The Dead Stay Dumb

by James Hadley Chase

  Dillon stayed there, leaning over the desk, his gun still pointing at Hurst, his lips off his teeth.

  “Now, you bastard,” he said, “you can stay dumb!”

  Roxy tipped his hat back and stared. “Hey,” he said, “you’ve spoilt your rug.”

  * * *

  Myra sat before the dressing-table, a loose silk wrap across her shoulders. Her skin was faintly red from the hot water of the shower. A cigarette dangled from her full red lips and the spiral of smoke rose over her head. She took time fixing her nails.

  Dillon jerked open the door and walked in. Myra looked at him and glanced at the clock. It was not seven o’clock.

  “You’re early,” she said, laying down the file. She pulled the wrap on and fastened the sash.

  Dillon was very thoughtful. He went over to the window and, raising the blind a little, peered into the street. Myra watched him. She had an uneasy feeling that something had happened. “What is it?” she asked.

  Without looking round, Dillon said, “Plenty.” He stood there a moment, then he dropped the blind and came back to the middle of the room. With his hat at the back of his head, he stared at Myra with blank eyes.

  She said, “For God’s sake… what is it?”

  “Hurst’s washed up,” he said abruptly.

  “Little Ernie?” Myra got to her feet.

  Dillon hesitated, then he shook his head.

  “I did it.”

  Myra put her hand to her mouth. She took a step back, pushing the stool away.

  “You did it?” she repeated. “Did what?”

  Dillon moved restlessly. “I gave him the works,” he said. “The yellow rat came in shootin’ off his mouth, so I gave it to him.”

  Myra’s eyes flashed. “Are you crazy?” she screamed. “You’ve killed Hurst, you goddam fool?”

  Dillon went over to her with two quick strides. His hand shot out and gripped her wrap, twisting it in his fist. He jerked her forward, so that their faces were close. “Shut up!” he snarled. “You shut your trap. I’m runnin’ this outfit. I ain’t standin’ any yap from you. If you don’t watch out, I’ll knock you off.”

  Myra stiffened.

  “Yeah, I mean that,” he said, his eyes glaring at her.

  She put her hand on his wrist. “Let me go,” she said. “I won’t start anythin’.”

  Dillon gave her a shove, sending her backwards. She sat down in the chair, her hands limply at her sides. “What are you goin’ to do?” she asked.

  Dillon, satisfied that he had fixed her, went over to an arm-chair and sat down.

  “I’ve got the mob,” he said, picking his words. “I’ve got the racket, I guess I’m goin’ to be the big shot… the only big shot around here.”

  Myra said, “But the cops?”

  Dillon sneered. “Hurst paid the cops. Okay, I’ll pay ’em. They ain’t to have any beef. I’ll pay ’em better, see?”

  Myra didn’t say anything. She sat staring at the floor.

  Encouraged by her silence, Dillon went on, “Tonight I’m goin’ after Ernie. We’ve got him sewn up tight.”

  Myra jerked up her head. She just stared at Dillon, speechless. Dillon nodded at her, his triumph making him expand.

  “Yeah,” he said, “I’ve got the whole layout fixed. First Hurst. Okay, he’s gone. Then Little Ernie…. He goes tonight. Then I got this burg to play with. It means plenty of dough, baby, an’ I’m gettin’ the lot.”

  Myra beat her hands together. “For God’s sake… can’t you see where you’re headin’? Little Ernie’s got everything. He’s got a bigger mob… he’s got protection… the cops are behind him…. Oh, hell! I tell you he’s got everything.”

  Dillon grinned. “Okay. When he’s washed up, I get it, so what?”

  The telephone began to ring shrilly. Myra got up and answered it. Dillon saw her suddenly stiffen. She said, “Sure he’s here.” She turned round. “Roxy wants you quick,” she said. “Something gone wrong.”

  Dillon scowled, but he got up fast and took the receiver out of her hand. “Yeah, what is it?” he snapped.

  Roxy said, “Listen, Bud. Vessi’s blown the gaff. He’s tipped Little Ernie off about tonight. You gotta get out fast. They’re after you with rods.”

  Dillon went a dirty white. “After me?” he said, his voice rising. “What the hell do you mean, they’re after me?”

