Dillon said, “Forget it. We ain’t interested no more.”
Myra cut in sharply, “Fourteen hundred. That’s flat.”
Dillon shot her a hard look, but didn’t say anything. Mabley scratched his head. “I’ll split the difference. I’m cuttin’ my own throat, but I guess business is busted to hell these days.”
Dillon wanted that car. He nodded. “Sixteen hundred if you fill the tank an’ oil her.”
Mabley looked at him. “You sure are a hard guy,” he said. “But I’ll do it.”
“Get her ready in an hour,” Dillon said sharply. “We’ll be back.”
They walked out of the garage. Myra started a moan. “This is goin’ to knock a hole in our dough.”
Dillon said, “Where do you get this ‘our’ stuff? We’re fillin’ the hole up again tonight, so what do you care?”
* * *
The Conoco Service station at Bonner Springs was floodlit at night. Two tired attendants relaxed in the office, their ears unconsciously cocked for the sound of a car, ready to snap to attention and come out at a run.