“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.
Fanquist tried to fight back, making a lunge at Myra’s eyes with her nails. Myra jerked her head away, and hit her across both wrists with the club. She put a lot into that blow. Fanquist fell on her knees, her head swimming with pain.
“Now you two-timin’ floosie,” Myra panted, “here’s what’s comin to you.” She kicked Fanquist in her side, sending her over hard. Fanquist was past squawking. Her eyes wide with terror and pain, she crouched there, moaning Blood glistened on her body like paint.
Myra said, “Get up before I start on you again. Go on, get up you heel!”
Fanquist dragged herself off the floor, her breath coming in great heaving sobs. “Don’t… hit me…” she whined. “I’ll… play ball…”
Myra sneered. “I ain’t finished with you,’ she said. “I’ve got a long way to go before I’m through with you.”
Fanquist, giving a strangled cry, turned and stumbled to the door. Myra threw a chair in her way. Fanquist banged her knees against it and went forward, falling across the chair with a thud that shook the breath out of her body.
Myra sprang forward, and driving her knee into Fanquist’s shoulders, she pinned her.
Fanquist screamed, a real terror gripping her. With one hand pushing her face into the carpet, Myra swung the club with the other.
“Go on,” Myra said, “you yell….”
She began to beat Fanquist’s arched back with all her strength. Fanquist wriggled and screamed, but Myra held her. She tried to protect herself with her hands, but the club beat them away, sending waves of pain up her arms as well as through her body. Myra beat her until she drooped over the chair, limp and silent.
Standing there breathless, Myra said, “I guess that’s all.”
Fanquist didn’t move. She was past hearing anything. Myra dragged her off the chair and turned her over on her back. She stood over her, a hard little smile on her mouth. “I guess you won’t pull any more tricks with me,” she said.
Leaving Fanquist lying there, Myra went into the bathroom. Her dress was stained with blood and her hair was like a woollen rug. She poured some water into the hand-basin and bathed her face. She carefully washed her hands and sponged the blood from her dress. All the time she was doing this her mind was active.
Would Dillon start something now? she wondered. She guessed Dillon would be mad about this. A pair of electric hair-tongs caught her eye. She stood looking at them, hesitating. She picked them up and turned them over in her hand, then she took the plug and plugged it into the socket. She turned the switch.
Going back into the outer room again, she stood over Fanquist. Fanquist was lying there, her arms thrown wide and her breath coming in a whistling sound through her open mouth.
Myra said between her teeth, “I guess you ain’t goin’ to have any looks in a little while. He’s kind of fussy about the broads he takes around, an’ a bag with marks on her mug like you’re goin’ to have ain’t getting to the first base with him.”
She turned and walked with vicious determination back-to the bathroom and to the red-hot tongs.
The next two days Dillon was very quiet. Myra expected him to say something, but he didn’t. Sometimes she caught him looking at her thoughtfully, but he always shifted his eyes when she looked up.
He came back from the poolroom at his usual time, and Myra began to believe that nothing would be said. She made a few enquiries and learnt that Fanquist had disappeared. The villa was empty and deserted. Myra thought she’d done a nice job of work, but Dillon was still quiet and he still looked at her, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do.
Sitting in his office, Dillon brooded about Fanquist. He had gone down in the evening and found her. Even his brutal mind was shocked. But as he looked at her, any feeling he might have had for her went away. The two deep burns across her face sickened him. Her sobbing whine gave him the jitters. He had said brutally and bluntly that she’d better get out of town.
Myra scared him a little. She was getting too dangerous. When he had put through his plan of fixing Little Ernie, he’d have to do something about her. She had served her purpose, and now he felt he had outgrown her.