Dillon moved over to the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. Myra followed him out.
Coming up the stairs with a rush were two cops. They waved their guns at Dillon. Hurst heard them and came out quickly.
“Let these two through here,” he said. “Those are the stiffs you gotta look after.” He pointed to the two bodies lying on the floor.
The cops stared at Dillon and Myra as they walked past them. Their looks were curious. They hadn’t seen these two before.
Dillon kept the Thompson under his coat and walked quickly. He was glad to get into the street. In the car, on the way back, he said, “I guess we’re movin’ in the right direction. This Hurst bird will get us just where we wantta get… you see.”
Leaving the car in the basement garage, they groped their way upstairs to their apartment. Dillon went first. Halfway up, her heart beating hard, Myra made a deliberate false step. She stumbled up against Dillon.
He cursed as her weight struck him, and to save himself he twisted and caught at her. She felt his hard hands gripping her waist. The feel of his hands for the first time made her go limp. They stood in the dark like that, his hands digging into her flesh.
He said at last, “Can’t you watch your feet?” He did not take his hands away, but shifted them a little so that they were just under her breasts.
She said nothing. His touch paralysed her. The fire that had burnt inside her for him blazed up so that she could only lean limply against him, willing him to stay there.
He suddenly took his hands away and took a step from her. “Come on up, for God’s sake,” he said thickly. “You goin’ to stand there all night?”