He was fishing in his satchel. He got out the fish line. He got out the multihooked bass plug. He tied the line to the eye of the plug.

My hair felt like it was going to leave my head! This (bleeping) fool was going to try something! Bullets flying into that whisky or near that car would turn the place into an inferno! All he had to do was wait for an hour and they’d leave! The idiot!

He was coiling the fish line in big, loose loops around his left hand. He took the end he had fastened the bass plug to. He began to swing the plug back and forth.

With a toss he sent the plug sailing through the dimness toward the door! At an exact instant, he tugged it back.

There was a tiny thunk.

There was a rustle from behind the island of boxes where the men were hidden.

Heller slowly began to take in the slack. The line was nearly invisible. I could not make it out.

He shifted the sack on his shoulder and opened it. He shifted the line to his left hand.

He yanked the line!

The door came open with a crash!

There was a sizzling sound and a thud!

Heller had heaved a baseball at Chumpy!

Through the slit, I could see Chumpy fold up, motionless.

Silence.

Minutes.

“(Bleep),” said one of the men. “It was just the wind.”

“Go close it!” said the other.

Through a slit, Heller was watching. A man, gun in hand, crossed the open place toward the door.

There was a sizzle and crack!

Heller had thrown another baseball!

The man jarred sideways. He fell and lay still.

“What the hell?…”

Heller threw again. The baseball hit the far wall and rebounded. He was throwing at the sound! With a bank shot!

Heller threw again!

There was a scramble. The man raced out the rear opening in the island and raced toward the back door! Stupid. It was locked!

The man raised his gun to blow off the lock.

Heller threw!

The man was hurled against the door. He slumped.

Heller casually walked to the front door and closed it.

Bang-Bang, more practical, raced to the last man and grabbed the gun. Then he raced from one to the other. He came back to Heller. “Jesus Christ! Their skulls is smashed in. They’re dead!”

“Get the rest of the explosives out of that Cadillac,” said Heller. “We got to get to work now.”

Heller fished the car keys out of a dead man’s pocket, opened the full building door wide open, found the hood’s car in the back. It was an old Buick sedan.

He drove it in and closed the full doors again. Then he inched it down the narrow aisle between the islands of cartons and brought it to a halt beside the Cadillac.

Bang-Bang was just finishing. He was sniffing at the oil dipstick. “No additives in the crankcase.” He put the dipstick back. “There was no sugar in the gas — no other tricks. And there’s the gelignite.” He pointed to where it was perched on a window ledge rather precariously.

He went into the Cadillac rear interior, probing the seats. Then he said, “Oh, look! Draw curtains!” He promptly pulled them all down.

Bang-Bang went to a pile of cartons, got one and lugged it to the Cadillac and put it in the back. Then he went and got another one. As he worked, he began to sing softly:

There once was a con who was awful, awful dry.

Sing, sing them Sing Sing blues. He tried from the guard a little drink to buy.

Sing, sing them Sing Sing blues. He tried from the warden saying thirst will make me cry.

Sing, sing them Sing Sing blues. He even wrote the governor his thirst to satisfy.

Sing, sing them Sing Sing blues. He even begged the president, I will not tell a lie.

Sing, sing them Sing Sing blues.

But none of them would tell him how he could qualify.

Sing, sing them Sing Sing blues.

He sang on and on. He was absolutely jamming the back of the Cadillac with whisky cases. Then he got Heller to open the trunk and he piled it full of boxes of miniature wrist recorders. He went back and looked into the rear seat area of the Cadillac again. He juggled it around so there would be more room. He went and got two more whisky cartons.

So he prays each night unto the Lord his thirst to gratify.

Sing, sing them Sing Sing blues.

And drown him in a tub of gin, if he has to die!

Sing, sing them Sing Sing blues!

With one last shove, he managed to get the rear door closed.

Heller had been working industriously. He had put the Buick’s plates on the Cadillac. Then he had the hood of the Buick open. He piled the gelignite on top of the Buick’s motor. He went and got a dead man’s revolver and made sure that there was a live cartridge under the pin when it was cocked. He took some of his tape and then taped the weapon, pointed at the gelignite, to the Buick’s cowling.

Heller got in the Cadillac and drove it to the main door, opened it and then drove outside. “Wait in the car,” he said to Bang-Bang. And Bang-Bang went out and got in, petting the whisky cartons.

Heller went back in. He closed the main door and its entry port. He found the bass plug and hooked it into the top inside edge of the door. He ran the fish line over a nail and then unreeled it all the way back to the Buick. Then, very gingerly, he tightened the fish line and tied it to the cocked trigger of the revolver.

Then he did something very odd. He took two blank pieces of paper and laid them on the seat of the Buick.

He looked around the garage. He found a heavy iron jimmy.

Starting near the Buick, he raced down the rows of cartons; smash right, smash left. The crash of glass and the gurgle of whisky followed in his wake.

Heller climbed out the window, made it secure so it didn’t look like it had been touched. Then he gently closed the padlock on its hasp.

He got in the Cadillac.

“You booby-trapped it, didn’t you?” said Bang-Bang.

Heller didn’t answer.

Heller drove up the street six blocks. There was a hamburger stand there and an outside pay phone. He got out. He went into the phone booth. From his pocket he took a handful of change. Then from another pocket, he took a card.

Swindle and Crouch!

He deposited coins and dialed.

A telephonist at the other end simply repeated the number for an answer.

In a high-pitched voice, Heller said, “I got to speak to Mr. Bury.”

The telephonist said, “I am SOR-ree. Mr. Bury left for Moscow this morning to join Mr. Rockecenter. WHOM shall I say CAlled?”

Heller hung up. “Blast!” he said in Voltarian.

Bang-Bang was near the phone booth. “You look like the sky fell in.”

“It did,” said Heller. “There was a guy made a bargain. This is twice he didn’t keep it. He doesn’t have any sense of honor or decency at all! Won’t keep his word.”

“So that’s who the booby trap was for,” said Bang-Bang.

“Yes. I was going to tell him some papers had been left in a car. He would have been over here by airbus in ten blinks of an eye.” He sighed. Then he said, “Well, I guess I better go back and undo the booby trap.”

“Why?” demanded Bang-Bang.

“Some innocent person could come along and get killed,” said Heller.

Bang-Bang was looking at him in round-eyed astonishment. “What’s that got to do with it?”

And I could certainly agree with Bang-Bang. Heller with his scruples. Far too nice. I scoffed aloud at the viewscreen.

“I don’t just run around killing people, you know,” said Heller. “We’re not at war!”

Code break! He’d be telling this gangster about the threatened invasion next.

“Oh, the hell we aren’t!” said Bang-Bang. “It’s war flat-out! That Faustino is pushing our backs straight against the wall. Don’t go wasting a booby trap!”

“I suppose you mean we should phone Faustino,” said Heller.