They both sat and watched Dillon clean the gun. Every now and then Myra would ask a question. She asked it in a way that touched Dillon’s vanity. He talked all right. They learnt a lot about that gun while he was cleaning it.
Gurney helped Dillon hide the case of shells, and they put the gun under Dillon’s bed. Then they came back to the sitting-room.
Dillon sat on the edge of the table and looked at Gurney. “There’s a small bank down there that might be worth workin’ over I’d do it if I’d someone to drive the car.”
Myra said quietly, “I’ll drive the car.”
Dillon jerked his head round. “What the hell do you know about a car?” he said shortly. “A getaway is the main thing in a bank stick-up. The guy who handles the wheel’s got to use his head. He’s got to drive like hell an’ keep on drivin’ like hell.”
Myra shrugged. “I guess nobody’s goin’ to drive like hell in that old jaloopy,” she said.
“Who said I was going in her?” Dillon demanded. “You don’t know a thing about this business. I’ll knock a car off when I’m ready. A real fast job, with enough steam under the hood to shake anythin’ on four wheels.”
“Get a bus like that,” Myra said, “an’ I’ll drive it.”
Dillon began to get angry. “Will you keep your goddam nose outta this?” he snarled. “This ain’t for you, so shut up.”
Myra got up and walked to the door. “Yeah?” she said. “Then watch this.”