Gurney went a little yellow. He didn't have to think much. “Sure,” he said, “I get it. Sure, you go ahead. You're the boss.”
Dillon raked him with his cold eyes. “There was one bright boy who talked like that an' changed his mind. He walked down a street one night with his guts hanging out down to his knees. Someone gutted him with a knife. Hell! You ought to have seen that guy. He tried to stuff his guts back, but just touching them with his hands made him so sick he let 'em hang in the end.”
Gurney said, “You ain't goin' to have any trouble with me.” He said it in a weak voice, but he meant it.
They drove on.
A clock somewhere struck the half-hour after ten when they pulled up outside Franks' house. It wasn't much to look at from the front, but then Franks was only a smalltime fighter, just making his way. They walked up the short path and stood outside the screen door. Gurney pulled at the bell, hearing it jangle somewhere at the back. Behind a yellow blind a light gleamed. Someone was up all right.
Through the screen door they could see a woman coming. Dillon nodded to Gurney and stepped back a little.
The door opened outwards, and the woman stood on the step looking at them with a little puzzled frown. She was young and plain. Her black hair was done up in a coil, a few ends straggling untidily. She had a good figure, her breasts riding high, and large hips. When she spoke, her voice was soft and carried a southern accent. “What is it, please?” she said.
“Len in?” Gurney said.
The woman nodded. “Sure he's in,” she said. “Who shall I say?”
Gurney took a step forward, pushing the woman back. Followed by Dillon, he walked into the house. The woman retreated, her face suddenly frightened. “What is it?” she asked breathlessly. “You can't come busting in like this.”
Gurney walked into the sitting-room. Franks was sitting in an easy chair holding a child awkwardly, a bottle of milk suspended in his hand. Franks was a big, smoothfaced guy, young and free from the usual mashed features of a fighter.
The woman brushed past Gurney and ran over to Franks. She was badly scared. Franks pushed the baby into her arms, getting to his feet quickly. He was startled. His eyes showed it; they were a little wide, but he wasn't losing his head. If there was going to be trouble, his confidence in his great flat muscles was unshakable.
“You can't come in here like this,” he said to Gurney. “I see guys like you at the gym.”
Gurney grinned uneasily. He was a little nervous of Franks. “We're in, buddy,” he said. “Get the dame outta here, we want to talk to you.”
Franks said, “Beth, take the kid.”
She went out without a word. She was only gone a second or so. She came back alone, and stood just behind Franks. Her eyes were big and scared. Franks said to her patiently, “Keep out of this, honey.”
She didn't say anything, but she didn't move. Dillon's thin lips set in a sneer.
Franks was calming down. He said, “You sure startled me,” there was a foolish little smile on his big, rubbery lips, “bustin' in like that. You're crazy I might've pushed you boys around.”
Gurney said, “Don't talk big, Franks, you're in a spot.”
Franks' eyes opened. He knotted his muscles. Gurney could see them swelling under his coat. “Not from you I ain't,” he said. “What is it?”
Gurney pulled a chair round and sat down. He was careful to put the table between them. Dillon leant against the door. Beth watched him the whole time. She was dead scared of Dillon.
“We're tippin' you off,” Gurney said evenly, “Sankey's gotta win this brawl.”
“Yeah?” Franks' breath whistled through his nose. “He'll win okay if he ain't flattened before the last round.”
“You don't get it,” Gurney said patiently; “you're throwin' the fight.”
Franks stood very still. “Like hell I don't get it,” he said. “Who said?”
Dillon said quietly from the door, “I said so.”
Franks turned his head; he looked at Dillon slowly up and down. “Who're you?” he said. “You're nuts. You two'd better get outta here before I toss you out.”
There was a pause, then Dillon said, “You're goin' to run into a lotta grief if you don't take a dive.”
Franks went a little pale. “Okay, you two rats; here it comes.” He jerked aside the table. Gurney scrambled to his feet, his face white. Beth gave a sudden short scream as the big Colt sprang into Dillon's hand. Franks saw it. It stopped him just like he had banged his face against a brick wall. “Hey!” he said.
“That's it,” Dillon said viciously. “Don't start anything; you'll have a second navel if you do.”
Beth put her hand on Franks' arm. “Don't let him shoot you, Harry!... Don't let him shoot you!”
Dillon crouched a little by the door. His face was drawn, his lips just off his teeth. “I'll give it to you, sucker,” he said; “just one move outta you an' you get it.”
Franks was scared of the gun. He'd never run into a gunman before. It unsettled him. “Are you bugs?” he said, keeping his voice steady. “You can't do this.”
“Forget it,” Dillon said savagely; “you listen. You're takin' orders, an' you're likin' 'em. You're throwin' that fight, see? Sankey's gotta win in about the fifth. You can fix it how you like, but he's gotta win We got too much dough on that boy to fool around makin' mistakes.”
Beth began to cry. She made a little shuddering, jarring sound that got on Gurney's nerves.
Dillon went on talking. “When you get in there, you put up a good show, but no heavy work; just rough around, see? Then let Sankey haul off an' sock you. Just one, make it look a lucky punch. Right, you go down, an' you stay down. Now listen, you goddam punk, you double-cross me' an see what you get. I'll get this dame first, an' I'll get the little 'un as well. Then I lay for you. This ain't a bluff—you see.”
For a moment Gurney thought Franks was going to rush Dillon, and he braced himself. Franks could see that he'd get nowhere doing that. Dillon could have fired three or four times before he caught up with him. So he just stood there, his head lowered, his eyes gleaming, and his great hands working at his sides. He said at last, “Sankey'll win okay.” His voice came out of his throat in a strangled croak. Beth slipped to her knees, holding his hand. They stood like that for a long time, with Dillon staring at them. Then Dillon jerked his head at Gurney, and together they backed out into the night.
* * * *
Gurney sat in the car, smoking. He had left Dillon at Abe's store and had driven out of town. The night was still and very close. Big black clouds, looking like lumps of coal, hung sluggishly in the sky. The moon rode low, just skirting the black tree-tops.
His mind excited, Gurney sat smoking hard. The red tip of his cigarette glowed in the smothering darkness of the car. His brain was crawling with thoughts. It was the gun that excited him. He could see Franks' face now. He could see how that gun stopped his rush, turned him from toughness to dough. Any guy could give orders with a rod in his hand. It was the rod that did it. Gurney shifted in his seat. Dillon was a hard guy, but without a gun Franks would have squashed him—made a smear of him on the wall. That showed you how powerful a gun was.
A big, silent car flashed past. Gurney saw the dame sitting in front with a well-dressed guy, looking as if he owned the earth. The dame was glittering in a white dress, that sparkled. She looked a honey all right.
With a gun, Gurney thought, I'd have the last word with that lousy punk. A gun would level things up mighty quick. Thinking about the dame, his mind went on to Myra. If there was ever a broad asking for it, there she was. What the hell was he waiting for, anyway? He leant forward and turned the switch.
It did not take him long to run out to Butch's place. He stopped the jaloopy a few hundred yards from the shack under a clump of trees, and turned off the lights. It was off the road, and it would be safe there. He got out, and
