Dillon, satisfied that he had fixed her, went over to an arm-chair and sat down.
“I’ve got the mob,” he said, picking his words. “I’ve got the racket, I guess I’m goin’ to be the big shot… the only big shot around here.”
Myra said, “But the cops?”
Dillon sneered. “Hurst paid the cops. Okay, I’ll pay ’em. They ain’t to have any beef. I’ll pay ’em better, see?”
Myra didn’t say anything. She sat staring at the floor.
Encouraged by her silence, Dillon went on, “Tonight I’m goin’ after Ernie. We’ve got him sewn up tight.”
Myra jerked up her head. She just stared at Dillon, speechless. Dillon nodded at her, his triumph making him expand.
“Yeah,” he said, “I’ve got the whole layout fixed. First Hurst. Okay, he’s gone. Then Little Ernie…. He goes tonight. Then I got this burg to play with. It means plenty of dough, baby, an’ I’m gettin’ the lot.”
Myra beat her hands together. “For God’s sake… can’t you see where you’re headin’? Little Ernie’s got everything. He’s got a bigger mob… he’s got protection… the cops are behind him…. Oh, hell! I tell you he’s got everything.”
Dillon grinned. “Okay. When he’s washed up, I get it, so what?”