly, trying to catch Myra round the throat. Myra got her chin down, so Fanquist only got a grip on her jaw. Swinging the club up, Myra hit Fanquist on the shoulder. It was a glancing blow, but it made Fanquist squeal. She made a grab at Myra’s hand, but missed, and got another sock from the club.

Myra was twisting like an eel, trying to get from under Fanquist, but she was too heavy for her. She kept beating Fanquist with the club, but there was no weight behind the blows. They hurt Fanquist, but not enough to shake her off. All the time, she was lunging to get Myra’s arm pinned down with her knee.

Myra got in a lucky one, hitting Fanquist on the side of her head. Fanquist went crazy with the pain. She grabbed Myra by the hair, banging her head twice on the floor. Myra stiffened her neck, checking the force, but even then it half stunned her.

Letting go of the club, so that it swung by its thong, she reached out, catching Fanquist’s ears. Fanquist was wearing big pearl stud earrings. Myra wrenched them away, splitting the lobes as she did so. Fanquist let go of her and put her hands over her ears, screaming like a train going through a tunnel. Blood ran through her fingers, down her neck.

Myra hit her across her eyes with her open hand, sending her reeling backwards. A sharp kick got Myra in the clear. Fanquist crawled up on her hands and knees. Myra stiffened, then launched herself at her again. They went over in a heap, upsetting a small table and sending two chairs flying with a crash. Myra’s clutching hands ripped Fanquist’s dress down the front, and as Fanquist, screaming wildly, tried to roll clear, Myra clawed her down her bare back, making four long deep grooves.

Fanquist was terrified. She was half-crazy with pain and panic. She just wanted to get out of the room, away from those claw-like fingers. Somehow she managed to wriggle loose and get to her feet. She ran with unsteady steps to the door. Myra heaved up and collared her round the knees, bringing her crashing down on the floor again.

“Let me go… let me go… let me go!…” Fanquist screamed twisting and kicking.

Again Myra clawed her, ripping her clothes, stripping her to the waist.

Fanquist tried to fight back, making a lunge at Myra’s eyes with her nails. Myra jerked her head away, and hit her across both wrists with the club. She put a lot into that blow. Fanquist fell on her knees, her head swimming with pain.

“Now you two-timin’ floosie,” Myra panted, “here’s what’s comin to you.” She kicked Fanquist in her side, sending her over hard. Fanquist was past squawking. Her eyes wide with terror and pain, she crouched there, moaning Blood glistened on her body like paint.

Myra said, “Get up before I start on you again. Go on, get up you heel!”

Fanquist dragged herself off the floor, her breath coming in great heaving sobs. “Don’t… hit me…” she whined. “I’ll… play ball…”

Myra sneered. “I ain’t finished with you,’ she said. “I’ve got a long way to go before I’m through with you.”

Fanquist, giving a strangled cry, turned and stumbled to the door. Myra threw a chair in her way. Fanquist banged her knees against it and went forward, falling across the chair with a thud that shook the breath out of her body.

Myra sprang forward, and driving her knee into Fanquist’s shoulders, she pinned her.

Fanquist screamed, a real terror gripping her. With one hand pushing her face into the carpet, Myra swung the club with the other.

“Go on,” Myra said, “you yell….”

She began to beat Fanquist’s arched back with all her strength. Fanquist wriggled and screamed, but Myra held her. She tried to protect herself with her hands, but the club beat them away, sending waves of pain up her arms as well as through her body. Myra beat her until she drooped over the chair, limp and silent.

Standing there breathless, Myra said, “I guess that’s all.”

Fanquist didn’t move. She was past hearing anything. Myra dragged her off the chair and turned her over on her back. She stood over her, a hard little smile on her mouth. “I guess you won’t pull any more tricks with me,” she said.

Leaving Fanquist lying there, Myra went into the bathroom. Her dress was stained with blood and her hair was like a woollen rug. She poured some water into the hand-basin and bathed her face. She carefully washed her hands and sponged the blood from her dress. All the time she was doing this her mind was active.

Would Dillon start something now? she wondered. She guessed Dillon would be mad about this. A pair of electric hair-tongs caught her eye. She stood looking at them, hesitating. She picked them up and turned them over in her hand, then she took the plug and plugged it into the socket. She turned the switch.

Going back into the outer room again, she stood over Fanquist. Fanquist was lying there, her arms thrown wide and her breath coming in a whistling sound through her open mouth.

Myra said between her teeth, “I guess you ain’t goin’ to have any looks in a little while. He’s kind of fussy about the broads he takes around, an’ a bag with marks on her mug like you’re goin’ to have ain’t getting to the first base with him.”

She turned and walked with vicious determination back-to the bathroom and to the red-hot tongs.

The next two days Dillon was very quiet. Myra expected him to say something, but he didn’t. Sometimes she caught him looking at her thoughtfully, but he always shifted his eyes when she looked up.

He came back from the poolroom at his usual time, and Myra began to believe that nothing would be said. She made a few enquiries and learnt that Fanquist had disappeared. The villa was empty and deserted. Myra thought she’d done a nice job of work, but Dillon was still quiet and he still looked at her, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do.

Sitting in his office, Dillon brooded about Fanquist. He had gone down in the evening and found her. Even his brutal mind was shocked. But as he looked at her, any feeling he might have had for her went away. The two deep burns across her face sickened him. Her sobbing whine gave him the jitters. He had said brutally and bluntly that she’d better get out of town.

Myra scared him a little. She was getting too dangerous. When he had put through his plan of fixing Little Ernie, he’d have to do something about her. She had served her purpose, and now he felt he had outgrown her.

Outside in the poolroom, the buzz of talk suddenly stopped. Dillon stiffened. He cocked his ear, a frown on his face. The sounds from outside were no more to him than the ticking of a clock. He was used to them, and suddenly to have a heavy silence made him think something was wrong.

Before he could move from his chair, the office door pushed open and two men wandered in. Dillon looked at them, his mouth going to a thin line.

Strawn pushed his hat to the back of his head and rubbed his thick nose with the side of his finger. “Well, look who’s here,” he said, speaking out of the side of his mouth.

The other man looked Dillon over with distaste.

Through the open doorway Dillon could see the others standing like waxworks. He could see Sam Vessi holding a cue, as if he were going to make a shot, his head turned to the office, motionless. Jakie McGowan had his hands resting on the table, his thick features glistening with sweat. The others just stood or sat about motionless.

Dillon said, “You got no right bustin’ in here, an’ you know it.” His black eyes glittered.

Strawn wandered farther into the room. Ain’t you the guy I told to get out of this town?” he asked.

Dillon stood up. These birds weren’t going to push him around any more. “Maybe you think you’re smart with this line of talk,” he snarled. “But it don’t wash with me. You ain’t got anythin’ on me, so you can get the hell outta here.”

Strawn said evenly, “So you’re a big shot, huh? Well, listen, Big Shot, I still don’t like you, an’ I still say get out of this town. What do you think of that?”

Dillon shrugged. “You ain’t causin’ me any grief,” he said. “I know where I am, an’ you can’t do a thing.”

“One of these days,” Strawn said quietly, “you an’ me are goin’ to take a ride. Smart guys like you always come unstuck… you see.”

Dillon sat down again. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe I’ll take a ride with you Maybe a lot of things. But right now you’re using too much air around here.”

Strawn nodded briefly. “I’ve heard a lot about you an’ your girl-friend. You two are getting big. But you can’t last. None of you guys can last. You think you can, but you can’t.”

He nodded to the other guy. “Take a look at him,” he said. “I’ll lay you ten to one we fix him in six months.”

The other guy shook his head. “You just want to make money outta me,” he said. “I’ve been caught like that before.”

Dillon sat glowering at them, a blazing hatred surging through him.

Strawn nodded to him. “Okay, Big Shot,” he said. “Don’t keep us waiting too long.” He jerked his head to the other guy, and they went out of the room.

When they had gone, Dillon got up and began to pace the office. Smart bastards, he thought savagely. It they thought they could pin anything on him, let them try.

Vessi, a thin little wop, put his head round the door. “You sure pushed ’em around,” he said admiringly. “These Federal dicks are gettin’ too big for their pants.”

Dillon looked at him irritably. “You’ve gotta watch those guys,” he said. “They’re just waitin’ a chance to crack down.”

Vessi propped himself up against the door. “Sure,” he said. “They’ve been on the look-out for us for a long time…. It ain’t gettin’ them anywhere.”

Just then the telephone rang, and Dillon nodded to him. Vessi went out, shutting the door. Dillon scooped up the phone. “Yeah?” he asked. His temper was short.

Hurst said, “Who the hell is that guy you got looking over Little Ernie’s territory? Listen, Dillon, I told you to lay off that part of the town. Conforti’s just been on, complaining we’ve got a man askin’ questions in Little Italy. What’s it all about?”

Dillon grinned a little. “Search me,” he said. “How should I know?”

Hurst said furiously, “You know all right. Get that man out of there and keep him out. I know your ideas, Dillon, and I don’t like them. I’ve told Conforti to take the matter into his own hands if that guy ain’t out by tomorrow.”

While he was speaking, Roxy came in. Dillon looked at him and jerked his head to the phone. He winked at Roxy and said “Hurst” with his lips not speaking. Roxy grinned and sat down quietly. He put his cloth-top boots on the desk.

Dillon said, “They’re crazy. I don’t know a thing about it.”

Hurst said, “You see to it, Dillon, or I’ll come down and start something.” He slammed down the receiver.

Dillon put the telephone down on the desk. His face was thoughtful. “You ain’t been careful enough,” he said to Roxy.

“What’s that? A squawk?” Roxy tilted his chair back.

“Yeah!” Dillon took a quill from his vest pocket and began exploring his teeth. “Quite burnt up he was. I guess he figgered Little Ernie would start on him again, the yellow rat.”

Roxy smiled. “I wasn’t careful,” he said. “I got right down to things.” He took a sheet of paper from his inside pocket and tossed it on the desk in front of Dillon. “Take a gander at that,” he said.

Dillon looked through the long list of names. “What the hell’s this?” he asked.

“Look at ’em.”

Dillon snarled. “Come on, cut out the mystery act. What is it?”

Roxy wasn’t to be hurried. “All those guys there’ve got swell joints for your automatics. They’ve all got big corner stores and they’ve plenty of space. Suppose we persuade them to take six machines instead of one…. That would be gettin’ somewhere.”

“Six? Are they big enough?”

“Sure they’re big enough.”

Dillon got to his feet. “Little Ernie’s got to be fixed first,” he said.

Roxy examined his finger-nails. “I got him tied up.”

Dillon stood still. “What was that?”

“I got him tied up. You’ve only to take the boys along an’ there he is waitin’ for you.”

“What’s this, Roxy? Let’s have it fast.”

Roxy took his feet off the table. “Little Ernie and his mob will be at the Hot Rhythm Club tonight. They’ve got some big night on or somethin’; anyway, the gang will be there. Suppose we go an’ join ’em? It would be a fine time to meet all the mob together.”

Dillon demanded, “Is this straight?”

“Yeah, it’s straight all right. I’ve been usin’ my ears around that part of the town.”

Dillon stood hesitating, then he said, “Wait here.” He went to the door and beckoned. Vessi and McGowan put their cues down and wandered over Dillon shut the office door. Vessi and McGowan ran the mob for Dillon.

He said. “Sit down, you two, I want to talk.”

They pulled up chairs and sat down. “What’s up?” Vessi asked.

Dillon sat on the edge of his desk. “I’m puttin my cards on the table,” he said shortly. “We ain’t expanding like we should. That’s not your funeral, it’s Hurst’s an’ mine. Hurst is scared of the other mob; I ain’t. Okay. Suppose we expand an’ not worry about Hurst?”

The two looked at each other, puzzled. McGowan said ponderously, “Say, we gotta do what Hurst says, ain’t we?”

Dillon shrugged. “Why?” he asked. “Who the hell’s Hurst, anyway?”

Vessi scratched his head. “Ain’t he the boss any more?”

