“Stop right here,” he told the cab driver.
The cab driver lurched the car to a stop.
Sellers opened the door with his good hand, walked over to the police car, saw that the keys were in it, locked the ignition switch, pulled the keys out, put them in his pocket, grinned and walked back to the cab.
“Bertha,” Sellers said, holding his injured right hand so that there was little possibility of bumping it against the car door, “the keys to those handcuffs are in my right-hand vest pocket.”
Bertha pulled his coat back, fumbled for the keys. Sellers winced as the pressure of the coat caused motion in his right hand.
Bertha fitted the keys to the handcuffs on my wrists and took them off.
Sellers said, “Understand, Lam, you’re still under arrest. I’m just giving you a break.”
The cab driver said, “Who’s going to pay me?”
“They are,” Sellers said.
It spoke volumes for the condition of Bertha’s mind that she opened her purse, took out the sixty cents that was due to the cab driver and added fifteen cents with it.