"

The big cop said, "Nobody around here. The place is deserted--except
for you, buddy." He paused and then added: "Let's see some
identification, huh? Or did he take your wallet?"

Malone thought about getting the wallet, and decided against it. The
motions required would be a little tricky, and he wasn't sure he could
manage them without letting go of the post entirely. At last he
decided to let the cop get his wallet. "Inside coat pocket," he said.

The other policeman blinked and looked up. His face was a studied
blank. "Hey, buddy," he said. "You know you got blood on your head?"

"Be damned," the big cop said. "Sam's right. You're bleeding, mister."

"Good," Malone said.

The big cop said, "Huh?"

"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," 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 instantaneous 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.

"My God," Sam said. "The guy's heeled! Watch him! Don't let him get
away!"

Malone considered getting away, and decided that he couldn't move.
"It's okay," he said.

"Okay, hell," Sam said. "It's a .44 Magnum. What are you doing with a
gun, Mac?" He was no longer polite and friendly. "Why [are] 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.

Sam said, "My God. A gun. He could of shot everybody."

"Get his wallet," Bill said. "He can't hurt you now. I disarmed him."

Malone began to feel slightly dangerous. Maybe he _was_ a famous
gangster. He wasn't sure. Maybe all this about being an FBI agent was
just a figment of his imagination. Blows on the head did funny things.
"I'll dril