“Wait a minute,” Dillon said. “I want you to get the layout of this. If we expand, we’ll have to get rid of Hurst an’ we’ll have to get rid of Little Ernie. Tough job, but ain’t impossible. If we expand we make twice as much dough as we’re making now. For instance you two guys will be holding down a couple of grand a week.”

Vessi’s eyes opened. “Sure,” he said. “I guess we’ll expand.”

“Don’t rush it,” Dillon warned him. “If you come in on this there’s goin’ to be a lotta grief for someone… Maybe it’ll be you an’ me. If you want the dough, I guess you gotta earn it, so it’s up to you.”

McGowan said, “What are you goin’ to do?”

The door opened and Hurst walked in. The four men swung round, blinking at him. Even Dillon was startled.

Hurst stood there, a heavy frown on his face and his lips twitching with rage. “What’s going on here?” he demanded harshly. “Get these guys out of here, I want to talk to you.”

Vessi and McGowan hastily scrambled to their feet. They slid past Hurst as if they expected he was going to land them one.

Roxy sat where he was. He didn’t look at Hurst.

Dillon pushed back his chair and drummed his fingers on the desk top. He stared at Hurst with blank eyes.

Hurst said, “Get this other guy out.” He jerked his head at Roxy.

Dillon shook his head. He won’t be in the way.

Hurst stiffened. “You heard what I said,” he barked.

Dillon nodded. “Sure,” he said; “but this guy ain’t in the way. What’s on your mind, Mr. Hurst? You seem sorta steamed up.”

Hurst stood hesitating, then he sat down. “Look here, Dillon, this game of yours has gotta stop. I’ve told you before you gotta leave Little Ernie’s ground alone.”

“Can’t you take it, Mr. Hurst?” Dillon sneered.

Hurst sprang to his feet. “What the hell’s this?” he snapped. “You take your orders from me, and when I say leave oft you leave off!”

“I’ve been getting some ideas that’ll get us somewhere in this organization,” Dillon said, speaking slow. “Suppose we push into that ground you’re so scared about? Suppose we give Little Ernie the works? How do you like that?”

Hurst was speechless. His face turned a dusky red, and his big hands clenched on his knees. “My God!” he blurted out at last. “This finishes it. You’re out, Dillon Do you hear? Out!”

Dillon pursed his heavy lips and shot a side look at Roxy. Roxy sat in a heap, his hat tilted over his eyes.

Hurst went on, “You’re crazy to think of such an idea. A thing like that would blow the town to hell. I ain’t having you around my mob any more…. You get out.”

Dillon leant forward, his eyes like ice chips. “Where did you get ’my mob’ stuff?” he snarled. “You ain’t got a mob no more, you yellow four-flusher. I got it, see? An’ what I say goes with the mob. I’ve given you a chance, an’ you’re too damn yellow to take it. All right, from now on I’m runnin’ this outfit, an’ you’re likin’ it… get that?”

Hurst got to his feet. He controlled himself with an effort. “You’re drunk,” he said. “You haven’t the brains to run any business. You want protection, an’ you ain’t got it. You’re nobody. The cops would close you up damn quick without me right behind you.”

Dillon sneered. “Do you think I’ve been in this game an’ not got the lowdown to it? You ain’t got any pull; you’ve got dough. I know how much you give the cops to lay off you, an’ I’ll give ’em more. The guy that pays the most gets the best service.”

Hurst turned to the door. “You’re washed up,” he said shortly. “Get out and stay out!”

Dillon jerked his gun from inside his coat. “Just a minute, Mr. Hurst,” he said between his teeth.: Hurst stood, frozen. Then he put out his hands like a blind man groping. “What are you doing with that gun?” he gasped, his face going suddenly flabby.

Dillon didn’t bother to get to his feet. “You talk too much,” he said. “If we’re goin’ to break, I guess we’ll break the way I want it.”

While he was speaking, his finger curled on the trigger, gently squeezing. The gun suddenly boomed, jerking a little in his hand.

Hurst took a step forward, his hands pressed to his chest. Then his knees gave, and he sank down. Leaning forward over the desk, Dillon shot him again. The heavy slug made a big hole in Hurst’s head.

Dillon stayed there, leaning over the desk, his gun still pointing at Hurst, his lips off his teeth.

“Now, you bastard,” he said, “you can stay dumb!”

Roxy tipped his hat back and stared. “Hey,” he said, “you’ve spoilt your rug.”

* * *

Myra sat before the dressing-table, a loose silk wrap across her shoulders. Her skin was faintly red from the hot water of the shower. A cigarette dangled from her full red lips and the spiral of smoke rose over her head. She took time fixing her nails.

Dillon jerked open the door and walked in. Myra looked at him and glanced at the clock. It was not seven o’clock.

“You’re early,” she said, laying down the file. She pulled the wrap on and fastened the sash.

Dillon was very thoughtful. He went over to the window and, raising the blind a little, peered into the street. Myra watched him. She had an uneasy feeling that something had happened. “What is it?” she asked.

Without looking round, Dillon said, “Plenty.” He stood there a moment, then he dropped the blind and came back to the middle of the room. With his hat at the back of his head, he stared at Myra with blank eyes.

She said, “For God’s sake… what is it?”

“Hurst’s washed up,” he said abruptly.

“Little Ernie?” Myra got to her feet.

Dillon hesitated, then he shook his head.

“I did it.”

Myra put her hand to her mouth. She took a step back, pushing the stool away.

“You did it?” she repeated. “Did what?”

Dillon moved restlessly. “I gave him the works,” he said. “The yellow rat came in shootin’ off his mouth, so I gave it to him.”

Myra’s eyes flashed. “Are you crazy?” she screamed. “You’ve killed Hurst, you goddam fool?”

Dillon went over to her with two quick strides. His hand shot out and gripped her wrap, twisting it in his fist. He jerked her forward, so that their faces were close. “Shut up!” he snarled. “You shut your trap. I’m runnin’ this outfit. I ain’t standin’ any yap from you. If you don’t watch out, I’ll knock you off.”

Myra stiffened.

“Yeah, I mean that,” he said, his eyes glaring at her.

She put her hand on his wrist. “Let me go,” she said. “I won’t start anythin’.”

Dillon gave her a shove, sending her backwards. She sat down in the chair, her hands limply at her sides. “What are you goin’ to do?” she asked.

Dillon, satisfied that he had fixed her, went over to an arm-chair and sat down.

“I’ve got the mob,” he said, picking his words. “I’ve got the racket, I guess I’m goin’ to be the big shot… the only big shot around here.”

Myra said, “But the cops?”

Dillon sneered. “Hurst paid the cops. Okay, I’ll pay ’em. They ain’t to have any beef. I’ll pay ’em better, see?”

Myra didn’t say anything. She sat staring at the floor.

Encouraged by her silence, Dillon went on, “Tonight I’m goin’ after Ernie. We’ve got him sewn up tight.”

Myra jerked up her head. She just stared at Dillon, speechless. Dillon nodded at her, his triumph making him expand.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’ve got the whole layout fixed. First Hurst. Okay, he’s gone. Then Little Ernie…. He goes tonight. Then I got this burg to play with. It means plenty of dough, baby, an’ I’m gettin’ the lot.”

Myra beat her hands together. “For God’s sake… can’t you see where you’re headin’? Little Ernie’s got everything. He’s got a bigger mob… he’s got protection… the cops are behind him…. Oh, hell! I tell you he’s got everything.”

Dillon grinned. “Okay. When he’s washed up, I get it, so what?”

The telephone began to ring shrilly. Myra got up and answered it. Dillon saw her suddenly stiffen. She said, “Sure he’s here.” She turned round. “Roxy wants you quick,” she said. “Something gone wrong.”

Dillon scowled, but he got up fast and took the receiver out of her hand. “Yeah, what is it?” he snapped.

Roxy said, “Listen, Bud. Vessi’s blown the gaff. He’s tipped Little Ernie off about tonight. You gotta get out fast. They’re after you with rods.”

Dillon went a dirty white. “After me?” he said, his voice rising. “What the hell do you mean, they’re after me?”

“For God’s sake,” Roxy raved at the other end, “don’t stand there yappin’. Get out quick. They’ve taken two cars and are on their way right now.”

“Sure, I’ll scram,” Dillon said evenly. “Listen. Come on over, with a fast car. I ain’t gotta car here. I’ll meet you at the corner.”

Roxy said, “I’ll do that.”

Dillon slammed down the receiver and swung round. His face was twisted with fury. “Come on,” he said, “we gotta get out of here quick.”

Myra sprang to the cupboard and snatched out a dress. Tearing the wrap off, she pulled the dress over her head. She put on a pair of shoes. She was dressed under thirty seconds. Her eyes were like two glittering pebbles.

“The Thompson,” she said.

Dillon ran into the other room. As soon as he had gone, she hurriedly returned to the cupboard and took from an inside pocket of a coat hanging there a roll of money. She hastily slipped it into her bag, looking over her shoulder while she did so.

Dillon returned, carrying the riot gun. He went over to the door and opened it, looking into the dark passage. Then he jerked his head at her and walked out.

Myra heard a car draw up with a squeal of brakes. She ran over to the window and peered round the blind. Four men came bundling out of the car and ran across the pavement into the house.

She shouted to Dillon: “Come back… quick… they’re here!”

Dillon slipped into the room again, and shut the door. He turned the key. For a moment he stood hesitating, then went over to the cupboard. “Give me a hand,” he said. “Get this across the door.”

They jerked and pulled the cupboard into position. Heavy footsteps came thudding down the passage and someone knocked on the door.

Dillon raised his hand to Myra. They stood looking at the cupboard, waiting.

Myra suddenly spun round and ran to the telephone. She hastily dialled Dillon made as if to stop her, then shrugged.

The desk sergeant at the other end of the line listened to her incoherent whispering.

“You’re nuts,” he said at last. “Things don’t happen like that in this city. Take a pill… that’s what you want.” As he hung up, she heard him say, “Ernie’s goin’ for ’em now.”

Myra dropped the receiver into its cradle. She turned round to Dillon, her eyes wide with fear. “It’s a frame-up,” she said jerkily. “The cops won’t come.”

A sneer went over Dillon’s face. “Yeah?” he said. “I don’t want the bulls to pull me outta this.”

Again someone knocked on the door.

Dillon said softly, “Out the back way.”

Quietly they left the room and went through the kitchen. The back door led down a long flight of steps to a dark alley. Dillon went first, holding the Thompson close to his side. Myra followed him. They went down the stairs slowly, watching the door at the bottom. Myra expected it to fly open any moment, and she felt her body cringing.

They got to the bottom without anything happening. Dillon snapped off the light before opening the door. He put his hand on her arm. “Get down flat,” he said.

Myra crouched on the floor. Dillon knelt, reaching for the door-handle. His hand was steady as he quietly turned it. The door came towards him very slowly. As the aperture widened he sank lower on the floor. Outside was black. It was just as if a heavy curtain hung in front of him. There was not a sound.

At last he got the door wide open. Faintly, he could hear them smashing the door down upstairs. He touched Myra’s arm, and they began to crawl forward. Without warning a gun exploded above him. He heard the bullet smack against the wall, and the faint sound of the plaster as it ran down.

Raising the Thompson, he suddenly opened fire, sweeping the gun round in a half-circle. Above the roar of the gun he heard a strangled cry. He stopped firing and crawled on. The damp pavement touched his outstretched hand. Faintly, now that he was outside, the reflected lights of the city glowed over the high wall. The alley was still dark, but he could see a little. Drawing his breath sharply between his teeth, he stood up slowly, keeping the Thompson ready.

Nothing happened. Myra stood up, her heart pounding and came close to him. They began to walk slowly down the alley. Almost immediately, Dillon stumbled over a body. He didn’t take his eyes off the exit to the alley. He carefully stepped over, raising his feet and feeling before he put his weight on them again. He kept on. The open street ahead of him, the deep shadows, and the knowledge that somewhere death was waiting for him, made his nerves tingle. He told himself if Roxy wasn’t there he was sunk.

