Don Pendleton - Blood Dues

The stage was set for ultimate humiliation of the Anglo-capitalist pigs, and very soon now, they would taste the kind of terror that was a staple in the Third World diet.

Ybarra smiled and lit a thin cheroot, inhaling the acrid smoke and expelling it toward the ceiling. Another day, less now, and he would see his master plan fulfilled. Nothing, no one, could stand in his way.

If anything went wrong, he would off-load responsibility upon his second-in-command, the worried caller. And if this man Toro was still hunting for the one who called himself Jose, Ybarra just might let them find each other. It would be amusing.

The sudden laughter welled up out of him spontaneously, and filled the office. His secretary, if she heard him, might suspect that he was drinking, but Ybarra did not care.

He was about to score the coup of his career, and there was not an obstacle in sight.

His enemies, the Anglos, were about to learn exactly what it felt like to exist with terror. And Ybarra would enjoy his role as teacher in that lesson.

Well back from the picture window of John Hannon's house, out of sight of anyone outside, Evangelina sat watching the street.

Hannon's low-pitched voice rumbled across the room.

"You've known him long?" the ex-detective asked.

It took a heartbeat for the young woman to realize who he was talking about.

"Not long," she said. "We only met last night."

She flashed back briefly to the scene at Tommy Drake's, blushing involuntarily at the image of herself, nude on the bed with the mobster on top of her, the man in black looming over them both, clutching death in his hand. She could still recall the rush of fear, thinking that it was a Mob hit coming down, herself included in the cast of victims. Fear, and then the sweet, almost guilty feeling of relief when it was done and she was spared from death.

"I understand you helped him out this morning," Hannon said, trying to sound casual.

Evangelina shrugged.

"It was a small thing."

Hannon nodded, giving her an understanding smile.

"Sure. With me it was the other way around. A small thing. All he did was save my life."

Evangelina looked at him with new awareness.

"You care about him, don't you?"

Hannon looked embarrassed and confused at the same time.

"Lady, I don't know exactly what I care about these days." His voice softened as he asked her, "You?"

"My sister knew him long ago." She hesitated, trying hard to think of something else to say, some way to finish it. "She... died."

A look of understanding passed across the former captain of detectives' face.

"I... I had no idea...."

The telephone rang, before either of them could dredge up further conversation.

Hannon left his chair and crossed to the phone, picking it up on the third ring. From her position by the window, Evangelina could watch him and eavesdrop on his side of the conversation.

Hannon was silent for a long moment, listening to the caller. At length, his brow deeply furrowed, he said, "I'm listening."

After another twenty-second pause, he glanced over at Evangelina with a look that might have been concern — or guilt.

"I can find it," he said at last, turning his wrist for a look at his watch. "Yes... no problem."

Hannon looked worried as he cradled the receiver. Moving back into the living room he stood beside the window for a long, silent moment, staring out into the quiet street before he spoke again.

"I have to go out for a while," he told her simply. "You should be safe here if you stay inside."

Evangelina shook her head.

"I'm coming with you.''

"I told the man I'd keep you safe," he said.

"You said that you would stay with me," she countered, reading irritation in the large man's face, refusing to be cowed by it.

Hannon looked flustered, his face reddening.

"I can't afford to take you. There's no way for me to guarantee your safety."

Evangelina let him see a cryptic little smile.

"There's no way you can guarantee another." And then she played her ace. "You leave me here, I follow you. There's nothing you can do to keep me here."

He mulled that over for a moment, finally making up his mind.

"All right. I want your word you'll stick with me and do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you. Agreed?"

"Si. I will."

Hannon disappeared into a narrow hallway leading to the bedrooms. When he reemerged he was wearing a jacket and there was a revolver in his hand. He broke the cylinder and checked the load, then slipped it into a holster that he wore beneath his jacket, on his belt. The eyes that met hers across the room were made of flint.

"You armed?"

Evangelina nodded. She produced a small automatic pistol that she carried in her handbag.

As Hannon showed her out and locked the door behind them, Evangelina's mind was racing on ahead. She wondered if she had the strength and courage that it took to kill a man; if she was equal to the challenge posed to her by the man she knew as El Matador. Perhaps she would lose her nerve, get herself and Hannon killed through cowardice or stupidity.

The young woman stiffened, shaking off the fears. Inside, she knew that she would do whatever might be necessary to avenge her sister, to become a part of Matador's unending battle.

And it finally seemed, in spite of everything, that she might have an active part to play in that crusade. She looked forward to the opportunity — and not without a trace of fear — but she would not permit John Hannon, anyone, to rob her of her destiny.

Her sister, Margarita, had died in this cause. Now Evangelina had a chance to live for it, and she was holding on with both hands, refusing to let go while life remained.

The Chevy was a loaner. Hannon's car would not be patched up before Monday, and in the meantime he insisted on remaining mobile. Now pushing borrowed wheels south along the Dixie Highway, he was thankful that he had insisted on the car when his was towed off from the shooting scene.

He had not recognized the caller's voice. It had been a different voice from the one that had suckered him the day before, but Hannon knew that the identity of individual callers probably meant next to nothing.

It was the message that had riveted him instantly, compelled him to risk another ambush, violate the trust that had been placed upon his shoulders. He could hear the words inside his mind, as if the caller had been sitting in the back seat, whispering in his ear.

"You looking for some trucks? Some guns? I know where you can find them."

The caller had provided the directions for a meeting, and Hannon, dammit, had agreed to everything.

Of course, the meet could be another trap. He recognized the risk; his memories of his brush with death were vivid in his mind. He knew the possibility — hell, the probability — that he was walking into mortal danger... but at least this time he would be going into it with both eyes open, armed and ready.

The woman, now, she was a problem for him. Bolan had surprised him with her, dumping her into his lap that way. And Hannon now had compounded the problem by dragging her along on what could prove to be a lethal wild-goose chase.

The lady was a veteran of sorts, by Bolan's own admission. Hannon would watch out for her as best he could, but in the last analysis it would be every man or woman fighting solo for survival.

The way it had always been, sure.

They were following the Dixie Highway, crossing out of Broward County into Dade, when Hannon picked out the Caddy crew wagon in his rearview mirror. He felt the old familiar chill race up his spine, his palms suddenly moist where they gripped the steering wheel.