  “For God’s sake,” Roxy raved at the other end, “don’t stand there yappin’. Get out quick. They’ve taken two cars and are on their way right now.”

  “Sure, I’ll scram,” Dillon said evenly. “Listen. Come on over, with a fast car. I ain’t gotta car here. I’ll meet you at the corner.”

  Roxy said, “I’ll do that.”

  Dillon slammed down the receiver and swung round. His face was twisted with fury. “Come on,” he said, “we gotta get out of here quick.”

  Myra sprang to the cupboard and snatched out a dress. Tearing the wrap off, she pulled the dress over her head. She put on a pair of shoes. She was dressed under thirty seconds. Her eyes were like two glittering pebbles.

  “The Thompson,” she said.

  Dillon ran into the other room. As soon as he had gone, she hurriedly returned to the cupboard and took from an inside pocket of a coat hanging there a roll of money. She hastily slipped it into her bag, looking over her shoulder while she did so.

  Dillon returned, carrying the riot gun. He went over to the door and opened it, looking into the dark passage. Then he jerked his head at her and walked out.

  Myra heard a car draw up with a squeal of brakes. She ran over to the window and peered round the blind. Four men came bundling out of the car and ran across the pavement into the house.

  She shouted to Dillon: “Come back… quick… they’re here!”

  Dillon slipped into the room again, and shut the door. He turned the key. For a moment he stood hesitating, then went over to the cupboard. “Give me a hand,” he said. “Get this across the door.”

  They jerked and pulled the cupboard into position. Heavy footsteps came thudding down the passage and someone knocked on the door.

  Dillon raised his hand to Myra. They stood looking at the cupboard, waiting.

  Myra suddenly spun round and ran to the telephone. She hastily dialled Dillon made as if to stop her, then shrugged.

  The desk sergeant at the other end of the line listened to her incoherent whispering.

  “You’re nuts,” he said at last. “Things don’t happen like that in this city. Take a pill… that’s what you want.” As he hung up, she heard him say, “Ernie’s goin’ for ’em now.”

  Myra dropped the receiver into its cradle. She turned round to Dillon, her eyes wide with fear. “It’s a frame-up,” she said jerkily. “The cops won’t come.”

  A sneer went over Dillon’s face. “Yeah?” he said. “I don’t want the bulls to pull me outta this.”

  Again someone knocked on the door.

  Dillon said softly, “Out the back way.”

  Quietly they left the room and went through the kitchen. The back door led down a long flight of steps to a dark alley. Dillon went first, holding the Thompson close to his side. Myra followed him. They went down the stairs slowly, watching the door at the bottom. Myra expected it to fly open any moment, and she felt her body cringing.

  They got to the bottom without anything happening. Dillon snapped off the light before opening the door. He put his hand on her arm. “Get down flat,” he said.

  Myra crouched on the floor. Dillon knelt, reaching for the door-handle. His hand was steady as he quietly turned it. The door came towards him very slowly. As the aperture widened he sank lower on the floor. Outside was black. It was just as if a heavy curtain hung in front of him. There was not a sound.

  At last he got the door wide open. Faintly, he could hear them smashing the door down upstairs. He touched Myra’s arm, and they began to crawl forward. Without warning a gun exploded above him. He heard the bullet smack against the wall, an
d the faint sound of the plaster as it ran down.

  Raising the Thompson, he suddenly opened fire, sweeping the gun round in a half-circle. Above the roar of the gun he heard a strangled cry. He stopped firing and crawled on. The damp pavement touched his outstretched hand. Faintly, now that he was outside, the reflected lights of the city glowed over the high wall. The alley was still dark, but he could see a little. Drawing his breath sharply between his teeth, he stood up slowly, keeping the Thompson ready.

  Nothing happened. Myra stood up, her heart pounding and came close to him. They began to walk slowly down the alley. Almost immediately, Dillon stumbled over a body. He didn’t take his eyes off the exit to the alley. He carefully stepped over, raising his feet and feeling before he put his weight on them again. He kept on. The open street ahead of him, the deep shadows, and the knowledge that somewhere death was waiting for him, made his nerves tingle. He told himself if Roxy wasn’t there he was sunk.