Myra said in little gasps, “Watch out… for God’s sake watch out!”

Dillon said nothing. He went on, getting slower as the end of the alley crept towards him. When he was a few yards from the street, he went down on his hands and knees.

Myra’s nerve cracked. She leant against the wall, letting him go on ahead. She was ready to spring after him if nothing happened, but she could go no farther until she knew.

Quite suddenly two men sprang into the alley Dillon could see them outlined against a street light. He started firing before his brain telegraphed to his hand. One of the men tossed up his hands and fell forward, but the other ducked out of sight.

Swearing softly, Dillon dived forward into the street. Excitement sent caution overboard. A gun exploded in his face, and he felt a little hiss of air as the bullet went past. He swept the gun round in an arc, firing wildly. The hideous roar echoed through the deserted street. The man who had fired at him was caught in the blast of lead. He crumpled up, lying with his head in the gutter.

Dillon saw a big closed car shoot over from the other side of the street As he jerked the gun up, Roxy screamed his name, waving his hand frantically. He nailed the car just where Dillon stood. Myra sprang out of the darkness and scrambled in. Dillon got in as Roxy released the clutch with a bang. The car shot down the road. Behind them, they heard a burst of gun-fire A bullet coming through the rear window smashed the windscreen.

Myra crouched on the floor, her head between her hands.

Dillon snapped, “Get into a side road… quick!”

Roxy shoved the pedal down to the boards, holding the car to the road. As a turning loomed up, he threw out the clutch, slammed on his brakes and swung the wheel over. The big car went into a skid, lurched up against the kerb and righted itself as Roxy released the brake.

“We’ve done it!” he said excitedly, as the car pounded down the road. “We’ve beaten ’em to it!”

“All right, all right,” Dillon said.

They had been driving furiously for a short time. Roxy glanced at him and eased the pressure on the pedal.

“Stop her,” Dillon snarled. “Where in hell do you think you’re rushin’ to?”

Roxy drew to the side of the road. We gotta get outta town,” he said nervously.

“Wait a minute… wait a minute.” Dillon shifted the Thompson off his knees on to the floorboards. “Now what is all this? Come on, spill it…. What is this riot?”

Roxy started to splutter, saw the hard gleam in Dillon’s eyes and stopped. Then he took hold of himself and said, “Vessi ratted. You shook his nerve rubbin’ Hurst. Somehow he didn’t see you bein’ boss long, so he runs to Ernie. McGowan didn’t like the set-up, but he came along and blew it to me. I went after Vessi an’ got him to talk. He said Ernie wasn’t wasting time. He tipped the cops that you had knocked Hurst off, and then sent his boys after you.”

Dillon said, “Vessi?” There was a lot of hate in his voice.

“I took care of Vessi.” Roxy sounded satisfied. “He won’t worry about his dinner any more.”

Myra said from the back, “Get goin’… that smashed wind-screen’ll make the bulls curious.”

“Shut your trap!” Dillon said, without looking round; then to Roxy, “You know where Ernie hangs out?”

“Sure…. You ain’t…?” Roxy twisted his body round in the car. His eyes suddenly widened with surprise.

“No yellow heel’s runnin’ me out of this burg,” Dillon said between his teeth. “I guess we’ll go an’ call on that guy.”

“Don’t… no… don’t be crazy.” Myra struggled up from the floor. Her hands resting on the back of the seat, she again said. “No… no….”

Dillon shifted round and hit her with his open hand across her face, sending her back into the darkness with a crash. “I’ll settle with you in a tittle while,” he said. “Get goin’,” to Roxy.

Roxy hesitated, then he started the engine. Swinging the car round, he headed back to the East side.

Dillon picked up the Thompson and examined it carefully, then he laid it down. “I guess this gun’s too big for the job,” he said thoughtfully.

Roxy said uneasily, “You’ll never get in with that.”

Dillon pulled his .45 from its holster and made sure that it was ready for use. He shoved it away again, and relaxed, watching the dark road. At the back, Myra sobbed quietly, now completely terrified.

Roxy said at last, “It’s down on the left. I’ll drive past it.”

They went slower. Dillon kept well back in the darkness of the car.

“See? By that light. That’s the joint.”

As the car went past, Dillon looked the house over. Bright lights gleamed in most of the windows. It was big.

Dillon said, “Seems like there’s goin’ to be plenty of company.”

Roxy didn’t say anything. He was scared.

“Okay Stop her over the way. We’ll go an’ look at the place.”

Roxy ran the car into the shadows and turned off the engine. Dillon opened the door and got on to the street, looking cautiously up and down. The street was empty. Roxy came and stood at his elbow.

“You stay here,” Dillon said to Myra. “Get in the drivin’-seat an’ wait till we come. You gotta be ready to get goin’ quick.”

Myra got out of the car and climbed into the driving-seat. She sat there, hunched up over the wheel, silent.

Dillon leant into the car, his face quite close to hers. “Watch yourself, sister,” he said softly. “You try to pull a quick one on me an’ you’re goin’ to have a bad time… get it?”

“It’ll be all right,” she said.

“Sure it’ll be all right,” Dillon said, and he jerked his head to Roxy. They walked slowly down the street, keeping on the opposite side of Ernie’s place.

“We’ll go round the back,” Dillon said, “Maybe he’s got a fire-escape or somethin’.”

Roxy nodded. He was feeling bad.

At the end of the street they crossed over and cut down an alley. They came down along the back of the buildings. Dillon counted each building carefully, then he stopped. “This is it,” he said.

They stood in the darkness and stared up Dimly they could see a fire-escape straggling up into the darkness.

Dillon moved forward cautiously. He could see the swing-up several feet above his head.

“If I give you a back, you can reach it,” he said to Roxy.

Roxy came forward reluctantly. “You’re goin’ to start somethin’ in this joint,” he said uneasily.

“Yeah!” Dillon leant against the wall. “You’re goddam right. I am.”

Roxy put his small shoe in Dillon’s hands and Dillon hoisted him up. The swing-up came within reach of Roxy’s fingers. He pulled gently, bringing the escape down slowly. It made no noise.

Dillon began to walk up the escape quietly. Roxy followed him, Dillon peered into each window as he passed. Three rooms were in darkness, but on the fourth landing of the escape there was a blaze of light. Dillon shifted his gun from its holster and moved forward more slowly. Roxy stayed between the landings, waiting.

Dillon edged his way closer to the window and glanced in. There were a number of people in the room. Dillon’s eyes fixed on a small apeish-looking man who was sitting in a big overstuffed chair in the centre of the room. He guessed that must be Ernie. He raised his hand and beckoned to Roxy.

Although the evening was close, the window was shut. Dillon could hear the buzz of talking faintly through the glass, and now and then the shrill high-pitched laugh of one of the women came to him with startling clearness.

Roxy crawled up on hands and knees. Dillon said, keeping his head close to Roxy’s, “That Ernie, the little mug sitting there?”

Roxy took a quick look into the room and nodded. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “that’s him.”

Dillon watched the scene in the room thoughtfully. He fingered his gun, but he knew it would get him nowhere if he did start shooting. He had got to go down four flights of escape and by that time he’d be as dead as a pork chop.

One of the women, a tall, brittle blonde, was making a big play at Ernie. She was holding a long glass full of Scotch, and by the way she giggled and swayed, Dillon guessed she was getting plastered fast.

Ernie was watching her under his hooded eyes. His face was expressionless, but his little black eyes never left her.

Dillon thought, in a moment or so something would blow up there.

Someone put on a gramophone and faintly Dillon could hear the rhythmic pulse of the music. The blonde began to swing it. She stood in the middle of the room swaying her hips at Ernie. The others grouped round the walls, clapping their hands and shouting to her. She stamped round the room, contorting her body and snapping her fingers in time with the rhythm.

Ernie sat like a stuffed monkey, his eyes gleaming a little brighter. She lifted her long skirts to her knees and pulled off a pretty fair high kick. Ernie took his hand out of his lap and scratched the side of his face. He got out of the chair and she swayed over to him, wrapping her long arms round his neck.

Dillon thought they looked bad. She was a head taller than Ernie, and with her back turned to the window, Ernie disappeared from sight.

The others in the room watched with interest. One or two of the other women giggled, but they didn’t get smart. Dillon reckoned that Ernie wouldn’t stand for much, and he was right.

Maybe Ernie was a little guy, but he was right in the right places. He took the blonde by the arm and shoved her out of the room. The door closed behind them.

Dillon cursed softly. He turned his head and looked at Roxy. “Now what?” he said through his teeth. “Where the hell’s that guy gone to?”

Roxy shrugged. He felt relieved. “I guess he’s goin’ to lay that dame,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe we’d better take it on the lam.”

“I’m goin’ to get that guy, if I have to stay here all night,” Dillon returned. “Shut up, an’ let me do the talkin’.”

Roxy relapsed into gloomy silence. He glanced down into the dark street, but he couldn’t see anything. Dillon suddenly clutched his arm. Roxy turned his head quickly. A light had sprung up on the next landing.

“They’ve gone up there,” Dillon said. “Ain’t that a break?”

Without waiting for Roxy to say anything, he climbed up on to the next landing.

The blonde was sitting on the bed trying to take off her dress. She was so drunk that she couldn’t quite make it. She sat there struggling and giggling. Little Ernie was not in the room Dillon could see a light coming from a half-open door leading off the room, and he guessed he was in there.

The blonde got to her feet and lurched through the door, leaving the room empty. Dillon put his fingers under the window frame and quietly lifted the window. He had a little struggle, but he managed it. The window slid back without any noise.

Roxy came up, a gun in his hand. His eyes were popping out of his head.

Dillon said quietly, “Stay here. If there’s any trouble, shoot.”

He put a leg over the window-sill and slid into the room. He stood listening in the middle of the room, his gun held by his side. Faintly, he could hear the two in the other room. They were not talking, but he could hear the blonde giggle and Ernie’s grunts. He stepped quietly to the door and looked in.

Little Ernie was dressed in a salmon-pink dressing-gown. He was standing with his back to the door. The blonde had got rid of her dress and she was facing Dillon. She was wearing a cloudy piece of chiffon that didn’t cover her much. She saw Dillon standing in the doorway and she stiffened. The liquor died on her, leaving her sober and terrified.

Dillon said, “Don’t move, you two. I’m itching to blast you.”

Little Ernie didn’t bat an eyelid Dillon had to hand it to him. He just stood looking inquiringly at the blonde. She folded her hands across her breasts and moaned softly.

Dillon moved into the room, stiff-legged, like a cat about to fight. He circled slowly round until he was behind the blonde, facing Ernie.

“I guess you didn’t expect to see me?” he said evenly.

Little Ernie licked his lips. His small monkey-like face turned a little green.

“I’m the guy you tried to rub out tonight,” Dillon said; “I guess this burg’s too small for both of us. I guess you’re comin’ for a ride. Ernie… a one-way ride.”

Ernie said, “Don’t be a fool. You an’ me can do things together in a big way.” His voice was thick, as if he’d a clot in his throat.

Dillon sneered. “Yeah?” He shook his head. “You’re too late on that stuff, Ernie…. It’s curtains for you.” While he was speaking, he shifted his gun a little, so that he held it by its barrel. Then with a quick savage swing, he struck the blonde behind her ear with the butt of the gun.

She went down like an inanimate doll. Dillon had Ernie covered in one movement.

Ernie looked down at the blonde and shook his head. “That was a lousy one to pull,” he said.

Dillon said, “Get goin’… you an’ me are goin’ for a ride.”

Ernie looked at him, hesitated, then he turned and walked into the other room. He paused then. “I guess you’ll let me dress?” he said.

Dillon said, “Get outta the window… quick.” He rammed the gun into Ernie’s back.

Ernie climbed out of the window. He started back against Dillon when he saw Roxy. Dillon shoved him forward roughly. “Get goin’,” he said.

Roxy stood aside. Ernie began to move to the stairs. Dillon quietly slipped the gun into his holster and bent down quickly. He caught Ernie by his ankles and with a great heave threw the little man over the rail. It was done so quickly that Roxy couldn’t believe his eyes. Ernie was there one second and vanished the next.

