Gurney paused, uncertain. Then he said, “Listen, I don’t like that line of talk.”
Dillon wandered out from behind the counter, he still rubbed his forearm. “Don’t ‘big shot’ me,” he said. “I said what’s the matter with him?”
Again Gurney felt uneasy. The dangerous, savage power in Dillon conveyed itself to him.
“Franks got him jittery,” he said reluctantly.
Dillon nodded. “He goin’ to win?”
“Sankey? I guess not.” Gurney frowned. “I gotta lotta dough on that boy.”
“I guess I could fix it,” Dillon said, watching him closely.
“You?” Gurney looked incredulous.
“Sure, why not?” Dillon lounged to the door and looked into the street, then he came back again.
“What d’you know about fixin’ fights?” Gurney asked suspiciously.