Roxy thought Strawn might get a line on Dillon. Strawn was no fool, and he was just aching to push someone around. Dillon, one day, would overstep the line and start shooting, Roxy reasoned, and Roxy was not going to be there when Strawn called with the wagon. He reasoned it out carefully with Dillon. “This guy Strawn likes gettin’ tough. He ain’t got anythin’ on you, but that wouldn’t stop him lookin’ you up an’ slappin’ your ears down if he hadn’t anything better to do. I guess you’d be a lot safer away from this joint.”
Through Roxy’s efforts they got another apartment. It had one big advantage of being near the Union Station and having two entrances, and consequently two exits. Also, Roxy pointed out, they were just a block away from the General Hospital, so what more could they want!
A week after they had moved in, Roxy surprised them by a late visit. It was just after eleven o’clock, and Dillon was sitting by the radio reading the newspaper. Myra was practising dance steps at the other end of the room. She broke off to let Roxy in. She had only to take one look at Roxy to see that he was seriously worried. “What’s your grief?” she asked him sharply.
Dillon swung round in his chair and stared at him with his hard eyes.
Roxy wandered in and sat on the arm of a chair. He pushed his hat to the back of his head. “I gotta load on my mind,” he said. “You know Hurst?”
Dillon said impatiently, “I know Hurst all right. What’s the matter with him?”
“Little Ernie’s crowd is after him. He’s asked for it an’ he’s goin’ to get it.”
Dillon shrugged. “Why get low? You ain’t got to worry about Hurst. Suppose they do iron him out?”
Roxy said, “You don’t get it. If Hurst gets knocked there’s goin’ to be a hell of a stink. The cops’ll crack down on everyone they can lay their hands on. Hurst pays ’em plenty, and it’s sure goin’ to make them mad to have a meal-ticket like that shot to hell.”
Myra said, “What do you mean, crack down?”