Just one terrified squeal sounded in their ears, then a heavy dull thud as Ernie hit the flags down below.

Dillon gripped Roxy’s arm. “Get goin’,” he said viciously. “We gotta get out of this quick.”

They pelted down the escape and blundered into the dark alley. Dillon didn’t pause to look at Ernie, but ran on to the street.

Myra started the engine as she heard them coming Dillon swung himself on to the running-board. “It’s okay,” he said. “You get into the back Roxy can drive.”

She clambered over the seat and Roxy got in under the wheel. His teeth were chattering, but he managed to engage the gear.

Myra said, “Did you get him?”

“What the hell do you think?”

Roxy said, “There’s a guy in Springdale who’ll hide us up until this blows over.”

“Yeah?” Dillon said. “That’s a good idea. You know this bird?”

“Sure….” Roxy spun the wheel at Twenty-third Street and headed the car up Kansas Avenue Bridge. “I know him all right He’s safe and they won’t look for us there.”

They shot across the bridge fast. Suddenly Myra leant forward violently and gripped Roxy’s shoulder. “Stop!… stop!… stop!” she screamed.

Roxy was so startled he nearly piled the car into a wall. He crammed on his brakes, throwing Dillon forward. “What the hell’s wrong?” he demanded.

Myra’s face was livid in the street light. “Quick… where did you get this car?” she gasped.

Roxy twisted and looked at Dillon. “She gone nuts?” he asked angrily. “Jeeze, I nearly crashed this heap.”

Dillon didn’t like the look on Myra’s face. He demanded harshly, “What is it?”

“Where did you get this car?” Myra repeated, pounding Roxy’s arm with her fist.

“Where the hell do you think I got it?” Roxy said surlily. “I knocked it off.”

Myra turned wildly to Dillon. “The fool’s finished us,” she shouted. “Can’t you see we’ve taken this heap over the State line!”

Dillon suddenly turned on Roxy, his fist clenched above his head. “You sonofabitch!” he snarled. “You’ve got the Feds on to us.”

Roxy stiffened. “Hell! You’ll have a crowd round us. What the hell do you mean… got the Feds on us?”

Dillon said furiously, “It’s a Federal offence to take a stolen car over the State line… Didn’t you know that, you goddam bastard?”

Roxy engaged his gear. His face had gone the colour of putty. “They’ll hang Hurst on to us now,” he said unsteadily. They’re sure goin’ to get us now.”

Myra said, “Get on… get on quick! We gotta get under cover.”

The big car quickened. Dillon said, “When that bastard Strawn hears about this, he’ll come a-runnin’.”

Myra said between her teeth, “See what you’ve done, you lug.” She beat her fists on her knees. “We had it all an’ you must get smart. I’m finished with you, do you understand? I’m washed up. We’re through.”

Dillon said, “You’re through when I say so, an’ not before. You know too much, an’ what’s more, Strawn will pin somethin’ on to you… don’t you think he won’t.”

Roxy called, “We gotta switch cars… this broken screen’ll stop us. I’m goin’ on a bit further, then we’ll have to walk.”

They drove on in silence. The night was very dark. There was no moon, and heavy threatening clouds hung low. Once in the open, the big beams of the car lit up the dirt road and they lurched and jolted as Roxy tried to keep up speed.

Dillon said in an undertone to Myra, “You got any dough?”

She said quickly, “What you think? I came away in a rush.” She put her hand cautiously on her bag that hung on her wrist. Dillon leant forward and ripped the bag from her. For a moment she hesitated, then she flung herself forward. Dillon was expecting her to start something, and he swung a backhand, knocking her into the corner of the car. “Cut it out,” he said viciously. “You ain’t got no dough, so what you gettin’ sore about?”

He put his hand inside the bag and felt the big roll of money. He grinned to himself in the dark. Taking the roll out, he transferred it to his own pocket. He tossed the bag into her lap.

She said feverishly, “Give me that dough.”

Dillon said, “Be careful.” There was such an ugly threat in his voice that she shivered.

Roxy slowed down. “Springdale’s just ahead,” he said, “I guess we’ll ditch this heap an’ walk.”

He ran the car off the road and stopped. The three climbed out. Dillon said. “I’ll look good carrying this Thompson.”

Roxy said, “Suppose you wrap it in your coat?”

Dillon took off his coat and did as Roxy suggested. They began to walk down the dark road. Round the bend they could see lights.

Roxy said, “This guy we’re goin’ to has big ideas. You’ll have to pay him plenty.”

Dillon said coldly, “We’ll see about that.”

They walked some way, Myra between the two men. Her mind was busy as she stumbled along the dirt road, not seeing where she was going. Dillon had got her money; without that she couldn’t leave him. The Feds wouldn’t stop until they got Dillon. Especially a guy like Strawn, who was just laying for him. Somehow or other she had got to get the money away from Dillon and get out quick, before anything happened. The Feds hadn’t the same ideas as the cops when handling a woman.

“That’s it,” Roxy said suddenly.

Just ahead of them they could see the outline of a building. One solitary light gleamed through the window.

They hastened their lagging steps. Roxy said, “We’ll go in the back, quiet.”

They left the road and worked their way to the back of the building. It was so dark Myra kept stumbling, but the two men didn’t offer to help her. She gritted her teeth furiously. She was on her own against these two, but she wasn’t scared. She had plenty of confidence in herself.

Roxy rapped on the door with his knuckles. Alter a short wait, the door opened A tall, thin form of a man peered at them.

“That you, Joe?” Roxy said. “Gee! Joe, it’s nice to see you. These are a couple of friends of mine…. Can we come in?”

The man stood aside Sure,” he said, without enthusiasm, “come on in.”

They entered a small, poorly furnished room, lit by an oil lamp. Roxy said, “This is Joe Chester, the guy I told you about.

Joe had a thin skull-like face, and his big yellow teeth stuck out, giving him a foxy look. He glanced at the three furtively, rubbing his hands on the seat of his trousers. “I guess I’m glad to know you,” he said.

Dillon grunted. He glanced at Roxy and jerked his head.

Roxy said, “Listen, Joe. We wantta lie up here for a little while. Can you fix it? You know how it is.”

Joe said, “I’ll get a drink I guess we can talk better with a drink.”

He went out of the room.

Dillon said, “I don’t like that guy.”

Roxy shrugged. “He’s okay. He’ll fix us, you see.”

Joe came back with a bottle and glasses. He put them on the table. The others sat down Myra sat away from them by the window. She glanced out into the dark night from time to time.

When the drinks were fixed, Joe said, “How long?”

“Maybe a couple of weeks, not more,” Roxy said.

“It’ll cost you a grand a week ” Joe said, sniffing at his whisky.

Dillon moved jerkily, but Roxy put out his hand. “Wait a minute,” he said.

Dillon shook his hand off. “This guy ain’t goin’ to start skinning me,” he snarled. “A grand? You’re crazy!”

An oily smile went over Joe’s face. “It came over the radio ten minutes ago,” he said softly. “You three are wanted by the Department of Justice for pinching a car, and the State police are after you for the murder of Hurst.”

There was dead silence in the room. Myra ran her fingers through her hair. She shot a look of hatred at Dillon, but she said nothing. He started it and it was up to him to see it through.

Dillon stood up. “So what?” he said.

Joe spread his dirty hands on the table. He nodded his head. “You three are hot. You’re too damned hot. I know Roxy…. I’m a friend of his, so I take risks, but I guess I gotta get well paid for takin’ ’em.”

Dillon wandered over to Joe. “You’ll get well paid, but you ain’t gettin’ a grand a week. You’ll take five hundred bucks an’ like it, get it?”

Joe shook his head. “That ain’t any use to me, mister…” he began.

Dillon reached out and gripped Joe’s shirt. “Listen, punk,” he snarled. “I’m booked to sit on the end of a stream of hot juice—one more guy to get knocked off don’t help me anyway, see?”

Joe turned a dirty white. “You’re the boss, mister,” he said hoarsely. “My ma’ll look after you. We gotta farm in the hills. Roxy knows it. They won’t find you there.”

Dillon took his hand away and, glanced at Roxy, who nodded at him. “Sure,” Roxy said, “it’s a good place.”

“We want another car,” Dillon said.

Joe said, “I’ll sell you mine. It’s old, but, by heck, it goes all right!”

Dillon turned his back so that Joe couldn’t see the size of his roll. He pulled off some bills and put the rest in his pocket.

“I’ll give you twelve hundred bucks. That’s for the car an’ two weeks’ rent.”

Joe took the money and counted it carefully. He couldn’t keep the pleasure off his face. He just gloated at the sight of so much dough.

Dillon walked over to him. His face was hard. “Listen, bozo,” he said. “Get the car an’ get some drink on board. I want a pile of grub too. That comes outta the dough I’ve just slipped you.”

Joe looked at him and cringed a little. “Sure,” he said; “I’m glad to help you folks.”

When he had gone out, Dillon said to Roxy, “You think you’re smart? Pushin’ me on to a chiseler like that.”

Roxy didn’t say anything. He just shrugged. They stood there waiting.

Joe came back. “The car’s ready,” he said. “You’ve got plenty of gas. I’ve put in the things you want.”

Dillon said, “Can you find this dump, Roxy?”

“Sure, I know where it is.”

“Well, come on for God’s sake. We ain’t got all night to hang about.”

Joe saw them to the door. “I’ll be over in a few days. I’ll let you know how things go.”

Dillon grunted and got in the back of the car with Myra. Roxy took the wheel. The car shot off into the night.

Roxy kept the pedal down. The car tore down the rough road, jolting them violently.

“This place far?” Dillon shouted to him.

Roxy shook his head; then, remembering that Dillon couldn’t see him, shouted, “No. It’ll take us about a couple of hours.”

They drove on in silence after that. The car jolted on and on; its beams lighting the rough road, making the pot-holes look like craters.

Myra raised her head suddenly. She put her hand on Dillon’s arm. He had been cat-napping and jerked up. “What the hell?” he growled.

“Listen,” she said.

He thought he could hear something above the roar of the old engine, but he wasn’t sure. He jerked round and looked through the rear window. In the distance he saw a single beam of light, jerking behind them.

He listened again and faintly he heard the wail of a siren. Instantly his mind came alive.

“There’s a cop behind us,” he snapped to Roxy.

Roxy was so startled that he nearly ran off the road. The flickering light was coming up fast.

“Shove her along,” Dillon snarled. “He’s comin’ up like hell.”

Roxy pressed the pedal down hard, and the car drew away a little. That seemed to get the cop. They could hear the roar of his engine as he forced his machine forward. The siren screamed in their ears.

Dillon jerked out his gun and smashed the rear window.

“Not yet… don’t shoot yet!” Myra cried.

Dillon took no notice. He fired twice at the light, but the jolting of the car spoilt his aim. The cop swerved a little, but kept on. Dillon flung the gun down on the seat and groped for the Thompson. “I’ll settle this punk,” he said viciously, jabbing the nose of the Thompson through the broken window.

Just as he was squeezing the trigger the cop started firing. He fired four times, and each time the bullet smacked into the back of the car.

Dillon dug the butt of the gun into his shoulder and fired back, sweeping the gun in a half-circle. He kept the barrel down. The light of the pursuing machine went out.

“I got him!” he shouted to Roxy. “Get on… he’s finished.”

He put the gun down and sank on to the seat. “I guess we’re gettin’ a little hot,” he said.

Something touched him and he jerked away. Something hot and sticky was on his hand. For a startled moment he thought he had been hurt, then he knew he couldn’t have been. He peered into the darkness.

Myra was lying back in the corner of the car.

“What is it?” he said. “You hurt?”

She gave a sudden cough.

Dillon said to Roxy, “Stop… she’s been nicked.”

Roxy hesitated. “Anyone behind?” he asked.

Dillon looked back, then he said. “No… stop now.”

Roxy pulled up and turned the spot-light round, switching on the beam. They both looked at Myra.

