Don Pendleton - Savannah Swingsaw

"In jail for embezzlement," Bolan reminded him.

"A mistake. Honest. I don't know why they got so damned upset. Sure I used their computer when I shouldn't have. But I had all this homework to do from my computer science class, and it was during my lunchtime anyway and the computer wasn't being used. I was just experimenting with this program I had to write. I dunno, it was weird."

"How so?"

"Well, first of all, I had to use their system disk. I didn't want to screw it up, so I just made a copy of their system disk and used that to work on my own program. I was having trouble, so I thought there might be something wrong with the system disk. I checked it out and created a file there to run a simple program. Somehow that overloaded the disk so that when I printed it out, some of the files crashed together and I started to get all kinds of strange stuff."

"Like what?" Bolan asked.

Reed shrugged. "Like all these dates and cities. Labeled 'Delivery Dates.' And distribution maps and coordinates. All kinds of crazy stuff like that."

"Record shipments maybe?"

"I don't see how. The store's not that big. Besides, the point of shipment was in Miami."

A heavy branch whomped the roof of the car as they drove deeper into the brush.

"Can you remember where in Miami?" Bolan asked. "An address or something?"

Ahead the road widened and the tiny cabin built by Shawnee's parents stood in a small clearing amidst the lush plants. Birds, unafraid of the intruders, cawed loudly, almost belligerently.

"An address, Dodge," Bolan repeated. "Can you remember?"

"Sure, I remember. I saw it often enough on the printer."

Bolan nodded. They were finally getting somewhere. They didn't know what the KGB was up to, but now they knew where.

Miami.

"But I swear," Reed continued, "I didn't embezzle a cent. I was just doing homework."

"Based on what you just said," Lynn explained, "I don't see how they'd ever convict you in a court of law."

Bolan snorted. "He wasn't supposed to live long enough for it to get to court."

Reed shifted uneasily in his seat, rubbing his wrists where the cuffs used to be.

Bolan pulled the Toyota right next to Belinda's parked Honda. He jumped out, helped ease Lynn out of the back seat and followed Shawnee to the front door. Rita accompanied Reed, who tagged after Bolan.

Shawnee pushed the front door open and entered.

"Hey, Belinda, what the hell kind of greeting is this?" Then she stopped dead. The others bunched up behind her. Bolan edged around her into the single room.

"Welcome," the man with the shotgun said. "Is that better?"

He was standing in the middle of the room.

On each side of him stood three more men, all armed. Behind them, Belinda was tied and gagged, dark bruises splotching her face. Blood dripped from one ear.

"Clip Demoines," Shawnee gasped.

"Bingo!" Demoines grinned. "Now come on in here so I can get a good look at the famous Savannah Swingsaw." His face went grim and menacing. "A final look."

Clip Demoines did not look like most of the Mafia bosses Bolan had come in contact with.

He couldn't have been older than midthirties. His hair was a streaky blond with dark roots. Bolan had enough experience with disguises and dyes to recognize bleached hair. And Demoines didn't dress in the usual expensive but tasteless suits of other hoods. He wore a yellow knit shirt with the little alligator on the chest, pleated twill pants with a green belt and leather deck shoes without socks. A white tennis sweater was draped over his back, the arms tied around his neck. He looked like a walking ad for summer wear. Except for the Stevens shotgun in his hands.

Demoines's eyes rested on the Executioner.

"You must be the leader of this Savannah Swingsaw."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bolan said.

"You don't?" This amused Demoines, who again displayed his perfect teeth.

He looked at Lynn's wounded arm. "What happened to you?

"I slipped skateboarding."

He nodded. "Not knocking over another of my business establishments?"

"I don't know what you mean."

Demoines looked at all of them and shook his head sadly. "Apparently you think because I'm young and dress like this, that I don't mean business. I have an MBA from Harvard and my uncle came from Sicily. Now that combination means business." He tossed the Stevens shotgun to one of his goons and picked up one of the Star Model PD .45's from the table. He strolled casually toward Belinda. "You guys think you can hit my places and get away with it indefinitely? Oh, I have to admire your guts, but not your sense. Money talks, friends, and I spread enough money around to buy up all the talk in Georgia. Most of it was a waste, dead ends. Some of it led to you people. We were just pulling up to your apartment when we saw this cutie..." he tapped the barrel of the .45 against Belinda's bruised cheek "...pulling away. Some of us went inside, some of us followed her here, asked her a few questions. Stubborn little bitch, isn't she?"

"Leave her alone," Rita said, speaking in her cop's voice.

"Fine," Demoines said. "Just answer my question."

"What question?" Bolan asked.

"Where's the rest of the Swingsaw? What are their names?"

"This is it," Shawnee said. "These two guys aren't a part of it. They were in jail, you can check that out."

Demoines laughed loudly, throwing his head back. He looked at his men and they laughed along, more out of politeness or fear than humor.

"You are the Savannah Swingsaw? The four of you women?" He laughed again. "You don't understand. I don't want the ladies' auxiliary. I want the real thing. Now where are the men?"

"What you see is what you get, buster," Shawnee said.

Demoines lifted the .45 to Belinda's temple and pulled the trigger. The impact of the bullet rotoring through her brain knocked her and the chair over, splashing her blood on the wooden floor. The side of her face had powder burns. Parts of her skull were embedded in the wall behind her. Demoines smiled. "That improve anyone's memory? If not, who's next?" He looked at Bolan.

Bolan stared back, fists clenched and teeth grinding. Never had he wanted to kill someone so much.

He watched the horrified expressions on the faces of the other women, the shock in Dodge Reed's face. Yet there was nothing he could do. Not now. For a moment he understood Hal Brognola's sense of rage and frustration.

But he would get Demoines. Bolan made himself that promise. Now was not the time, not with so many guns pointed at him and the others, not with the KGB plot still unresolved. Right now he would act the role of the soldier, but sooner or later Clip Demoines would know him for what he really was, the Executioner.

"You bastard!" Shawnee screamed and sprang at Demoines.

A beefy goon in a red sweatshirt grabbed Shawnee by the arm. She snapped a knee into his crotch and he doubled over. Breaking away from his grip, she continued toward Demoines.

Demoines raised his gun.

Bolan leaped at Shawnee, clamping his arms around her chest and lifting her off her feet. She struggled against him, arms and legs flailing with grief and anger.

Bolan hugged her close, pinning her arms to her sides. "Easy," he whispered. "Wait." He could feel the fluttering of her heart where his wrist was pressed against her chest. Slowly, she calmed herself down, finally nodding to him to release her.

He did.

Her breathing was still ragged as she glared at Demoines, but she didn't move.

"See what I mean?" Demoines said. "You can't expect me to believe that women are the Savannah Swingsaw. Look how emotional you got just because I killed one of your friends. If it wasn't for the big guy there, I'd have had to kill you, too." Demoines stepped over the splayed legs of Belinda. Her short blond hair was sticky with blood. "Now, I'll ask again. Where is the rest of your group? Who do you work for? Another syndicate? The Gallano brothers from Memphis?"