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  Fanquist didn't move. She was past hearing anything. Myra dragged her off the chair and turned her over on her back. She stood over her, a hard little smile on her mouth. “I guess you won't pull any more tricks with me,” she said.

  Leaving Fanquist lying there, Myra went into the bathroom. Her dress was stained with blood and her hair was like a woollen rug. She poured some water into the hand-basin and bathed her face. She carefully washed her hands and sponged the blood from her dress. All the time she was doing this her mind was active.

  Would Dillon start something now? she wondered. She guessed Dillon would be mad about this. A pair of electric hair-tongs caught her eye. She stood looking at them, hesitating. She picked them up and turned them over in her hand, then she took the plug and plugged it into the socket. She turned the switch.

  Going back into the outer room again, she stood over Fanquist. Fanquist was lying there, her arms thrown wide and her breath coming in a whistling sound through her open mouth.

  Myra said between her teeth, “I guess you ain't goin' to have any looks in a little while. He's kind of fussy about the broads he takes around, an' a bag with marks on her mug like you're goin' to have ain't getting to the first base with him.”

  She turned and walked with vicious determination back-to the bathroom and to the red-hot tongs.

  The next two days Dillon was very quiet. Myra expected him to say something, but he didn't. Sometimes she caught him looking at her thoughtfully, but he always shifted his eyes when she looked up.

  He came back from the poolroom at his usual time, and Myra began to believe that nothing would be said. She made a few enquiries and learnt that Fanquist had disappeared. The villa was empty and deserted. Myra thought she'd done a nice job of work, but Dillon was still quiet and he still looked at her, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do.

  Sitting in his office, Dillon brooded about Fanquist. He had gone down in the evening and found her. Even his brutal mind was shocked. But as he looked at her, any feeling he might have had for her went away. The two deep burns across her face sickened him. Her sobbing whine gave him the jitters. He had said brutally and bluntly that she'd better get out of town.

  Myra scared him a little. She was getting too dangerous. When he had put through his plan of fixing Little Ernie, he'd have to do something about her. She had served her purpose, and now he felt he had outgrown her.

  Outside in the poolroom, the buzz of talk suddenly stopped. Dillon stiffened. He cocked his ear, a frown on his face. The sounds from outside were no more to him than the ticking of a clock. He was used to them, and suddenly to have a heavy silence made him think something was wrong.

  Before he could move from his chair, the office door pushed open and two men wandered in. Dillon looked at them, his mouth going to a thin line.

  Strawn pushed his hat to the back of his head and rubbed his thick nose with the side of his finger. “Well, look who's here,” he said, speaking out of the side of his mouth.

  The other man looked Dillon over with distaste.

  Through the open doorway Dillon could see the others standing like waxworks. He could see Sam Vessi holding a cue, as if he were going to make a shot, his head turned to the office, motionless. Jakie McGowan had his hands resting on the table, his thick features glistening with sweat. The others just stood or sat about motionless.

  Dillon said, “You got no right bustin' in here, an' you know it.” His black eyes glittered.

  Strawn wandered farther into the room. Ain't you the guy I told to get out of this town?” he asked.

  Dillon stood up. These birds weren't going to push him around any more. “Maybe you think you're smart with this line of talk,” he snarled. “But it don't wash with me. You ain't got anythin' on me, so you can get the hell outta here.”

  Strawn said evenly, “So you're a big shot, huh? Well, listen, Big Shot, I still don't like you, an' I still say get out of this town. What do you think of that?”

  Dillon shrugged. “You ain't causin' me any grief,” he said. “I know where I am, an' you can't do a thing.”

  “One of these days,” Strawn said quietly, “you an' me are goin' to take a ride. Smart guys like you always come unstuck... you see.”

  Dillon sat down again. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe I'll take a ride with you Maybe a lot of things. But right now you're using too much air around here.”

  Strawn nodded briefly. “I've heard a lot about you an' your girl-friend. You two are getting big. But you can't last. None of you guys can last. You think you can, but you can't.”

  He nodded to the other guy. “Take a look at him,” he said. “I'll lay you ten to one we fix him in six months.”

  The other guy shook his head. “You just want to make money outta me,” he said. “I've been caught like that before.”

  Dillon sat glowering at them, a blazing hatred surging through him.

  Strawn nodded to him. “Okay, Big Shot,” he said. “Don't keep us waiting too long.” He jerked his head to the other guy, and they went out of the room.

  When they had gone, Dillon got up and began to pace the office. Smart bastards, he thought savagely. It they thought they could pin anything on him, let them try.

  Vessi, a thin little wop, put his head round the door. “You sure pushed 'em around,” he said admiringly. “These Federal dicks are gettin' too big for their pants.”