She was huddled up. Her hand was pressed to her right side. Dillon could see the blood oozing through her fingers.

He swore softly. “You hurt bad?” he said.

She raised her head slowly. Her mouth was screwed up and he could see the marks of her teeth on her lip, where she had bitten the pain silent. The glaring light made her look ghastly. Her hair had gone limp and beads of sweat made her look as if she had just come out of rain.

Roxy leant well forward, gaping at her. “We gotta get a doctor to her,” he said. “She looks bad.”

Dillon looked at him hard. “Sure she looks bad,” he said slowly. “Yeah, we better get a doctor.”

Roxy swung round and started the engine. Dillon put his hand on his shoulder. “Wait,” he said. “We can’t drive into a town with her like that…. It would start something. I’ll stay here an’ look after her.” He put a lot of meaning in the last words.

Roxy started to argue, but a look that had come into Dillon’s eyes stopped him. “Okay,” he said huskily.

He reached forward and turned off the engine, then he opened the door and got into the road. Dillon said under his breath, “I’ll sound the horn.”

Myra raised her head. “Roxy… where… are… you… goin’?”

Roxy said, “I’m gettin’ a croaker… you’ll be okay… just you stay quiet.”

A sudden wave of panic swept over Myra. “Roxy…. don’t leave me… don’t leave me… with him!”

Roxy was already walking quickly down the dark road, his shoulders arched as if he expected a violent blow.

Dillon reached up and shoved the light out of her eyes. “You’re goin’ to be okay now,” he said.

Myra crouched back against the seat. “Give me a break,” she implored him. “I know what… you’re goin’ to… to do. Don’t… please—”

Dillon leant forward. “You nuts or somethin’?” he said. His face was glistening. Two deep lines ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth. “What you squawkin’ about?”

“You wouldn’t… treat… me like a dog?” she gasped.

Dillon threw off pretence. “You didn’t give Fan a chance, did you?” he snarled. “You burnt her, didn’t you, you little heel? You took all that dough an’ I wasn’t to see any of it. You know too much, sister—”

“Look, I’m bleedin’…. It hurts so… don’t hurt me any more.” She took her hand from her side and tried to reach him. He shied away from her blood-encrusted fingers. Quietly he groped for his gun. His fingers closed on the cold barrel. He got a grip and drew it off the seat, holding it behind his back.

“Sure I’ll give you a break,” he said, grinning at her.

She was dazed with the pain and loss of blood. She could only see his outline bending over her, and his words came to her faintly. She began to cough again, and a sudden rush of blood to her mouth terrified her.

“I’m scared…” she whimpered. “I’m scared….”

Dillon brought his hand from behind his back. His arm flashed up and then down. He hit her on the top of her head with the gun butt with all his strength. In the silence of the night he heard her skull crack. Blood came out of her mouth again as she fell forward.

Dillon scrambled out of the car. He ran round to the other side and opened the door. Then, cautiously, he fumbled for her in the dark. His hand touched her head and he drew back, catching his breath a little. His hands were slippery with her blood.

He stood there, glaring at her dim outline, suddenly frightened to touch her. In a fit of insane panic he began to beat her head and shoulders with the gun butt. At last he stopped and stood panting, his chest heaving and his mouth slack. Her two legs hung indecently from the car door. The rest of her was hidden in darkness. Moving forward slowly, he reached down and wiped his hands on her stockings. He did it in little jerks, as if he expected the legs to come to life.

The moon suddenly swung above the clouds, lighting the road. Roxy sat on the grass farther up the road, his head in his hands. He swore continuously, refusing to let his brain dwell on what was going on. Two short blasts from the horn of the car made him get unsteadily to his feet.

* * *

Ma Chester was a small, mean-looking woman, with hard eyes and a thin pinched mouth. She stood on the stoop of the farmhouse and looked down on them. Round her waist was a piece of sacking that did for an apron. Her gnarled hands were folded across her withered breasts, and Dillon could see her black broken nails clawing at the cotton stuff of her dress.

The farmhouse was well hidden in the hills. It was several miles from the main road, and stood entirely alone. It was well off the beaten track.

The sun was just up. Dillon and Roxy had spent the night in the woods, fearing to call at the farmhouse at night. They were both tired and irritable. Dillon’s nerves seemed to stand outside his body, so that the slightest movement or sound jarred him.

Roxy handled Ma Chester. She seemed to know all about it. Joe had got her on the telephone.

She said, “I guess you two want to see your room.”

They followed her into the farmhouse. There, was a smell of dirt and cooking in the place. Dillon twitched his nose a little.

The main living-room was bare and dirty. An old man who looked old enough to be Ma Chester’s father sat in a small rocker in front of the kitchen stove. In spite of the growing heat from the sun, he seemed to be cold, shivering every now and then. He was bald, unshaven and rheumy. He didn’t bother to look up as they came in.

Ma Chester led them through to a door at the far end. The room would have shamed an Eastside tenement. Dillon looked round, his face showing his disgust.

“I’ll bring you some breakfast,” the old woman said. She said it as if she expected a refusal.

Dillon said, “Yeah, and make it a big one.”

When she had gone, pulling the door behind her, Dillon wandered round the room. “A thousand bucks for this,” he said. “I’ll wring that goddam chiseller’s neck.”

Roxy sat on the bed gingerly. “They’ll never find us here,” he said. “I bet Joe won’t turn in much dough to the old girl. He’ll keep it for himself.”

Dillon went over to the window and looked out. Roxy watched him cautiously. Roxy was scared of Dillon. The horror of last night was still with him. Sitting there on the bed, he could relive everything he had done. They had found a big gravel dump off the road and had shoved her body into it, pulling the gravel down on top of her. Roxy shivered a little. Maybe they wouldn’t find her for weeks, maybe they’d find her tomorrow.

Dillon said, “Snap out of it!”

Roxy jerked up his head. Dillon had turned and was watching him. “That broad never was no good,” Dillon said. “She had it comin’ for a long time. What could we do with her? If we’d left her, she’d’ve squawked. I know.”

“Sure, sure,” Roxy said hastily, “we’ll forget it.”

Dillon said in a threatening voice, “You’d better.”

Just then Ma Chester put her head round the door. “You can eat now,” she said.

The two men wandered into the other room. The table was covered with a soiled newspaper. Old man Chester was already eating. Dillon looked at him with disgust. The old man glanced up and grunted. Ma Chester said, “Don’t you take any notice of him… he’s deaf.”

Dillon jerked a chair out and sat down. The food was poor and coarse.

Roxy said, “You gotta radio here?”

Ma Chester stood over the stove, watching the coffee. She shook her head. “Nope,” she said. “We ain’t got a radio.”

Dillon cut the salty ham angrily. “I thought every farm had a radio,” he said.

“Well, we ain’t,” Ma Chester snapped. “We’re poor, see?”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Dillon snarled.

The shack door opened and a girl came in. Both Roxy and Dillon stopped eating and stared at her. She was big. Her straw-coloured hair hung down to her shoulders. Her dirty cotton dress barely concealed her over-ripe figure. She was as tall as Dillon, with big hands and feet. Her features were regular and good, but the expression on her face and in her eyes was that of a child of seven.

She stood there shifting her feet, looking with scared eyes at the two at the table.

Ma Chester said, “Sit down, Chrissie; these two gentlemen ain’t goin’ to worry you.”

There was a long awkward silence as she shuffled over to the table and sat down. Then with a burst of confidence she said, “Did you come in that big car?”

Dillon glanced over at Roxy. Roxy said, “Yeah, that’s right.”

Chrissie smiled timidly. “We ain’t got a car,” she said, reaching out a large hand for some bread. “Can I go for a ride?”

Ma Chester snapped, “Don’t you worry these gentlemen. You get on an’ eat.”

Chrissie began to bolt her food. She had an enamel mug of milk by her plate, and when she drank Dillon could see the milk running down her chin on to the front of her dress. He was suddenly aware of a sour smell coming from her, the same sort of smell small children have if they’re not looked after. He felt a little sick and pushed his plate away. Then, muttering something, he got up.

Ma Chester said, “Here’s the coffee.” She banged a pot on the table. Dillon reached out and poured himself a cup and took it to the window. When Ma Chester went back to the stove, Chrissie leant forward and scooped the ham Dillon had left on to her plate.

Roxy laid down his knife. “You’re hungry?” he said, for something to say.

She looked at him and gave a pleased little smile. “Yes, I am,” she said. “Will you give me a ride, Mister?”

Roxy nodded. “Sure I will.”

“You be quiet,” Ma Chester said from the stove.

A sudden blank look came over Chrissie’s face and she began to mumble. A little saliva ran down her chin. Ma Chester walked over to her and rapped on the top of her head with her knuckles, just like she was rapping on a door. Chrissie pressed her head against the old woman’s breast, a look of contentment coming over her bovine face.

Ma Chester said to Roxy, “She’s simple, but she’s a good girl. There’s something wrong with her head. She gets like this sometimes. I rap her nut like this, an’ it helps her.” The old woman’s face had softened while she was speaking, and she looked down at the girl with a rough tenderness that quite altered her face.

Roxy sat there staring with a morbid fascination. “She’s quite a big girl, ain’t she?” he said at last.

“She’s eighteen,” Ma Chester told him. “But I guess she’s never grown up.”

Dillon couldn’t stand any more of it. He went outside. The hot sun was fast drying the heavy dew. The ground was steaming a little, and a faint white mist, extending as far as the eye could see, hovered just above the ground. The air smelt good and he was glad to get away from the staleness of the shack.

He walked over to the car and glanced inside. The back seat was stained dark with Myra’s blood. He wrinkled his nose a little. This was a hell of a morning.

Over the way he noticed a well, and he went over and drew a bucket of water. Then, finding some rags under the front seat, he began sponging the mess away. He had just got through and had got rid of the water when Roxy came out.

Dillon looked at him. “I’m goin’ to go nuts in this dump,” he said. “Just wait until that chiseler comes out here…. I’ll kill him.”

Roxy sat on the running-board of the car and lit a cigarette. “Hell,” he said. “It’s somethin’ to be safe, ain’t it?”

“That loony gives me the creeps,” Dillon muttered, shoving the back seat into place.

“Aw, she’s okay…. She’s just a kid really…. You look on her as a kid. She ain’t goin’ to worry you.”

Chrissie came out just then. She edged over to them. “You’ve made the seat all wet,” she said, looking into the back of the car. “Why have you done that?”

Dillon turned away. He spat on the ground. As he moved off, Chrissie said, “I don’t like him,” to Roxy.

Roxy grinned at her. “He’s all right,” he said. “I guess he’s got somethin’ on his mind.”

Chrissie looked puzzled. “What?” she said. “How do you mean, somethin’ on his mind?”

Roxy scratched his head. “You know,” he said; “he’s worried about something.”

“Is that all?” She lost interest. “When are you taking me for a drive, Mister?”

Roxy said, “I can’t take you now. Maybe tomorrow. But not just now. What do you do with yourself all day?”

She stood looking longingly at the car. “Aw, not much,” she said. “I play… I like playing best.”

Roxy eyed her over. He thought it was tough for a fine-looking broad to be so simple. “Well, let’s play at somethin’, shall we?” He felt a little embarrassed, but he was sorry for her.

She looked at him as if making up her mind whether he’d be worth playing with. Then she nodded.

Dillon had made a circuit of the shack and was standing watching them. A curious gleam came into his eye.

“Take her down to the river,” he said. “Get her to swim.” He said out of the corner of his mouth, “Get her goin’. She might be worth lookin’ at.”

Roxy’s face went a deep crimson. “You lay off that,” he said angrily. “This kid’s simple, see? I ain’t standin’ for any of that stuff.”

Dillon stood looking at him, his face sullen. “Aw, go an’ play dolls,” he sneered. “You give me a pain.”

He stood looking after them as they wandered away into the woods.

After two days on the farm Dillon was nearly crazy. He was nervous of walking too far from the thick woods. He was sick of sitting inside watching old man Chester, or listening to Ma Chester singing her son’s praise.

