that?”
Strawn looked him over, his face hardening. “Where you from?” he snapped.
Dillon shot a look at Myra. Strawn swung his fist. He smacked Dillon on the jaw. Dillon was off balance—he went over with a thud.
Roxy yelled, “Don't start anything!” His eyes were popping.
Dillon looked up at Strawn, his eyes black with hate. He came slowly to his feet, rubbing his jaw with his hand. Beyond the look in his eyes he remained impassive.
Strawn said, “Listen, you melon-headed monkey, when I ask you somethin' you answer quick Where are you from an' what's your name?”
The other dick looked bored, but he had got a gun in his hand.
Dillon said between his teeth, “I'm from Plattsville. Name's Gurney... Nick Gurney.”
Myra stood very still. She put her hand to her mouth.
“Just a big farmer's hick, huh?” Strawn sneered. “Well, listen, hayseed, you better keep outta this town. We don't like punks like you. You better go right back to Plattsville an' stay there. Do you get it?”
Dillon just stood there hating him with his eyes. Strawn clenched his fists. “Answer me, will you? By heck! You get snotty with me, you goddam bohunk, an' I'll tear your guts out an' beat you to death with 'em!”
Dillon said, “I get you.”
Strawn looked Myra over. “Well, sister, an' who're you?” he asked, eyeing her thoughtfully.
“I'm his wife,” Myra said quietly. She put a lot of personality into her look.
Strawn shook his head. “This ain't no place for a kid like you to be in. You better get out an' go home. You'll lose a lotta time goin' round with a bum like this.” He jerked his head at Dillon. “Forget him, an', go home to your Ma.”
Myra lowered her eyes. She thought, “The big dumb-mouthed bastard.
Strawn shrugged. “Okay, watch yourselves, you three.” He stepped outside the door and pulled it shut. He said in a low voice to the other dick, “We'll watch that Gurney, he's a bad guy.”
Roxy held his hand up for silence. They sat there staring at the door, listening. It was only when they heard them go downstairs that they relaxed.
Dillon said evenly, “Some day I'll fix that heel. By God! He's got it comin' to him!”
* * *
Verotti's was a dive off Twenty-second Street, near the Union Station. Fanquist had a table in the corner. She was drinking a rye highball.
When Roxy came in with Dillon and Myra she waved excitedly to them. Roxy came up to the table and waved his hand. “This is Myra and Dillon,” he said. “They've got a room across the way.”
Fanquist had eyes only for Dillon. “What a hot-looking man!” she said. “Am I pleased to meet you, or am I?”
Myra's face was cold. She sat down next to Fanquist, trapping her against the wall. Dillon sat opposite, with Roxy at his side.
Myra said, “It's grand to run into a guy like Roxy. He's been a real pal.”
Fanquist shot her a quick look. “Say,” she said, swiveling round so that she faced Myra, “what are you doin' away from your Ma? Hey, hot man, you're baby-snatching. That ain't right.”
Myra's eyes glinted. “Don't embarrass him,” she cut in quickly. “He likes 'em young. This guy ain't got time for broads who've got the grass worn off... you ask him.”
Fanquist leant against the wall. “Smart kid, huh?” she said, two bright-red spots on her cheeks. “Grass worn off, huh? That's a nice crack from a kid.”
Myra turned her head. “Don't we do anythin' around here but talk?”
A waiter shuffled up and they ordered drinks. Roxy sat with his hat over his eyes, grinning to himself. Nothing pleased him more than to listen-in to two women clawing each other.
Fanquist leant over the table towards Dillon. “I bet you know some hot spots in this town,” she said.
From where he sat Dillon could look down the neck of her dress. He lifted his eyes and gave his hard stare. Fanquist suddenly felt a little cold. She sat back hurriedly.
Dillon said, “We thought maybe we might see some of em. We've just blown in.”
Roxy said, “That guy over there's Hurst.”
They looked across at a table in the middle of the room. A big blond man was drinking by himself. He wore his neat dark suit well. There was an air of money and importance about him.
Dillon said, “Who's Hurst?”
Fanquist laughed. “You do say things!” she said. “That guy's tops just now. He runs most of the big rackets round here.”
“That so?” Dillon looked Hurst over again. “A big shot, huh?”
Roxy nodded. “Yeah, he's a big shot all right.”
Myra said, “Maybe you know him?”
Roxy looked blank. “Hey!” he said. “What you think? I said this guy was a big shot. He don't mix with guys like you an' me.”
Fanquist said in her slow drawl, “Maybe the kid fancies her chance.”
Myra said, “Why not? He's just a guy, ain't he?”
Fanquist sneered. “Hurst don't play with kids,” she said. “When that guy takes a woman he takes a woman.”
Myra pushed back her chair. “I'll show you how I take a guy like that,” she said.
Roxy said quickly, “Don't you start anythin' like that. Hurst's a tough bird. He don't like stunts like that.”
Myra paused. “I'm interested in that guy,” she said.
“You're interested because he's got somewhere. But the trouble with those guys is they don't stay that way long.”
“No?”
“No. Hurst won't stay much longer. He's been in the racket too long.”
Myra took a sip from her glass. Her eyes were cloudy. “He looks big enough to take care of himself,” she said.
Roxy shook his head. “You wait an' see. Little Ernie's gunnin' for him. An' Little Ernie'll get him all right.”
Myra moved restlessly. “Maybe he'll get Little Ernie first,” she suggested.
“You ain't got the lowdown to this burg.” Roxy spun his glass between his finger and thumb. “Hurst runs the Automatic racket. He's been makin' a pile of dough for some time. Little Ernie runs the Cat shops. He's in a big way too. That's the set-up. For years these guys ain't overlapped. They've made their pile outta their rackets an' kept to their side of the town. These guys are never contented, see? Maybe they pick up a couple of million bucks a year. Good money? Not to these guys. They want more. They've got big overheads. They've got a long list of retainers to pay off. So they always want more.”
Myra said softly, “A couple of million bucks?”
Roxy nodded. “Sure, that ain't so much to guys like that,” he said. “Hurst is startin' somethin'. He's expandin'. He's pushin' into Little Ernie's territory. That wop won't stand for that. Hurst says it's okay. Automatics can't hurt Little Ernie's Cat «hops. So he pushes ahead.” Roxy shrugged. “One day, mighty soon, Hurst's goin' to get a handful of slugs tossed into his guts. Then his million bucks ain't goin' to mean a thing.”
Myra lit a cigarette. “Maybe he'll get the wop first,” she said.
“Yeah, maybe he will.”
Fanquist said, “So you ain't taking Hurst after all?”
Myra shook her head. “I'll take him a little later on,” she said.
Fanquist got up. “I guess we'd better get goin',” she said to Roxy. “I gotta job of work to do.”
