Dead Stay Dumb by James Hadley Chase Page A

her, his eyes popping. He started to say something, but stopped.
     She sat down on the bed beside him. “Listen,” she said, “we'll do it this way. When we're set, I'm goin' to start yellin'. I'm goin' to bring the roof down. He'll come in quick enough to see what's wrong. I'll give him the line that you attacked me, an' you've gotta get tough. When he's talkin' to you, I'll come up behind him an' stick him with this. As soon as the knife's in, you slam him one from the front. Watch his gun—he'll bring that out all right. He might start shootin' unless I kill him on his feet.”
     Sweat ran down Gurney's face. “By God!” he said. “I don't like this.”
     Myra jerked impatiently. “It's goin' to work—you see.”
     “A knife ain't goin' to stop this bastard,” Gurney said; “don't you think it will.”
     Myra hesitated. She guessed maybe Gurney was right about that. Then she said, “We'll give it him like he gave it to Butch.” She slipped into the outer room and came back almost immediately. She gave Gurney a small tin of pepper. Gurney looked at the tin and twisted his mouth into a grin.
     “Yeah,” he said, and stood up.
     “Wait for a break,” Myra warned him, “then toss the lot in his face. You make a mess of that, an' you an' me won't last long.”
     Gurney nodded his head. His hands were shaking, but he was cooling down.
     Myra pulled off her dress. She ran her hands through her hair, mussing it Gurney pulled her to him. He could smell her, the acid odour of sweat and the woman of her. She pulled his head down to her mouth, forcing herself against him. They stood like that for several moments, straining to each other. Then Myra broke away from him, and stumbled over to the bed. Her face was dazed with the desire for him.
     Gurney said between his teeth, “Start squawkin'.” He wanted to get this over.
     Myra began to scream—high-pitched screams that jarred Gurney's nerves. She stopped for a moment, then, when they heard the bolt slide back with a crash in Dillon's room, she started again.
     Gurney shouted, “Shut up!”
     “Get out... get out!” she screamed at him.
     Dillon said from the door, “What the hell's goin' on?”
     Gurney jerked his head. “She's gone nuts!”
     Dillon advanced into the room. His face was cold and suspicious. Myra saw the gun in his hand. She sat up in the bed, her eyes wild. “Get him out of here,” she screamed to Dillon, “I won't have him here.”
     Dillon said with a little snarl, “Pipe down... what the hell do you think this is?” He turned his head and looked at Gurney. “You better get out of this. If you gotta lay this bitch, why the hell didn't you knock her cold first? Suppose some car passed an' came up to see what was wrong? You two screwy or somethin'?”
     Myra got off the bed. She kept the knife behind her back. She said in a frightened voice, “You must help me. Please keep this devil out of my room. I know you ain't got much use for me, but I guess you ain't lettin' him get away with this?”
     Dillon turned his head to look at her, and Gurney tossed the pepper in his face. Myra threw herself flat. Dillon gave a strangled scream and the gun exploded at his side. Gurney made a dive for the door. He wanted to get the Thompson. He blundered into Dillon's room. It was dark in there, lit only by a flickering candle. He couldn't see the Thompson anywhere. He swore as he rushed round the room, feverishly turning things over, pulling out drawers, and groping in dark corners. Every moment he expected to feel the cold barrel of the gun, and his terror grew as his questing hands found nothing.
     There was a fearful commotion of Dillon's screams and the gun going off outside. Gurney, sobbing with panic, ran back to the door again. He almost ran into Dillon, who was stumbling across the