Sunset Avenue was at the far end of the town. It took them a good half-hour’s run to make it. The driver suddenly crammed on his brakes. “Here it is, lady: what number jer want?”
Myra said, “Stop here… this’ll do.” She got out of the cab and paid him off. Then she walked slowly down the Avenue looking for 158. Her fury was smouldering by the time she found it. The place was a neat little villa standing in a fair-size garden. A place like this would cost money to keep up, she thought, and for a moment she hesitated. Maybe she had made a mistake. This place might be where one of Dillon’s business associates hung out. Her step faltered. Then she thought she’d come this far, it wouldn’t take long to check it up.
She walked up the crazy pavement and rang on the bell. She stood waiting, uncertain of herself. The door jerked open and Fanquist gaped at her.
It was certainly a shock to Myra. She saw it in a flash. Dillon was the rich guy who was staking this floosie to a good time.
She said quietly, “Hello. I bet this is a surprise.”
Fanquist got her nerve back. She said, “My Gawd, it’s the kid again! What the hell you doin’ here?”
Myra said, “Dillon told me you had moved, so I thought I’d look you up.”
“Dillon told you?” Fanquist’s eyes hardened.
Myra nodded. “Sure. May I come in? I’d love to look around.”
Fanquist stood squarely in the doorway. She said in a hard voice, “Scram… go on, get to hell out of here!”