Dillon came round the counter with a quick shuffle. He took hold of Myra and ran her to the door, then he swung his arm and smacked her viciously across her buttocks, sending her skidding into the street. Myra didn’t stop— she ran.
Abe tore his hair. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he squeaked. “That’s Butch Hogan’s daughter. The old man’ll raise the dead about this.”
Dillon came back into the store. “Forget it,” he said. “I’m about sick of these goddam bitches starin’ at me. Maybe they’ll leave me alone for a while.”
Abe, bursting with impotent fury, forgot his fear of Dillon. He spluttered, “An’ what about my business? What are people goin’ to say? They ain’t comin’ here to be roughed around. This is goin’ to ruin me.”
Dillon pushed him away and walked into the kitchen. Abe followed him, still shouting.
“Aw, forget it,” Dillon snarled. “This ain’t goin’ to hurt your business. I bet that little chippy is as popular in this burg as a bad smell. This ain’t goin’ to get round the town. A kid like that ain’t goin’ to let on she’s just had her fanny smacked…. Forget it.”
They all sat on Butch’s verandah and waited for Dillon to come. The moon was just appearing above the black silhouetted trees, throwing sharp white beams on the windows of the house.
Upstairs, Myra crouched by the window, also waiting for Dillon. Her eyes, red with weeping, remained in a fixed stare on the road beneath her. Her whole being curled with hate. Her mind seethed.
Butch shifted a little in his chair. “Who the hell’s this fella?” he asked suddenly, asking the same question that the others were pondering about in their minds.
“I don’t know,” Gurney said. “Maybe he can get us outta this jam. I thought it might be worth tryin’.”
Hank said from the darkness: “Sankey’s in a terrible state. He don’t say anything, but just sits around an’ broods. Franks’s got him tied up.”
Out of the darkness Dillon came up the verandah steps. Even Myra, who had been watching the road, hadn’t heard him or seen him.
The four men sat still, looking at him. Then Gurney said, “This is Dillon.”
Butch got to his feet. He moved round the small table, on which stood a bottle and glasses. He held out his hand. “So you’re Dillon, the fight-fixer?” There was a faint sneer in his voice.
Dillon looked him over, looked at his hand and ignored it.
Butch moved his great paw impatiently. “Gimme your hand,” he said. “I wantta see what kind of a guy you are.”
A gleam came into Dillon’s eyes. He put his hand in Butch’s. Then Butch squeezed. The tremendous muscles of his forearm swelled as he put all his strength into a crushing grip. The sweat suddenly jumped out of Dillon’s face. He shifted his feet, then swung a punch at Butch with his left, coming up and hitting. Butch in his thick throat. It thumped into Butch like a cleaver into beef. Butch reeled back, making a croaking sound. Gurney sprang to his feet and saved him from going over.
Dillon stood flexing his ringers. “That’s the kind of a guy I am,” he said evenly.
Butch put his fingers to his throat. He sat down a little heavily. No one had hit him so hard since he left the resin. He said, when he got his breath, “This guy’s okay, he can punch.”
Dillon came a little nearer. “Suppose we get inside where I can see you.”
They went inside without a word. Dillon stood by the window. He said, “Sit down.”
Gurney said, “There’s some booze outside, want any?”
Dillon looked at him. “I don’t use it. Forget it! This is important. Franks has got your boy on the run. You’re all backing Sankey for a win. Sankey ain’t goin’ to win unless Franks is so goddam bad that a child could push him around. That right?”
Gurney nodded. “I guess that’s about it.”
“Any of you guys got any dough?”
They looked at Morgan, a thin, cruel-faced little man who looked like a jock. He said, “Maybe I could find some.”
“I’ll fix this fight for five hundred bucks,” Dillon said. A little sigh went round the room. Gurney shook his head. “That’s too much,” he said.
Dillon rubbed the back of his neck. “You mugs dumb?” he said. “I said I’d fix this fight, and I mean fix it. Your man’ll win You can back him for any money You can’t lose.”
Morgan leant forward. “I guess I’d like to know just who you are, mister,” he said.
Dillon looked at him under his eyelids. “Maybe you’d like to know a lot of things… you ain’t got to worry about me. I’ve done this sorta thing before What’s it to be?”
Morgan looked at the other three. Butch nodded. “We’ll come on in with you,” he said.
Morgan shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll pay the money when Sankey’s won.”
Dillon showed his teeth. “You’ll bet that five hundred bucks on Sankey for me. An’ you’ll lay the dough when I tell you.”
Morgan thought a moment, then said, “Fair enough.” The four men began to catch some of Dillon’s confidence.
“Dig down,” Dillon said, spreading a fin on the table. “I want some working expenses. This is all I got. Dig down.”
Each contributed. Between the five of them they put up a hundred dollars. Dillon put the bills in his pocket. Gurney went out on to the verandah and fetched in the drinks. They all had a shot except Dillon.
Butch said, “How you goin’ to handle this?”
Dillon tapped on the table with his fingernails. “I’m goin’ to tell Franks to take a dive.”
Butch said, “For God’s sake, he’ll knock your guts out.”
Dillon shook his head. “He won’t.” He pushed back his chair. “I guess that’s all.” The others, except Butch, got to their feet. Dillon said, “Suppose you boys blow, I wantta talk to Butch.”
Gurney moved to the verandah. “Maybe we’ll get together some other time,” he said.
“Yeah,” Dillon nodded his head; “you might look round tomorrow.”
Butch sat waiting until the others disappeared into the night. Dillon came back from the verandah. He stood looking at Butch thoughtfully. Then he closed the door and came over.
Butch said, “Who taught you to punch like that?”
Dillon shrugged. “Never mind that. I’ve got things to talk to you about. Anyone else in this dump?”
Hogan shook his head. “My gal’s upstairs in bed. That’s all.”
“I’m goin’ to make some dough out of the town,” Dillon said. “You can come in on the ground floor if you want to.”
Butch stroked his nose. “Suppose you put the cards down an’ let me look at ’em,” he said at last.
Dillon lowered his voice. “I carried a gun for Nelson,” he said.
Crouched outside the door, Myra shivered a little.
Butch looked a little uneasy. “He was a hard guy,” he said.
“He was a mug,” Dillon said bitterly. “I’ve been under cover now some time. The heat’s off. Okay, I guess it’s time to move into the money again. How’s it feel?”
Butch said, “You ain’t tellin’ me this unless you knew right off I’d agree.”
Dillon nodded his head. “I thought you were a bright guy. Maybe you have lost your peepers, but you still got some brain.”
Butch said again, “You want the house, huh? Near the State line. Me as a cover?”
“You got it.” Dillon relaxed a little. “I ain’t working anythin’ this side of the border. Just quick raids. Nothin’ very big; that’ll come later. Then back under cover here. How do you like that?”
Butch brooded. “What’s it worth?” he asked at last.
“Twenty-five per cent cut on everything.”
Butch nodded. “Okay.”
Dillon asked abruptly: “This guy Gurney—is he all right?”
Butch nodded. “He’d come in, I guess,” he said. “Gurney’s after the big dough. He ain’t particular how he makes it.”
“I’ll have a word with him later. Now this guy Franks. There’s only one way to deal with him. He’s gotta have a scare thrown in him, see? He’s got to be tipped off that he gets it if he doesn’t take a dive. The first thing is to
