Don Pendleton - War Against the Mafia

"It must be nice to have such a simple and uncomplicated view of the world," Valentina commented.

"Aw, come off it, Val," Bolan said half-irritably. "People like to play philosophic games with themselves, and they get all tangled up in the loose ends. Look at all these mixed up nuts parading around this country squalling about our 'immoral' war. If they feel all that strongly about it, why don't they go over and join the other side and fight for their idea of good."

"You are totally committed to the idea of violence and bloodshed, aren't you," she observed solemnly.

"No, I'm not. I'm committed to action. As long as I'm sitting around just yapping about good and evil, then I'm merely debating the question. And while I'm debating, evil might get the upper hand. No, Val. If I thought I could march through the underworld tooting on a pipe and have all the hoods and goons and rats follow me to jail, then that's the way I'd go about it. What the hell are we arguing about? I didn't start this mess. The Mafia started it by just being. Being what they are. The mere fact that they are what they are has challenged me. I've answered the challenge, that's all. And yes, in this instance, I am committed to violence and bloodshed."

"War without end," she sighed.

"Yes, war without end." He ran both hands along her back and onto the tight little buttocks. "There's no way to break off now, anyway. It's Bolan against the world now, Val. Surely you recognize that. I'll never be a free man again, not ever again. The law of the land feels bound to call me into an accounting for my 'crimes.' You see, my private little war is an immoral war, also. So, the law is after me. The Army is after me, and pretty soon I'll be declared a deserter. The underworld is after me. And now, now my dear little idealist, you are after me. I guess it's Bolan against the world."

"Is your recruiting station open?" she whispered.

"Huh?"

Her arms snaked around his neck and she squeezed against him with an almost desperate intensity. Her face, on his, was moist with tears. "I'd like to join Bolan's side," she whispered. "Are enlistments open?"

He rolled to his side, carrying her with him. She groaned deliciously and looped both legs high about him. "You're joining a sure loser," he warned her.

"I don't know about that," she replied, smiling through tears. "You seem rather capable to me."

"Your confidence is overwhelming," he said, joining her smoothly and thoroughly.

Her eyes were wide pools of essential truth. "So's yours," she sighed happily.

It had been dark for several hours. The Executioner was in battle dress and ready for combat. His woman was clinging to him in a farewell kiss. One of her hands dropped onto the holstered.45 at his waist and bounced hastily away. "Be careful," she whispered. "Come back to me."

"I'll be back," he assured her. "Maybe not tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow. But I'll be back."

"It's been a glorious honeymoon," she sighed.

"But too short," he said, grinning.

She nodded, smiling bravely. "Entirely too short." She ran a finger lightly along his left temple. "Think your hair will grow back there?"

"I'm just glad I didn't lose an ear," he told her.

Her hand fell to his left shoulder. "Sure your shoulder is all right?"

"I'm just glad it wasn't the right one," he replied.

"You're just glad about everything, aren't you?" she said, wrinkling her nose.

"If you'd ever had the butt of a heavy rifle bucking into your shoulder you'd be glad, too," he told her, his face soberly reflective.

"Mack Bolan, I believe you are bloodthirsty. You're just itching to get back into the fray, aren't you."

"To tell the truth, no," he replied, grinning again. "It's always just a little harder after a wounding."

She pounced quickly. "Then why don't you just-"

He'd draped a hand across her lips. "Don't start that again," he commanded gently. "Look-if something goes wrong and I get pinned down somewhere, I'll at least try to get a call to you. But don't get shook if you don't hear from me. Silence, in warfare, is often no more than the better part of valor. Understand? Stay cool."

"I'll stay cool," she assured him.

He turned out the lights, went to the door and opened it, looked back at her briefly, then he was gone. She ran to the door to gaze after him, but already he was swallowed into the night. She closed the door, shoulders slumping wearily, and cried quietly for several minutes. Such a dramatic change her life had undergone. She snapped the lights back on and gazed about the small apartment, looking for evidence of the change. There was no evidence, she decided. All the evidence had walked out the door moments earlier. She squared her shoulders, went to the television set and turned it on, and settled into the long vigil. He would be back. He would. He would.

Bolan stopped at the first secluded public telephone on his route and made a call to Lieutenant Al Weatherbee. "It's funny," he told him, "every time I call I find you there, no matter when. What are you-married to that job?"

"Bolan?" Weatherbee asked, his voice rising on the last syllable.

"Yeah. I just got back from my holiday on the Riviera, wondered if you'd missed me."

"Aw shit," Weatherbee fumed, "-just when I was beginning to hope I'd gotten you outta my hair for good. Bolan, why aren't you in Mexico?"

"No action down there," Bolan replied. "I've been watching the TV, by the way, so I've heard all the rumors. I haven't been in Mexico, or in South America, I've been right here all along. What have our little friends been up to?"

"This's no private detective agency, Bolan," Weatherbee groused. "You've got a hell of a nerve calling here, anyway. You're wanted on eleven counts of murder, among other things."

"Yeah, I feel terrible about all that," Bolan replied, chuckling. "But don't worry about it, Lieutenant, I believe the count will be upped somewhat before the next dawn."

"Bolan, for God's sake, let it rest where it is. Listen, there's a lot of unofficial and public sympathy for you now. If you've been watching the TV you must realize that. Come on in now. Or tell me where you are and I'll pick you up personally. Two of the best lawyers in the country have already expressed an interest in your case, and I can almost-"

"Save it, Lieutenant," Bolan clipped in. "Nothing is resting, and especially the Mafia-right?"

"You damn better know right," the policeman clipped back. "You can bet they've been making full use of this breather you've given them. They're ready and waiting for you now."

"Yeah, I figured that That's why I called. Wondering if you had any useful information to pass along."

The policeman's heavy breathing filled the wire for several seconds, then he said: "Why should I tell you a damn thing!"

"Because you know I'm on your side, that's why."

"The hell you are!"

"Sure I am, and I don't have all your restrictions. I've shaken these people like they've never been shook before, and you know it Now just who's side are you on, Weatherbee?"

"It isn't a matter of sides!" the cop roared. "It's a-a..."

"Yeah, a technicality. Okay, play the technicalities if you want to. But I'd sure like to know what they've been up to."

"They think you're working for us," Weatherbee said, nearly choking.

"There, you see? They don't deal in technicalities, do they."

"They've got commando teams of their own now. The first time you open up on them again, you're going to get hit with everything short of the atom bomb."

"Is that right?"

"That's right. It's hopeless, Bolan. You had them reeling once, but they've consolidated now. The first offensive action that gives away your position will be your last one. You're just lousing things up, like all amateurs are bound to do. You've come very close to destroying a five-year undercover operation we've had going against this bunch."