“I did it.”
Myra put her hand to her mouth. She took a step back, pushing the stool away.
“You did it?” she repeated. “Did what?”
Dillon moved restlessly. “I gave him the works,” he said. “The yellow rat came in shootin’ off his mouth, so I gave it to him.”
Myra’s eyes flashed. “Are you crazy?” she screamed. “You’ve killed Hurst, you goddam fool?”
Dillon went over to her with two quick strides. His hand shot out and gripped her wrap, twisting it in his fist. He jerked her forward, so that their faces were close. “Shut up!” he snarled. “You shut your trap. I’m runnin’ this outfit. I ain’t standin’ any yap from you. If you don’t watch out, I’ll knock you off.”
Myra stiffened.
“Yeah, I mean that,” he said, his eyes glaring at her.
She put her hand on his wrist. “Let me go,” she said. “I won’t start anythin’.”
Dillon gave her a shove, sending her backwards. She sat down in the chair, her hands limply at her sides. “What are you goin’ to do?” she asked.