Dead Stay Dumb

by James Hadley Chase

Just one terrified squeal sounded in their ears, then a heavy dull thud as Ernie hit the flags down below.

  Dillon gripped Roxy's arm. “Get goin',” he said viciously. “We gotta get out of this quick.”

  They pelted down the escape and blundered into the dark alley. Dillon didn't pause to look at Ernie, but ran on to the street.

  Myra started the engine as she heard them coming Dillon swung himself on to the running-board. “It's okay,” he said. “You get into the back Roxy can drive.”

  She clambered over the seat and Roxy got in under the wheel. His teeth were chattering, but he managed to engage the gear.

  Myra said, “Did you get him?”

  “What the hell do you think?”

  Roxy said, “There's a guy in Springdale who'll hide us up until this blows over.”

  “Yeah?” Dillon said. “That's a good idea. You know this bird?”

  “Sure....” Roxy spun the wheel at Twenty-third Street and headed the car up Kansas Avenue Bridge. “I know him all right He's safe and they won't look for us there.”

  They shot across the bridge fast. Suddenly Myra leant forward violently and gripped Roxy's shoulder. “Stop!... stop!... stop!” she screamed.

  Roxy was so startled he nearly piled the car into a wall. He crammed on his brakes, throwing Dillon forward. “What the hell's wrong?” he demanded.

  Myra's face was livid in the street light. “Quick... where did you get this car?” she gasped.

  Roxy twisted and looked at Dillon. “She gone nuts?” he asked angrily. “Jeeze, I nearly crashed this heap.”

  Dillon didn't like the look on Myra's face. He demanded harshly, “What is it?”

  “Where did you get this car?” Myra repeated, pounding Roxy's arm with her fist.

  “Where the hell do you think I got it?” Roxy said surlily. “I knocked it off.”

  Myra turned wildly to Dillon. “The fool's finished us,” she shouted. “Can't you see we've taken this heap over the State line!”

  Dillon suddenly turned on Roxy, his fist clenched above his head. “You sonofabitch!” he snarled. “You've got the Feds on to us.”

  Roxy stiffened. “Hell! You'll have a crowd round us. What the hell do you mean... got the Feds on us?”

  Dillon said furiously, “It's a Federal offence to take a stolen car over the State line... Didn't you know that, you goddam bastard?”

  Roxy engaged his gear. His face had gone the colour of putty. “They'll hang Hurst on to us now,” he said unsteadily. They're sure goin' to get us now.”

  Myra said, “Get on... get on quick! We gotta get under cover.”

  The big car quickened. Dillon said, “When that bastard Strawn hears about this, he'll come a-runnin'.”

  Myra said between her teeth, “See what you've done, you lug.” She beat her fists on her knees. “We had it all an' you must get smart. I'm finished with you, do you understand? I'm washed up. We're through.”

  Dillon said, “You're through when I say so, an' not before. You know too much, an' what's more, Strawn will pin somethin' on to you... don't you think he won't.”

  Roxy called, “We gotta switch cars... this broken screen'll stop us. I'm goin' on a bit further, then we'll have to walk.”

  They drove on in silence. The night was very dark. There was no moon, and heavy threatening clouds hung low. Once in the open, the big beams of the car lit up the dirt road and they lurched and jolted as Roxy tried to keep up speed.

  Dillon said in an undertone to Myra, “You got any dough?”

  She said quickly, “What you think? I came away in a rush.” She put her hand cautiously on her bag that hung on her wrist. Dillon leant forward and ripped the bag from her. For a moment she hesitated, then she flung herself forward. Dillon was expecting her to start something, and he swung a backhand, knocking her into the corner of the car. “Cut it out,” he said viciously. “You ain't got no dough, so what you gettin' sore about?”

  He put his hand inside the bag and felt the big roll of money. He grinned to himself in the dark. Taking the roll out, he transferred it to his own pocket. He tossed the bag into her lap.

  She said feverishly, “Give me that dough.”

  Dillon said, “Be careful.” There was such an ugly threat in his voice that she shivered.

  Roxy slowed down. “Springdale's just ahead,” he said, “I guess we'll ditch this heap an' walk.”

