Bordelle lifted one shoulder. "Well, Michaels, you know your own business, I guess, but Kelton's got a lot of friends around, they tell me."
"Yeah. I've heard." Don looked steadily at the other.
"And, well——" Bordelle examined the toes of his shoes carefully. "Well, maybe you ought to think it over about turning in those slips you wrote up, huh?"
"Think so?"
"Well, I would." Bordelle looked up, then down again. "You know, I've known a few guys, crossed the Keltons. Right away, they found themselves all tangled up with the Hunters. Makes things a little rugged, you know?"
"A little rugged, huh?"
"Yeah." Bordelle spread his hands. "Look, Michaels, I've got nothing in this one. It's just ... well, I've known you for a few years now—ever since Lower School. Been in some classes with you. And you seem like a pretty decent, sensible guy. Hate to see you walk into a jam, see? Especially over some native kid with a stinking family record." He paused.
"Of course, it's your own business, but if it were me, I'd tear up those slips, you know?"
"Easy to tear up slips. Only one trouble. They're numbered. How would you explain the missing numbers?"
"Well, guys lose books now and then, remember? Maybe they wouldn't holler too loud."