Roxy, for something better to do, had turned his attention to the farm. Dillon was too lazy to do that. Chrissie followed Roxy about like a dog. She had got over her first shyness and Roxy quite liked her. She was amused at most things he said, which flattered him, and she helped him with the work on the farm.

He was quite startled at her strength. She would think nothing of shifting heavy sacks or logs of wood, that made Roxy sweat to move. Under his directions, put in the simplest way, she carried out quite a programme. Sometimes she got bored and began to fool, then Roxy took her off for a walk.

Dillon watched them contemptuously. He made no attempt to join them. Roxy never discussed her when they were alone. Chrissie went to bed around eight o’clock, arid Roxy and Dillon played cards monotonously into the night.

It was Sunday, and Dillon was jittery. Joe Chester was coming out, and he’d have news. Cut away from the radio and the newspapers, neither of the men knew what was going on. Even Roxy couldn’t get up any enthusiasm to play with Chrissie. He hung around the shack doing odd jobs, his eye on the dirt road.

It was after ten o’clock when Joe turned up. He came bumping along the dirt road in a new car. He looked mighty pleased with himself.

Chrissie was the first to spot him, and she lumbered down the road to meet him. Joe stopped the car and let her get in.

Dillon and Roxy watched them. Dillon said, “We gotta get this punk alone.”

Roxy said, “Sure… we’ll get him all right.”

It was some little time before Joe could get round to them. Ma Chester and Chrissie were all over him. Even old man Chester wakened up and had something to say. By the time Joe shook them off, Dillon was in a vile temper.

The three of them walked into the wood, and when they were some distance from the shack, they sat down on the grass.

Dillon said, “Now come on, for God’s sake. What’s been goin’ on?”

Joe gave him a worried look. “I don’t like it,” he said, wagging his head. “The Feds are raising hell.”

“What you mean, raising hell? Got a newspaper with you?”

Joe shook his head. He seemed quite surprised at the idea. “No, I ain’t got no newspaper,” he said.

Dillon looked at Roxy, his face dark with fury. “What a guy!” he snarled. “Came from town an’ ain’t got the goddam sense to bring a newspaper.”

Even Roxy was put out. “Why, Joe,” he said, “I guess that’s dumb.”

“Dumb?” Dillon snarled. “Why…” he broke off, spluttering.

Joe looked concerned. “If I thought you guys wanted a paper, I’d’ve brought it.”

Dillon nearly struck him. He clenched and unclenched his fists. “Listen, you bohunk,” he said at last. “We gotta have a radio up here, see? I gotta know what’s goin’ on. I’ll go nuts in this dump if I don’t get some information through.”

Joe nodded. “Sure, I’ll bring one up when I get round again.”

Dillon said, “You’ll bring one up right away.”

Roxy hastily said, “Well, come on, Joe, what’s been happening?”

Joe looked glum again. “The Feds have been in to see me. They’ve been everywhere. They found the car you ditched not far from my place…. I guess that was a smart thing to do.”

Dillon demanded, “Do they know you’ve got this dump up here?”

Joe shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “I guess they don’t. Look here, Mister, it ain’t goin’ to be good for me or my folks if they catch you here.”

“What the hell do you think I’m payin’ you a thousand bucks for?” Dillon snarled.

“I was comin’ to that.” Joe shifted his eyes. “I guess I had a bad bit of luck the other day. I lost that dough in a crap game.”

Dillon stiffened. “What the blazes has that got to do with me?” he demanded.

Joe picked at the grass, keeping his head turned. “Why, I guess maybe you’re right. It ain’t got a lot to do with you, but I just told you.”

Dillon said, “See here, Chester, I gave you that dough to keep us under cover. If you’ve lost it, that’s too bad, but it ain’t our funeral, see?”

Joe shifted the conversation. “Ma tells me you’ve made a swell job of work with the old fence,” he said to Roxy.

Roxy shrugged. “I’d go nuts tryin’ to pass the time. I enjoyed doin’ it.”

Dillon said between his teeth, “Suppose you skip this an’ tell me what’s been goin’ on.”

“Sure I’ll tell you.” Joe leant back on his elbows, raising his skull-like face to the sun. “Well, you know how it is, the newspapers have been playin’ the Hurst murder up. The Feds have been lookin’ for you. Comin’ round asking questions. Huntin’ around; you know how it is.”

Dillon said, “They don’t suspect you?”

Joe shook his head. “Did I tell you they’re offering five grand reward for you guys?”

Both Roxy and Dillon stiffened. “Five thousand bucks?” Roxy said unsteadily.

“That’s right,” Joe said: “I guess they sure want you guys bad.”

There was a heavy silence while the two turned it over. Joe went on, “I rigger to some people five grand would come very nice.”

He got to his feet. “I gotta get back to Ma. She gets mad as hell if I don’t hang around when I’m up here. I’ll be seein’ you boys before I go.”

He went away, his long thin legs moving stiffly through the grass.

Roxy said in a low voice, “Did you get it?”

Dillon clenched his fists. “He ain’t gettin’ another dime outta me,” he said. “The double-crossin’ rat.”

“Listen, Nick, don’t do anythin’ foolish. If we don’t square this guy, he’s goin’ to squeal. He said as much, didn’t he?”

“How the hell do we know they’re offerin’ a reward?” Dillon raved. “Suppose they ain’t lookin’ for us an’ this is a frame to skin me?”

Roxy shook his head. He was nervous. “I’d hate to call his bluff,” he said. “We don’t stand much chance if the Feds come up here.”

Dillon took his roll of money out of his pocket and thumbed it through. He had two thousand dollars and two fifty notes.

Roxy watched him. “Maybe he’d take the two grand an’ call it square.”

Dillon’s hand shook with fury. “We give him this dough an’ he can still turn us in,” he said.

Roxy shook his head. “I guess he ain’t that low. I know Joe, he wouldn’t do that.”

Dillon got to his feet. “I do the payin’ an’ save your hide,” he snarled. “Ain’t you got any dough?”

Roxy looked uncomfortable. “Hell, Bud,” he said, “I ain’t gotta nickel. I’m in this with you…. Didn’t I tip you what was happenin’?”

Dillon shrugged and walked towards the house. Joe saw them coming and came out walking to meet them.

Dillon said slowly, “Listen. This five grand reward comes tough on a guy like you. We wouldn’t like you to lose by it.”

Joe’s eyes glistened. “You got me wrong, Mister,” he said hastily. “I ain’t hankerin’ after the reward. I guess I’m glad to hide you guys up. I only said I’d lost the dough you gave me an’ was a bit short.”

Dillon’s eyes hated him. “We figgered maybe two grand would set you up.”

Dillon saw Joe hesitate. He saw the look of doubt in his eyes. He thought, the bastard’s going to turn it down. He went on hastily, “Two grand can buy plenty.”

Joe said, “Sure, it’s mighty fine of you guys.” His long bony hand came out. Dillon gave him the small roll of notes. Joe counted them, his hand shaking a little. The greed in his eyes scared Roxy.

Dillon watched him. “I expect some work for that,” he said, keeping the rage out of his voice with an effort. “Don’t go makin’ mistakes, will you? We got your ma an’ pa up here, Joe.”

Joe’s eyes opened. “You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about,” he said quickly. “You’ve fixed me up fine…. The Feds won’t bother you if I can help it.”

“You’d better see to that,” Dillon said viciously.

“Sure, sure,” Joe said hastily, “I’ll see to that okay.” He seemed in a sudden hurry to leave. He ran towards his car and drove off rapidly down the dirt road.

Ma Chester came out and stood on the stoop. Her face had a sly expression as she watched Joe drive away. Chrissie came round the side of the house, calling to Joe loudly. Joe didn’t look back.

Chrissie said, “Why’s he gone like that? Ain’t he comin’ back?”

Ma Chester stepped down and went over to her. Roxy heard her say, “Joe’s got business on… he’ll be along in a little while. You oughtta be mighty proud of your Joe, he’s a smart guy.”

Her little pebbly eyes mocked the two as they stood watching her uneasily.

* * *

Dusk was falling. Dillon sat on the stoop. His eyes were watching the sun sinking behind the trees. He was seriously worried. One hundred bucks was all he had left. One hundred bucks was as useful as a horse’s tail.

He got to his feet restlessly. This dump was driving him crazy. He looked around for Roxy, but could see no sign of him in the thickening dusk. It was still very close, and a faint hot breeze fanned his face.

He wandered round the shack, glancing in the windows. He saw Ma Chester busy with a flat-iron. For a moment he stood looking at her, then his eyes shifted to old man Chester hunched up over the stove. Shrugging, he wandered on. The next window was a little higher, and he had to stretch to see in. One look made him stiffen to attention.

Chrissie was moving about in the dim light of a flickering candle, undressing. She pulled her clothes off with difficulty, her fingers fumbling awkwardly with the buttons.

Dillon remained there watching, until she blew the light out. A primitive animal feeling for her gripped him, so that he could only stay there staring into the blackness of the room. The sudden realization that he had been cooped up in this shack for so many days without a woman came upon him with paralysing violence.

He was still standing there peering into the darkness when Roxy found him. Roxy said quietly, “What the hell you doin’ here?”

Dillon started round. He looked at Roxy uneasily.

“I’ve been lookin’ for you,” he said, his mind still far away with his thoughts.

Roxy looked up at Chrissie’s window. His face hardened.

“You didn’t think I was in with the kid?” he said softly.

“Kid?” Dillon sneered. “She ain’t no kid… she’s a woman.”

Roxy stretched out a hand and took Dillon’s coat front. “Lay off that, Dillon,” he said. “By God! Don’t you start anythin’ with that girl. She’s good an’ she’s simple…. I won’t stand for it.”

An overwhelming rage mounted inside Dillon. He flung Roxy’s hand away. “Listen, you louse,” he said. “You do as I tell you…. If I want that broad, I’m havin’ her—get it? You ain’t stoppin’ me, or any goddam heel like you.”

Roxy stood very still. “If that’s the way you feel…” he said.

Dillon couldn’t quite see his face in the light, but he didn’t like the threat in Roxy’s voice.

He suddenly saw the danger of making an enemy of Roxy and he retreated hastily. “Forget it, will you?” he said surlily. “I guess the heat’s worryin’ me. I guess I was crazy.”

“Sure.” Roxy’s voice was relieved. “I know how it is. This place gives me the jitters. Suppose we take the heap and get into town?”

Dillon nodded. “We’ll take the Thompson. I guess they won’t be lookin’ for us to drive in.” He was eager to get away. “An’ say, I guess we can check up on that punk Joe. Maybe we’ll hear somethin’.”

Roxy said, “Let’s go…. We won’t tell the old woman.”

They walked quickly over to the shed where the car was hidden and quietly pushed her out. Dillon went back to the shack, passed through the room where Ma Chester was working, nodded to her briefly and went into his own room. He picked up the Thompson, then, gently pushing the window up, he climbed out, dropping to the ground. He ran round quickly to where Roxy was waiting with the car.

“I guess we’re nuts not to have done this before,” Dillon said, sitting beside Roxy. “Suppose we stick up a service station? We want some dough badly enough.”

Roxy said, “Sure. Why not?”

They drove on into the night. Dillon sat with the Thompson on his knees, his eyes searching the dark road ahead for the sign of a light. He was nervous, but it felt good to get away from that shack.

After some time Roxy said, “Round the bend is one of those Conoco stations. We’ll drive up an’ get a tank full…. If there ain’t any excitement, we might surprise ’em.”

Dillon nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “You do that.”

Roxy slowed down, and they ran round the bend. The station was about a couple of hundred yards down the road. A big car was just pulling away, heading towards them. Dillon’s fingers tightened on the gun, but the car swept past.

An attendant was going back into the office when he spotted their lights. He stopped and stood waiting at the petrol pump.

Roxy drew up beside him. The attendant was a fair-haired youngster, his eyes heavy for want of sleep.

“Give her ten,” Roxy said.

Dillon pushed open the door and stepped into the road. The darkness and the shadow of the car hid him. He saw the office was empty.

