It didn’t take them long to get to Abe’s store. The place was in darkness. Dillon climbed out of the car. He leant forward and took the ignition key. Gurney watched him, feeling trapped. Then Dillon said, “You stay here. I ain’t goin’ to be long.”
He walked round to the back, opening the door with a Silently he moved down the dark corridor, until he came to the shop.
Abe was adding figures in a ledger, a skull-cap on Ins head, and his face alive with intent satisfaction. He glanced up when Dillon came in. “Was it a good fight?” he asked, keeping one bony finger on the ledger page, nailing down a figure, as if he were frightened that it would escape him.
Dillon said, “Stay where you are. Don’t start a squawk.” He held the Colt so that Abe could see it.
Abe laid down his pen… His old fingers trembled a little. “My Rose was wrong,” he said sadly.
Dillon walked to where Abe hid the day’s takings. They were in a coffee-tin, up on a shelf. He reached up and took it down. Abe sat with his hands in his lap, quite crushed.
“I guess I want this more’n you,” Dillon said, emptying the tin on the counter. There were just over a hundred dollars in small bills in the tin. Dillon scooped them into his pocket. He said, “I guess I’ll take your wad too… maybe you’ll use a bank after this.”
Abe gave a groan. “You ain’t givin’ me a break,” he said. “That money took some earning.”
Dillon opened the till, pulled the drawer right out, and put his hand in the gap. He felt round the wood carefully, found the wad of notes in the false drawer, took them out and put them in his pocket. “Two grand, ain’t it, Goldberg?” he said. “I’ve watched you count it enough times.”
Abe said, “I guess this is the last time I’ll help any bum.”