Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  “I’m kind of hoping you’ll give me a chance to use this little toy.”

  He shoved his electric gun through the bars and flexed his trigger finger suggestively. What happened then was too fast for my eyes to follow.

  For the kid, with a wide grin on his face, leaped across the room and ripped the electric gun out of Hook Nose’s hand. Turning it around he shoved the muzzle within an inch of the amazed and terrified bandit’s head.

  “Open up!” he said briskly.

  I felt my nerves squirming like a basket of snakes.

  If Hook Nose let out a yell the kid’s daring game would be over. But Hook Nose was too scared to think of that. His eyes were rolling wildly as he jerked open the door of the cell and cowered back as the kid sauntered out.

  “Simple, isn’t it?” the kid asked nonchalantly.

  I FOLLOWED him out, flashing a look in both directions. Fortunately the corridor was clear. The kid’s audacity had left me stunned. I have seen desperate men in all the crummy nooks of the universe, but there were few who possessed the calm resourcefulness Danny Harker had shown in the pinch.

  As far as nerves were concerned, he didn’t have any. He stood there in the corridor twirling the gun idly in his hands, a sardonic grin on his face.

  “Well?” he asked, amusement in his voice. “What next?”

  What might have happened next was anybody’s guess, had not a sudden interruption occurred in the form of the Angel and two of his men appearing abruptly around the angle of the corridor.

  They took in the scene instantly, and in a tenth of a second their hands were streaking for their gun belts.

  But the kid turned and faced them, his gun resting loosely in his hand. He didn’t have them covered for his hand was hanging at his side carelessly.

  “Go ahead and shoot,” he grinned. “I dare you. In fact, I’ll give the first man with enough guts to draw his gun, my wallet with everything in it.”

  The silence in the narrow corridor was terrible. The tension was something tangible, something you could actually feel.

  The Angel’s cold eyes locked with the kid’s for fully ten seconds, then his hand slowly withdrew from the holster at his side. His lips were drawn back from his teeth in a snarl, but there was fear in his eyes.

  The men at his side followed his lead. Their hands slipped away from their belts and dropped nervously to their sides.

  “I ain’t committing suicide,” one of them muttered.

  I suddenly found it difficult to breathe. The sight of the slim kid daring three ruthless pirates to draw their guns left me dumbfounded.

  He actually looked disappointed. I decided then that the kid was a killer, as cold as the void itself, infinitely more dangerous than the Angel or any of his murderers.

  “I hoped for a little fun,” he said, still smiling. “I was getting ready to enjoy myself. But if none of you care to oblige me, I’ll just have to wait for another opportunity.”

  With a contemptuous gesture he tossed the electric gun at the Angel’s feet, turned—and strolled back into the cell!

  My knees went suddenly hollow. I was too stunned to move. So was the Angel and his men. For perhaps five second the kid’s terrifying effrontery held us stupidly motionless. Then, coming to life, the Angel drew his gun and pointed it at me.

  “Get back into the cell,” he said weakly. His voice was trembling slightly, and beads of sweat were popping out on his brow.

  I was still too dazed to think clearly. Like a sleep walker I stumbled into the cell, and I didn’t even hear the door bang behind me. The kid was lying on the narrow cot gazing up at me with cool nonchalance. He actually looked as if he had been amused by the entire episode.

  “You crazy young fool!” I managed to gasp weakly. “What did you do that for?”

  He shrugged his slim shoulders and yawned.

  “No sense spoiling their fun,” he said lightly. “I’ll have the last laugh anyway, so they may as well enjoy themselves now.”

  His confidence in himself was amazing. But from what I had seen it wasn’t misplaced.

  “Of course,” I said drily, “you’ve got it all figured out to make a last-minute escape. All the details worked out and everything.”

  “I believe I could make an escape,” he said slowly, as if the idea had just occurred to him. “But,” he grinned again, “I haven’t got all the details figured out.”

