Myra had money to burn. She kept away from Dillon’s headquarters, and lived the life of a rich business man’s wife.
For six months Dillon had been coming back each night around nine o’clock, and they would go out some place and eat. And now there was no sign of him’.
She wondered if he’d run into trouble. After his one attempt to get rid of Hurst, Little Ernie had sunk in the background. Myra began to think maybe Dillon had got himself knocked off in a gun fight.
The bell whirred suddenly, making her start round.
She ran to the front door. Roxy was standing there, his black fedora tilted over his eyes, and his hands in his pockets.
Myra said, “Why, Roxy!” She was pleased to see him.
“H’yah, baby.” Roxy stood smiling at her. “Ain’t seen you for a long time.”
“Come right in.” She stood aside to let him pass.
Roxy wandered in, his eyes roving round the room. He raised his eyebrows a little. “Swell joint you got here,” he observed.
“Do you like it?” Myra led him over to the leather couch.
“Sure, I think it’s class. You two must be knockin’ the berries off the bush all right.”
Myra nodded. “We get along,” she said. “And you, Roxy, how are you makin’ out?”
Roxy shrugged. “About the same,” he said. “I’d like somethin’ more steady, but I ain’t moanin’.”
Myra said, “Maybe Dillon’d fix it for you.”
“You think he would?” Roxy sounded eager.
Myra nodded. “I guess he’d be glad to. I’ll speak to him when he blows in.” The look of uncertainty came back.
“Ain’t he around?” Roxy sounded disappointed. “I loped to see that guy.”
Myra shook her head. “I’m worried,” she said. “He ain’t given me a buzz or nothin’.”
Roxy leant back. “Well, he’ll be along… you see.”
Myra moved about the room. “What’ll you drink, Roxy?” she asked.
“A rye if you’ve got it,” Roxy said. “You sure have moved up in the world.” He watched her mix the drinks, then he said casually, “You heard about Fan?”
Myra came over and gave him the rye. She shook her head. “No,” she said. “What’s Fan been doin’?”
Roxy held the glass up to the light and looked at the liquor thoughtfully. “She pulled out about three weeks ago. Left me flat. I miss that dame.”
Myra raised her eyebrows. “What she want to do that for?” she asked.
“You know how it is. I guess we got along all right, but we just didn’t think much of each other. She ran into some bird who’d got a lotta dough, and she joined up with him.”
Myra said, “Who’s the bird?”
Roxy shook his head. “She didn’t tell me that,” he said, stretching his legs out and looking at his feet. “Went off kind of mysteriously. Didn’t even leave an address. She just said she’d found some guy who was goin’ to stake her for a good time, and off she went.”
Outside they heard the front door click, and Dillon walked in. He stood in the doorway looking at Roxy, a little startled. Roxy put his glass on the table and stood up. “Hello, Bud,” he said. “I guess it’s good to see you.”
Dillon came over and shook hands. He didn’t look at Myra. “For the love of Mike,” he said, “this is a surprise.”
Myra said, “Where’ve you been? I’m starvin’.”
Dillon looked at her. “Yeah,” he said, “I guess I’ve dealt you a raw hand. I got held up by Hurst just as I was leavin’, and that guy jawed until right now. I’d’ve given you a buzz, only you know how he is.”
Myra relaxed a little. “I was gettin’ the jitters. I thought maybe you had been in a fight.”
Dillon grinned. “I don’t get into fights,” he said. “This was just business.”
Roxy thought he was lying, but he wasn’t sure.
Myra said, “Look, honey, can you work Roxy in your outfit?”
Dillon hesitated a moment, then he nodded. “Sure, I’d be glad to. Suppose you come down to the office tomorrow an’ let’s talk it over.”
Roxy was impressed in spite of himself. This Dillon was certainly a big shot now. He nodded. “I guess I’ll blow,” he said. “You two want to eat.”
Myra saw him to the door. “Good, night, Roxy,” she said. “Don’t you worry. He’ll find you a job. We owe you somethin.”
Roxy tipped his hat and grinned, then he let himself out of the apartment.
Myra came back. “Suppose we have somethin’ to eat right here?” she said. “It’s too late to go out.”
Dillon was lying back in a chair, his eyes half shut. “You go ahead, I’ve had somethin’.”
Myra stood looking at him, her mind suddenly suspicious. She started to say something, but changed her mind. She went into the kitchen and cut a meat sandwich. She stood, leaning against the kitchen table, thinking. When she had finished the sandwich she went back into the other room.
Dillon had gone into the bedroom. She could hear the bathwater running. She finished her rye and lighted a cigarette. She stood waiting until she heard him go into the bathroom, then she walked over to the telephone and dialled a number.
Hurst came on. He sounded irritable. Myra said, “I’m worried about Dillon, Mr. Hurst. You ain’t seen him, have you?”
“Hasn’t he come in?” Hurst sounded bored.
“No, I don’t know where he is…. I haven’t seen him all day.”
“Wasn’t he with you tonight?”
“I tell you I haven’t seen him all day,” Hurst snapped. “He’ll be along,” and he hung up.
Myra dropped the receiver into its cradle. Her eyes were stormy. There was only one reason why Dillon had lied to her. So the heel was two-timing. Who was the woman? Her hands clenched at her side, wave after wave of rage ran through her. For a moment she played with the idea of shooting Dillon there and then, but she knew he was now in too strong a position to be cast aside. Myra knew that without Dillon she would have to start all over again. No longer would she have an apartment or money…. No, Dillon must not be touched. It was the woman she’d have to go for.
Her rage subsided as she turned the problem over. The more she thought about it, the more she realized the danger she herself was in. Let Dillon find someone who really pleased him, and there was nothing to stop him from ditching her. He had Hurst and a tough mob at his back, and although she had given him ideas, and had helped him, she knew he was ruthless enough to toss her aside if she tried to make trouble for him.
She walked into the bedroom and began to undress. Dillon came out of the bathroom, humming to himself. She caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. His eyes were dull; dark rings under them gave him a tired, heavy look. She caught her breath sharply, sitting there, her heart beating hard.
Dillon got into bed and snapped off the lamp at his side. “Come on,” he said, “I wantta go to sleep.”
She stood up, passing the comb through her hair. “You are tired tonight,” she said, keeping her voice steady with an effort.
“Yeah,” Dillon grunted, “I’m damn tired. Get into bed for Gawd’s sake.”
She put the comb down on the dressing-table and came over to him. She sat on the bed, looking at him with glittering eyes. “Shall I come in with you?” she almost snarled at him.
Dillon’s heavy face hardened. He sat up on his elbow. “Didn’t I tell you I’m beat?” he snapped. “Get into bed. I wantta sleep.”
“Too tired, even for love?” The gritty, suppressed rage startled him into wakefulness.
“What the hell’s this?” he said. “Can’t I get tired sometimes?”
“Not the way you’ve been gettin’ tired,” she shrilled. “I’m on to you—”
Dillon pulled back the bedclothes and swung his feet to the floor. He reached out and gripped her throat in his hand. She struck at him wildly, but his arm was too long. He held her away from him.