morning. The FBI says to shoot you on sight.” He chuckled. “You save my life once, and then the second time. I guess you broke some laws, but I had deputized you. You were helping a law-enforcement officer in his sworn duty. But we’re in the county jurisdiction here.
“I better call the sheriff. I think I’ll stay out here somewhere. Let me make that call, then run me in to the little town up ahead. It’s got a motel and some cafes. I’ve got my credit card.”
He shook his head again and got out of the car. They were parked outside a general store. “Better make that phone call.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “How many... how many men did you and I kill today?”
“They weren’t men — they were Mafia killers who had each murdered some Mafia enemy to get in the club. What we did was a public service. Wait until you look at the rap sheets on those guys.”
The chief nodded and went into the store. He returned quickly.
“Sheriff already had a report and two cars are on the way. We better get out of here. I made it an anonymous report.”
Half an hour later Bolan had driven the chief to within a block of a motel and let him off. Then the Executioner put all his weapons back in the suitcase along with his combat harness, slipped on a sport shirt and left the shot-up Chevy on the street. He took his suitcase, walked away and caught a taxi into downtown Baltimore.
Bolan changed hotels, checked in under a different alias and sat in his room considering his next move. He phoned the rental agency and told the clerk where the car could be found. He mentioned it had been somewhat wrecked and reminded the anxious clerk that the rental fee and the insurance had both been prepaid.
Captain Harley Davis of the Baltimore Police Department had taken the day off as Chief Jansen had suggested, but he did not tell his wife. Instead he drove his unmarked car to an apartment house just off Franklin Street and went up to suite 1111. Eleven was his lucky number.
A woman wearing a short nightgown came to the door. She peeked around the barrier and when she recognized him, swung open the door.
“Hey, you gonna bust me?”
“Of course not, Francie. Any friend of Carlo’s is a friend of mine.”
“He said you might be around. Had breakfast?”
“Yes, but I’m still hungry,” he said, looking at her chest suggestively.
She stepped back and smiled. “None of that until I have breakfast. A girl has to keep up her strength.”
“You eat, I’ll watch,” Davis said. He sat in the little kitchen observing the woman. It was a delight. She never failed to excite Davis, no matter what she wore. Right now his motor was running at high throttle.
The apartment she lived in rented for at least fifteen hundred a month. But she didn’t worry about that. Carlo Nazarione picked up the rent and the tab for her clothes and everything. He was not the jealous type. He offered her around, and Francie seemed to dote on the attention and the variety.
When breakfast was over, Francie crooked her finger at him and walked to the bathroom. She found a new toothbrush for him, still in a plastic wrapper, and indicated he should brush. She brushed her teeth and washed her face, then put on her makeup as he watched.
When she’d finished she winked at him, then slid out of the nightie, handed it to him and walked away. Captain Davis growled and started after her. Francie was one of the fringe benefits of being so friendly with Don Nazarione.
The phone rang just as Davis pulled off his tie. Francie sprawled across the bed, grabbed the phone and rolled onto her back.
“Saks Fifth Avenue, lingerie and notions department.” She listened. “You really need to talk to him. He’s gonna be pissed right out of his pants.” She paused. “Hell, it’s your problem now.” She tossed the hand set to Davis, who stood beside the bed unzipping his pants. He caught it and put it to his ear.
“Yeah?”
On the other end of the line a uniformed cop named Tony Ricca talked so fast Davis yelled.
“Hold it already! Damn, I can’t make out a word you’re saying. Take it easy and give it to me slow.”
“Okay. Johnny King, the other guy in blue with me yesterday on that warehouse killing, is wetting his drawers. He’s so strung out I can’t get him even to report back to the station. He’s weird. Keeps playing with a crucifix and mumbling. He says you didn’t say nothing about nobody getting killed yesterday. He didn’t sleep last night, and he’s off his rocker. Keeps confessing that he helped set up the lieutenant. Keeps yelling our names. I don’t know what to do with him.”
“You in your marked patrol car?” Davis asked.
“Yeah, where I been sitting for the past hour. Dispatch is ready to ream my ass.”
Davis zipped up his pants and looped the tie back around his neck.
“Tell me where you are, and don’t move. I’m on my way. I can reason with King one damn way or another. Where are you?”
Captain Davis wrote the cross streets down in his little book, and put a wide knot in his tie. He bent and kissed Francie’s lips as she lay on the bed.
“No playtime?” she asked.
“Postponed, Francie. Later.”
“Anytime,” she said and rolled over. “Business, I guess.”
“You bet, Francie. Takes one hell of a lot to get me out of your bedroom this way.”
She waved, and Capt. Harley Davis walked out of the apartment.
Twelve minutes later he approached the corner where Officers King and Ricca sat in the prowl car. He parked behind them beside a fireplug. He waited. Both officers got out of their car and came toward his.
“Get in back,” Davis said.
They both crawled in and Davis turned, his face angry, his voice controlled with effort.
“What the hell is going on here?”
King looked up, his eyes wary, his voice unsure.
“Captain, I’m no angel. I turned the other way a couple of tunes when I shouldn’t have. I’ve seen prisoners get roughed up for no cause, I’ve seen evidence jimmied around because I knew damn well the assholes charged were guilty. But I’ve never been part of any murder.”
Davis’s face mellowed. “Aw, shit! Is that what you think? I figured you had something important. Didn’t Ricca tell you? We were walking along the aisle of the warehouse when we discovered a sneak thief. First thing I hear is this handgun blasting away. I get out my piece and return fire. The bastard wasn’t more than three feet from us when he blew away Paulson, missed me and darted behind some boxes and ran out the back window. Hell, I thought Ricca explained it all to you. We had a damn two-eleven going down!”
King rubbed his face with one big hand. Then he looked at Ricca. “No kidding?”
“Hey, I been trying to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen to nobody, just pissing and moaning about Lieutenant Paulson.”
“That’s the way it happened, Ricca?” King asked, grabbing the other officer’s arm.
“Damn right. I thought you heard when the captain explained it to Chief Jansen.”
“Hell!”
“Yeah, you been screaming up the wrong damn pole for nothing. You better apologize to the captain for dragging him out here like this.”
“Captain, what can I say?” King mumbled. “It just looked like a setup, and then when Lieutenant Paulson got shot...”
“King, no problem. Don’t worry about it. We have to keep on top of things. And I’d appreciate if you forgot whatever you were thinking, all right?”
“Yeah, Captain, sure. I just wiped it out of my computer banks.”
Captain Davis reached into his pocket and peeled three twenties from a gold money clip.
“King, this is for all your worry. Go out to dinner and dancing with the wife somewhere. Forget all about this.”
The men nodded and stepped out of the car. Captain Davis looked at Ricca.
“Ricca, you have anything on that gambling operation you spotted on Thirty-fifth?”
“A little.” He looked at King. “Johnny, get the rig warmed up. I’ll be right there.”
