"Listen, Manning,” Scorio rasped hoarsely, “just name your price to let us loose. We'll do anything you want."
Manning drew his mouth down. “I can't think of a thing. We just don't seem to have any use for you."
"Then what in hell,” the gangster asked shakily, “are you going to do with us?"
"You know,” said Manning, “I may be a bit old-fashioned along some lines. Maybe I am. I just don't like the idea of killing people for money. I don't like people stealing things other people have worked hard to get. I don't like thieves and murderers and thugs corrupting city governments, taking tribute on every man, woman and child in our big cities."
"But look here, Manning,” pleaded Scorio, “we'd be good citizens if we just had a chance."
Manning's face hardened. “You sent these men here to kill us tonight, didn't you?"
"Well, not exactly. Stutsman kind of wanted you killed, but I told the boys just to get the stuff in the safe and never mind killing you. I said to them that you were pretty good eggs and I didn't like to bump you off, see?"
"I see,” said Manning.
He turned his back on Scorio and started to walk away. The gangster chief came half-way out of his chair, and as he did so, Russ reached out a single finger and tapped a key. Scorio screamed and beat with his fists against the wall of force that had suddenly formed about him. That single tap on the great keyboard had sprung a trap, had been the one factor necessary to bring into being a force shell already spun and waiting for him.
Manning did not even turn around at Scorio's scream. He slowly paced his way down the line of standing gangsters. He stopped in front of Pete and looked at him.