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.”