Roxy said, “Get a move on…. We ain’t got all night.”

The attendant called, “It’s in, Mister.” He screwed the cap home and came round to Roxy.

Roxy said, “Gotta paper I can look at?” He gave the boy a bill.

“Sure. It’s in the office. I’ll get it for you.”

Roxy opened the door of the car and got out. “I’ll come in with you,” he said. “I guess I could stretch my legs.”

He followed the attendant into the office. Dillon walked quietly behind them and waited just outside the door.

The attendant went to the till and rang the drawer open. Dillon walked in and rammed the Thompson into his back. “Take it easy,” he said.

The attend ant looked over his shoulder and gasped. He tossed his arms above his head. Roxy stepped past him and emptied the till. There wasn’t much there.

“This all there is?” Roxy demanded.

The attendant was utterly terrified. He nodded his head. “Sure… That’s all… Mister… honest, it is.”

Roxy grunted. “Like bashin’ a kid’s money-box,” he said.

Dillon took the attendant by the arm and spun him round. He shoved him into a chair. “Know who I am?” he demanded. “I’m Dillon… the guy the cops are after.”

The boy’s face was blank. “I don’t know you, boss,” he said with a gulp.

“Didn’t you know there’s a big reward out for me?”

The boy shook his head.

“Where’s that paper?” Dillon snarled.

Roxy had already found it and was looking through it. Finally he tossed it down. “Not a word,” he said.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Dillon raved. “It was a frame to skin me.” He pointed furiously to the door. “Get out!” he shouted at Roxy. “Get in the car an’ wait.”

Roxy gave him a quick look, then he went out into the darkness and climbed into the car. As he settled himself he heard a sudden terrified scream. He put his hand on the car door, then hesitated. His hand fell to his side.

Dillon came running out. His face was like stone. “Get goin’,” he snapped.

“What was that?” Roxy asked uneasily, as he engaged his gears.

“What you think?” Dillon snarled from the darkness. “Think I could let that punk run around and yap his head off?”

Roxy said nothing. He moved a little way away from Dillon. He said at last, “I guess we’d better get back.”

“Get back nothin’,” Dillon said, his voice gritty. “I’m goin’ to see Joe. Keep her goin’.”

They reached Joe’s place after a long run. The road carried little traffic, and the cars that swept passed them didn’t bother them.

At Joe’s, Dillon got out quickly. “You stay here,” he said, “I’ll handle this bastard. Sound your horn if anythin’ starts.”

Roxy opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. He sat still, watching the road.

A light still burned in Joe’s room. Dillon walked quietly up the path. He tried the door, but it was locked. He rapped on the door with his knuckles. Roxy could hear him from the car. After a pause, Joe came. He stood in the open doorway, his mouth hanging slack.

Dillon moved the Thompson so he could see it. “Get inside,” he said through his teeth.

Joe fell back, his eyes glued to the gun. He couldn’t say a word.

Dillon forced him into the room and shut the door. “I’m on to you, you double-crossing sonofabitch,” he said. “Hand over that dough.”

Joe fumbled in his pocket and brought out the roll. He said in a quavering voice, “You got me wrong…. I know you’ve got me wrong.”

Dillon snatched it from him. “Where’s the rest of it?” he demanded. “You know, the thousand you said you lost?”

Joe’s eyes widened. “I did lose it,” he gasped. “I don’t get this… what’s it all about… ain’t you stayin’ at Ma’s no more?”

Dillon said, “Give me the rest of the dough or I’ll blast you… My finger is itching…. Snap to it!”

The Thompson was pointing at Joe’s vest. He gave a strangled gasp. “I’ll get it for you, Mister…” he whined. “Don’t you shoot… I’ll get it.”

He stumbled over to the table and took another roll of notes from the drawer. Dillon made him count it. “I got the car—” Joe began explaining.

Dillon cut him short. “Come on out,’ he said. “I still got somethin’ for you to do. You play ball, an’ you’ll come outta this okay, but you gotta watch your step.”

Joe went with him to the car. Roxy stared, but didn’t move. Dillon pushed Joe into the back of the car, then he said to Roxy in a low voice, “Get to the river… quick.” He got in beside Joe, and Roxy sent the car shooting forward.

They rode in silence for a mile or so, then Joe said, “Where… where you takin’ me?” He was suddenly uneasy.

Dillon looked for Joe’s face in the darkness, saw the white outline and swung his fist. Roxy heard the soft spat as his fist crushed into Joe’s face. Joe gave a muffled groan and slid forward in his seat. He ducked his head, holding his hands over his nose.

Dillon pulled his arms from his face slowly. He had to exert a little strength. Joe sobbed, “No… no….” Dillon said, “Here it is, you heel!” and swung his hand again.

Roxy slowed down. He peered ahead until he saw the glitter of water in the moonlight, then he stopped the car. “This is it,” he said.

Dillon got out of the car. He said to Roxy, “Get him out of there…. I don’t want to wash that heap again.”

Joe gave a scream. Roxy put his arms round him and half dragged, half pulled him out of the car. Joe couldn’t stand. He put his legs down, but they folded up, so that he fell down in the road.

Dillon said, “Move the car up a bit.”

Roxy got in the car and moved it forward. Joe lay in the red circle of the tail-lamp. Complete and awful panic seized him. He suddenly lost control of his sphincter muscle. Dillon shot him with the Thompson. Just one harsh roar of the gun and Joe was nearly cut in two, the slugs, like a steel knife ripped across his chest, killing him instantly.

Dillon said, “We gotta get him into the river.”

Roxy leant out of the car. “I don’t like touchin’ him,” he said. “I guess I just hate touchin’ that guy.”

“Get goin’…. We might get company pretty soon.” Even Dillon was slow off the mark. He put the Thompson in the car and they both walked slowly to Joe. They got him into the river. Standing on the bank, they watched the water close over him. The current was strong. They could see the rush of water in the moonlight. Joe would be taken care of for a little while.

Dillon reached forward and washed his hands in the river. He wiped them dry on the grass.

“I guess he ain’t goin’ to talk no more,” he said, staring out across the swiftly moving river.

Roxy stood just behind him. In spite of the close night, he felt cold. His eyes were on Dillon’s back. He suddenly shivered a little.

* * *

The next two days drifted by. Both Roxy and Dillon were on edge. They did not talk about Joe, but he was on their minds all right. On the morning of the third day it came as a little stabbing shock when Ma Chester said during the morning meal, “Joe’s comin’ out today. He promised to bring me some stores. I guess he’ll be along pretty soon.” There was a lot of pride in Ma’s voice when she said it.

Roxy glanced up and looked across at Dillon. Then he pushed his plate away and got up. “Maybe he’ll bring a newspaper,” he said with difficulty.

Ma Chester began clearing the table. “If Joe said he’d bring a newspaper, he’ll bring a newspaper. Joe is that sort of a guy. I always say you can rely on Joe.”

A thin, mirthless smile went over Dillon’s face. He followed Roxy out into the open. They wandered away together.

“Think the cops’ll come on out here?” Roxy said quietly.

Dillon shook his head. “Don’t seem like Joe talked about this place…. We gotta keep an eye open, but I guess they won’t.”

Roxy sat on the side of the well. He lit a cigarette. Dillon could see his hands shaking. “We’re takin’ an awful risk stayin’ here,” he said at last.

Dillon put his foot on the edge of the well. “Where the hell else can we go?” he asked irritably.

Roxy shrugged. He didn’t know. They remained there some little time discussing things but getting no farther, then impatiently Roxy got up. “I guess I’ll go an’ fix that fence. I’m almost through.”

Dillon watched him go. When Roxy had disappeared round the side of the shack, Dillon saw Chrissie come out. She stood looking round for Roxy. Dillon kept his eyes off her face, and eyed her over from her neck down. A sudden tightness gripped him across his chest. He wandered slowly over to her, going slow so as not to startle her. She looked at him without interest.

“I’m goin’ shootin’,” he said when he reached her. “Suppose you come along an’ watch.”

Her face brightened a little. “I want Roxy,” she said. “Where’s Roxy?”

Dillon said as patiently as he could, “Roxy’s fixin’ the old fence somewhere.” He took his gun from his holster and pretended to look at it. The gleaming barrel attracted Chrissie’s attention. She moved forward, peering at it.

“Some gun, ain’t it?” Dillon said, showing it to her.

Chrissie had forgotten Roxy. She stood with her head on one side, her eyes longingly fixed on the gun.

“Suppose we go into the woods… you can pop this if you want to,” Dillon said thickly.

Chrissie’s eyes opened. “Don’t it make an awful bang?” she asked.

“Sure, but it won’t scare a big girl like you…. Come on an’ try it.”

He turned and began to move away. Chrissie hesitated. She didn’t like Dillon, but the lure of the gun was too much for her. She followed him. “Can I carry it?” she asked, pleadingly.

Dillon took the clip out of the gun and jerked the bullet from the chamber. He wasn’t having her fool around and shoot him. He said, “Sure you can… You be careful with it.”

She took the gun, holding it gingerly, her big hands nursing it like a doll. “Ain’t it heavy?” she said. “I bet Roxy’s got a bigger gun than this.”

Dillon kept walking. He said, “Roxy ain’t got a gun. When you can pop this good, we’ll surprise Roxy… that’ll be an idea.”

Her face brightened. “I’d like that,” she said, moving forward at a faster pace. “I’d like to surprise Roxy.”

Dillon looked at her. He walked closer to her, the sleeve of his coat touching her arm. He put out his hand and touched her shoulder. The contact sent a little white-hot flame shooting through him. She shied away, her eyes suddenly nervous.

Dillon smiled. His breath whistled through his nose. “We got to get away from the house. They’ll hear us shootin’ an’ spoil the surprise,” he said.

Her mind switched back to Roxy, and her nerves quietened. Dillon didn’t touch her again. The thick wood opened out into a clearing. Dillon stopped. “I guess this’ll do,” he said.

He sat down on the grass. “Come on down,” he said, the pulse in the side of his head pounding. “I’ll show you how to fix the gun.”

She stood looking at him and Dillon tried to smile at her, but his face only grimaced. The look in his eyes frightened her. She moved back a pace.

Dillon took the clip out of his pocket. He tried to sound casual. “Gimme the gun.”

She leant forward, holding the gun out to him but keeping away. There was a tense frightened look on her face which made Dillon think of some timid animal, not sure of itself. He took the gun, his hand touching hers. Again she took a step back.

Dillon slipped the clip in and jerked the lever, bringing a slug into the chamber. He said, “Sit down…. I wantta show you how it works.”

She didn’t move. Dillon had the impression she was about to run away. He quickly turned from her. “Look over there,” he said, pointing across the clearing to a broken branch of a tree. It hung like a withered arm.

“Watch me pot it.” When he brought the gun up his hand was shaking. The gun-sight nickered up and down, and he cursed softly. “Don’t you get scared with the row,” he mumbled. He knew if he didn’t start shooting and hold her interest she would go. He could feel the panic that was mounting in her.

The gun cracked. In the stillness of the wood the noise was startling. Chrissie sighed. Although the roar of the gun had made her flinch, she wanted to try.

Dillon said, “I guess I ain’t so hot…. I missed it.” He tried again, gripping the gun until his hand sweated. He drew his breath in hard, holding it, then he squeezed the trigger. Again the gun cracked. This time a shower of splinters flew from the branch.

Chrissie clapped her hands. “Oh, it’s good!” she said.

Dillon didn’t say anything. He fired once more. The branch dropped a little. “Now you have a go,” he said, getting slowly to his feet.

Chrissie came up to him, her eyes fixed on the gun. She had forgotten him. Her mind was only for the gun.

He said with difficulty, “You stand here.”

She was quite close to him, her face intent and excited. Dillon turned a little sideways, slipping the clip out. He wasn’t taking any chances. He put the gun in her hand, then he moved a little behind her.

She stood, her eyes fixed on the branch of the tree.

“You hold the gun like this.” He put his hand on her wrist, raising her arm and pointing the gun. Her firm flesh burnt in his hand. He felt a little shudder run through her, but she was so anxious to fire the gun that she let him hold her.

