Dead Stay Dumb Read online

  He was still standing there peering into the darkness when Roxy found him. Roxy said quietly, “What the hell you doin' here?”

  Dillon started round. He looked at Roxy uneasily.

  “I've been lookin' for you,” he said, his mind still far away with his thoughts.

  Roxy looked up at Chrissie's window. His face hardened.

  “You didn't think I was in with the kid?” he said softly.

  “Kid?” Dillon sneered. “She ain't no kid... she's a woman.”

  Roxy stretched out a hand and took Dillon's coat front. “Lay off that, Dillon,” he said. “By God! Don't you start anythin' with that girl. She's good an' she's simple.... I won't stand for it.”

  An overwhelming rage mounted inside Dillon. He flung Roxy's hand away. “Listen, you louse,” he said. “You do as I tell you.... If I want that broad, I'm havin' her—get it? You ain't stoppin' me, or any goddam heel like you.”

  Roxy stood very still. “If that's the way you feel...” he said.

  Dillon couldn't quite see his face in the light, but he didn't like the threat in Roxy's voice.

  He suddenly saw the danger of making an enemy of Roxy and he retreated hastily. “Forget it, will you?” he said surlily. “I guess the heat's worryin' me. I guess I was crazy.”

  “Sure.” Roxy's voice was relieved. “I know how it is. This place gives me the jitters. Suppose we take the heap and get into town?”

  Dillon nodded. “We'll take the Thompson. I guess they won't be lookin' for us to drive in.” He was eager to get away. “An' say, I guess we can check up on that punk Joe. Maybe we'll hear somethin'.”

  Roxy said, “Let's go.... We won't tell the old woman.”

  They walked quickly over to the shed where the car was hidden and quietly pushed her out. Dillon went back to the shack, passed through the room where Ma Chester was working, nodded to her briefly and went into his own room. He picked up the Thompson, then, gently pushing the window up, he climbed out, dropping to the ground. He ran round quickly to where Roxy was waiting with the car.

  “I guess we're nuts not to have done this before,” Dillon said, sitting beside Roxy. “Suppose we stick up a service station? We want some dough badly enough.”

  Roxy said, “Sure. Why not?”

  They drove on into the night. Dillon sat with the Thompson on his knees, his eyes searching the dark road ahead for the sign of a light. He was nervous, but it felt good to get away from that shack.

  After some time Roxy said, “Round the bend is one of those Conoco stations. We'll drive up an' get a tank full.... If there ain't any excitement, we might surprise 'em.”

  Dillon nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “You do that.”

  Roxy slowed down, and they ran round the bend. The station was about a couple of hundred yards down the road. A big car was just pulling away, heading towards them. Dillon's fingers tightened on the gun, but the car swept past.

  An attendant was going back into the office when he spotted their lights. He stopped and stood waiting at the petrol pump.

  Roxy drew up beside him. The attendant was a fair-haired youngster, his eyes heavy for want of sleep.

  “Give her ten,” Roxy said.

  Dillon pushed open the door and stepped into the road. The darkness and the shadow of the car hid him. He saw the office was empty.

  Roxy said, “Get a move on.... We ain't got all night.”

  The attendant called, “It's in, Mister.” He screwed the cap home and came round to Roxy.

  Roxy said, “Gotta paper I can look at?” He gave the boy a bill.

  “Sure. It's in the office. I'll get it for you.”

  Roxy opened the door of the car and got out. “I'll come in with you,” he said. “I guess I could stretch my legs.”

  He followed the attendant into the office. Dillon walked quietly behind them and waited just outside the door.

  The attendant went to the till and rang the drawer open. Dillon walked in and rammed the Thompson into his back. “Take it easy,” he said.

  The attend ant looked over his shoulder and gasped. He tossed his arms above his head. Roxy stepped past him and emptied the till. There wasn't much there.

  “This all there is?” Roxy demanded.

  The attendant was utterly terrified. He nodded his head. “Sure... That's all... Mister... honest, it is.”

  Roxy grunted. “Like bashin' a kid's money-box,” he said.

  Dillon took the attendant by the arm and spun him round. He shoved him into a chair. “Know who I am?” he demanded. “I'm Dillon... the guy the cops are after.”

