Dillon came running out. His face was like stone. “Get goin’,” he snapped.
“What was that?” Roxy asked uneasily, as he engaged his gears.
“What you think?” Dillon snarled from the darkness. “Think I could let that punk run around and yap his head off?”
Roxy said nothing. He moved a little way away from Dillon. He said at last, “I guess we’d better get back.”
“Get back nothin’,” Dillon said, his voice gritty. “I’m goin’ to see Joe. Keep her goin’.”
They reached Joe’s place after a long run. The road carried little traffic, and the cars that swept passed them didn’t bother them.
At Joe’s, Dillon got out quickly. “You stay here,” he said, “I’ll handle this bastard. Sound your horn if anythin’ starts.”
Roxy opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. He sat still, watching the road.
A light still burned in Joe’s room. Dillon walked quietly up the path. He tried the door, but it was locked. He rapped on the door with his knuckles. Roxy could hear him from the car. After a pause, Joe came. He stood in the open doorway, his mouth hanging slack.
Dillon moved the Thompson so he could see it. “Get inside,” he said through his teeth.