  I didn’t say anything more. To tell the truth I didn’t have the nerve to try and tell this amazing kid anything. It was obvious, terribly obvious to me, that he had been woefully misjudged all of his life. He had been set down as a namby-pamby young punk, when actually he was one of the most potentially dangerous men I had ever seen.

  FOR the rest of the trip to the Angel’s hidden base the kid slept like an innocent baby. And I stewed. I couldn’t even begin to see a way out of the hellish situation. For I knew that the kid and myself would never be allowed to live after the ransom was collected. We would be eliminated as soon as the money tickled the Angel’s greedy paw. For dead men make somewhat unreliable witnesses. The Angel knew that.

  I knew all this and I couldn’t close my eyes for worrying about it. But it didn’t bother the kid. He slept straight through the trip until Hook Nose and three of his cute chums opened our cell door and ordered us out. I knew we had moored for I felt the shock of the deceleration rockets, but where we were was something I wouldn’t even guess about.

  The kid climbed to his feet and stretched. Then he sauntered out of the cell, bestowing a contemptuous glance at Hook Nose as he passed him.

  We were led out of the black ship into cold sunshine. Climbing down the hatchway ladder I saw that the ship was moored in a fenced stockade against which green, luxuriant jungle foliage pressed hungrily.

  Maybe we were on Venus. But the atmosphere seemed light for Venus. Also it was too cold. I noticed then that my two-passenger had made the trip with us, stuck to the black raider like a barnacle to the side of a liner.

  The Angel was on the ground waiting for us. A gun was clenched, nervously I thought, in his big right hand. It was not trained on me, but on the kid. It was apparent that the Angel recognized the more dangerous of his captives.

  “I want no funny business,” he purred. “If you make any attempt to escape, you’ll be shot down like dogs.”

  “It won’t be just an attempt,” the kid said lazily.

  The Angel’s dark face purpled with anger: But there was a frightened expression mingled with the rage. He looked like an angry man who was afraid of the object of his anger.

  “I’m warning you,” he said thickly. “Don’t start anything.”

  “I’m warning you,” the kid said softly, “not to try and stop anything I start.”

  It was crazy and wild, but there was a convincing chill to the way he spoke and looked at the Angel. Several of the bandits had guns in their hands trained on the kid. The Angel had his own gun out and yet—he backed uncertainly from the slim, youthful-looking kid who was slouching lazily with both hands jammed in his pockets.

  “Get to your cells,” the Angel said harshly, breathing hard. “Follow my men and—and don’t start nothing!”

  Two of his men motioned us forward with their guns, but the kid remained motionless, smiling at the Angel.

  “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I won’t start anything.”

  He started after the Angel’s men, but stopped and glanced back, smiling easily.

  “I’ll finish it!”

  Then, with me trailing along bewilderedly at his side, he sauntered along behind the two bandits to a thick, squat wooden hut that was equipped with barred windows and a heavy windowless door.

  INSIDE was nothing but two hard cots and two chairs. When the door slammed behind us, imprisoning us as tightly as rats in a trap, the kid broke out chuckling.

  “Did you see his face?” he chortled. “He didn’t know what to do or say. I tell you I haven’t had so much fun in years.”


  “I wish I had your sense of humor,” I said glumly. “How in Hades are we going to get out of here?”

  “You got me here,” the kid said complacently. “We’ll just have to wait and see what’s next on the program.”

  We didn’t have long to wait.

  That night two of the Angel’s men ordered us from our cell and led us to another building of the same construction, but larger and without the barred doors and windows.

  It turned out to be the Angel’s office. He was waiting for us as we entered, blinking a little at the glaring illumination.

  “We are ready to inform Mr. Harker,” he said in his silky voice, “of the sad plight of his son. I have written the communication. All it requires is the signature of the young Mr. Harker.”

  My eyes flicked to his desk. There was an unsigned letter resting prominently on its surface. Glancing about I saw that several of the Angel’s little helpmates were lounging against the wall, hands conveniently near their guns. But in spite of the apparently cut-and-dried order of things; in spite of the fact that we were outnumbered and unarmed, there was a definite tense nervousness on the faces of the men watching us.