  The boy's face was blank. “I don't know you, boss,” he said with a gulp.

  “Didn't you know there's a big reward out for me?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “Where's that paper?” Dillon snarled.

  Roxy had already found it and was looking through it. Finally he tossed it down. “Not a word,” he said.

  “Didn't I tell you?” Dillon raved. “It was a frame to skin me.” He pointed furiously to the door. “Get out!” he shouted at Roxy. “Get in the car an' wait.”

  Roxy gave him a quick look, then he went out into the darkness and climbed into the car. As he settled himself he heard a sudden terrified scream. He put his hand on the car door, then hesitated. His hand fell to his side.

  Dillon came running out. His face was like stone. “Get goin',” he snapped.

  “What was that?” Roxy asked uneasily, as he engaged his gears.

  “What you think?” Dillon snarled from the darkness. “Think I could let that punk run around and yap his head off?”

  Roxy said nothing. He moved a little way away from Dillon. He said at last, “I guess we'd better get back.”

  “Get back nothin',” Dillon said, his voice gritty. “I'm goin' to see Joe. Keep her goin'.”

  They reached Joe's place after a long run. The road carried little traffic, and the cars that swept passed them didn't bother them.

  At Joe's, Dillon got out quickly. “You stay here,” he said, “I'll handle this bastard. Sound your horn if anythin' starts.”

  Roxy opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. He sat still, watching the road.

  A light still burned in Joe's room. Dillon walked quietly up the path. He tried the door, but it was locked. He rapped on the door with his knuckles. Roxy could hear him from the car. After a pause, Joe came. He stood in the open doorway, his mouth hanging slack.

  Dillon moved the Thompson so he could see it. “Get inside,” he said through his teeth.

  Joe fell back, his eyes glued to the gun. He couldn't say a word.

  Dillon forced him into the room and shut the door. “I'm on to you, you double-crossing sonofabitch,” he said. “Hand over that dough.”

  Joe fumbled in his pocket and brought out the roll. He said in a quavering voice, “You got me wrong.... I know you've got me wrong.”

  Dillon snatched it from him. “Where's the rest of it?” he demanded. “You know, the thousand you said you lost?”

  Joe's eyes widened. “I did lose it,” he gasped. “I don't get this... what's it all about... ain't you stayin' at Ma's no more?”

  Dillon said, “Give me the rest of the dough or I'll blast you... My finger is itching.... Snap to it!”

  The Thompson was pointing at Joe's vest. He gave a strangled gasp. “I'll get it for you, Mister...” he whined. “Don't you shoot... I'll get it.”

  He stumbled over to the table and took another roll of notes from the drawer. Dillon made him count it. “I got the car—” Joe began explaining.

  Dillon cut him short. “Come on out,' he said. “I still got somethin' for you to do. You play ball, an' you'll come outta this okay, but you gotta watch your step.”

  Joe went with him to the car. Roxy stared, but didn't move. Dillon pushed Joe into the back of the car, then he said to Roxy in a low voice, “Get to the river... quick.” He got in beside Joe, and Roxy sent the car shooting forward.

&
nbsp; They rode in silence for a mile or so, then Joe said, “Where... where you takin' me?” He was suddenly uneasy.

  Dillon looked for Joe's face in the darkness, saw the white outline and swung his fist. Roxy heard the soft spat as his fist crushed into Joe's face. Joe gave a muffled groan and slid forward in his seat. He ducked his head, holding his hands over his nose.

  Dillon pulled his arms from his face slowly. He had to exert a little strength. Joe sobbed, “No... no....” Dillon said, “Here it is, you heel!” and swung his hand again.

  Roxy slowed down. He peered ahead until he saw the glitter of water in the moonlight, then he stopped the car. “This is it,” he said.

  Dillon got out of the car. He said to Roxy, “Get him out of there.... I don't want to wash that heap again.”

  Joe gave a scream. Roxy put his arms round him and half dragged, half pulled him out of the car. Joe couldn't stand. He put his legs down, but they folded up, so that he fell down in the road.

  Dillon said, “Move the car up a bit.”