  Dillon looked at him irritably. “You've gotta watch those guys,” he said. “They're just waitin' a chance to crack down.”

  Vessi propped himself up against the door. “Sure,” he said. “They've been on the look-out for us for a long time.... It ain't gettin' them anywhere.”

  Just then the telephone rang, and Dillon nodded to him. Vessi went out, shutting the door. Dillon scooped up the phone. “Yeah?” he asked. His temper was short.

  Hurst said, “Who the hell is that guy you got looking over Little Ernie's territory? Listen, Dillon, I told you to lay off that part of the town. Conforti's just been on, complaining we've got a man askin' questions in Little Italy. What's it all about?”

  Dillon grinned a little. “Search me,” he said. “How should I know?”

  Hurst said furiously, “You know all right. Get that man out of there and keep him out. I know your ideas, Dillon, and I don't like them. I've told Conforti to take the matter into his own hands if that guy ain't out by tomorrow.”

  While he was speaking, Roxy came in. Dillon looked at him and jerked his head to the phone. He winked at Roxy and said “Hurst” with his lips not speaking. Roxy grinned and sat down quietly. He put his cloth-top boots on the desk.

  Dillon said, “They're crazy. I don't know a thing about it.”

  Hurst said, “You see to it, Dillon, or I'll come down and start something.” He slammed down the receiver.

  Dillon put the telephone down on the desk. His face was thoughtful. “You ain't been careful enough,” he said to Roxy.

  “What's that? A squawk?” Roxy tilted his chair back.

  “Yeah!” Dillon took a quill from his vest pocket and began exploring his teeth. “Quite burnt up he was. I guess he figgered Little Ernie would start on him again, the yellow rat.”

  Roxy smiled. “I wasn't careful,” he said. “I got right down to things.” He took a sheet of paper from his inside pocket and tossed it on the desk in front of Dillon. “Take a gander at that,” he said.

  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 tike 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.

  Dillon hesitated, then he shook his head.

  “I did it.”

  Myra put her hand to her mouth. She took a step back, pushing the stool away.

  “You did it?” she repeated. “Did what?”

  Dillon moved restlessly. “I gave him the works,” he said. “The yellow rat came in shootin' off his mouth, so I gave it to him.”

  Myra's eyes flashed. “Are you crazy?” she screamed. “You've killed Hurst, you goddam fool?”

  Dillon went over to her with two quick strides. His hand shot out and gripped her wrap, twisting it in his fist. He jerked her forward, so that their faces were close. “Shut up!” he snarled. “You shut your trap. I'm runnin' this outfit. I ain't standin' any yap from you. If you don't watch out, I'll knock you off.”

&nb
sp; Myra stiffened.

  “Yeah, I mean that,” he said, his eyes glaring at her.

  She put her hand on his wrist. “Let me go,” she said. “I won't start anythin'.”

  Dillon gave her a shove, sending her backwards. She sat down in the chair, her hands limply at her sides. “What are you goin' to do?” she asked.

  Dillon, satisfied that he had fixed her, went over to an arm-chair and sat down.

  “I've got the mob,” he said, picking his words. “I've got the racket, I guess I'm goin' to be the big shot... the only big shot around here.”

  Myra said, “But the cops?”

  Dillon sneered. “Hurst paid the cops. Okay, I'll pay 'em. They ain't to have any beef. I'll pay 'em better, see?”

  Myra didn't say anything. She sat staring at the floor.

  Encouraged by her silence, Dillon went on, “Tonight I'm goin' after Ernie. We've got him sewn up tight.”

  Myra jerked up her head. She just stared at Dillon, speechless. Dillon nodded at her, his triumph making him expand.

  “Yeah,” he said, “I've got the whole layout fixed. First Hurst. Okay, he's gone. Then Little Ernie.... He goes tonight. Then I got this burg to play with. It means plenty of dough, baby, an' I'm gettin' the lot.”

  Myra beat her hands together. “For God's sake... can't you see where you're headin'? Little Ernie's got everything. He's got a bigger mob... he's got protection... the cops are behind him.... Oh, hell! I tell you he's got everything.”

  Dillon grinned. “Okay. When he's washed up, I get it, so what?”

  The telephone began to ring shrilly. Myra got up and answered it. Dillon saw her suddenly stiffen. She said, “Sure he's here.” She turned round. “Roxy wants you quick,” she said. “Something gone wrong.”

  Dillon scowled, but he got up fast and took the receiver out of her hand. “Yeah, what is it?” he snapped.

  Roxy said, “Listen, Bud. Vessi's blown the gaff. He's tipped Little Ernie off about tonight. You gotta get out fast. They're after you with rods.”

  Dillon went a dirty white. “After me?” he said, his voice rising. “What the hell do you mean, they're after me?”