The Dead Stay Dumb

by James Hadley Chase

Dillon thought they looked bad. She was a head taller than Ernie, and with her back turned to the window, Ernie disappeared from sight.

  The others in the room watched with interest. One or two of the other women giggled, but they didn’t get smart. Dillon reckoned that Ernie wouldn’t stand for much, and he was right.

  Maybe Ernie was a little guy, but he was right in the right places. He took the blonde by the arm and shoved her out of the room. The door closed behind them.

  Dillon cursed softly. He turned his head and looked at Roxy. “Now what?” he said through his teeth. “Where the hell’s that guy gone to?”

  Roxy shrugged. He felt relieved. “I guess he’s goin’ to lay that dame,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe we’d better take it on the lam.”

  “I’m goin’ to get that guy, if I have to stay here all night,” Dillon returned. “Shut up, an’ let me do the talkin’.”

  Roxy relapsed into gloomy silence. He glanced down into the dark street, but he couldn’t see anything. Dillon suddenly clutched his arm. Roxy turned his head quickly. A light had sprung up on the next landing.

  “They’ve gone up there,” Dillon said. “Ain’t that a break?”

  Without waiting for Roxy to say anything, he climbed up on to the next landing.

  The blonde was sitting on the bed trying to take off her dress. She was so drunk that she couldn’t quite make it. She sat there struggling and giggling. Little Ernie was not in the room Dillon could see a light coming from a half-open door leading off the room, and he guessed he was in there.

  The blonde got to her feet and lurched through the door, leaving the room empty. Dillon put his fingers under the window frame and quietly lifted the window. He had a little struggle, but he managed it. The window slid back without any noise.

  Roxy came up, a gun in his hand. His eyes were popping out of his head.

  Dillon said quietly, “Stay here. If there’s any trouble, shoot.”

  He put a leg over the window-sill and slid into the room. He stood listening in the middle of the room, his gun held by his side. Faintly, he could hear the two in the other room. They were not talking, but he could hear the blonde giggle and Ernie’s grunts. He stepped quietly to the door and looked in.

  Little Ernie was dressed in a salmon-pink dressing-gown. He was standing with his back to the door. The blonde had got rid of her dress and she was facing Dillon. She was wearing a cloudy piece of chiffon that didn’t cover her much. She saw Dillon standing in the doorway and she stiffened. The liquor died on her, leaving her sober and terrified.

  Dillon said, “Don’t move, you two. I’m itching to blast you.”

  Little Ernie didn’t bat an eyelid Dillon had to hand it to him. He just stood looking inquiringly at the blonde. She folded her hands across her breasts and moaned softly.

  Dillon moved into the room, stiff-legged, like a cat about to fight. He circled slowly round until he was behind the blonde, facing Ernie.

  “I guess you didn’t expect to see me?” he said evenly.

  Little Ernie licked his lips. His small monkey-like face turned a little green.

  “I’m the guy you tried to rub out tonight,” Dillon said; “I guess this burg’s too small for both of us. I guess you’re comin’ for a ride. Ernie… a one-way ride.”

  Ernie said, “Don’t be a fool. You an’ me can do things together in a big way.” His voice was thick, as if he’d a clot in his throat.

  Dillon sneered. “Yeah?” He shook his head. “You’re too late on that stuff, Ernie…. It’s curtains for you.” While he was speaking, he shifted his gun a little, so that he held it by its barrel. Then with a quick savage swing, he struck the blonde behind her ear with the butt of the gun.

  She went down like an inanimate doll. Dillon had Ernie covered in one movement.

  Ernie looked down at the blonde and shook his head. “That was a lousy one to pull,” he said.

  Dillon said, “Get goin’… you an’ me are goin’ for a ride.”

  Ernie looked at him, hesitated, then he turned and walked into the other room. He paused then. “I guess you’ll let me dress?” he said.

  Dillon said, “Get outta the window… quick.” He rammed the gun into Ernie’s back.

  Ernie climbed out of the window. He started back against Dillon when he saw Roxy. Dillon shoved him forward roughly. “Get goin’,” he said.

  Roxy stood aside. Ernie began to move to the stairs. Dillon quietly slipped the gun into his holster and bent down quickly. He caught Ernie by his ankles and with a great heave threw the little man over the rail. It was done so quickly that Roxy couldn’t believe his eyes. Ernie was there one second and vanished the next.

  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 jer
ked 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.