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.”
He put the gun down and sank on to the seat. “I guess we’re gettin’ a little hot,” he said.
Something touched him and he jerked away. Something hot and sticky was on his hand. For a startled moment he thought he had been hurt, then he knew he couldn’t have been. He peered into the darkness.
Myra was lying back in the corner of the car.
“What is it?” he said. “You hurt?”
She gave a sudden cough.
Dillon said to Roxy, “Stop… she’s been nicked.”
Roxy hesitated. “Anyone behind?” he asked.
Dillon looked back, then he said. “No… stop now.”
Roxy pulled up and turned the spot-light round, switching on the beam. They both looked at Myra.
She was huddled up. Her hand was pressed to her right side. Dillon could see the blood oozing through her fingers.
He swore softly. “You hurt bad?” he said.
She raised her head slowly. Her mouth was screwed up and he could see the marks of her teeth on her lip, where she had bitten the pain silent. The glaring light made her look ghastly. Her hair had gone limp and beads of sweat made her look as if she had just come out of rain.
Roxy leant well forward, gaping at her. “We gotta get a doctor to her,” he said. “She looks bad.”
Dillon looked at him hard. “Sure she looks bad,” he said slowly. “Yeah, we better get a doctor.”
Roxy swung round and started the engine. Dillon put his hand on his shoulder. “Wait,” he said. “We can’t drive into a town with her like that…. It would start something. I’ll stay here an’ look after her.” He put a lot of meaning in the last words.
Roxy started to argue, but a look that had come into Dillon’s eyes stopped him. “Okay,” he said huskily.
He reached forward and turned off the engine, then he opened the door and got into the road. Dillon said under his breath, “I’ll sound the horn.”
Myra raised her head. “Roxy… where… are… you… goin’?”
Roxy said, “I’m gettin’ a croaker… you’ll be okay… just you stay quiet.”
A sudden wave of panic swept over Myra. “Roxy…. don’t leave me… don’t leave me… with him!”
Roxy was already walking quickly down the dark road, his shoulders arched as if he expected a violent blow.
Dillon reached up and shoved the light out of her eyes. “You’re goin’ to be okay now,” he said.
Myra crouched back against the seat. “Give me a break,” she implored him. “I know what… you’re goin’ to… to do. Don’t… please—”
Dillon leant forward. “You nuts or somethin’?” he said. His face was glistening. Two deep lines ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth. “What you squawkin’ about?”
“You wouldn’t… treat… me like a dog?” she gasped.
Dillon threw off pretence. “You didn’t give Fan a chance, did you?” he snarled. “You burnt her, didn’t you, you little heel? You took all that dough an’ I wasn’t to see any of it. You know too much, sister—”
“Look, I’m bleedin’…. It hurts so… don’t hurt me any more.” She took her hand from her side and tried to reach him. He shied away from her blood-encrusted fingers. Quietly he groped for his gun. His fingers closed on the cold barrel. He got a grip and drew it off the seat, holding it behind his back.
“Sure I’ll give you a break,” he said, grinning at her.
She was dazed with the pain and loss of blood. She could only see his outline bending over her, and his words came to her faintly. She began to cough again, and a sudden rush of blood to her mouth terrified her.
“I’m scared…” she whimpered. “I’m scared….”
Dillon brought his hand from behind his back. His arm flashed up and then down. He hit her on the top of her head with the gun butt with all his strength. In the silence of the night he heard her skull crack. Blood came out of her mouth again as she fell forward.
Dillon scrambled out of the car. He ran round to the other side and opened the door. Then, cautiously, he fumbled for her in the dark. His hand touched her head and he drew back, catching his breath a little. His hands were slippery with her blood.
He stood there, glaring at her dim outline, suddenly frightened to touch her. In a fit of insane panic he began to beat her head and shoulders with the gun butt. At last he stopped and stood panting, his chest heaving and his mouth slack. Her two legs hung indecently from the car door. The rest of her was hidden in darkness. Moving forward slowly, he reached down and wiped his hands on her stockings. He did it in little jerks, as if he expected the legs to come to life.
The moon suddenly swung above the clouds, lighting the road. Roxy sat on the grass farther up the road, his head in his hands. He swore continuously, refusing to let his brain dwell on what was going on. Two short blasts from the horn of the car made him get unsteadily to his feet.
Ma Chester was a small, mean-looking woman, with hard eyes and a thin pinched mouth. She stood on the stoop of the farmhouse and looked down on them. Round her waist was a piece of sacking that did for an apron. Her gnarled hands were folded across her withered breasts, and Dillon could see her black broken nails clawing at the cotton stuff of her dress.
The farmhouse was well hidden in the hills. It was several miles from the main road, and stood entirely alone. It was well off the beaten track.
The sun was just up. Dillon and Roxy had spent the night in the woods, fearing to call at the farmhouse at night. They were both tired and irritable. Dillon’s nerves seemed to stand outside his body, so that the slightest movement or sound jarred him.
Roxy handled Ma Chester. She seemed to know all about it. Joe had got her on the telephone.
She said, “I guess you two want to see your room.”
They followed her into the farmhouse. There, was a smell of dirt and cooking in the place. Dillon twitched his nose a little.
The main living-room was bare and dirty. An old man who looked old enough to be Ma Chester’s father sat in a small rocker in front of the kitchen stove. In spite of the growing heat from the sun, he seemed to be cold, shivering every now and then. He was bald, unshaven and rheumy. He didn’t bother to look up as they came in.