  Roxy got in the car and moved it forward. Joe lay in the red circle of the tail-lamp. Complete and awful panic seized him. He suddenly lost control of his sphincter muscle. Dillon shot him with the Thompson. Just one harsh roar of the gun and Joe was nearly cut in two, the slugs, like a steel knife ripped across his chest, killing him instantly.

  Dillon said, “We gotta get him into the river.”

  Roxy leant out of the car. “I don't like touchin' him,” he said. “I guess I just hate touchin' that guy.”

  “Get goin'.... We might get company pretty soon.” Even Dillon was slow off the mark. He put the Thompson in the car and they both walked slowly to Joe. They got him into the river. Standing on the bank, they watched the water close over him. The current was strong. They could see the rush of water in the moonlight. Joe would be taken care of for a little while.

  Dillon reached forward and washed his hands in the river. He wiped them dry on the grass.

  “I guess he ain't goin' to talk no more,” he said, staring out across the swiftly moving river.

  Roxy stood just behind him. In spite of the close night, he felt cold. His eyes were on Dillon's back. He suddenly shivered a little.

  * * *

  The next two days drifted by. Both Roxy and Dillon were on edge. They did not talk about Joe, but he was on their minds all right. On the morning of the third day it came as a little stabbing shock when Ma Chester said during the morning meal, “Joe's comin' out today. He promised to bring me some stores. I guess he'll be along pretty soon.” There was a lot of pride in Ma's voice when she said it.

  Roxy glanced up and looked across at Dillon. Then he pushed his plate away and got up. “Maybe he'll bring a newspaper,” he said with difficulty.

  Ma Chester began clearing the table. “If Joe said he'd bring a newspaper, he'll bring a newspaper. Joe is that sort of a guy. I always say you can rely on Joe.”

  A thin, mirthless smile went over Dillon's face. He followed Roxy out into the open. They wandered away together.

  “Think the cops'll come on out here?” Roxy said quietly.

  Dillon shook his head. “Don't seem like Joe talked about this place.... We gotta keep an eye open, but I guess they won't.”

  Roxy sat on the side of the well. He lit a cigarette. Dillon could see his hands shaking. “We're takin' an awful risk stayin' here,” he said at last.

  Dillon put his foot on the edge of the well. “Where the hell else can we go?” he asked irritably.

  Roxy shrugged. He didn't know. They remained there some little time discussing things but getting no farther, then impatiently Roxy got up. “I guess I'll go an' fix that fence. I'm almost through.”

  Dillon watched him go. When Roxy had disappeared round the side of the shack, Dillon saw Chrissie come out. She stood looking round for Roxy. Dillon kept his eyes off her face, and eyed her over from her neck down. A sudden tightness gripped him across his chest. He wandered slowly over to her, going slow so as not to startle her. She looked at him without interest.

  “I'm goin' shootin',” he said when he reached her. “Suppose you come along an' watch.”

  Her face brightened a little. “I want Roxy,” she said. “Where's Roxy?”

  Dillon said as patiently as he could, “Roxy's fixin' the old fence somewhere.” He took his gun from his holster and pretended to look at it. The gleaming barrel attracted Chrissie's attention. She moved forward, peering at it.

  “Some gun, ain't it?” Dillon said, showing it to her.

  Chrissie had forgotten Roxy. She stood with her head on one side, her eyes longingly fixed on the gun.

  “Suppose we go into the woods... you can pop this if you want to,” Dillon said thickly.

  Chrissie's eyes opened. “Don't it make an awful bang?” she asked.

  “Sure, but it won't scare a big girl like you.... Come on an' try it.”

  He turned and began to move away. Chrissie hesitated. She didn't like Dillon, but the lure of the gun was too much for her. She followed him. “Can I carry it?” she asked, pleadingly.

  Dillon took the clip out of the gun and jerked the bullet from the chamber. He wasn't having her fool around and shoot him. He said, “Sure you can... You be careful with it.”

  She took the gun, holding it gingerly, her big hands nursing it like a doll. “Ain't it heavy?” she said. “I bet Roxy's got a bigger gun than this.”

