Ma Chester led them through to a door at the far end. The room would have shamed an Eastside tenement. Dillon looked round, his face showing his disgust.
“I’ll bring you some breakfast,” the old woman said. She said it as if she expected a refusal.
Dillon said, “Yeah, and make it a big one.”
When she had gone, pulling the door behind her, Dillon wandered round the room. “A thousand bucks for this,” he said. “I’ll wring that goddam chiseller’s neck.”
Roxy sat on the bed gingerly. “They’ll never find us here,” he said. “I bet Joe won’t turn in much dough to the old girl. He’ll keep it for himself.”
Dillon went over to the window and looked out. Roxy watched him cautiously. Roxy was scared of Dillon. The horror of last night was still with him. Sitting there on the bed, he could relive everything he had done. They had found a big gravel dump off the road and had shoved her body into it, pulling the gravel down on top of her. Roxy shivered a little. Maybe they wouldn’t find her for weeks, maybe they’d find her tomorrow.
Dillon said, “Snap out of it!”
Roxy jerked up his head. Dillon had turned and was watching him. “That broad never was no good,” Dillon said. “She had it comin’ for a long time. What could we do with her? If we’d left her, she’d’ve squawked. I know.”
“Sure, sure,” Roxy said hastily, “we’ll forget it.”
Dillon said in a threatening voice, “You’d better.”
Just then Ma Chester put her head round the door. “You can eat now,” she said.
The two men wandered into the other room. The table was covered with a soiled newspaper. Old man Chester was already eating. Dillon looked at him with disgust. The old man glanced up and grunted. Ma Chester said, “Don’t you take any notice of him… he’s deaf.”
Dillon jerked a chair out and sat down. The food was poor and coarse.
Roxy said, “You gotta radio here?”
Ma Chester stood over the stove, watching the coffee. She shook her head. “Nope,” she said. “We ain’t got a radio.”
Dillon cut the salty ham angrily. “I thought every farm had a radio,” he said.
“Well, we ain’t,” Ma Chester snapped. “We’re poor, see?”
“You’re tellin’ me,” Dillon snarled.
The shack door opened and a girl came in. Both Roxy and Dillon stopped eating and stared at her. She was big. Her straw-coloured hair hung down to her shoulders. Her dirty cotton dress barely concealed her over-ripe figure. She was as tall as Dillon, with big hands and feet. Her features were regular and good, but the expression on her face and in her eyes was that of a child of seven.
She stood there shifting her feet, looking with scared eyes at the two at the table.
Ma Chester said, “Sit down, Chrissie; these two gentlemen ain’t goin’ to worry you.”
There was a long awkward silence as she shuffled over to the table and sat down. Then with a burst of confidence she said, “Did you come in that big car?”
Dillon glanced over at Roxy. Roxy said, “Yeah, that’s right.”
Chrissie smiled timidly. “We ain’t got a car,” she said, reaching out a large hand for some bread. “Can I go for a ride?”
Ma Chester snapped, “Don’t you worry these gentlemen. You get on an’ eat.”
Chrissie began to bolt her food. She had an enamel mug of milk by her plate, and when she drank Dillon could see the milk running down her chin on to the front of her dress. He was suddenly aware of a sour smell coming from her, the same sort of smell small children have if they’re not looked after. He felt a little sick and pushed his plate away. Then, muttering something, he got up.
Ma Chester said, “Here’s the coffee.” She banged a pot on the table. Dillon reached out and poured himself a cup and took it to the window. When Ma Chester went back to the stove, Chrissie leant forward and scooped the ham Dillon had left on to her plate.
Roxy laid down his knife. “You’re hungry?” he said, for something to say.
She looked at him and gave a pleased little smile. “Yes, I am,” she said. “Will you give me a ride, Mister?”
Roxy nodded. “Sure I will.”
“You be quiet,” Ma Chester said from the stove.
A sudden blank look came over Chrissie’s face and she began to mumble. A little saliva ran down her chin. Ma Chester walked over to her and rapped on the top of her head with her knuckles, just like she was rapping on a door. Chrissie pressed her head against the old woman’s breast, a look of contentment coming over her bovine face.
Ma Chester said to Roxy, “She’s simple, but she’s a good girl. There’s something wrong with her head. She gets like this sometimes. I rap her nut like this, an’ it helps her.” The old woman’s face had softened while she was speaking, and she looked down at the girl with a rough tenderness that quite altered her face.
Roxy sat there staring with a morbid fascination. “She’s quite a big girl, ain’t she?” he said at last.
“She’s eighteen,” Ma Chester told him. “But I guess she’s never grown up.”
Dillon couldn’t stand any more of it. He went outside. The hot sun was fast drying the heavy dew. The ground was steaming a little, and a faint white mist, extending as far as the eye could see, hovered just above the ground. The air smelt good and he was glad to get away from the staleness of the shack.
He walked over to the car and glanced inside. The back seat was stained dark with Myra’s blood. He wrinkled his nose a little. This was a hell of a morning.
Over the way he noticed a well, and he went over and drew a bucket of water. Then, finding some rags under the front seat, he began sponging the mess away. He had just got through and had got rid of the water when Roxy came out.
Dillon looked at him. “I’m goin’ to go nuts in this dump,” he said. “Just wait until that chiseler comes out here…. I’ll kill him.”
Roxy sat on the running-board of the car and lit a cigarette. “Hell,” he said. “It’s somethin’ to be safe, ain’t it?”
“That loony gives me the creeps,” Dillon muttered, shoving the back seat into place.
“Aw, she’s okay…. She’s just a kid really…. You look on her as a kid. She ain’t goin’ to worry you.”
Chrissie came out just then. She edged over to them. “You’ve made the seat all wet,” she said, looking into the back of the car. “Why have you done that?”
Dillon turned away. He spat on the ground. As he moved off, Chrissie said, “I don’t like him,” to Roxy.
Roxy grinned at her. “He’s all right,” he said. “I guess he’s got somethin’ on his mind.”
Chrissie looked puzzled. “What?” she said. “How do you mean, somethin’ on his mind?”
Roxy scratched his head. “You know,” he said; “he’s worried about something.”
“Is that all?” She lost interest. “When are you taking me for a drive, Mister?”
Roxy said, “I can’t take you now. Maybe tomorrow. But not just now. What do you do with yourself all day?”
She stood looking longingly at the car. “Aw, not much,” she said. “I play… I like playing best.”
Roxy eyed her over. He thought it was tough for a fine-looking broad to be so simple. “Well, let’s play at somethin’, shall we?” He felt a little embarrassed, but he was sorry for her.
She looked at him as if making up her mind whether he’d be worth playing with. Then she nodded.
Dillon had made a circuit of the shack and was standing watching them. A curious gleam came into his eye.
“Take her down to the river,” he said. “Get her to swim.” He said out of the corner of his mouth, “Get her goin’. She might be worth lookin’ at.”
Roxy’s face went a deep crimson. “You lay off that,” he said angrily. “This kid’s simple, see? I ain’t standin’ for any of that stuff.”
Dillon stood looking at him, his face sullen. “Aw, go an’ play dolls,” he sneered. “You give me a pain.”
He stood looking after them as they wandered away into the woods.
After two days on the farm Dillon was nearly crazy. He was nervous of walking too far from the thick woods. He was sick of sitting inside watching old man Chester, or listening to Ma Chester singing her son’s praise.
