“Sure…. You ain’t…?” Roxy twisted his body round in the car. His eyes suddenly widened with surprise.
“No yellow heel’s runnin’ me out of this burg,” Dillon said between his teeth. “I guess we’ll go an’ call on that guy.”
“Don’t… no… don’t be crazy.” Myra struggled up from the floor. Her hands resting on the back of the seat, she again said. “No… no….”
Dillon shifted round and hit her with his open hand across her face, sending her back into the darkness with a crash. “I’ll settle with you in a tittle while,” he said. “Get goin’,” to Roxy.
Roxy hesitated, then he started the engine. Swinging the car round, he headed back to the East side.
Dillon picked up the Thompson and examined it carefully, then he laid it down. “I guess this gun’s too big for the job,” he said thoughtfully.
Roxy said uneasily, “You’ll never get in with that.”
Dillon pulled his .45 from its holster and made sure that it was ready for use. He shoved it away again, and relaxed, watching the dark road. At the back, Myra sobbed quietly, now completely terrified.
Roxy said at last, “It’s down on the left. I’ll drive past it.”
They went slower. Dillon kept well back in the darkness of the car.