The blood pounding in his ears, he gripped her round her waist with his other hand. He said thickly, “Don’t get scared…. I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”

The gun slipped out of her hand. It was forgotten immediately. The terrifying, tightening pressure of his hands sent her into a blind panic. She stood trembling, her eyes going wild. She began to mumble.

Dillon snarled, “Stop that goddam row!”

He jerked her close to him. Her weak, idiotic face sickened him, but her womanness got him. He turned her slowly stiffening body and crushed her close to him.

Then suddenly, like a released spring, she was gone from him. Her strength completely staggered him. He had had her gripped tightly, then his arms were powerless against the sudden heaving twist of her body. She sprang away, without looking back; she ran mumbling into the woods.

Dillon made no attempt to follow her. He just stood watching her, a feeling of sick frustration creeping over him. When she had vanished and the last sound of her flight faded away, he moved a little uncertainly, as if to pursue her. Then he stopped. Roxy was standing in the clearing, his face white, and his eyes gleaming dangerously.

“I saw you,” Roxy said. “You rotten louse.”

All Dillon’s pent-up fury became centered on Roxy. Here was someone on whom he could wreak his rage. He began sliding across the grass, his eyes gleaming.

Roxy slipped off his coat. He let it fall at his feet. “I warned you once about that,” he said through his teeth. “Now I guess I gotta hammer it home.”

He came at Dillon with startling speed. Dillon didn’t bother to protect himself. He had too much confidence in his own strength. He swung a long raking left at Roxy’s head as he came in, but Roxy shifted a little, not stopping his rush, and Dillon’s fist sailed over his shoulder.

Roxy got in close and hit Dillon in the body with two heavy blows. Dillon went crazy and missed with his wild swings.

Roxy kept stepping in and out. Every time he stepped in his fist thudded into Dillon, and when he stepped out Dillon missed him with a swing.

Dillon tried to get in close and wrestle, but Roxy kept going away, letting him have it as he rushed in. Dillon was getting a fearful lacing, but he didn’t feel much; he was too mad to feel anything. Roxy hit him twice on the jaw as hard as he could. The blows sent Dillon’s head back, but it didn’t stop him.

That scared Roxy, and gave Dillon confidence. He began to get a grip on himself. He swung his usual wild left which Roxy was waiting for, and then he sent in a right which caught Roxy. The blow made Roxy sag at the knees. In went Dillon, taking Roxy’s feeble left in his face, but getting two sledge-hammer punches to Roxy’s ribs.

After that Dillon began to get it his way. He kept hitting and Roxy couldn’t back away fast enough. He caught his heel in a tuft of grass and went over backwards. Dillon dropped on him, his great weight pinning Roxy flat.

Neither of them said anything. Roxy reached up and caught Dillon by the neck. He couldn’t quite get under Dillon’s chin. Roxy began to lose his head. His legs kicked wildly as he tried to shift Dillon. He could see the cold merciless face close to him and his strength began to ebb.

Dillon raised his fist and smashed it down on Roxy’s upturned face. The heel of his hand caught Roxy across his nose. Roxy’s hands fell away limply. Dillon shifted a little and had Roxy by the throat. He flung his weight on his hands. Roxy kicked a little. His eyes opened very wide, and his hands plucked futilely at Dillon’s wrists.

Dillon panted, “You were always a smart guy.”

He stayed there until Roxy died.

The two of them remained so still in the clearing that a small bird dropped from a tree and hopped towards them. With bright, suspicious eyes it watched them, its small head a little oh one side. Then, as Dillon got slowly to his feet, the bird hastily took wing.

Dillon stood over Roxy, one of his hands touching his bruised face. Then he turned and stumbled back to the farmhouse. He cautiously approached, but no one seemed to be about.

Lying near the old barn was a pick and shovel. He carefully took them and turned back to the woods again.

The grave he dug for Roxy was a shallow affair, but it was away from the path and it would be difficult to find. He patted the soil flat and covered it with branches of trees. Then he stood up, beads of sweat on his face.

From behind a big clump of bushes Chrissie watched him with puzzled eyes, and when he had gone away she came out quietly and stood looking down at the grave. She knelt down and scratched at the loose soil with her hands.

* * *

When Dillon had put the shovel and pick back he wandered into the fields. He wanted to think what he had to do. Would it be safe to take the car and blow? Would Chrissie put up a squawk? He guessed maybe she wouldn’t. She might have forgotten what he had tried to do. She was crazy enough to forget anything.

He had got money and he had the car, but could he take the risk and go now, or would it be better to wait? He couldn’t make up his mind. He wandered on, untroubled at the death of Roxy. When guys got in his way, he just trampled on them. He had got to live, he told himself, and the others had got to look after themselves.

Farther down the fields he ran into Ma Chester. She was working on the land, a long hoe turning up the brown soil. She paused, pushing back a grey strand of hair that hung over her eyes.

Dillon said, “Roxy’s skipped.”

She stood, leaning her weight against the shaft of the hoe. “What’s he skipped for?” she asked. Her face showed her impatience to get on with her work.

Dillon shrugged. “I guess he was tired of bein’ in this dump,” he said indifferently.

“You ain’t goin’?” she asked.

“I ain’t goin’ yet,” he returned. “But I’ll go all right.”

Ma Chester wagged her head. “Joe ain’t come,” she said. “It ain’t like Joe to say one thing an’ do another.”

Dillon made to move on. “Maybe he’s busy,” he said. That decided him, he’d go soon. He told himself he might even go that night. He went on, leaving her with her work. He didn’t look back.

It was decided for him not to go that night. On a telegraph pole, several miles from the farm, he saw a notice. It carried his photograph. He stood there, his mouth going dry, reading the notice. They offered five thousand dollars for him dead or alive.

A faint feeling of panic crept into him as he read. Here in the wilderness of hills was a picture, calling attention to himself. Anyone he met might recognize him. Anyone who suspected him could bring the Federal agents in their airplanes or their cars to seize him. He turned hastily and almost ran back to the farm.

He spent the rest of the day in his room, sitting by the window, watching. His nerves got so bad that the slightest noise made him stiffen.

He began to brood about Roxy. He couldn’t bring himself to think that Roxy was dead. It would have seemed quite natural if Roxy had opened the door and come in. There was no one to grumble at, and he suddenly realized that there was no one to play cards with. That was serious. He had the long hours of the night before him with nothing to do, and sleep far off.

Well, Roxy had asked for it, he thought savagely. That guy had certainly narrow ideas. This brought his mind back to Chrissie again. He leant against the wall and thought about her. What went through his mind made him restless. He got to his feet and paced the room. He was nervous of going out in case he ran into her, and she raised a squawk. Maybe the old woman would get mad. He couldn’t afford at the moment to have trouble with her.

He remained shut in his room until after sundown. Then, guessing that Chrissie had gone to bed, he went outside.

Ma Chester was dishing up the evening meal. She shot him a hard look.

“What’s up with Chrissie?” she asked.

Dillon turned a blank face in her direction. “What’s up with her?”

The old woman shrugged. “She’s got a mood on, I guess,” she said a little wearily. “Ain’t said a word since she came back.”

Dillon breathed gently with relief. “Maybe she’s upset that Roxy’s gone away,” he suggested, sitting down at the table.

The old man hobbled from the stove and sat down too. Ma Chester shook her head. She brought over a dish of food from the oven and put it down in front of Dillon.

“I ain’t told her about Roxy,” she said. “She might get excited.”

Dillon helped himself and shoved the dish over to the old man. “She’s gotta know some time,” he said.

“Ain’t Joe come yet?” the old man piped suddenly, not stopping his eating.

Dillon glanced up quickly. He didn’t say anything.

“I reckon Joe’s sick,” Ma Chester said uneasily.

Dillon ate in silence. He felt they would be glad to see him go to his room. After the meal was finished he got up and went outside. He sat on the stoop. The evening was very warm, and fluffy white clouds still drifted in the darkening sky.

He sat there brooding. The thought of his room without Roxy was unbearable. Every now and then Chrissie loomed up in his thoughts, and he hastily shifted, trying to push her image away.

He heard the old man going to bed. The old man had fixed habits. He took himself to the outhouse and then hobbled slowly back. He grunted at Dillon as he passed.

Dillon got to his feet and went back into the shack.

Ma Chester was washing up. He didn’t say anything to her, but shut himself in his room.

The dim flickering light of the candle made the shadows oppressive. He stood looking round the room, his nerves starting a little at every moving shadow. His eye fell on a bottle of Scotch that Roxy kept by him. He went over and took the bottle in his hand.

Dillon didn’t use any hard drink. He had disciplined himself years ago. Now he didn’t hesitate. He splashed the whisky into a tumbler and tossed the fiery stuff down his throat. He stood there coughing and spluttering, trying to get his breath.

The whisky did things to him. He felt a sudden rush of courage, and his jumping nerves relaxed. He filled the glass again and sat down by the open window. Outside, he could hear Ma Chester locking up. He could hear her plodding about the other room, then, listening carefully, he heard her blow out the lamp. The sound of her stumbling movements across the dark room came clearly to him. Then a door shut.

He got up and took his candle from the mantelshelf and put it on the table. Then, for something to do, he checked his money. He put the pile of notes in front of him and counted them carefully. He made them into two separate rolls and put them in his pocket. Then he reached forward and blew the candle out. The moonlight made the room dim, and he went back to the window again and sat down.

His hand closed round the tumbler and he took a long pull at the Scotch. He held the liquor in his mouth for a second before swallowing it. His head began to feel a little light.

Chrissie came out of the dark shadows and peered at him. Chrissie called to him from the shadowy path outside. Chrissie sat at his elbow stroking his sleeve. Chrissie was everywhere in the room.

Still he sat there, letting the hours crawl past, the small glowing ember of horror of what he wanted to do slowly dying in his mind.

Then he got up. He leant down and took off his shoes. The hot darkness of the room lay heavily on him. He took a slow step forward and then another. His progress was silent. Opening the door, he stepped into the outer room. A faint gleam came from the stove, and the coal hissed a little. He moved on, trying each board carefully with his stockinged foot before putting his full weight on it.

His hands touched the rough wood of Chrissie’s door. He turned the handle and went in.

He could see nothing. It was as if he were blind. He closed the door gently behind him, his fingers easing the door so that it shut without a sound. Then he put out his hand and moved forward again, groping for the foot of the bed. The whisky fumes were tight round his brain, and he felt his legs lurch as he came forward. It seemed to him that he must have moved right across the room, and it startled him when his hand touched the cold rail of the bed.

He waited there listening. Faintly he could hear Chrissie breathing. Very faintly, as if she were a long way away from him.

He moved on, pressing his leg against the side of the bed to guide him. His hand touched the rail of the head of the bed. He crouched a little, his hands moving down, feeling very gently for Chrissie’s throat. Hands that were ready to nip any cry that she might make.

His hands touched something. Something cold came to his touch. Something he didn’t like. He drew his hands away. A little shiver ran through him because the thing he had touched was like nothing he knew. It scared him.

Angry with himself, he put his hand out again. His fingers encountered a face. He knew he was touching a face. He could feel the nose, and the eyebrows were rough to his touch. But the face was cold and leathery, not the warm soft face he expected.

With a catch in his breath, he snatched his hand away, and with trembling fingers he fumbled for a match. The sweat ran down his, face. He struck the match, which flared up with a little hiss.

He saw the outline of a body lying under the soiled sheet and, bending forward, he looked into the dead face of Roxy.

In the faint flickering light he could see the mud in Roxy’s hair and nostrils. The light reflected in the glassy protruding eyes; across one of them a fly was moving with slow intentness.

Dillon’s cry woke Chrissie, who had been sleeping in a corner away from the bed. She started up, terrified at the sight of Dillon standing there; and as she saw him, the match went out. Roxy’s gun, that she had cuddled to her breast, went off in her twitching hand, and the bullet smashed into Dillon, sending him to the floor.

He had only a few seconds of pain before life went away from him.