Butch moved quickly. He almost trod on Gurney’s foot as he went by. He snatched Myra’s dress out of her hands. Myra skipped away and flattened herself against the wall. Her eyes sprang open wide.
Butch felt the dress in his hands, then he put it to his nose. His big, rubbery face darkened. “What the hell you doin’?” he growled. “Why’ve you taken this off?”
Steeling her voice, she said, “What’s the matter with you tonight? I was hot… can’t a girl take her dress off?”
“Come here.”
Gurney stopped breathing.
Myra said, pressing herself against the wall, “Not damn likely!”
Butch walked slowly to the door and locked it. He took the key out and put it in his pocket. “There’s something phoney goin’ on here,” he snarled at her. “Let’s see what it is.”
Gurney thought, “With a gun I could blast the old devil.”
With a sliding shuffle Butch came at Myra. He came so quickly that she only just escaped him. Slithering along the wall, out of his reach, she stood by the door breathing in short, jerky gasps.
Butch stood, his hand on the wall, his sightless eyes turned on her. “You’d better come here,” he said.