Don Pendleton - War Against the Mafia

Those guys are out of their minds," he said. "I wouldn't give no two hundred and fifty bucks for no party."

"Augh, two-fifty to these types is no more than two bits to guys like us," the other man replied. "I'd give two bits any time for an orgy like that."

"I thought Leo was comin' by," the other said, shifting the shotgun about and digging into a pocket. He produced a cigarette and struck a kitchen match on the stock of the gun. "I ain't seen 'im, have you?"

The large man chuckled. "Naw, he won't be around tonight. Bet on that. Blacksuit's got 'em all walking around on eggs."

"I'd like to shove this fuckin' shotgun up Leo's ass. You know these things get heavy after a while."

"Lay it down then," said a soft voice behind them. "But do it carefully and very, very quietly. Your first sound will be your last."

The men exchanged glances. The smaller one thrust his shotgun straight out in front of him, at arm's length, then slowly bent to the ground with it and carefully set it down. The large man wanted to discuss the issue. "Says who?" he wanted to know, but staring rigidly forward.

"You were just discussing me," Bolan told him. "I wear a black skinsuit."

"How do I-"

His words were abruptly halted by the shock of a heavy.45 automatic moving forcefully against his temple. He crumpled and a black-clad arm reached out of the shadows and caught the shotgun, broke it at the breech, and tossed it to the ground. The sharp tip of a pointed blade touched lightly upon the smaller man's throat. "I have no bitch with you, buddy," the soft voice announced. "You just give me some useful information and you might live a while."

The man's lips moved soundlessly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Anything you say," he croaked.

"How many guards?"

"Two more, just two more."

"Shotguns?"

"Yes. We weren't supposed to bunch up like this." He obviously wanted to keep talking. "I'm supposed to be at the front, Charlie had this side. Charlie's the guy you just conked. Mart's around at the back. Andy's got the other side. There's two guys inside, one upstairs in the hall, the other down at the front door. No shotguns, just shoulder holsters."

"Seems like a rather heavy guard for a whore house," the voice purred.

"Just since you started raisin' hell," the man replied, his voice taking on an ingratiating quality. "You got 'em shook up good, they even raised our pay."

"And a bonus to the one who gets me?"

"You ain't shittin', a bonus. A hundred grand worth of bonus."

"Don't you want to try for the bonus?"

"Me?" The tight throat was cleared again. "Who, me? Hell, no. I got nothin' against you, Blacksuit. Say, uh, the knife's about to bust through. It feels like it's gonna go through just any second now."

"Then be very still. Now, tell me..."

"Harry."

"Eh?"

"My name's Harry."

"Tell me, Harry, what's on the other side of that big window down here on the side?"

"Oh, that's uh, a sort of bar, you know. They can push back the walls in the middle there and it makes into a big clubroom. They got the walls back now and they're having a shindig in there right now. Yeah, right now."

"What sort of a shindig, Harry?"

"You know, a sex party. An orgy."

"What's upstairs?"

"Bedrooms, just bedrooms. Oh, and a long hall and a sittin' room. The upstairs guard station is just outside the sittin' room, in th' hall."

"What's on the other side of this party room, downstairs here?"

"Oh, well, I told you, they push the walls back, and it's all just one big room, clear across."

"How many people would you say are in there right now, Harry?"

"Oh, well, I can tell you exactly. I got the front detail, see. I checked thirty-two guys through. There's thirty-two in there, exactly."

"No girls?"

"Oh, well, yeah, there's girls. There's the twenty-five regulars and about, uh, oh I'd say about, uh. fifteen or so specials."

"Specials for what?"

"Well, for the party. They move 'em around for these parties, see. Specialists."

"Specialists in what?"

"Different lands of stunts, you know. Sex stunts."

"I see. Thank you, Harry. You've been very helpful. If I find out you've misled me, I'll come back and skin you."

"I ain't misled you."

"We will see," said The Executioner. He removed the pointed blade and immediately applied the.45 just behind the ear. The talkative informant fell over sideways without a sound. Bolan picked up his shotgun, checked it over for load and readiness, and carried it with him to the large window at the unguarded side of the house. He removed one of the canisters from his waist pouch and dropped it to the ground, then swung the shotgun against the window, dancing back to avoid flying fragments. The huge window went with a roaring crash; Bolan waited but a split second to clear any falling slivers, then thrust the muzzle of the shotgun against the exposed drapery, angling high toward the ceiling, and pulled both triggers. The double roar must have sounded like doomsday to those inside. A watermelon-sized hole appeared in the heavy drapery material. Bolan picked up the canister, flipped a lever at its top, and tossed it through the hole in the drapery. Heavy black smoke drifted back through the hole and billowed up between the drapery and the window frame. There were sounds of pandemonium within as Bolan hurried back to the fallen guards. He grabbed up the remaining shotgun and restored it to firing condition just as a man ran around the corner from the back side of the house. Bolan pushed the shotgun in the general direction of the running figure and pulled the trigger. The man was flung into the air like a rag doll, catching the full charge in the chest. Bolan swung to the sounds of thudding feet in the opposite direction and let go the other barrel. The target screamed and fell writhing to the ground, hands clutching at where his stomach had been. Bolan dropped the now-useless shotgun and got a grip on his.45 just as an upstairs window swung open and a man leaned out with a gun in his hand, foolishly exposing himself in full light.

The Executioner's.45 arced upwards and exploded once. The man's head snapped back and he disappeared from view. Bolan moved swiftly toward the front door, rounding the corner just as another man, gun at the ready, hurtled off the porch, firing wildly as he ran. Bolan dropped to one knee and his finger moved of its own accord, squeezing off two calculated shots at the running figure. The man stopped firing, stopped running, and began flopping about the ground. Bolan returned to the side of the house and tossed another smoke cannister into the open upstairs window, then dropped the last one on the ground and retreated behind the fast-forming cloud.

He regained his car, turned it around, and headed for South Hills. The prelude skirmishes were at an end. The stage, he reflected grimly, should now be set for the big kill. He just hoped he hadn't overplayed the prelude music.

"Shit, I'm telling you the asshole is running wild again!" Plasky jabbered, pushing on into Sergio's bedroom. "Leo's on 'is way-"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," the old man cried. "Calm down, will you." He shot a glance at his bodyguard and nodded his head calmly; the guard inclined his head slightly in an understanding and returned to his desk in the sitting room and picked up a house phone. Sergio sat stiffly upright at the edge of the bed, and said, "Now, Nathan, what is all this?"

"I said Bolan is at it again," Plasky replied, spacing his words in firm articulation, obviously smarting under the earlier shushing. "He hit three of Leo's places in less than an hour, and he killed four of the guards out at the Meadows. Leo is on his way out here now, and he's bringing Walt with him."