  He ran the car off the road and stopped. The three climbed out. Dillon said. “I'll look good carrying this Thompson.”

  Roxy said, “Suppose you wrap it in your coat?”

  Dillon took off his coat and did as Roxy suggested. They began to walk down the dark road. Round the bend they could see lights.

  Roxy said, “This guy we're goin' to has big ideas. You'll have to pay him plenty.”

  Dillon said coldly, “We'll see about that.”

  They walked some way, Myra between the two men. Her mind was busy as she stumbled along the dirt road, not seeing where she was going. Dillon had got her money; without that she couldn't leave him. The Feds wouldn't stop until they got Dillon. Especially a guy like Strawn, who was just laying for him. Somehow or other she had got to get the money away from Dillon and get out quick, before anything happened. The Feds hadn't the same ideas as the cops when handling a woman.

  “That's it,” Roxy said suddenly.

  Just ahead of them they could see the outline of a building. One solitary light gleamed through the window.

  They hastened their lagging steps. Roxy said, “We'll go in the back, quiet.”

  They left the road and worked their way to the back of the building. It was so dark Myra kept stumbling, but the two men didn't offer to help her. She gritted her teeth furiously. She was on her own against these two, but she wasn't scared. She had plenty of confidence in herself.

  Roxy rapped on the door with his knuckles. Alter a short wait, the door opened A tall, thin form of a man peered at them.

  “That you, Joe?” Roxy said. “Gee! Joe, it's nice to see you. These are a couple of friends of mine.... Can we come in?”

  The man stood aside Sure,” he said, without enthusiasm, “come on in.”

  They entered a small, poorly furnished room, lit by an oil lamp. Roxy said, “This is Joe Chester, the guy I told you about.

  Joe had a thin skull-like face, and his big yellow teeth stuck out, giving him a foxy look. He glanced at the three furtively, rubbing his hands on the seat of his trousers. “I guess I'm glad to know you,” he said.

  Dillon grunted. He glanced at Roxy and jerked his head.

  Roxy said, “Listen, Joe. We wantta lie up here for a little while. Can you fix it? You know how it is.”

  Joe said, “I'll get a drink I guess we can talk better with a drink.”

  He went out of the room.

  Dillon said, “I don't like that guy.”

  Roxy shrugged. “He's okay. He'll fix us, you see.”

  Joe came back with a bottle and glasses. He put them on the table. The others sat down Myra sat away from them by the window. She glanced out into the dark night from time to time.

  When the drinks were fixed, Joe said, “How long?”

  “Maybe a couple of weeks, not more,” Roxy said.

  “It'll cost you a grand a week ” Joe said, sniffing at his whisky.

  Dillon moved jerkily, but Roxy put out his hand. “Wait a minute,” he said.

  Dillon shook his hand off. “This guy ain't goin' to start skinning me,” he snarled. “A grand? You're crazy!”

  An oily smile went over Joe's face. “It came over the radio ten minutes ago,” he said softly. “You three are wanted by the Department of Justice for pinching a car, and the State police are after you for the murder of Hurst.”

  There was dead silence in the room. Myra ran her fingers through her hair. She shot a look of hatred at Dillon, but she said nothing. He started it and it was up to him to see it through.

  Dillon stood up. “So what?” he said.

 
Joe spread his dirty hands on the table. He nodded his head. “You three are hot. You're too damned hot. I know Roxy.... I'm a friend of his, so I take risks, but I guess I gotta get well paid for takin' 'em.”

  Dillon wandered over to Joe. “You'll get well paid, but you ain't gettin' a grand a week. You'll take five hundred bucks an' like it, get it?”

  Joe shook his head. “That ain't any use to me, mister...” he began.

  Dillon reached out and gripped Joe's shirt. “Listen, punk,” he snarled. “I'm booked to sit on the end of a stream of hot juice—one more guy to get knocked off don't help me anyway, see?”

  Joe turned a dirty white. “You're the boss, mister,” he said hoarsely. “My ma'll look after you. We gotta farm in the hills. Roxy knows it. They won't find you there.”

  Dillon took his hand away and, glanced at Roxy, who nodded at him. “Sure,” Roxy said, “it's a good place.”

  “We want another car,” Dillon said.

