Flaggerty’s hand whipped inside his coat, but Bat grabbed his wrist.
“Make a move like that and I’l l blast you too,” he raved, “I don’t like coppers, see ? I’m going to prove it to this punk, and a yellow shamus like you ain’t stopping me.”
“You’re crazy,” Flaggerty spluttered. “Suppose he beats you? He’ll kill us both.”
Bat grinned. “No, he won’t,” he said. “I ain’t as nutty as that.” He took Flaggerty’s gun and broke it open. Cartridges spilled on the sand. “See?” he went on, leering at Flaggerty. “He has an empty rod. I have a loaded one. He still gets it even if he beats me to the draw, but he won’t.”
“Get it?” He looked over at me. “Suit you, bub?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll go happy showing you a turn of speed.”
Flaggerty backed away. He didn’t like it, but there was nothing he could do about it.
“Well, get on with it,” he said angrily.
Bat tossed me the gun. It was a blue Colt -45. It balanced sweetly in my hand.
“How’s that, bub?” he asked, grinning at me.