Myra said in a quiet voice, “Well, that’s talkin’.”
Roxy looked up and grinned. “Sure, that’s the way it is, sister. You gotta go slow, see? I can give you an openin’ here and there. I’d be glad to, but you gotta build your set-up slow.”
Dillon said, “We’re as good as the rest of the punks in this dump.” The cold light in his eyes escaped Roxy.
Roxy rambled on: “You ain’t met the big shots yet,” he said. “I’ve been in the racket for ten years, an’ I’m glad not to know them, see? The big shots stick out, an’ they’re the first to get their ears slapped down. You gotta get protection, an’ you’ve gotta pay for it, if you’re a big shot. You get G-heat smeared over you. Look at Floyd an’ Bailey an’ Nash or any of ’em, They’re on the nun an’ they’ll keep on the run. I ain’t got anythin’ to worry about, I’m smart.” Again he missed the look in Dillon’s eyes.
The telephone whirred suddenly, startling them. Roxy got off the couch and took the receiver off the cradle. A husky voice came over the wire. “There’re a couple of hard-lookin’ guys casin’ the street. I guess they’re Feds. They’re headin’ your way.”
Roxy said, “Thanks, pal,” and put the receiver back. He looked at the other two. “You better park your rods,” he said quietly. “A couple of Federal dicks are on their way up.”
Dillon got to his feet quickly and silently. “They got nothin’ on me,” he said.
Roxy pulled his coat away from his shoulder-holster and undid the buckle. He slipped off the harness. “If you got a rod, you better park it,” he said; “these guys get tough if they catch you toting a gun.”
Myra said in a little flurry of panic, “Where can we hide them?”
Roxy walked over to the fireplace and knelt down. He pushed the tiled hearth back like a drawer and dropped his gun into the narrow hollow beneath. “The old girl’s got this in every room. Use it.”