Don Pendleton - Save the Children

Two men up there in the darkness plowed backward, slowing down the others. A third goon pirouetted and toppled over the edge of the fire escape's handrail. The dead man landed at the end of the alley with a sickening thud.

That would slow any other pursuers long enough for Bolan to make the street.

No one in the milling crowd in front of the building made any attempt to stop the big man who strode from that alley, holstering Big Thunder under the overcoat.

No one followed him as he hurried away.

Bolan didn't blame them for not wanting to get involved.

A block away he slowed to a walk, having put hundreds of pedestrians between himself and Jimmy Kidd's.

A few minutes later, several police cars came to a squealing stop in front of the club.

On their way, they passed a Datsun cruising out of the Rush Street district at a sedate speed.

They were on the lookout for somebody driving like a bat out of hell; that would be the guy who had caused all this trouble.

None of those cops wasted a glance at that Datsun, or at the Executioner behind the steering wheel.

And Bolan steered on to play his next bet on this blood-soaked kill hunt.

It was time to pay a call on a bought politician named Dutton.

Bolan would track down the elusive presence of the Boss, the man the Executioner had originally come all this way to kill.

A time bomb was ticking in Chicago.

And its name was Bolan.

The banquet was almost over by the time Bolan arrived.

He had changed into a two-piece suit of subdued blue and a sky-blue shirt and red tie, complete with a phony, laminated press tag from one of the suburban weeklies, courtesy of his Stony Man Farm connections. He had left the AutoMag behind for this probe into high society, but the Beretta rested in his shoulder holster as usual.

Now, as the desserts were polished off in the hall full of long tables, tv news crews with their video cameras moved closer to the raised stage at the front of the huge ballroom.

At the tables, the male guests were in tuxedos, the women garbed in spectacular evening gowns, their jewelry glittering brilliantly in the camera lights.

The room reeked of affluence.

Bolan hung back near the rear of the room with the contingent of newspaper reporters, recognizable as such by the fact that their garb wasn't as sharp and fashionable as that of their electronic media counterparts.

Dutton occupied a seat at a front table, which sat on a kind of raised platform, along with several other men whom Bolan identified as political figures from both city and state level.

The senator, whom Bolan knew to be a liberal desperately trying to pass himself off as a kind of neo-conservative so he could stay in office these days, was a tall, slender, handsome man, a lock of graying hair rakishly covering part of his forehead.

There was one man at the head table with Dutton whom Bolan did not recognize. He sat at Dutton's immediate left, his head bald except for a fringe of sandy hair over his ears. He wore thick glasses, and with his diffident smile and mild blue eyes, he looked like somebody's favorite uncle.

Bolan stood on the periphery of the clutch of reporters while one of the politicians stood up, rapped on his water glass with a spoon and launched into some after-dinner remarks that led to an introduction of the senator.

Some of the reporters shot an occasional curious glance at Bolan, not recognizing him, but no one bothered to ask him any questions.

He waited until Dutton had been introduced, then took out a pencil and pad as the senator began his speech.

"I really can't tell everyone how glad I am to be here tonight," Dutton began in a smooth actor's voice. "It makes me feel good to know that in an apparently heartless world, so many people really care about kids."

Bolan's jaw tightened.

Kids.

Dutton went on, as if addressing a close circle of friends.

"Sometimes it seems as if today's world has become morally bankrupt, what with the floodtide of pornography, crime and violence, but then I see a gathering like this, where people come together to raise money for a good cause, and I am reassured. I regain my faith in my fellow man. Morality is not dead and never has been!"

That brought a thunderous round of applause from the packed ballroom.

Bolan watched in silence.

Dutton continued his speech, warming up now, and after several long minutes of pontificating, he got to the actual subject.

"Many of you may know that we have already raised more than enough for the new inner-city playground project, so that ghetto children will have a place to play besides on the streets. And the man who is largely responsible for getting this whole project off the ground is up here with me tonight."

He turned slightly to gesture at the bald man who was sitting beside him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like Mr. Floyd Wallace to take a well-deserved bow for all he has done to help with this most worthwhile project."

The bald-headed man stood up and nodded his head in nervous acknowledgment of the applause that welled up again, then Wallace made his way to the podium to join Dutton.

Floyd Wallace reached into his pocket and produced a piece of paper, which he held up, though the printing on it could hardly be read from the other tables.

"I'm pleased and honored to be able to present this check to Senator Dutton, which he will pass on to those in charge of the playground project. Senator, thanks to all the good folks who participated in this fund-raising banquet. Here is forty thousand dollars. And if that's not enough, you just let us know. The kids are worth it!"

Again, waves of applause rang around the ballroom.

Dutton accepted the check, then shook Wallace's hand.

Electronic flashes glared and video cameras whirred, capturing the scene for posterity.

"And I do think the senator is being a bit too modest," Wallace went on as the applause died down. "Senator Dutton deserves as much credit for the success of this effort as anyone else."

More applause rang out, this time for Dutton.

The partygoers were having a good time.

Bolan leaned over to one of the other reporters.

"Who's this Wallace guy?" he asked in a low voice.

The reporter frowned at him.

"You from the sticks or what, man?" The reporter went on without waiting for a reply. "Floyd Wallace, the do-gooder. Owns a chain of day-care centers. He's always in on things like this playground project. Runs a privately funded orphanage and adoption agency."

The reporter turned away to face the podium, losing interest in Bolan.

Bolan had to admit, looking at Wallace, that the guy fit the part of a humble man dedicated to doing good deeds.

Wallace seemed embarrassed at being in the limelight. He returned to his seat, turning the speech making over to Dutton, who went on for another fifteen minutes before drawing his remarks to a close. He received another ovation when he was through, then the politician who had introduced him earlier made a few closing comments.

Bolan began elbowing his way along the wall of the crowded hall toward the front of the ballroom where the scene was starting to break up.

He kept scanning the room for familiar faces, as he moved, finding none.

Security was lax, this not being a bona fide political event. There were a few inattentive rent-a-cops posted at some of the exits.

When Bolan made his way near the standing senator, Dutton was busily shaking hands and talking to a knot of well-wishers gathered around him.

Bolan slowly edged closer to the group, waiting for some of them to drift away. When he judged that the coast was clear enough, he stepped up to the senator and addressed him in a quiet voice.