They hastened their lagging steps. Roxy said, “We'll go in the back, quiet.”
They left the road and worked their way to the back of the building. It was so dark Myra kept stumbling, but the two men didn't offer to help her. She gritted her teeth furiously. She was on her own against these two, but she wasn't scared. She had plenty of confidence in herself.
Roxy rapped on the door with his knuckles. Alter a short wait, the door opened A tall, thin form of a man peered at them.
“That you, Joe?” Roxy said. “Gee! Joe, it's nice to see you. These are a couple of friends of mine.... Can we come in?”
The man stood aside Sure,” he said, without enthusiasm, “come on in.”
They entered a small, poorly furnished room, lit by an oil lamp. Roxy said, “This is Joe Chester, the guy I told you about.
Joe had a thin skull-like face, and his big yellow teeth stuck out, giving him a foxy look. He glanced at the three furtively, rubbing his hands on the seat of his trousers. “I guess I'm glad to know you,” he said.
Dillon grunted. He glanced at Roxy and jerked his head.
Roxy said, “Listen, Joe. We wantta lie up here for a little while. Can you fix it? You know how it is.”
Joe said, “I'll get a drink I guess we can talk better with a drink.”
He went out of the room.
Dillon said, “I don't like that guy.”
Roxy shrugged. “He's okay. He'll fix us, you see.”
Joe came back with a bottle and glasses. He put them on the table. The others sat down Myra sat away from them by the window. She glanced out into the dark night from time to time.
When the drinks were fixed, Joe said, “How long?”
“Maybe a couple of weeks, not more,” Roxy said.
“It'll cost you a grand a week ” Joe said, sniffing at his whisky.
Dillon moved jerkily, but Roxy put out his hand. “Wait a minute,” he said.
Dillon shook his hand off. “This guy ain't goin' to start skinning me,” he snarled. “A grand? You're crazy!”
An oily smile went over Joe's face. “It came over the radio ten minutes ago,” he said softly. “You three are wanted by the Department of Justice for pinching a car, and the State police are after you for the murder of Hurst.”
There was dead silence in the room. Myra ran her fingers through her hair. She shot a look of hatred at Dillon, but she said nothing. He started it and it was up to him to see it through.
Dillon stood up. “So what?” he said.
Joe spread his dirty hands on the table. He nodded his head. “You three are hot. You're too damned hot. I know Roxy.... I'm a friend of his, so I take risks, but I guess I gotta get well paid for takin' 'em.”
Dillon wandered over to Joe. “You'll get well paid, but you ain't gettin' a grand a week. You'll take five hundred bucks an' like it, get it?”
Joe shook his head. “That ain't any use to me, mister...” he began.
Dillon reached out and gripped Joe's shirt. “Listen, punk,” he snarled. “I'm booked to sit on the end of a stream of hot juice—one more guy to get knocked off don't help me anyway, see?”
Joe turned a dirty white. “You're the boss, mister,” he said hoarsely. “My ma'll look after you. We gotta farm in the hills. Roxy knows it. They won't find you there.”
Dillon took his hand away and, glanced at Roxy, who nodded at him. “Sure,” Roxy said, “it's a good place.”
“We want another car,” Dillon said.
Joe said, “I'll sell you mine. It's old, but, by heck, it goes all right!”
Dillon turned his back so that Joe couldn't see the size of his roll. He pulled off some bills and put the rest in his pocket.
“I'll give you twelve hundred bucks. That's for the car an' two weeks' rent.”
Joe took the money and counted it carefully. He couldn't keep the pleasure off his face. He just gloated at the sight of so much dough.
Dillon walked over to him. His face was hard. “Listen, bozo,” he said. “Get the car an' get some drink on board. I want a pile of grub too. That comes outta the dough I've just slipped you.”
Joe looked at him and cringed a little. “Sure,” he said; “I'm glad to help you folks.”
When he had gone out, Dillon said to Roxy, “You think you're smart? Pushin' me on to a chiseler like that.”
Roxy didn't say anything. He just shrugged. They stood there waiting.
Joe came back. “The car's ready,” he said. “You've got plenty of gas. I've put in the things you want.”
Dillon said, “Can you find this dump, Roxy?”
“Sure, I know where it is.”
“Well, come on for God's sake. We ain't got all night to hang about.”
Joe saw them to the door. “I'll be over in a few days. I'll let you know how things go.”
Dillon grunted and got in the back of the car with Myra. Roxy took the wheel. The car shot off into the night.
Roxy kept the pedal down. The car tore down the rough road, jolting them violently.
“This place far?” Dillon shouted to him.
Roxy shook his head; then, remembering that Dillon couldn't see him, shouted, “No. It'll take us about a couple of hours.”
They drove on in silence after that. The car jolted on and on; its beams lighting the rough road, making the pot-holes look like craters.
Myra raised her head suddenly. She put her hand on Dillon's arm. He had been cat-napping and jerked up. “What the hell?” he growled.
“Listen,” she said.
He thought he could hear something above the roar of the old engine, but he wasn't sure. He jerked round and looked through the rear window. In the distance he saw a single beam of light, jerking behind them.
He listened again and faintly he heard the wail of a siren. Instantly his mind came alive.
“There's a cop behind us,” he snapped to Roxy.
Roxy was so startled that he nearly ran off the road. The flickering light was coming up fast.
“Shove her along,” Dillon snarled. “He's comin' up like hell.”
Roxy pressed the pedal down hard, and the car drew away a little. That seemed to get the cop. They could hear the roar of his engine as he forced his machine forward. The siren screamed in their ears.
Dillon jerked out his gun and smashed the rear window.
“Not yet... don't shoot yet!” Myra cried.
Dillon took no notice. He fired twice at the light, but the jolting of the car spoilt his aim. The cop swerved a little, but kept on. Dillon flung the gun down on the seat and groped for the Thompson. “I'll settle this punk,” he said viciously, jabbing the nose of the Thompson through the broken window.
Just as he was squeezing the trigger the cop started firing. He fired four times, and each time the bullet smacked into the back of the car.
Dillon dug the butt of the gun into his shoulder and fired back, sweeping the gun in a half-circle. He kept the barrel down. The light of the pursuing machine went out.
“I got him!” he shouted to Roxy. “Get on... he's finished.”