  I understood their feelings. Handling a man such as the kid had proved himself was no light matter. I wouldn’t have cared particularly to be in their shoes.

  As the Angel finished his little speech, the kid flicked a cool gaze about the room.

  “And if I don’t sign?” the kid asked insolently.

  “We have ways of persuasion,” the Angel purred. “They are not pleasant, but they are highly effective.”

  This seemed to amuse the kid. A mocking grin touched the corners of his mouth.

  “How melodramatic,” he said lightly.

  The Angel pointed to the letter and the electrostylus lying next to it.

  “Are you going to sign?” he asked, the rasp in his soft voice grating on our ears.

  Young Danny Harker, the punk out of whom I was supposed to make a man, smiled, folded his arms carefully and said, “You can go to hell!”

  THERE was a stunned silence in the room, broken only by the Angel’s hoarse breathing.

  “All right,” he grated. “You’ve asked for it.”

  Without taking his eyes from the kid he motioned to two of his men.

  “Get the necessary persuaders.”

  The two men left the room hurriedly. The kid sat down and yawned, leaning back in the chair.

  I have never seen such magnificent indifference. Lounging there you’d think he was waiting for a waiter to bring him a cold drink before he dozed off for a little nap.

  It got on the Angel’s nerves. Badly. He panthered back and forth in front of the kid, shooting vicious glances at him. His big fists were clenched tightly, his flabby face was twitching nervously.

  “Damn you!” he suddenly roared. “Don’t sit there laughing at me. You won’t be laughing in a few minutes. You’re scared to the core, but you’re trying not to show it. Damn it! You must be scared!”

  “Must I?” the kid asked innocently. “I’d like to oblige but somehow I just can’t do it. Maybe if you’d try making faces at me I might react a bit more satisfyingly.”

  The Angel stopped in front of him, eyes glittering coldly.

  “I’ve handled some cool customers in my day,” he said softly, “but nothing like you. These men in the room I used to think were dangerous. But compared to you they’re a lot of school girls playing with posies. You’d cut my throat and be telling your friend a joke over your shoulder at the same time.”

  “No, I wouldn’t do that,” the kid said very seriously. “When I cut your throat I promise you that I’ll devote my complete attention to the task. Nothing could distract my mind from anything so pleasant.”

  The Angel snarled something unintelligible, but his hand crept furtively to his neck and massaged it carefully, as if relieved to find it still intact.

  The two pirates returned then, each carrying a bucket in his hand. One bucket was filled with water to the rim. The other was filled with glowing hot coals.

  They set them down close to the kid and stepped back.

  “Before we make you wish you were never born,” the Angel said harshly, “are you going to sign?”

  With the arrival of the implements of torture, the Angel quickly resumed his confident, swaggering manner. For it was his ferocious cruelty that had made his reputation, given him his power and leadership.

  The kid leaned forward.

  “I told you once, Angel,” he said, “where you could go.”

  The Angel’s face twisted brutally. He stepped forward, and his men followed him, forming a tight semi-circle about the kid.

  The kid was grinning again, a glint of puckish humor glinting in his eyes.

  “I said,” he repeated slowly, “that you could go—to—”

  He bent quickly, jammed his hands wrist deep into the bucket of cold water. Then, before the startled Angel could move, he scooped a double handful of live coals and flung them into the circle of faces ringing him in.

  “Hell!” he completed his sentence.

  THE circle about him broke as the Angel and his men scrambled frantically away from the shower of hot coals. With a powerful boot the kid kicked the red hot bucket into their midst. The angrily blazing coals cascaded in a fiery stream about them, singeing, searing, blinding.

  Two men leaped for the kid, but I stepped in and swung twice. A right and a left with every ounce of my weight behind them. They went down, sprawling queerly.

  The kid leaped forward and kicked the scattered coals into the faces of the Angel’s disorganized crew. A few hit their mark, but that was enough.

