Dead Stay Dumb Read Online Free PDF Page B

over.
     Butch said, “Who taught you to punch like that?”
     Dillon shrugged. “Never mind that. I've got things to talk to you about. Anyone else in this dump?”
     Hogan shook his head. “My gal's upstairs in bed. That's all.”
     “I'm goin' to make some dough out of the town,” Dillon said. “You can come in on the ground floor if you want to.”
     Butch stroked his nose. “Suppose you put the cards down an' let me look at 'em,” he said at last.
     Dillon lowered his voice. “I carried a gun for Nelson,” he said.
     Crouched outside the door, Myra shivered a little.
     Butch looked a little uneasy. “He was a hard guy,” he said.
     “He was a mug,” Dillon said bitterly. “I've been under cover now some time. The heat's off. Okay, I guess it's time to move into the money again. How's it feel?”
     Butch said, “You ain't tellin' me this unless you knew right off I'd agree.”
     Dillon nodded his head. “I thought you were a bright guy. Maybe you have lost your peepers, but you still got some brain.”
     Butch said again, “You want the house, huh? Near the State line. Me as a cover?”
     “You got it.” Dillon relaxed a little. “I ain't working anythin' this side of the border. Just quick raids. Nothin' very big; that'll come later. Then back under cover here. How do you like that?”
     Butch brooded. “What's it worth?” he asked at last.
     “Twenty-five per cent cut on everything.”
     Butch nodded. “Okay.”
     Dillon asked abruptly: “This guy Gurney—is he all right?”
     Butch nodded. “He'd come in, I guess,” he said. “Gurney's after the big dough. He ain't particular how he makes it.”
     “I'll have a word with him later. Now this guy Franks. There's only one way to deal with him. He's gotta have a scare thrown in him, see? He's got to be tipped off that he gets it if he doesn't take a dive. The first thing is to square the Town Marshal How'd you stand with him?”
     “He's an old bird Sell his soul for a buck. He can be squared.”
     “Then see him an' fix it. I gotta keep out of this. Tip him off to put his money on Sankey an' tell him the fight's rigged. If Franks puts up a squawk for protection, he won't get it, see?”
     Butch nodded.
     Dillon took out the hundred dollars and counted out fifty of them.” “Give him that to bet with.”
     Butch fumbled with the money and put it in his pocket. “I guess you're goin' to fix this fight all right,” he said. “I'm putting everything I've got on this.”
     Dillon said, “It's goin' to be okay, you see.”
     He moved over to the door. Outside, Myra crept away, not making a sound. She climbed the ladder leading to the loft which served for her bedroom; and safe in the darkness of familiar surroundings she slipped out of her dress before going to the window. Dillon was standing in the road, looking cautiously up and down, then with a quick shuffling step he disappeared into the darkness.
     Myra stood by the window some time, thinking, her face, lit by the moonlight, the hot air of the night touching her skin. Even when she got into bed she could not sleep. The clay-like face of Dillon hung before her like the dead face of the moon. His voice still rang in her ears, scorning her. The blow that he had struck her still burnt her body, making her squirm on the sagging mattress. Sleep would not come to her, to blot out mercilessly the pain of her bruised pride. She suddenly began to cry the hot tears running down her face unchecked. Her two fists, clenched, beat on the bed. “I hate you! I hate you!” she sobbed. “You lousy, goddam bastard!”
         * * * *
         Gurney drove carefully. He had to nurse the car over the rough road. One good pot-hole would sure bust the axle. Dillon sat beside him, his hat