The Dead Stay Dumb

Dillon stripped some notes off the roll and slung them on the table. Miss Benbow picked up the money and counted it carefully. Then she jerked her head. “I’ll take you up,” she said.

They followed her up a narrow stairway to a big landing that could have been a lot cleaner. There were four doors leading on to the landing. She plodded over to the farthest one and unlocked it.

“How’s this?” she said.

The room was big. Two beds divided by a small table faced the window. The carpet was thick, and the chairs overstuffed. It looked good to Myra after Butch’s shack.

“This’ll do fine,” she said.

Miss Benbow shot her a contemptuous look. Her eyes rolled inquiringly at Dillon.

“Yeah,” Dillon said, dumping the suitcases down. “What about some chuck? My belly’s flappin’.”

Miss Benbow put another pound of grease in her smile. She could well afford to feed these two. “I’ll send somethin’ up right away,” she said, “you bet.”

When she had pulled the door to after her Myra shot a look at Dillon. “You’re playin’ a fancy hand, ain’t you?” she said. “Fifty bucks a day! That’s some dough.”

“Pipe down,” Dillon said coldly. He gave her a hard look. “Can’t you use your head? This joint means a lot to me. I can meet the big shots here…. I gotta hunch I can pull somethin’ big… ain’t that worth payin’ for?”

He tossed his fedora on a hook on the door and walked over to Myra. They looked at each other.

“I’ve been out of this game too long,” he said, speaking very slowly, choosing his words. “I gotta get an in before I get goin’.”

Myra put her hand on his sleeve. “You’re goin’ to be the biggest shot of them all.” There was a soft yielding tone in her voice.

Dillon curled his lip. “Yeah?” he said. “Who says?”

Her face, no longer the face of an adult child, was hard with determination to the point of ruthlessness. “I say so. You’re goin’ to show all these little mobsters just where they get off. You’re gonna think an’ act big. No one must get in your way… you understand that? No one must get in your way.” She spoke slowly, emphasizing every word.

Dillon reached out and gripped her arms. His steel-like fingers bit into her muscles and she suddenly went weak inside for him. “You got it right the first time,” he said. “And you’re trailin’ along right behind me.” He paused, then went on, “Thought of the cops?”

She laughed at him. “What did Nelson do with the cops? He’d enough dough to straighten things. Didn’t he get protection? Okay, that’s what you’re goin’ to get.”

Dillon shook his head wisely. “Sure he got protection—an’ look at him now. They dug twenty-four slugs outta that guy when they put him on the slab.”

“G-men,” Myra said tersely. “You ain’t got any worry. You keep clear of the G-men an’ you’ll be okay.”

Yeah I’ll keep clear of the G-men.” There was a hard note of menace in his voice.

A knock sounded on the door. They stiffened, then Dillon said crossly, “Relax, can’t you?” He went over to the door and jerked it open.

A tall, thin girl, with heavily rouged cheeks, was standing there holding a large tray, covered with a cloth. “Miss Benbow sent this up.” She had a nasal whine that put Myra’s teeth on edge.

Dillon stood back and let her in. Myra looked her over. The girl glanced at Dillon wide-eyed, and put down the tray. She again looked at Dillon, a sly side-look with a strong line of “come hither” in it. She went out, swinging her hips a little.

Dillon kicked the door shut. “I guess that street pushover thinks she’s good,” he said.

Myra took the cloth off the tray. “I guess dames don’t mean much to you,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Dillon shrugged. “The reason why a dame don’t mean a thing is because they toss it in your face. The way most of ’em carry on, you’d think it wore out.”

Myra put her hands on the table and examined her nails.

She said, without looking up at him, “They could give a guy like you a pretty good time.”

Dillon turned and stared at her. “That’s what you think,” he said, a faint sneer on his mouth. “I think different.”

He sat down at the table and began to eat hungrily.

Across the landing, behind a locked door, Roxy was having breakfast. The Kansas City Times was propped up against the coffee-pot, and he read it carefully as he ate.

Fanquist still lay in bed, her flaxen hair spread out on the pillow, a cigarette in her lips. She watched Roxy sleepily.

“A blue-nosed bishop is puttin’ up a squawk about the number of unfortunate women he’s been runnin’ into lately on Main Street. Says it’s a disgrace,” Roxy announced with a grin. “What you think, Fan?”

“Search me,” she said with a Southern drawl. “Maybe he forgot his dough, or maybe he’s got beyond it.”

Roxy shook his head. “Those guys never get beyond it,” he said. “I guess he hadn’t any dough. And listen to this, Fan; Some guy found his wife two-timin’ an’ set about her with a meat-cleaver. There’s a picture of the guy here… wantta see it?”

Fanquist shook her head. “I don’t like horrors… lay off it, will you?”

Roxy tossed the paper on the floor. He finished his coffee and lit a cigarette. “Got any ideas for today?” he asked hopefully.

“I’m havin’ a finger-wave.” Fanquist stretched her arms and yawned. “Ten o’clock. It’ll take the best part of two hours… meet me for lunch?”

Roxy nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do that,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at Verotti’s.”

A tap came at the door. Roxy looked over at Fanquist, his eyebrows raised. Then he put his hand inside his coat and loosened the gun in its holster. “Who is it?” he asked.

“It’s okay,” came Miss Benbow’s hoarse whisper.

“What the hell does she want?” Roxy said, walking to the door and jerking it open.

Miss Benbow came in. Her white teeth glittered like piano keys. Roxy shut the door and turned the key again. “What’s the trouble?” he asked, tossing the cigarette-butt into the fireplace.

Miss Benbow nodded to Fanquist. “You’ve got neighbours,” she said. “They’re new… I ain’t seen ’em before.”

Roxy looked a little startled. “They okay?” he asked sharply.

“I guess so,” Miss Benbow said. “They knew how to get in. He’s called Dillon.”

“Dillon? Why, that guy’s been out of the game for a long time. You remember Dillon?” Roxy looked over at Fanquist.

“Sure, I remember hearin’ of him. A mean guy. A guy who don’t smoke or drink or have a girl is a mean guy.”

Roxy grinned. “That’s what you say.”

Miss Benbow moved a little restlessly. “There’s something about those two I don’t like. The broad is just a kid, but she’s bad. She’s got a cold little face that I wouldn’t like to wake up an’ find on my pillow. The guy’s big an’ tough. He makes me uneasy.”

Fanquist looked interested. “This guy, is he handsome?”

Roxy laughed. “You oughtta have a cold bath, Fan,” he said. “Ain’t she a hot momma?”—to Miss Benbow.

Miss Benbow grinned some more. “I like to see it,” she said. “There’re too many cold-blooded broads around to please me.”

Fanquist pouted. “Come on, you big lump,” she said. “Don’t keep a girl waitin’. What’s he like?”

Miss Benbow nodded her head. “Sure, sure,” she said. “He’s got it all. Dressy kind of a guy. Big, strong and hard. Good in bed, he’d be.”

Fanquist looked over at Roxy. “Ain’t you jealous?” she asked.

Roxy grinned. “Sure I am… I’m burnin’ up.”

“I’d leave that guy alone,” Miss Benbow cautioned. “That little bag don’t look like she’d stand for much interference.”

Fanquist shrugged. “Aw! To hell with her,” she said. Then, glancing at the clock, she dragged off the