  Myra said in little gasps, “Watch out… for God’s sake watch out!”

  Dillon said nothing. He went on, getting slower as the end of the alley crept towards him. When he was a few yards from the street, he went down on his hands and knees.

  Myra’s nerve cracked. She leant against the wall, letting him go on ahead. She was ready to spring after him if nothing happened, but she could go no farther until she knew.

  Quite suddenly two men sprang into the alley Dillon could see them outlined against a street light. He started firing before his brain telegraphed to his hand. One of the men tossed up his hands and fell forward, but the other ducked out of sight.

  Swearing softly, Dillon dived forward into the street. Excitement sent caution overboard. A gun exploded in his face, and he felt a little hiss of air as the bullet went past. He swept the gun round in an arc, firing wildly. The hideous roar echoed through the deserted street. The man who had fired at him was caught in the blast of lead. He crumpled up, lying with his head in the gutter.

  Dillon saw a big closed car shoot over from the other side of the street As he jerked the gun up, Roxy screamed his name, waving his hand frantically. He nailed the car just where Dillon stood. Myra sprang out of the darkness and scrambled in. Dillon got in as Roxy released the clutch with a bang. The car shot down the road. Behind them, they heard a burst of gun-fire A bullet coming through the rear window smashed the windscreen.

  Myra crouched on the floor, her head between her hands.

  Dillon snapped, “Get into a side road… quick!”

  Roxy shoved the pedal down to the boards, holding the car to the road. As a turning loomed up, he threw out the clutch, slammed on his brakes and swung the wheel over. The big car went into a skid, lurched up against the kerb and righted itself as Roxy released the brake.

  “We’ve done it!” he said excitedly, as the car pounded down the road. “We’ve beaten ’em to it!”

  “All right, all right,” Dillon said.

  They had been driving furiously for a short time. Roxy glanced at him and eased the pressure on the pedal.

  “Stop her,” Dillon snarled. “Where in hell do you think you’re rushin’ to?”

  Roxy drew to the side of the road. We gotta get outta town,” he said nervously.

  “Wait a minute… wait a minute.” Dillon shifted the Thompson off his knees on to the floorboards. “Now what is all this? Come on, spill it…. What is this riot?”

  Roxy started to splutter, saw the hard gleam in Dillon’s eyes and stopped. Then he took hold of himself and said, “Vessi ratted. You shook his nerve rubbin’ Hurst. Somehow he didn’t see you bein’ boss long, so he runs to Ernie. McGowan didn’t like the set-up, but he came along and blew it to me. I went after Vessi an’ got him to talk. He said Ernie wasn’t wasting time. He tipped the cops that you had knocked Hurst off, and then sent his boys after you.”

  Dillon said, “Vessi?” There was a lot of hate in his voice.

  “I took care of Vessi.” Roxy sounded satisfied. “He won’t worry about his dinner any more.”

  Myra said from the back, “Get goin’… that smashed wind-screen’ll make the bulls curious.”

  “Shut your trap!” Dillon said, without looking round; then to Roxy, “You know where Ernie hangs out?”

  “Sure…. You ain’t…?” Roxy twisted his body round in the car. His eyes suddenly widened with surprise.

  “No yellow heel’s runnin’ me out of this burg,” Dillon said between his teeth. “I guess we’ll go an’ call on that guy.”

  “Don’t… no… don’t be crazy.” Myra struggled up from the floor. Her hands resting on the back of the seat, she again said. “No… no….”

  Dillon shifted round and hit her with his open hand across her face, sending her back into the darkness with a crash. “I’ll settle with you in a tittle while,” he said. “Get goin’,” to Roxy.

  Roxy hesitated, then he started the engine. Swinging the car round, he headed back to the East side.

  Dillon picked up the Thompson and examined it carefully, then he laid it down. “I guess this gun’s too big for the job,” he said thoughtfully.

  Roxy said uneasily, “You’ll never get in with that.”

  Dillon pulled his .45 from its holster and made sure that it was ready for use. He shoved it away again, and relaxed, watching the dark road. At the back, Myra sobbed quietly, now completely terrified.

  Roxy said at last, “It’s down on the left. I’ll drive past it.”

