The moon suddenly swung above the clouds, lighting the road. Roxy sat on the grass farther up the road, his head in his hands. He swore continuously, refusing to let his brain dwell on what was going on. Two short blasts from the horn of the car made him get unsteadily to his feet.
* * * * *
Ma Chester was a small, mean-looking woman, with hard eyes and a thin pinched mouth. She stood on the stoop of the farmhouse and looked down on them. Round her waist was a piece of sacking that did for an apron. Her gnarled hands were folded across her withered breasts, and Dillon could see her black broken nails clawing at the cotton stuff of her dress.
The farmhouse was well hidden in the hills. It was several miles from the main road, and stood entirely alone. It was well off the beaten track.
The sun was just up. Dillon and Roxy had spent the night in the woods, fearing to call at the farmhouse at night. They were both tired and irritable. Dillon's nerves seemed to stand outside his body, so that the slightest movement or sound jarred him.
Roxy handled Ma Chester. She seemed to know all about it. Joe had got her on the telephone.
She said, “I guess you two want to see your room.”
They followed her into the farmhouse. There, was a smell of dirt and cooking in the place. Dillon twitched his nose a little.
The main living-room was bare and dirty. An old man who looked old enough to be Ma Chester's father sat in a small rocker in front of the kitchen stove. In spite of the growing heat from the sun, he seemed to be cold, shivering every now and then. He was bald, unshaven and rheumy. He didn't bother to look up as they came in.
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.