  Joe said, “I'll sell you mine. It's old, but, by heck, it goes all right!”

  Dillon turned his back so that Joe couldn't see the size of his roll. He pulled off some bills and put the rest in his pocket.

  “I'll give you twelve hundred bucks. That's for the car an' two weeks' rent.”

  Joe took the money and counted it carefully. He couldn't keep the pleasure off his face. He just gloated at the sight of so much dough.

  Dillon walked over to him. His face was hard. “Listen, bozo,” he said. “Get the car an' get some drink on board. I want a pile of grub too. That comes outta the dough I've just slipped you.”

  Joe looked at him and cringed a little. “Sure,” he said; “I'm glad to help you folks.”

  When he had gone out, Dillon said to Roxy, “You think you're smart? Pushin' me on to a chiseler like that.”

  Roxy didn't say anything. He just shrugged. They stood there waiting.

  Joe came back. “The car's ready,” he said. “You've got plenty of gas. I've put in the things you want.”

  Dillon said, “Can you find this dump, Roxy?”

  “Sure, I know where it is.”

  “Well, come on for God's sake. We ain't got all night to hang about.”

  Joe saw them to the door. “I'll be over in a few days. I'll let you know how things go.”

  Dillon grunted and got in the back of the car with Myra. Roxy took the wheel. The car shot off into the night.

  Roxy kept the pedal down. The car tore down the rough road, jolting them violently.

  “This place far?” Dillon shouted to him.

  Roxy shook his head; then, remembering that Dillon couldn't see him, shouted, “No. It'll take us about a couple of hours.”

  They drove on in silence after that. The car jolted on and on; its beams lighting the rough road, making the pot-holes look like craters.

  Myra raised her head suddenly. She put her hand on Dillon's arm. He had been cat-napping and jerked up. “What the hell?” he growled.

  “Listen,” she said.

  He thought he could hear something above the roar of the old engine, but he wasn't sure. He jerked round and looked through the rear window. In the distance he saw a single beam of light, jerking behind them.

  He listened again and faintly he heard the wail of a siren. Instantly his mind came alive.

  “There's a cop behind us,” he snapped to Roxy.

  Roxy was so startled that he nearly ran off the road. The flickering light was coming up fast.

  “Shove her along,” Dillon snarled. “He's comin' up like hell.”

  Roxy pressed the pedal down hard, and the car drew away a little. That seemed to get the cop. They could hear the roar of his engine as he forced his machine forward. The siren screamed in their ears.

  Dillon jerked out his gun and smashed the rear window.

  “Not yet... don't shoot yet!” Myra cried.

  Dillon took no notice. He fired twice at the light, but the jolting of the car spoilt his aim. The cop swerved a little, but kept on. Dillon flung the gun down on the seat and groped for the Thompson. “I'll settle this punk,” he said viciously, jabbing the nose of the Thompson through the broken window.

  Just as he was squeezing the trigger the cop started firing. He fired four times, and each time the bullet smacked into the back of the car.

  Dillon dug the butt of the gun into his shoulder and fired back, sweeping the gun in a half-circle. He kept the barrel down. The light of the pursuing machine went out.

  “I got him!” he shouted to Roxy. “Get on... he's finished.”

  He put the gun down and sank on to the seat. “I guess we're gettin' a little hot,” he said.

  Something touched him and he jerked away. Something hot and sticky was on his hand. For a startled moment he thought he had been hurt, then he knew he couldn't have been. He peered into the darkness.

  Myra was lying back in the corner of the car.

  “What is it?” he said. “You hurt?”

  She gave a sudden cough.

  Dillon said to Roxy, “Stop... she's been nicked.”

  Roxy hesitated. “Anyone behind?” he asked.

  Dillon looked back, then he said. “No... stop now.”

  Roxy pulled up and turned the spot-light round, switching on the beam. They both looked at Myra.

  She was huddled up. Her hand was pressed to her right side. Dillon could see the blood oozing through her fingers.

  He swore softly. “You hurt bad?” he said.

  She raised her head slowly. Her mouth was screwed up and he could see the marks of her teeth on her lip, where she had bitten the pain silent. The glaring light made her look ghastly. Her hair had gone limp and beads of sweat made her look as if she had just come out of rain.

