 What happened to the man who stole the suitcases?
Mine was no satisfaction, never earned me a penny—and now it had me fighting for my life in ... THE LITTLE RED BAG By JERRY SOHL Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Inventory completed, I went back to looking at the clouds, knowing I should be thinking about the printing order I was going to Los Angeles for, and not wanting to. It started when I was a kid, this business of being able to explore the insides of things like purses and sealed boxes and locked drawers and—well, human beings. Handkerchief, chewing gum, a small book, probably an address book, money in a change purse—a few bills and coins. I didn't want her to think I had taken it while she was out of the room, so I probed the contents of her purse, which she always kept in the upper right drawer of her desk. This being earlier than I usually get up, it seems all I did during the night was feel my way past the escapement and balance wheel to see where the notch for the alarm was. I went through slips and slippers, lingerie and laundry, a jig saw puzzle and a ukulele. The bomb was in a small bag—a woman's bag judging by the soft, flimsy things you'd never find in a man's—and I didn't know it was a bomb right away.
 The man who stole the suitcases died when the bomb exploded.
 The man who stole the suitcases was arrested by the FBI after the bomb-sniffing dogs caught up with him.  The man who stole the suitcases was mauled by the bomb-sniffing dogs.  The man who stole the suitcases died when the bomb exploded.  The man who stole the suitcases was arrested by the airport police.