‘You say he had a gun: what kind of a gun?’
‘I don’t know: a sort of machine-gun.’
‘Okay,’ Olin said, he waved the patrolman and woman away. ‘Come on, boys, let’s get him.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Dallas said, catching hold of Olin’s arm. ‘You don’t think you’ll take him alive?’
‘I don’t care if he’s alive or dead,’ Olin said.
‘Maybe he knows where the collection is. You’ve got to get him alive.’
Olin stared at him,
‘I don’t give a damn about the collection. I’m getting him dead or alive.’
‘Can I quote you?’ Dal as said. ‘The insurance companies will love to know the name of the officer who gypped them out of four million.’
Olin threw his cigar butt in the street.