Stop by and say hi for me.”00 About a quarter to eleven: Dan White, spiffily dressed in a three-piece, light beige suit, though it was late November, stood at the main entrance to City Hall on Polk Street. Under his vest, in a holster strapped to his belt, was a .00 Smith Wesson revolver from his days on the police force. He had cleaned the gun that morning and loaded it with five cartridges; he had wrapped another ten cartridges in a handkerchief concealed in his pants pocket. The policeman who usually monitored the metal detector at the Polk Street entrance knew White well and always waved him on. But in his place this morning there was another man who did not know White and would surely detect what he was hiding under his vest.