  Roxy leant well forward, gaping at her. “We gotta get a doctor to her,” he said. “She looks bad.”

  Dillon looked at him hard. “Sure she looks bad,” he said slowly. “Yeah, we better get a doctor.”

  Roxy swung round and started the engine. Dillon put his hand on his shoulder. “Wait,” he said. “We can't drive into a town with her like that.... It would start something. I'll stay here an' look after her.” He put a lot of meaning in the last words.

  Roxy started to argue, but a look that had come into Dillon's eyes stopped him. “Okay,” he said huskily.

  He reached forward and turned off the engine, then he opened the door and got into the road. Dillon said under his breath, “I'll sound the horn.”

  Myra raised her head. “Roxy... where... are... you... goin'?”

  Roxy said, “I'm gettin' a croaker... you'll be okay... just you stay quiet.”

  A sudden wave of panic swept over Myra. “Roxy.... don't leave me... don't leave me... with him!”

  Roxy was already walking quickly down the dark road, his shoulders arched as if he expected a violent blow.

  Dillon reached up and shoved the light out of her eyes. “You're goin' to be okay now,” he said.

  Myra crouched back against the seat. “Give me a break,” she implored him. “I know what... you're goin' to... to do. Don't... please—”

  Dillon leant forward. “You nuts or somethin'?” he said. His face was glistening. Two deep lines ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth. “What you squawkin' about?”

  “You wouldn't... treat... me like a dog?” she gasped.

  Dillon threw off pretence. “You didn't give Fan a chance, did you?” he snarled. “You burnt her, didn't you, you little heel? You took all that dough an' I wasn't to see any of it. You know too much, sister—”

  “Look, I'm bleedin'.... It hurts so... don't hurt me any more.” She took her hand from her side and tried to reach him. He shied away from her blood-encrusted fingers. Quietly he groped for his gun. His fingers closed on the cold barrel. He got a grip and drew it off the seat, holding it behind his back.

  “Sure I'll give you a break,” he said, grinning at her.

  She was dazed with the pain and loss of blood. She could only see his outline
bending over her, and his words came to her faintly. She began to cough again, and a sudden rush of blood to her mouth terrified her.

  “I'm scared...” she whimpered. “I'm scared....”

  Dillon brought his hand from behind his back. His arm flashed up and then down. He hit her on the top of her head with the gun butt with all his strength. In the silence of the night he heard her skull crack. Blood came out of her mouth again as she fell forward.

  Dillon scrambled out of the car. He ran round to the other side and opened the door. Then, cautiously, he fumbled for her in the dark. His hand touched her head and he drew back, catching his breath a little. His hands were slippery with her blood.

  He stood there, glaring at her dim outline, suddenly frightened to touch her. In a fit of insane panic he began to beat her head and shoulders with the gun butt. At last he stopped and stood panting, his chest heaving and his mouth slack. Her two legs hung indecently from the car door. The rest of her was hidden in darkness. Moving forward slowly, he reached down and wiped his hands on her stockings. He did it in little jerks, as if he expected the legs to come to life.

  The moon suddenly swung above the clouds, lighting the road. Roxy sat on the grass farther up the road, his head in his hands. He swore continuously, refusing to let his brain dwell on what was going on. Two short blasts from the horn of the car made him get unsteadily to his feet.

  * * * * *

  Ma Chester was a small, mean-looking woman, with hard eyes and a thin pinched mouth. She stood on the stoop of the farmhouse and looked down on them. Round her waist was a piece of sacking that did for an apron. Her gnarled hands were folded across her withered breasts, and Dillon could see her black broken nails clawing at the cotton stuff of her dress.

  The farmhouse was well hidden in the hills. It was several miles from the main road, and stood entirely alone. It was well off the beaten track.

  The sun was just up. Dillon and Roxy had spent the night in the woods, fearing to call at the farmhouse at night. They were both tired and irritable. Dillon's nerves seemed to stand outside his body, so that the slightest movement or sound jarred him.

  Roxy handled Ma Chester. She seemed to know all about it. Joe had got her on the telephone.

  She said, “I guess you two want to see your room.”