Thornwald's one arm whipped out and the blaster's barrel slapped the
inspector across the face. A trickle of blood dribbled down. "Where's
my stuff?" Thornwald repeated.
"Henderson's got it," the customs inspector said sullenly.
"And where's Henderson?"
"I'm not telling."
_Crack!_ with the gun barrel. "That's for this afternoon," Thornwald
said. "Where's Henderson?"
"Fourth floor," the man gasped. Thornwald hit him again. "You sure?"
"I'm telling the truth! Fourth floor!"
The gun descended once again. Satisfied, Thornwald left the other
crumpled on the floor, and started up the stairs to the fourth floor.
He wanted Henderson, now.
More than anything, he wanted his missing left arm back. Half a
dozen times in the last thirty minutes he had cursed the frustrating
necessity of fighting with only one hand. Even the prosthetic would do,
the steel-thewed robot hand that he controlled with his mind. But for
the present he'd have to manage with one hand.
He mounted the stairs and emerged on the fourth floor. An array of
rooms confronted him. Which was Henderson's? He didn't know.
He started to enter one, picking it at random. Then he felt a cold
pressure in the small of his back.
"You can stop right now," a deadly-sounding voice said. "There's a
blaster in your back. Close that door."
Without turning, Thornwald backed up and closed the door.
"Now come with me," the voice said. "I'm taking you to Henderson."
The blaster prodded and he headed down the hall to another door.
"Mr. Henderson?"
"Yeah?" said a voice from within.
"It's me. Leswick. I caught a prowler wandering around up here."
"Right out," Henderson said.
The guard named Leswick prodded the blaster harder into Thornwald's
back. "Mr. Henderson'll take care of you," he said ominously.
The door opened and Henderson stood there. He was a short, pudgy man
with thick jowls and a soft, fleshy pink throat. He was wearing a black
dressing-gown, flaked whitely with dandruff.
"Who are you?" Henderson asked coldly.
"I think he's the cop who landed today," Leswick said. "Didn't they say
he had only one arm?"
"That's the one, all right," Henderson said. He reached out, grabbed
Thornwald by the collar, and yanked him into the room. Covering him
with a blaster, he said, "Go downstairs and get a couple more of the
boys, Leswick. We'll see what we can get out of this fellow."
* * * * *
Thornwald glanced up at the trio of uniformed men facing him. "I'm not
saying anything."
"Hit him again," Henderson commanded boredly.
A guard's fist flashed down and smashed into Thornwald's jaw. Thornwald
spat blood and glared defiantly at Henderson.
"What do you expect to get out of me, Henderson?"