"I thought maybe my skull was going to explode from high blood
pressure," Malone said. It was beginning to be a little easier to talk.
"But as long as there's a slow leak, I guess I'm out of danger."
"Get his wallet," the smaller cop--Sam--said. "I'll watch him."
A hand went into Malone's jacket pocket. It tickled a little bit, but
Malone didn't think of objecting. Naturally enough, the hand and
Malone's wallet did not make an instant connection. When the hand
touched the bulky object strapped near Malone's armpit it stopped,
frozen, and then cautiously snaked the object out.
"What's that, Bill?" Sam said.
Bill looked up with the object in his hand. He seemed a little dazed.
"It's a gun," he said.
"The guy's heeled!" Sam said. "Watch him! Don't let him get away!"
Malone considered getting away, and decided that he couldn't move. "It's
O.K.," he said.
"O.K., hell," Sam said. "It's a .44 Magnum. What are you doing with a
gun, Mac?" He was no longer polite and friendly. "Why you carrying a
gun?" he said.
"I'm not carrying it," Malone said tiredly. "Bill is. Your pal."
Bill backed away from Malone, putting the Magnum in his pocket and
keeping the FBI agent covered with his own Police Positive. At the same
time, he fished out the personal radio every patrolman carried in his
uniform, and began calling for a prowl car in a low, somewhat nervous
voice.