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
“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'
