“What the hell do you want?” he said. “You got me thinkin’ the bulls were here.”
Roxy eased his way into the room. He looked a little startled at the sight of Dillon’s gun. “I guess I’m sorry about that,” he said. “But you two seen the paper?” His eyes were popping a little.
Myra said from the bed, “Let me see.”
Roxy tossed the paper on to the bed. “Got a big write-up there,” he said. “I guess you two’ve started already.”
Dillon went over and took the paper from Myra. He read through the account coldly and then tossed the paper back to Myra. “What makes you think that was me?” he asked Roxy quietly.
Roxy didn’t like the look in his eyes. He said uneasily, “Why, I just guessed it. None of the mob round here talk big when they pull a job. I just figgered that maybe you had started a new line.”
Dillon walked over to the mirror and examined his beard in the glass. Both Myra and Roxy watched him. He turned his head, so that he could look at them. “It ain’t goin’ to be the last those rags are goin’ to print about me,” he said. “They’ll have plenty to print before I’m through.”
During the two weeks that followed Dillon pulled three more hold-ups. He purposely kept them small—a service station and two out-of-the-way stores. He made enough money to be sure of living well for the next few weeks.
Although they shared a room, he did not again give Myra any opportunity of expressing her feelings. He was cold and ruthless to her. She was there to do what he said, and nothing more. Myra was sure of herself. She accepted his indifference and waited. She knew now that he had feelings, and she knew that it was only a matter of time.
Acting on Roxy’s suggestion, they moved out of Miss Benbow’s and took a small apartment off Grand Avenue.