Dillon pushed his hat back. “Okay: I toted a rod for Nelson. I’m Dillon.”
Miss Benbow moved uneasily. “I guess most of Nelson’s boys are dead,” she said.
“This one ain’t.” Dillon grinned mirthlessly. “We want a room an’ some grub.”
Miss Benbow hesitated, then she said, “Fifty bucks a day.”
Myra said, “For Gawd’s sake… this ain’t the Belmont Plaza.”
Dillon broke in sharply. “Shut up! We’re floppin’ in this joint… who’s payin’, anyway?”
“Let’s see your money.” Miss Benbow held out her hand. There was a cold look in her eyes.
Dillon grinned wolfishly. He pulled out his roll and let Miss Benbow feast her eyes on it. She drew her thick lips off her teeth. There was plenty of grease in that smile of hers. “Like the look of that?” he said.
Miss Benbow said, “You can have a room all right. I guess I want a week’s rent now, mister.” Her voice was well shot with oil.
Dillon stripped some notes off the roll and slung them on the table. Miss Benbow picked up the money and counted it carefully. Then she jerked her head. “I’ll take you up,” she said.