  Dillon kept walking. He said, “Roxy ain't got a gun. When you can pop this good, we'll surprise Roxy... that'll be an idea.”

  Her face brightened. “I'd like that,” she said, moving forward at a faster pace. “I'd like to surprise Roxy.”

  Dillon looked at her. He walked closer to her, the sleeve of his coat touching her arm. He put out his hand and touched her shoulder. The contact sent a little white-hot flame shooting through him. She shied away, her eyes suddenly nervous.

  Dillon smiled. His breath whistled through his nose. “We got to get away from the house. They'll hear us shootin' an' spoil the surprise,” he said.

  Her mind switched back to Roxy, and her nerves quietened. Dillon didn't touch her again. The thick wood opened out into a clearing. Dillon stopped. “I guess this'll do,” he said.

  He sat down on the grass. “Come on down,” he said, the pulse in the side of his head pounding. “I'll show you how to fix the gun.”

  She stood looking at him and Dillon tried to smile at her, but his face only grimaced. The look in his eyes frightened her. She moved back a pace.

  Dillon took the clip out of his pocket. He tried to sound casual. “Gimme the gun.”

  She leant forward, holding the gun out to him but keeping away. There was a tense frightened look on her face which made Dillon think of some timid animal, not sure of itself. He took the gun, his hand touching hers. Again she took a step back.

  Dillon slipped the clip in and jerked the lever, bringing a slug into the chamber. He said, “Sit down.... I wantta show you how it works.”

  She didn't move. Dillon had the impression she was about to run away. He quickly turned from her. “Look over there,” he said, pointing across the clearing to a broken branch of a tree. It hung like a withered arm.

  “Watch me pot it.” When he brought the gun up his hand was shaking. The gun-sight nickered up and down, and he cursed softly. “Don't you get scared with the row,” he mumbled. He knew if he didn't start shooting and hold her interest she would go. He could feel the panic that was mounting in her.

  The gun cracked. In the stillness of the wood the noise was startling. Chrissie sighed. Although the roar of the gun had made her flinch, she wanted to try.

  Dillon said, “I guess I ain't so hot.... I missed it.” He tried again, gripping the gun until his hand sweated. He drew his breath in hard, holding it, then he squeezed the trigger. Again the gun cracked. This time a shower of splinters flew from the branch.

  Chrissie clapped her hands. “Oh, it's good!” she said.

  Dillon didn't say
anything. He fired once more. The branch dropped a little. “Now you have a go,” he said, getting slowly to his feet.

  Chrissie came up to him, her eyes fixed on the gun. She had forgotten him. Her mind was only for the gun.

  He said with difficulty, “You stand here.”

  She was quite close to him, her face intent and excited. Dillon turned a little sideways, slipping the clip out. He wasn't taking any chances. He put the gun in her hand, then he moved a little behind her.

  She stood, her eyes fixed on the branch of the tree.

  “You hold the gun like this.” He put his hand on her wrist, raising her arm and pointing the gun. Her firm flesh burnt in his hand. He felt a little shudder run through her, but she was so anxious to fire the gun that she let him hold her.

  The blood pounding in his ears, he gripped her round her waist with his other hand. He said thickly, “Don't get scared.... I ain't goin' to hurt you.”

  The gun slipped out of her hand. It was forgotten immediately. The terrifying, tightening pressure of his hands sent her into a blind panic. She stood trembling, her eyes going wild. She began to mumble.

  Dillon snarled, “Stop that goddam row!”

  He jerked her close to him. Her weak, idiotic face sickened him, but her womanness got him. He turned her slowly stiffening body and crushed her close to him.

  Then suddenly, like a released spring, she was gone from him. Her strength completely staggered him. He had had her gripped tightly, then his arms were powerless against the sudden heaving twist of her body. She sprang away, without looking back; she ran mumbling into the woods.

  Dillon made no attempt to follow her. He just stood watching her, a feeling of sick frustration creeping over him. When she had vanished and the last sound of her flight faded away, he moved a little uncertainly, as if to pursue her. Then he stopped. Roxy was standing in the clearing, his face white, and his eyes gleaming dangerously.

  “I saw you,” Roxy said. “You rotten louse.”