The Cadillac went down the main street with a rush. The quivering needle of the speedometer swung to seventy. Faintly above the swish of tyres and the scream of the wind they could hear people shouting.
Myra gripped the wheel, her eyes fixed on the road that seemed to jump up from the ground and rush to meet her. Another car coming from the opposite direction crowded on brakes as the Cadillac hurtled down on it. Myra touched the wheel and swept by. The open road lay in front.
Dillon glanced through the rear window. The road was deserted. He sat back on the seat and wiped off his palms. He was tossed about in the back as the car tore down the rough road.
Gurney twisted his head and grinned at him. “Just like that,” he shouted.
Dillon didn’t say anything. He was looking murder. He wasn’t sure if Myra had tried to ditch him. He knew it was a mighty close thing. Gurney was still clutching the sack. Dillon leant forward and took it from him. Gurney looked round, a little startled, but Dillon’s cold eyes made him flinch. “Take it easy,” Dillon shouted to Myra, “we ain’t goin’ to turn this can over.”
Myra eased the pressure on the pedal and the Cadillac dropped down to fifty.
Gurney said, “It was a cinch.”
Dillon sneered. “Sure, but it could’ve been tough.”
They drove in silence for the next few miles. Gurney was feeling uneasy. He knew that if he’d let Dillon alone he’d have been shaken off the running-board. He knew Dillon knew it. What the hell was Myra playing at? This guy Dillon was too tricky to double-cross.
Myra ran the Cadillac off the road when they came to the wood where the jaloopy was hidden. They all got out, leaving the Cadillac hidden from the road.