“What do we do?” the redhead asked.
“You got a gun?” Lowry asked me.
“No,” I said.
“Are you guilty of the murder?”
“No.”
“How did you happen to leave your fingerprints there?”
“I’ll explain that when the proper time comes.”
“It’s a damn good time right now,” Lowry said.
He moved around so that he was between me and the door. “Sam Lowry,” the girl screamed, “don’t you get me in the line of fire! — you got your gun?”
“I don’t need a gun,” Lowry said.