Slamming the front door behind her, she took the elevator to the street level. A yellow taxi shot to the kerb and she nodded briefly. “Sunset Avenue,” she said. “An' flog your horse.”
The taxi jerked away. The driver said, “This is a hell of a town. I've never run into any guy who ain't in a hurry.”
Myra wasn't in the mood to talk. She said nothing.
The taxi-driver studied her in the mirror thought she was easy on the eye, and let it go at that.
Sunset Avenue was at the far end of the town. It took them a good half-hour's run to make it. The driver suddenly crammed on his brakes. “Here it is, lady: what number jer want?”
Myra said, “Stop here... this'll do.” She got out of the cab and paid him off. Then she walked slowly down the Avenue looking for 158. Her fury was smouldering by the time she found it. The place was a neat little villa standing in a fair-size garden. A place like this would cost money to keep up, she thought, and for a moment she hesitated. Maybe she had made a mistake. This place might be where one of Dillon's business associates hung out. Her step faltered. Then she thought she'd come this far, it wouldn't take long to check it up.
She walked up the crazy pavement and rang on the bell. She stood waiting, uncertain of herself. The door jerked open and Fanquist gaped at her.
It was certainly a shock to Myra. She saw it in a flash. Dillon was the rich guy who was staking this floosie to a good time.
She said quietly, “Hello. I bet this is a surprise.”
Fanquist got her nerve back. She said, “My Gawd, it's the kid again! What the hell you doin' here?”
Myra said, “Dillon told me you had moved, so I thought I'd look you up.”
“Dillon told you?” Fanquist's eyes hardened.
Myra nodded. “Sure. May I come in? I'd love to look around.”
Fanquist stood squarely in the doorway. She said in a hard voice, “Scram... go on, get to hell out of here!”
Myra could see two men wandering down the street. She had to get inside quick. Still keeping a smile on her face, she said, “Why, Fan, that ain't the way to talk. I gotta message for you.” She opened her bag casually. Fanquist watched her, a puzzled look on her face. She wondered what the hell all this was leading to.
Myra took the gun out of her bag and showed it to Fanquist. “Get inside quick, you bow-legged street pushover,” she said with a rush.
Fanquist's eyes opened very wide, and she went white under her rouge. She took a step back, and Myra stepped in and shut the door.
A big living-room opened out from the hall, and Myra drove Fanquist in there. The room was expensively furnished.
Myra said between her teeth, “So this is the love-nest, is it?”
Fanquist stammered, “You're going to be sorry for this.... Wait until he hears about it.”
“Sit down, you bitch,” Myra said. “I've got a lot to talk to you about.”
Fanquist said harshly, “You ain't throwin' a scare into me. You better get out an' get out quick.”
“Sit down,” Myra repeated. She held one hand behind her back, jerking the rubber club down from her sleeve.
Fanquist was getting her nerve back all right. She sneered. “That rod ain't gettin' you anywhere.... Get out!”
Myra swung the club round and hit Fanquist across her face with it. Fanquist staggered back, the chair struck her behind her knees, and she collapsed into it. She held both her hands over her face, the pain striking her dumb. Myra stepped back a little and waited.
“Maybe you'll jump to it next time,” she said.
“You're goin' to pay for this,” Fanquist gasped. “My God, you're goin' to pay for this!”
“Listen, you bohunk. You're goin' to clear out of this town quick, an' you'll stay out. I'm just givin' you a warning.”
Fanquist took her hands away from her face. Her eyes glittered murderously. She screamed suddenly, “You can't make me get out!... Dillon's mine now—He's mine—do you hear?”
Myra's face was hard. She took a step forward. The .25 was pointing directly at Fanquist. “That's what you say,” she snapped. “You're goin' okay, and you're goin' for good.”
Fanquist moved like a snake striking. She smacked Myra's hand away, sending the gun flying across the room. At the same time she sprang forward, her head down, and her hands grasping Myra's waist.
Myra went over with Fanquist on top of her. They both hit the floor with a crash that jarred the room Fanquist shifted her hands quickly, trying to catch Myra round the throat. Myra got her chin down, so Fanquist only got a grip on her jaw. Swinging the club up, Myra hit Fanquist on the shoulder. It was a glancing blow, but it made Fanquist squeal. She made a grab at Myra's hand, but missed, and got another sock from the club.
Myra was twisting like an eel, trying to get from under Fanquist, but she was too heavy for her. She kept beating Fanquist with the club, but there was no weight behind the blows. They hurt Fanquist, but not enough to shake her off. All the time, she was lunging to get Myra's arm pinned down with her knee.
Myra got in a lucky one, hitting Fanquist on the side of her head. Fanquist went crazy with the pain. She grabbed Myra by the hair, banging her head twice on the floor. Myra stiffened her neck, checking the force, but even then it half stunned her.
Letting go of the club, so that it swung by its thong, she reached out, catching Fanquist's ears. Fanquist was wearing big pearl stud earrings. Myra wrenched them away, splitting the lobes as she did so. Fanquist let go of her and put her hands over her ears, screaming like a train going through a tunnel. Blood ran through her fingers, down her neck.
Myra hit her across her eyes with her open hand, sending her reeling backwards. A sharp kick got Myra in the clear. Fanquist crawled up on her hands and knees. Myra stiffened, then launched herself at her again. They went over in a heap, upsetting a small table and sending two chairs flying with a crash. Myra's clutching hands ripped Fanquist's dress down the front, and as Fanquist, screaming wildly, tried to roll clear, Myra clawed her down her bare back, making four long deep grooves.
Fanquist was terrified. She was half-crazy with pain and panic. She just wanted to get out of the room, away from those claw-like fingers. Somehow she managed to wriggle loose and get to her feet. She ran with unsteady steps to the door. Myra heaved up and collared her round the knees, bringing her crashing down on the floor again.
“Let me go... let me go... let me go!...” Fanquist screamed twisting and kicking.
Again Myra clawed her, ripping her clothes, stripping her to the waist.