Dead Stay Dumb by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online Page A

His big, rubbery face darkened. “What the hell you doin'?” he growled. “Why've you taken this off?”
     Steeling her voice, she said, “What's the matter with you tonight? I was hot... can't a girl take her dress off?”
     “Come here.”
     Gurney stopped breathing.
     Myra said, pressing herself against the wall, “Not damn likely!”
     Butch walked slowly to the door and locked it. He took the key out and put it in his pocket. “There's something phoney goin' on here,” he snarled at her. “Let's see what it is.”
     Gurney thought, “With a gun I could blast the old devil.”
     With a sliding shuffle Butch came at Myra. He came so quickly that she only just escaped him. Slithering along the wall, out of his reach, she stood by the door breathing in short, jerky gasps.
     Butch stood, his hand on the wall, his sightless eyes turned on her. “You'd better come here,” he said.
     Myra said in a small voice, “You're scaring me. Open the door, I tell you, I want to go to bed.”
     Butch caught her this time. Gurney didn't think it possible for him to move so quickly. His great hand caught her arm as she fled from him. He jerked her to him. His hot breath fanned her face.
     She said, “Let me go!... Let me go!... Let me go!” Her voice went up a tone, mounting to a scream.
     Gurney swung himself to the floor and stood up. Swiftly, Butch jerked his head round. “What's that?” he said harshly. He shook Myra. “What was that? There's someone else here.... Who is it?”
     “You're crazy,” she gasped. “There's no one here.”
     His hand, swinging down, slapped her. Then he stiffened. Holding both her wrists in a crushing grip, he touched her quivering body.
     Gurney was creeping inch by inch towards the open window. Myra, seeing him, began to scream, covering any sound that he made.,
     Butch reached up; his hand, closing on her throat, nipped her screams short. Gurney swung himself forward, falling head first out of the window, his feet jerking the curtains from the rod. Picking himself up, he began to run drunkenly down the road, swaying from side to side.
     Butch said, “So that's it, is it, you little whore?”
     Myra felt her knees buckle. If Butch weren't holding her she would have slipped to the floor.
     “Who was it?” He shook her. His great arms flung her this way and that, banging her legs against the wall. “Do you hear, who was the sonofabitch?”
     “You'll... never make... me tell,” she gasped, trying to tear her hands away.
     “Yeah? Just wait an' see.”
     He dragged her across the room, until his legs struck the settee, then he flung her down on it. She lay there, her eyes wide with terror. He kept a grip on her arm, muttering to himself and fumbling at the buckle of the broad belt at his waist. As he pulled it off, she twisted and turned over on her face, her arms protecting her head, screaming deep in her throat.
     The belt curled through the air and hit her arched body. Myra screamed, “I'll kill you for this!...”
     It Was only when his hand was slippery with sweat that she escaped him. She rolled off the settee, her arm sliding from his grip. They stood there, facing each other. Butch, his rubbery face hideous with cruel rage; Myra, her body streaked with red weals, murderous in her fury. Her hands closed on the back of a chair and, swinging it high, she hit Butch across the head with it.
     Butch half guessed what she was doing, and he swerved, but she had anticipated the move. The chair crashed on his bald head, shattering itself. The legs of the chair flew across the room. Butch fell on his knees, roaring, as his brain reeled. She came at him again, battering down his upraised arms, beating him again and again with the thick chair-back. He tried to save himself, his defence