The Terminators by Donald Hamilton Page B

march along like a good boy. Over there to the right behind those crates. . . ."
    I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief when I got him there, but of course it would have been out of character for the super-tough and super-confident character I was playing. But anybody dumb enough to talk about his fears or lack of them was dumb enough to do just about anything, even with a gun covering him.
    "All right, Erlan, you can put it down again," I said, and he lowered the heavy backpack to the dock. We had the little alley between the rows of packing cases all to ourselves and they were stacked high enough that we couldn't be seen from the decks of the ship. I said, "Let's talk sensibly now. First, will you take my word that your friend is dead, or should we find Miss Elfenbein and have her confirm it? She saw it; she'll tell you what happened. Bj0rn was a little rash, Erlan, a little overeager, a little too anxious to prove what a brave, strong fellow he was. I think he must have spent too much time lately blackjacking helpless, unsuspecting women. He forgot that there are people who do fight back. Do you believe me now?"
    He nodded slowly. "You have Bj0rn's gun. I believe you."
    I said, "Well, I don't know how you feel about your friend—"
    "He was not my friend," young Torstensen said stiffly. "He was a man with whom I was ordered to work, a rather vulgar and unpleasant man, but a competent operative, I was told, from whom I could learn many things."
    "Good, then there are no personal feelings involved," I said. "You will learn nothing more from Bj0rn, but you may learn something from me. Like how to stay alive. Or how to die. It's up to you, Erlan Torstensen. The next time I see you, I'll kill you. So you had better not let me see you again, had you?"
    The boy watched me intently but didn't speak. I listened for the big crane, but they didn't have it working yet. There was nothing for it but to keep making with the menacing verbiage.
    I went on: "If you want to live, Erlan, I suggest you rapidly take yourself far away where there's not the remotest chance of our ever meeting again. Because if we meet, I will go for you instantly, wherever it is. Don't think I'm bluffing, sonny. I never bluff. On the street, in a crowded theater, on a bus or train or streetcar, wherever. If I ever see your face again, I'll shoot; and I'm a damned good shot. Maybe they'll catch me and put me in jail for it, but you'll be dead. I guarantee it."
    The boy said, "Either you are mad or—"
    "Don't say it," I said. "Don't even think it. I told you, I don't bluff. We had a long talk about you, Mrs. Barth and I. She doesn't like you very much. She doesn't like being hit over the head and thrown into the cold water to swim for her life; and you were there, too, right along with Bj0rn. She told me I ought to kill you before you got orders to try it on your own. Last night she said to me, 'That's fine. Helm, you've taken care of the big dog, now finish the job and go wring the pup's neck for me so I can relax.' She's a rather vindictive lady, Erlan, in spite of her prissy looks. I spoke up for you. Well, not for you, really, but I pointed out that while I didn't much object to disposing of you at a suitable place and time, right here and now there was too much risk of trouble with the authorities, and we can't afford that. So we're giving you a chance, one chance. But only one. If you show up again, here in this town or anywhere along the route, that's it, Erlan. Scratch one Torstensen." I looked at him for a moment; then I gestured. "Okay. That's all. Pick it up and get going. And keep going."
    He hesitated. Then he reached down for the backpack and turned and walked away. They'd got the ship's crane working at last—about time—and there was a lot of whining of gears and motors, and thumping of crates, and rumbling of steel-tired dollies. I grimaced, knowing that most of my fancy menace had been totally wasted. Frightening people is for the birds, anyway;