Dead Stay Dumb Read Online Free PDF Page A

worked before, and with her thin dress she knew she was showing plenty.
     Dillon looked up. “I've seen it before,” he said, “it ain't anythin' new. Come out of the light.”
     If he had struck her she couldn't have been more furious. Automatically she moved a few paces into the shadow, then she said, “What kind of a cheap crack do you think that is?”
     Dillon shitted a wad of gum from one side of his mouth to the other. “What do you want?” he said.
     “A real live salesman, ain't you?” she said, gripping her purse hard. “If you want to keep your job you gotta do better than that.”
     Dillon said, “Skip it. I ain't listening to big-mouth talk from a kid with hot pants. Get what you want and blow.”
     Myra took three quick steps forward and aimed a slap at Dillon's face. She was nearly sobbing with rage. Dillon reached up and caught her wrist. “Be your age,” he said; “you ain't in the movies.”
     She stood there, helpless in his grip, loathing his hard eyes. “I'll tell my Pa about you,” was all she could say.
     He threw her arm away from him, spinning her into the centre of the store. “Scram, I tell you,” he said.
     She screamed at him: “You dirty sonofabitch! My Pa will bash you for this!”
     Abe stood in the doorway, his eyes popping out of his head. “What's going on?” he asked.
     Myra spun round. “You're crazy to have that bum in here. He's been insulting me—”
     Dillon came round the counter with a quick shuffle. He took hold of Myra and ran her to the door, then he swung his arm and smacked her viciously across her buttocks, sending her skidding into the street. Myra didn't stop— she ran.
     Abe tore his hair. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” he squeaked. “That's Butch Hogan's daughter. The old man'll raise the dead about this.”
     Dillon came back into the store. “Forget it,” he said. “I'm about sick of these goddam bitches starin' at me. Maybe they'll leave me alone for a while.”
     Abe, bursting with impotent fury, forgot his fear of Dillon. He spluttered, “An' what about my business? What are people goin' to say? They ain't comin' here to be roughed around. This is goin' to ruin me.”
     Dillon pushed him away and walked into the kitchen. Abe followed him, still shouting.
     “Aw, forget it,” Dillon snarled. “This ain't goin' to hurt your business. I bet that little chippy is as popular in this burg as a bad smell. This ain't goin' to get round the town. A kid like that ain't goin' to let on she's just had her fanny smacked.... Forget it.”
      
     They all sat on Butch's verandah and waited for Dillon to come. The moon was just appearing above the black silhouetted trees, throwing sharp white beams on the windows of the house.
     Upstairs, Myra crouched by the window, also waiting for Dillon. Her eyes, red with weeping, remained in a fixed stare on the road beneath her. Her whole being curled with hate. Her mind seethed.
     Butch shifted a little in his chair. “Who the hell's this fella?” he asked suddenly, asking the same question that the others were pondering about in their minds.
     “I don't know,” Gurney said. “Maybe he can get us outta this jam. I thought it might be worth tryin'.”
     Hank said from the darkness: “Sankey's in a terrible state. He don't say anything, but just sits around an' broods. Franks's got him tied up.”
     Out of the darkness Dillon came up the verandah steps. Even Myra, who had been watching the road, hadn't heard him or seen him.
     The four men sat still, looking at him. Then Gurney said, “This is Dillon.”
     Butch got to his feet. He moved round the small table, on which stood a bottle and glasses. He held out his hand. “So you're Dillon, the fight-fixer?” There was a faint sneer in his