They looked at Dillon hard, but the two kept on. Myra gave them just a casual glance. Dillon didn't even look at them, but he saw them all right. On the fourth floor no one was about.
A little breathless from the climb, Dillon said, “I guess those two guys are waiting for him down there.”
“What are we goin' to do? Go back an' give it to 'em?”
Dillon shook his head. “Maybe we can tip Hurst off first,” he said. “I'll go up the next set of stairs an' you ring up Hurst. If they come up I'll start somethin'. Mind you drop flat.”
With her heart jumping a little, Myra watched him disappear round the bend of the staircase, then she walked Over to the apartment door and rang the bell. Faintly she could hear the bell ringing. No one came.
She waited there impatiently and rang again. A faint sound behind her made her look round quickly. The two men had come up and were standing at the head of the stairs watching her. She kept her thumb on the bell and looked at them coolly.
One of them, a dark Jew, took two steps forward. “Get away from that door, sister,” he said.
She said, “I don't know what you mean.” Her thumb dug the bell flat.
The Jew came over to her quickly and knocked her hand away. “If you squawk I'll kick your mug in,” he said softly.
Myra backed away a little until her shoulder touched the wall. She stood looking at the Jew, not saying anything.
The other guy moved a little round the bend of the staircase, sliding the gun from his holster.
Dillon, watching them through the banisters, couldn't start anything because of Myra.
The Jew said, “Who are you?”
The other guy broke in, “Where's the punk who came in with you?”
That startled the Jew, who had forgotten about Dillon. He jerked out a gun quickly.
Myra screamed, “Give it to them!” and flung herself flat.
Dillon squeezed on the trigger and the Thompson roared. He held the muzzle high. The stream of lead caught the two like a whip-lash across their faces. Dillon gave them just a short burst, but it was enough.
The Jew stood for a moment, his hands groping out before him. The front of his face had disappeared, leaving just a horrible spongy mess on his shoulders. Myra caught her breath and turned her head quickly.
The Jew fell near her. His body twitched and jerked. The other guy curled up in a corner, the top of his head blown off.
Dillon came down the stairs like a cat. He stood looking at the two incuriously. “You all right?” he called to Myra. She got to her feet, keeping her eyes away from the two. Her face was pale, but her eyes glittered with suppressed rage.
“I rang an' rang,” she said, keeping her voice low. “An' that yellow rat inside didn't come. Those two might have killed me but for you.”
Dillon straightened a little. He went over and beat on the door with the butt of the Thompson. He made a lot of noise. “Open up!” he shouted. “The war's over.”
The door opened an inch or two, and the face of a terrified woman peered at him. She was dressed in an orange wrap, which she clutched tightly to her. Dillon could see her figure sharply outlined beneath the silk. Behind her, his face twitching with terror, stood Hurst. He was holding a heavy gun in his hand. His hair was standing stiffly and his complexion was a dirty muddy colour.
Dillon said, “We've just knocked off these two killers.” He jerked his head to the two bodies. “They're Little Ernie's mob.”
“Who are you?” the woman stammered.
“The name's Dillon—”
“Let him in for God's sake!” Hurst snarled. “We'll have the cops up here in a minute.”
The woman said, “Come in.”
Dillon walked into the apartment, followed by Myra, and the woman hastily closed the door.
Hurst covered Dillon with his gun. “Put that Thompson on the floor,” he said.
Dillon stared at him, shrugged, and put the gun down. He walked a little way past Hurst.
“Come on,” Hurst snapped. “What the hell's going on?”
Dillon said, “Little Ernie's gunnin' for you. He sent those two punks up here. I heard about it and came down quick. That's all.”
Hurst hesitated, then he said, “Wait.” He went over to the telephone and dialled. He stood there, the gun still menacing, waiting for his line to connect. They heard the faint “plop” as someone answered the ring at the other end. Hurst said, “McGovern? Listen, there's been a fight up here an' two of Ernie's boys have run into a lot of grief. Send a wagon an' pick 'em up. This has got to be covered up, see? Just come up quick and get these birds out of here. I'll be along an' do some talking later. I don't want your men asking questions here, do you get all that?” He listened for a moment and then hung up.
He put the gun on the table and lit a cigarette. Myra could see his hand was still shaking. He looked at the woman and jerked his head. “Get dressed quick,” he said. “Maybe the newshounds'll start buzzin'.”
The woman went into the other room and shut the door. Hurst pushed his fingers through his hair and looked at Dillon.
“What's the idea of butting in on my fight?”
Dillon showed his teeth in a mirthless smile. “I guess you ain't so good at lookin' after yourself. Anyway I figgered it's time you an' I got together.”
“You're the guy who's been stickin' up all those service stations, aren't you?” Hurst was watching him closely.
Dillon nodded his head. “Sure,” he said. “I'm figgering to get in with a mob like yours and doin' somethin' in a big way.”
Hurst stared at his fingernails, thinking. He looked up at last. “I guess we might talk this over some time,” he said. “Suppose you look me up tomorrow?”
Dillon said, “Sure, I'll do that.”
Hurst jerked his head to the other door. “I gotta get this girl out of here. I ain't got time to talk to you now. You've done a swell job... don't think I ain't mighty obliged.”
Dillon moved over to the front door. “I'll see you tomorrow,” he said. Myra followed him out.
Coming up the stairs with a rush were two cops. They waved their guns at Dillon. Hurst heard them and came out quickly.
“Let these two through here,” he said. “Those are the stiffs you gotta look after.” He pointed to the two bodies lying on the floor.
The cops stared at Dillon and Myra as they walked past them. Their looks were curious. They hadn't seen these two before.
Dillon kept the Thompson under his coat and walked quickly. He was glad to get into the street. In the car, on the way back, he said, “I guess we're movin' in the right direction. This Hurst bird will get us just where we wantta get... you see.”
Leaving the car in the basement garage, they groped their way upstairs to their apartment. Dillon went first. Halfway up, her heart beating hard, Myra made a deliberate false step. She stumbled up against Dillon.
He cursed as her weight struck him, and to save himself he twisted and caught at her. She felt his hard hands gripping her waist. The feel of his hands for the first time made her go limp. They stood in the dark like that, his