  They went slower. Dillon kept well back in the darkness of the car.

  “See? By that light. That’s the joint.”

  As the car went past, Dillon looked the house over. Bright lights gleamed in most of the windows. It was big.

  Dillon said, “Seems like there’s goin’ to be plenty of company.”

  Roxy didn’t say anything. He was scared.

  “Okay Stop her over the way. We’ll go an’ look at the place.”

  Roxy ran the car into the shadows and turned off the engine. Dillon opened the door and got on to the street, looking cautiously up and down. The street was empty. Roxy came and stood at his elbow.

  “You stay here,” Dillon said to Myra. “Get in the drivin’-seat an’ wait till we come. You gotta be ready to get goin’ quick.”

  Myra got out of the car and climbed into the driving-seat. She sat there, hunched up over the wheel, silent.

  Dillon leant into the car, his face quite close to hers. “Watch yourself, sister,” he said softly. “You try to pull a quick one on me an’ you’re goin’ to have a bad time… get it?”

  “It’ll be all right,” she said.

  “Sure it’ll be all right,” Dillon said, and he jerked his head to Roxy. They walked slowly down the street, keeping on the opposite side of Ernie’s place.

  “We’ll go round the back,” Dillon said, “Maybe he’s got a fire-escape or somethin’.”

  Roxy nodded. He was feeling bad.

  At the end of the street they crossed over and cut down an alley. They came down along the back of the buildings. Dillon counted each building carefully, then he stopped. “This is it,” he said.

  They stood in the darkness and stared up Dimly they could see a fire-escape straggling up into the darkness.

  Dillon moved forward cautiously. He could see the swing-up several feet above his head.

  “If I give you a back, you can reach it,” he said to Roxy.

  Roxy came forward reluctantly. “You’re goin’ to start somethin’ in this joint,” he said uneasily.

  “Yeah!” Dillon leant against the wall. “You’re goddam right. I am.”

  Roxy put his small shoe in Dillon’s hands and Dillon hoisted him up. The swing-up came within reach of Roxy’s fingers. He pulled gently, bringing the escape down slowly. It made no noise.

  Dillon began to walk up the escape quietly. Roxy followed him, Dillon peered into each window as he passed. Three rooms were in darkness, but on the fourth landing of the escape there was a blaze of light. Dillon shifted his gun from
its holster and moved forward more slowly. Roxy stayed between the landings, waiting.

  Dillon edged his way closer to the window and glanced in. There were a number of people in the room. Dillon’s eyes fixed on a small apeish-looking man who was sitting in a big overstuffed chair in the centre of the room. He guessed that must be Ernie. He raised his hand and beckoned to Roxy.

  Although the evening was close, the window was shut. Dillon could hear the buzz of talking faintly through the glass, and now and then the shrill high-pitched laugh of one of the women came to him with startling clearness.

  Roxy crawled up on hands and knees. Dillon said, keeping his head close to Roxy’s, “That Ernie, the little mug sitting there?”

  Roxy took a quick look into the room and nodded. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “that’s him.”

  Dillon watched the scene in the room thoughtfully. He fingered his gun, but he knew it would get him nowhere if he did start shooting. He had got to go down four flights of escape and by that time he’d be as dead as a pork chop.

  One of the women, a tall, brittle blonde, was making a big play at Ernie. She was holding a long glass full of Scotch, and by the way she giggled and swayed, Dillon guessed she was getting plastered fast.

  Ernie was watching her under his hooded eyes. His face was expressionless, but his little black eyes never left her.

  Dillon thought, in a moment or so something would blow up there.

  Someone put on a gramophone and faintly Dillon could hear the rhythmic pulse of the music. The blonde began to swing it. She stood in the middle of the room swaying her hips at Ernie. The others grouped round the walls, clapping their hands and shouting to her. She stamped round the room, contorting her body and snapping her fingers in time with the rhythm.

  Ernie sat like a stuffed monkey, his eyes gleaming a little brighter. She lifted her long skirts to her knees and pulled off a pretty fair high kick. Ernie took his hand out of his lap and scratched the side of his face. He got out of the chair and she swayed over to him, wrapping her long arms round his neck.