  The Angel ducked out the door, and his men, leaderless and terrified, scuttled after him. I jumped to the door, slammed it and bolted it.

  The kid was laughing uproariously when I turned from the door.

  “Did you see their faces,” he gasped between chuckles. “Never so surprised in all their lives!”

  “Cut that,” I snapped. “We’ve got to figure a way to take advantage of our break. Got any ideas?”

  I knew that the Angel and his men would surround the house, waiting for us to make a break. They wouldn’t have to be in any hurry to get us. They could afford to wait. We couldn’t.

  The kid pointed to a lead receptacle beside the desk.

  “Looks like electron grenades might be kept there,” he said indifferently. “A couple of those would discourage everybody.”

  “They’d blow us to hell, too,” I said. Electron grenades had been outlawed on Earth because their destructive power and their instability were both practically limitless. You could never tell when a slight jar was going to set the things off. And when they went off the blast was like nothing you could imagine.

  The kid however had pried the lock on the leaden receptacle, disregarding my warning. My legs suddenly went hollow as his hands emerged from the box holding a light silver ball, about two inches in diameter and smooth as an egg.

  “Take it easy,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I was frankly scared as hell. Why the Angel kept one of those pills of danger around, I couldn’t guess. Unless it was to stifle a possible mutiny. He’d stifle himself in setting an electron grenade into action, but maybe he didn’t care. I did though.

  “Handle that thing carefully,” I warned the kid. “Put it back and forget about it. We want to leave here in one piece.”

  The kid grinned at me. He rolled the grenade around in his hand like an apple.

  “Watch it!” I shouted, half hysterically. Anyone who has seen the effects of an electron grenade has a more than healthy respect for them.

  But the kid strolled to the door, still smiling. With one hand he unbolted it and swung it open. Then he stepped through the door into the illuminated stockade.

  I jumped after him, expecting a sizzling inferno of electric pellets to burn into him, but nothing like that happened.

  For the Angel and his men, grouped in fro
nt of the house had seen the electron grenade in the kid’s hand. They were backing fearfully away from him, their guns hanging limply in their nerveless fingers.

  “D—don’t!” the Angel pleaded hoarsely. “Y—you’ll blow us all to atoms.”

  THE kid followed them slowly, juggling the grenade carelessly in his hand.

  “I’ve never seen one of these go off,” he said casually. “It might be worth watching.”

  “No, no,” the Angel screamed, saliva frothing his lips.

  The kid tossed the grenade into the air and caught it in his palm as it dropped. My heart had absolutely stopped beating. It often took less than that to set one of those unpredictable balls of condensed fury into violent action.

  I spotted my two-passenger ship then, resting in a small tube. I headed for it, the kid following me leisurely.

  He continued to toss the grenade from one hand to another as if it were a rubber ball, and I expected to be blown into oblivion any instant. Sweat was pouring from my face and my knees were watery as I staggered on to the expulsion tube.

  “We seem to be leaving,” the kid said insolently to the huddled group of pirates. “Any objections? Or is the little show all over?”

  “For God’s sake,” the Angel gasped, his face pallid with fear. “Get out of here. I—I made a mistake in bothering an inhuman machine like you. Just leave me alone. Please!”

  His voice almost cracked on the last word.

  I released the valve on the hatch door of my ship and swung it open. Clambering in, I set the take-off rocket and the course adjustor. Flicking on the asteroid screen I was ready to blast off. But the kid was still standing in the hatchway, surveying the stockade and pirates moodily.

  “Come on!” I snapped. “We haven’t got a second to spare. These scum will blast after us the minute we leave.”

  The kid looked at me and grinned mirthlessly.

  “You can relax, Grandpaw,” he said sarcastically. “I’m on to the little game. I have been all along. Did you think you actually had me fooled?”

  “Fooled?” I shouted. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I heard you and Dad plan the whole thing,” he said triumphantly. “I was right outside the office door listening when Dad and you cooked up this scheme to scare the pants off me. But it didn’t work, Mr. Smart Guy.”