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.
