open, but no air came to him. He was feeling hot and uneasy, lying there. He knew he couldn't sleep. His mind dwelt on Dillon. He thought of the hundred dollars, and he sweated with fury. When Dillon had gone into his room, Myra had disappeared into hers. She hadn't said a word to Gurney.
Sitting up impatiently, Gurney glanced at the battered clock on the mantelshelf. It was just after one. He sat up and swung his legs to the ground. His mind, restless and frustrated, made his body uneasy. He wanted Myra. He wanted her so badly that it made him feel weak. There she was just across the room, behind that door. He had only to go in there and take her. He knew he could force her. Maybe she would fight, but he'd have her in the end. Then he lay back on his elbow, savagely gnawing at his lip. He knew he hadn't the nerve to go in there and start anything. She was too well guarded by herself. She was too strong for him.
He sat up again, his eyes wide. Her door was opening quietly. He felt his heart hammering against his ribs, and he began to breathe unsteadily. He could see the flicker of the candle behind her, making her shadow dance before her. She raised her hand and beckoned him. He slid across the room quickly, without a sound. She took his arm and pulled him into the room and shut the door.
He was surprised and disappointed to see that she was still dressed. Her white face, and her eyes, hard and bright like glass, frightened him. He put his back to the door and stared at her.
“What is it?” he said, keeping his voice down.
“Don't you know?” she said. “We ain't taking any more from that lousy heel. He's gotta go.”
Gurney stared at her, his mouth going dry. “But how?” he whispered.
“You gotta get into that room an' knock him off,” she said.
Gurney recoiled. “You're nuts,” he said. “That guy's got three guns in there.”
Her face was close to his. “He's got a lot of dough in there as well. We gotta do it, Nick, can't you see? We won't get anywhere unless we do.”
Gurney walked round her and sat on the bed. “I tell you it can't be done,” he said, slamming his fist down on his knee. “What you thinking about? I tell you that guy's got three rods, and he'll just fall over himself to put some slugs into both of us.”
Myra came over to him and sat close. She put her arms round his neck. He could feel the warmth of her body pressing against him. He could feel the curve of her breast against his arm. He turned, dragging her over his knees, gripping her tight, his blood singing in his ears. She let him kiss her, then she broke away from him and stood up.
He sat there, shaken with desire for her. He said fiercely, “I gotta have you, Myra.” He reached out for her. “I can't wait... damn you... I gotta have you.”
Myra's voice came like a cold douche. “Get a grip on yourself, Nick... Dillon first... you'll never have me if you don't get that bastard... and you've got to get him now.”
Gurney got to his feet. He leant forward. “Do you mean it?” he said, his voice harsh.
She stood there looking at him. “I mean it all right,” she said.
“What've I gotta do?” He relied on her.
Myra moved round the room, thinking. Gurney could only watch her. His brain refused to work. He had only eyes for her, raking her from head to foot.
She said at last, “We mustn't slip up on this, Nick.”
Gurney didn't say anything.
“Give him a chance, an' he'll finish both of us.” She moved to the door. “Wait, I'll be right back.”
Gurney wiped his sweating palms on the sheet.
She came back into the room again. He caught the flash of steel. “What've you got there?” he said, his voice just a croak. She showed him. The short blade of the knife flashed in the candlelight. He looked at her, his eyes popping. He started to say something, but stopped.
She sat down on the bed beside him. “Listen,” she said, “we'll do it this way. When we're set, I'm goin' to start yellin'. I'm goin' to bring the roof down. He'll come in quick enough to see what's wrong. I'll give him the line that you attacked me, an' you've gotta get tough. When he's talkin' to you, I'll come up behind him an' stick him with this. As soon as the knife's in, you slam him one from the front. Watch his gun—he'll bring that out all right. He might start shootin' unless I kill him on his feet.”
Sweat ran down Gurney's face. “By God!” he said. “I don't like this.”
Myra jerked impatiently. “It's goin' to work—you see.”
“A knife ain't goin' to stop this bastard,” Gurney said; “don't you think it will.”
Myra hesitated. She guessed maybe Gurney was right about that. Then she said, “We'll give it him like he gave it to Butch.” She slipped into the outer room and came back almost immediately. She gave Gurney a small tin of pepper. Gurney looked at the tin and twisted his mouth into a grin.
“Yeah,” he said, and stood up.
“Wait for a break,” Myra warned him, “then toss the lot in his face. You make a mess of that, an' you an' me won't last long.”
Gurney nodded his head. His hands were shaking, but he was cooling down.
Myra pulled off her dress. She ran her hands through her hair, mussing it Gurney pulled her to him. He could smell her, the acid odour of sweat and the woman of her. She pulled his head down to her mouth, forcing herself against him. They stood like that for several moments, straining to each other. Then Myra broke away from him, and stumbled over to the bed. Her face was dazed with the desire for him.
Gurney said between his teeth, “Start squawkin'.” He wanted to get this over.
Myra began to scream—high-pitched screams that jarred Gurney's nerves. She stopped for a moment, then, when they heard the bolt slide back with a crash in Dillon's room, she started again.
Gurney shouted, “Shut up!”
“Get out... get out!” she screamed at him.
Dillon said from the door, “What the hell's goin' on?”
Gurney jerked his head. “She's gone nuts!”
Dillon advanced into the room. His face was cold and suspicious. Myra saw the gun in his hand. She sat up in the bed, her eyes wild. “Get him out of here,” she screamed to Dillon, “I won't have him here.”
Dillon said with a little snarl, “Pipe down... what the hell do you think this is?” He turned his head and looked at Gurney. “You better get out of this. If you gotta lay this bitch, why the hell didn't you knock her cold first? Suppose some car passed an' came up to see what was wrong? You two screwy or somethin'?”
Myra got off the bed. She kept the knife behind her back. She said in a frightened voice, “You must help me. Please keep this devil out of my room. I know you ain't got much use for me, but I guess you ain't lettin' him get away with this?”
Dillon turned his head to look at her, and Gurney tossed the pepper in his face. Myra threw herself flat. Dillon gave a strangled scream and the gun exploded at his side. Gurney made a dive for the door. He wanted to get the Thompson. He blundered into Dillon's room. It was dark in there, lit only by a flickering candle. He couldn't see the Thompson anywhere. He swore as he rushed round the room, feverishly turning things over, pulling out drawers, and groping in dark corners. Every moment he expected to feel the cold barrel of the gun, and his terror grew as his questing hands found nothing.
There was a fearful commotion of Dillon's screams and the gun going off outside. Gurney, sobbing with panic, ran back to the door again. He almost ran into Dillon, who was stumbling across the outer room, one hand over his eyes, the other holding the gun waist-high. Gurney ducked back, hastily squeezing himself behind the door. Dillon fired once. The bullet sent a spurt of splinters from the wall. He came into the room and stood listening.
Gurney held his breath. He was scared all right. Dillon groped his way across to the bed. Gurney let him go past, then he leapt forward, driving his knees into Dillon's back. The two went down with a crash. Gurney screamed for Myra to come.
The gun shot out of Dillon's hand and slid under the bed. Gurney could feel the heat from Dillon's body. They were both sweating with fear.
Arching his back, Dillon shot Gurney over his head, and then grabbed him round the body. He hit Gurney twice
