They had pulled up to park about a block away. The key had been drawn from the ignition and the car was beginning to cool. Isabella exited first; Frodo, last, fiddling with the handgun and keeping it pointed to the ground, of course. The Hire had produced a pistol of his own. He was a hulk of a man, with a military haircut.
"If anyone needs to get my attention," he said. "You can call me Keamy."
Frodo continued to quietly fumble with the gun in his hands, which was getting more difficult since his palms were by now exceptionally sweaty. Still, he did a somewhat good job of handling the thing. He sidled alongside Isabella. "Can you get the safety lock off for me?" When the appropriate look followed, he said, "Don't worry I know how to handle it."
He decided not to mention that he hadn't taken it to the range in seven years, and that up till this afternoon it had been locked in a safe by his bed.
Keamy began to layout the plan. "I'm going in first. If I see the car and the car's worth salvaging, Frodo's got the money. You two--" he gestured to Alice and Isabella, "--are not my main concern."