Dillon looked through the long list of names. “What the hell’s this?” he asked.
“Look at ’em.”
Dillon snarled. “Come on, cut out the mystery act. What is it?”
Roxy wasn’t to be hurried. “All those guys there’ve got swell joints for your automatics. They’ve all got big corner stores and they’ve plenty of space. Suppose we persuade them to take six machines instead of one…. That would be gettin’ somewhere.”
“Six? Are they big enough?”
“Sure they’re big enough.”
Dillon got to his feet. “Little Ernie’s got to be fixed first,” he said.
Roxy examined his finger-nails. “I got him tied up.”
Dillon stood still. “What was that?”
“I got him tied up. You’ve only to take the boys along an’ there he is waitin’ for you.”
“What’s this, Roxy? Let’s have it fast.”
Roxy took his feet off the table. “Little Ernie and his mob will be at the Hot Rhythm Club tonight. They’ve got some big night on or somethin’; anyway, the gang will be there. Suppose we go an’ join ’em? It would be a fine time to meet all the mob together.”
Dillon demanded, “Is this straight?”
“Yeah, it’s straight all right. I’ve been usin’ my ears around that part of the town.”
Dillon stood hesitating, then he said, “Wait here.” He went to the door and beckoned. Vessi and McGowan put their cues down and wandered over Dillon shut the office door. Vessi and McGowan ran the mob for Dillon.
He said. “Sit down, you two, I want to talk.”
They pulled up chairs and sat down. “What’s up?” Vessi asked.
Dillon sat on the edge of his desk. “I’m puttin my cards on the table,” he said shortly. “We ain’t expanding like we should. That’s not your funeral, it’s Hurst’s an’ mine. Hurst is scared of the other mob; I ain’t. Okay. Suppose we expand an’ not worry about Hurst?”
The two looked at each other, puzzled. McGowan said ponderously, “Say, we gotta do what Hurst says, ain’t we?”
Dillon shrugged. “Why?” he asked. “Who the hell’s Hurst, anyway?”
Vessi scratched his head. “Ain’t he the boss any more?”
“Wait a minute,” Dillon said. “I want you to get the layout of this. If we expand, we’ll have to get rid of Hurst an’ we’ll have to get rid of Little Ernie. Tough job, but ain’t impossible. If we expand we make twice as much dough as we’re making now. For instance you two guys will be holding down a couple of grand a week.”
Vessi’s eyes opened. “Sure,” he said. “I guess we’ll expand.”
“Don’t rush it,” Dillon warned him. “If you come in on this there’s goin’ to be a lotta grief for someone… Maybe it’ll be you an’ me. If you want the dough, I guess you gotta earn it, so it’s up to you.”
McGowan said, “What are you goin’ to do?”
The door opened and Hurst walked in. The four men swung round, blinking at him. Even Dillon was startled.
Hurst stood there, a heavy frown on his face and his lips twitching with rage. “What’s going on here?” he demanded harshly. “Get these guys out of here, I want to talk to you.”
Vessi and McGowan hastily scrambled to their feet. They slid past Hurst as if they expected he was going to land them one.
Roxy sat where he was. He didn’t look at Hurst.
Dillon pushed back his chair and drummed his fingers on the desk top. He stared at Hurst with blank eyes.
Hurst said, “Get this other guy out.” He jerked his head at Roxy.
Dillon shook his head. He won’t be in the way.
Hurst stiffened. “You heard what I said,” he barked.
Dillon nodded. “Sure,” he said; “but this guy ain’t in the way. What’s on your mind, Mr. Hurst? You seem sorta steamed up.”
Hurst stood hesitating, then he sat down. “Look here, Dillon, this game of yours has gotta stop. I’ve told you before you gotta leave Little Ernie’s ground alone.”
“Can’t you take it, Mr. Hurst?” Dillon sneered.
Hurst sprang to his feet. “What the hell’s this?” he snapped. “You take your orders from me, and when I say leave oft you leave off!”
“I’ve been getting some ideas that’ll get us somewhere in this organization,” Dillon said, speaking slow. “Suppose we push into that ground you’re so scared about? Suppose we give Little Ernie the works? How do you like that?”
Hurst was speechless. His face turned a dusky red, and his big hands clenched on his knees. “My God!” he blurted out at last. “This finishes it. You’re out, Dillon Do you hear? Out!”
Dillon pursed his heavy lips and shot a side look at Roxy. Roxy sat in a heap, his hat tilted over his eyes.
Hurst went on, “You’re crazy to think of such an idea. A thing like that would blow the town to hell. I ain’t having you around my mob any more…. You get out.”
Dillon leant forward, his eyes like ice chips. “Where did you get ’my mob’ stuff?” he snarled. “You ain’t got a mob no more, you yellow four-flusher. I got it, see? An’ what I say goes with the mob. I’ve given you a chance, an’ you’re too damn yellow to take it. All right, from now on I’m runnin’ this outfit, an’ you’re likin’ it… get that?”
Hurst got to his feet. He controlled himself with an effort. “You’re drunk,” he said. “You haven’t the brains to run any business. You want protection, an’ you ain’t got it. You’re nobody. The cops would close you up damn quick without me right behind you.”
Dillon sneered. “Do you think I’ve been in this game an’ not got the lowdown to it? You ain’t got any pull; you’ve got dough. I know how much you give the cops to lay off you, an’ I’ll give ’em more. The guy that pays the most gets the best service.”
Hurst turned to the door. “You’re washed up,” he said shortly. “Get out and stay out!”
Dillon jerked his gun from inside his coat. “Just a minute, Mr. Hurst,” he said between his teeth.: Hurst stood, frozen. Then he put out his hands like a blind man groping. “What are you doing with that gun?” he gasped, his face going suddenly flabby.
Dillon didn’t bother to get to his feet. “You talk too much,” he said. “If we’re goin’ to break, I guess we’ll break the way I want it.”
While he was speaking, his finger curled on the trigger, gently squeezing. The gun suddenly boomed, jerking a little in his hand.
Hurst took a step forward, his hands pressed to his chest. Then his knees gave, and he sank down. Leaning forward over the desk, Dillon shot him again. The heavy slug made a big hole in Hurst’s head.
Dillon stayed there, leaning over the desk, his gun still pointing at Hurst, his lips off his teeth.
“Now, you bastard,” he said, “you can stay dumb!”
Roxy tipped his hat back and stared. “Hey,” he said, “you’ve spoilt your rug.”
Myra sat before the dressing-table, a loose silk wrap across her shoulders. Her skin was faintly red from the hot water of the shower. A cigarette dangled from her full red lips and the spiral of smoke rose over her head. She took time fixing her nails.
Dillon jerked open the door and walked in. Myra looked at him and glanced at the clock. It was not seven o’clock.
“You’re early,” she said, laying down the file. She pulled the wrap on and fastened the sash.
Dillon was very thoughtful. He went over to the window and, raising the blind a little, peered into the street. Myra watched him. She had an uneasy feeling that something had happened. “What is it?” she asked.
Without looking round, Dillon said, “Plenty.” He stood there a moment, then he dropped the blind and came back to the middle of the room. With his hat at the back of his head, he stared at Myra with blank eyes.
She said, “For God’s sake… what is it?”
“Hurst’s washed up,” he said abruptly.
“Little Ernie?” Myra got to her feet.
