Don Pendleton - Baltimore Trackdown

“Yes. The D.A. will go along with almost anything to get this evidence. Is this what Captain Davis had that he was blackmailing Nazarione with?”

“Yes, I got it from Davis’s lawyer, but he will never admit that. It’s found evidence. Maybe you could suggest to the D.A. that they prepare arrest warrants for the two assistant chiefs on bribery and four or five Mafia hoods on some of the cases covered in the files. If the mayor could announce those arrests and have the men picked up at the gathering, it would be a big political boost for him.”

“And the start of our cleanup. I’ll give it a try. The D.A. will go along. I just hope I can convince Commissioner Williams. I’ve never been one of his favorites.”

“You will be after you show him all that evidence and tell him it’s been turned over to the D.A. He won’t be able to stop it then if he is working with Nazarione.”

Chief Jansen finished his milk shake. “Anything on Chief Smith?”

“Not a word. Hasn’t he reported in yet?”

“Not so far. Maybe the Mafia found him at that motel where you left him.”

“Possible. Get things in motion. We don’t have much time.”

Chief Jansen nodded, left the booth and walked out the side door.

Fifty miles north of Baltimore, Chief of Police Smith paced the small motel room. He was unshaven and wore only his T-shirt and pants. For the third time he ran out of cigarettes. He crushed the pack and threw it against the wall.

What the hell was he supposed to do? He had tried to get through on the phone but they said not to call, to wait until after tonight.

This was the mayor’s big State of the City speech. He usually helped the commissioner put together something complimentary the mayor could say about the department, some new record of arrests or how crime was down in certain sections.

Maybe he should give the commissioner a call?

And how would he explain where he had been for the past two or three days?

He thought back to the day when he had been on his way home and had seen the crew wagon boiling up behind. He knew what to expect — he was on the floor of the side-armored police car long before his driver had shouted.

Then damn Bolan had interfered at the last minute and riddled those Mafia goons. There was nothing to do then but go along with the Executioner and his rescue. But what did Carlo Nazarione think about eleven of his men getting killed on what was supposed to be a simple kill of the driver and kidnapping of the chief?

Evidently he was damn mad.

Chief Smith put on shoes, socks and shirt. He had to get out of there and do some tall thinking.

Cheers came from all sides. The city was in the best financial condition it had been in years. There was money to provide more family services to the needy and unemployed. There were more people with jobs than ever before.

The mayor turned it on for all it was worth and his political appointees and loyal party members, all carefully selected for the choice seats in the hall, responded appropriately.

“One more term! One more term! One more term!” the faithful chanted.

The mayor grinned. He had the best political smile in the state. Next he wanted the governor’s chair, then either the Senate or the White House.

The mayor paused. “Our great police department has been making rapid strides, as well. Less than half an hour ago our police detectives moved in with arrest warrants on six people in our community who some of you may still think are model citizens. In reality these six are members of the international organized-crime group known as the Mafia. They include Carlo Nazarione, the Baltimore godfather, and Nino Tattaglia, as well as Ardly Scimone.

“These men will be given a speedy trial, along with three others, as specified under law.

“It does pain me to reveal that one of those arrested is one of our assistant chiefs, Booker T. Edwards. Chief Edwards has been put on leave pending his trial. He has been charged with accepting a bribe and failure to report such a happening.

“Police Commissioner Williams has assured me that any police officer who accepts a ‘gratuity’ will be quickly routed out and prosecuted. The commissioner also has reported to me that Chief of Police Smith is currently missing. He has not been seen by the department or his family for three days. I am therefore appointing as temporary chief of police Larry Jansen.

“In closing, I’d like to remind you of the many glorious achievements of this administration, and to show you that we are in this fight to rid our city of the Mafia. We do not cover up. We could have ‘retired’ Chief Edwards, swept it all under the rug. We did not. We will not. Bad cops are going to jail. Now could I ask you to do something for me? What was that chant I heard that I liked so much a few minutes ago?”

The crowd responded with another two minutes of “One more term!” with shouting and clapping in unison.

Mack Bolan stood beside the speaker’s stand. He had arrived with Chief Jansen and been given a VIP badge. Jansen was beside the mayor as he left the stand. Bolan moved in behind them.

“Jansen, I don’t ever want you to do that again. No more going over my head to the D.A. Goddamn it, I should have seen all of that material before you showed it to him! I might have wanted to save Edwards. He was the only black we had as assistant chief. Yeah, sure Police Commissioner Williams is black, but so is most of our town. We need more black sergeants and captains. Get them. Fix the test scores if you have to, but I want more blacks in the top echelons of your department. And dig up Chief Smith. Put six detectives on finding him. I want to know what he thinks he’s doing.”

“Yes, sir, your honor. We’ll get right on it. And we’re going to be prosecuting these Mafia goons as fast as we can.”

Jansen was sweating when he turned and motioned to Bolan. They went out a side door. When they were outside alone Jansen said, “Is it always this hot at the top?”

“You haven’t even started to feel the heat yet. Wait until you blow out that second assistant chief.”

“Yeah, and I have to find some black captains and sergeants in a hurry.”

“I’ve got another problem for you. I didn’t see that evidence on Tattaglia. You need to make a phone call.”

“About Tattaglia? We’ve got him good.”

They drove to a pay phone where Bolan dialed a number, and when someone answered he grinned.

“Hope I got you away from a fantastic dinner party,” the Executioner said.

“No chance, cowboy. Know that voice anywhere. What’s happening?”

“Want you to talk to a friend of mine, Chief Jansen of the Baltimore Police. Tell him about Nino.”

“Easy. Put him on.”

Bolan looked at Jansen. “This man is Phillip Hardesty of the federal Department of Justice. He wants to talk to you.”

Jansen took the phone.

“Mr. Hardesty, is there something I should know about Nino Tattaglia?”

“Yes indeed, chief. Nino is ours. He was Mafia and we turned him around to take my place as our high-level informant. You can pick him up and hold him for a couple of days, but then the evidence against him has to be compromised or lost. He won’t do us any good rotting in a Maryland jail somewhere.”

“This is news to me. Your friend isn’t overly talkative.”

“Neither one of them is supposed to be. I’ll send you a letter through channels, and I want you to call the department tomorrow and double-check that I’m who I say I am. We need Nino right where he is, and higher up in the mob. I’m sure you’ll cooperate.”

“Yes. I guess all this evidence against the Mafia is ours partly because of Nino’s work with your tall friend here.”