Gurney looked at him uneasily, but said nothing.
Myra watched the two men come out of the cabin and walk over to the shed where the car was garaged. She got up and went in, clearing the table and stacking the plates. She was still trembling with suppressed rage. She heard the car drive off, and she ran to the window. Dillon was sitting at the wheel.
Gurney came in. “He’s gone downtown,” he said.
Myra sat down on the wooden bench under the window. “I want to talk to you,” she said, her words coming tense and harsh. “It’s time you got wise to this guy.”
Gurney scratched the back of his head. “I don’t get this,” he said.
“You ain’t goin’ to get anything from him. Don’t you think it. He’s got that scratch from Abe Goldberg… has he given you any? Not a chance! You’re running around with him, an’ he’s tied an accessory rap on you. He’s the boss, an’ you jumpin’ in circles. You’re just a goddam sucker, scared by a bum like that.”
Gurney shifted. “That guy totes a—rod,” he said. “What can I do?”
Myra’s eyes glittered. “I’m goin’ to tell you what you’re goin’ to do. You’re goin’ to ‘yes’ that guy until you get the run of his game, then you’re goin’ to turn him in. You’re goin’ to have a gun, an’ you’re goin to shoot better than he shoots. You’re goin’ to do everything better than he does. Then he goes ”
Gurney stood looking at her. Then he nodded his head slowly. “Sure,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s an idea.”
The sun was tailing behind the hills when Dillon got back.