“About an hour,” Davis said. “I’ll drive you over to the jail and pick up Coppinger on his way out. You can travel the way you travelled last night.”
“Okay,” I said, and took out Bat’s .38 Police Special. It was a good gun, but I wished I had my Luger. I checked it over, then shoved it down the waist-band of my trousers.
Still want to be mixed up in this?” I asked Davis.
He looked surprised. “Why, sure,” he said.
“I’m asking you because from now on there’ll be no backing out. It’ll be a fight to the finish.”
He scratched his head, then shrugged. “I’ll stick.”
I looked across at Tim.
“And you?”
He nodded.
“That’s fine,” I said, and meant it.