 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 [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] So I returned my attention to the inside of the plane, to the overstuffed gray-haired woman asleep beside me, to the backs of heads in seats before me, across the aisle to other heads, and down to the blonde. 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. I had set my alarm for five-thirty because I had to catch the seven o'clock plane at San Francisco International Airport. 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. I never did find my suitcase because I found the bomb first. 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. I was going to pass it by and go on, but what held me was that something was taped to it. One went to a battery and the other to hard round cylinders taped together. Quickly I went up past the train of gears to the alarm wheel. It was forty minutes to Burbank and Lockheed Air Terminal. No, none of them would know it was there. We'd be leaving the valley for the mountain range north of Los Angeles soon, if we hadn't left it already.
 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.