“You just came in.” Without waiting for a reaction she sat down across from him at the table.
“Hey, I’ve got a small problem.”
“Somebody giving you a bad time?”
“How?..” She nodded. “Yes. A real jerk. I told him he can’t take me home, and I don’t want to go anywhere else. I even threatened to report him to the management. He just laughed and said he was the management.”
“When do you close?”
“Fifteen minutes. Then it takes about ten minutes to clean up.” She sighed. “I know this must sound phony, but I’m not trying to pick you up. You have a kind, understanding face, that’s all.”
She looked at him. Bolan remained silent.
“If you could wait for me just outside and tell this jerk to buzz off, I would appreciate it.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Elizabeth Hanover. Beth. And I feel much better already! I must start moving, before I get fired.” She hurried away.
When the lights blinked and closing time was announced, Bolan wandered outside. She said she would leave by the front door. A couple and a man, evidently alone, also waited. More patrons left, among them a girl Bolan recognized as a waitress. She hugged the couple waiting for her and they left.
Five minutes later Beth Hanover walked through the door. Her short blond hair was hidden under a little hat, and a scarf covered the lower part of her face. The lone man approached her and said something.
“No!” she said sharply.
Bolan hurried over and looked at the man who had touched Beth’s shoulder.
“She said no,” Bolan said softly.
The man snarled and swung. His fist grazed Bolan’s side. The Executioner solidly punched the shorter man’s midsection and then bounced a right off the side of his head.
The unwelcome suitor dropped to his knees. Then his right hand dug inside his jacket and came out with firepower.
When the gun appeared, Bolan’s kick sent it skidding along the pavement. The smaller man screamed.
The Executioner slammed his hand into the man’s throat softly, so as not to kill him. The guy went down with a cry of defeat and humiliation. The fight left him, and he sat on the sidewalk dazed.
Bolan crouched beside him, grabbed his left arm and smashed it across his knee, breaking the forearm like a dry twig.
The screech of pain sounded like a siren. A black Cadillac raced to the curb and skidded to a stop, and two men rushed to the fallen man. They helped him up, cradled his arm and put him into the big car, which raced away.
Beth had huddled by the front door. Now she came over, her eyes wide.
“I didn’t mean you should hurt him.”
“He pulled a gun. He might have killed us both.”
“Oh! I never thought of...”
“Do you have a car?”
“Yes, just down the block.”
They walked that way.
“Do you have any idea who that man was?” Bolan asked.
Beth shook her head. Her little cap had twisted to one side and her short blond hair showed.
“No. I’ve seen him at the club before, but he never bothered me.”
“And he said he was part of the management?”
“Yes. I thought he was joking.”
“Probably not.”
Her car was in the back of the lot. She stopped by the door.
“I better follow you home in case those men are waiting for you nearby.”
“I don’t think you need to. His arm looked broken to me. They’ll be at a hospital or doctor’s office somewhere.” Her eyes were suddenly angry. “You broke his arm! How could you?”
“Beth, that man was part of the Baltimore Mafia. You know what that means?”
Beth Hanover nodded and all at once she was shivering. She reached out and Bolan put his arms around her.
“Do you have somewhere else you could stay tonight? They could get your address and...”
“No. I’ll be fine. They wouldn’t dare hurt me, not now that you can identify them. I’ll be just fine.”
2
Mack Bolan unlocked Beth Hanover’s car and handed her the keys.
“You’ve got it right? First you follow me. I want to be sure those goons didn’t leave someone to tail us. Then when I’m sure no one else is back there, I’ll blink my lights and pull over and you take the lead and drive to your place. I’ll come behind you.”
Beth smiled and he saw the fright fading from her eyes. She could be no more than twenty-one, slender and attractive. Bolan jogged to his car, got in and drove back to the lot. She started the engine, turned on the lights and pulled into the street after him.
He made a series of turns and reversals and one U-turn; no cars seemed to be following. Ten minutes later she led him to her place and parked in a reserved spot in the apartment-complex lot.
She met him on the street where he was stopped.
She bit her nails and looked at him. Then she remembered and pulled her hand away. “I know it sounds a little strange, but when you said they might get my address out of the records...“ She shook her head and turned away.
“Beth, he really scared you, didn’t he? I don’t blame you. If it would be all right I’d like to sit outside your door for a while. I don’t think he’ll try anything, but with scum like him, you just can’t tell.”
“Oh, no! You don’t have to stay outside!” she said, suddenly aware he knew exactly what she was thinking. “It’s just that...” She sighed and touched his shoulder. “If you’re going to come and be my bodyguard for a while, at least I should know your name.”
“I’m Mack Scott,” he said, giving her an alias that he had used before.
“Hi, Mack,” she said, smiling brightly and extending her hand. They shook. “Now, that we’re officially friends, I can make you a cup of coffee.”
Bolan smiled, locked his rental and they went up to her apartment. It was a small studio apartment on the second floor — one big room with a kitchenette, a bathroom and a let-down bed. The place was neat and clean. “I go to school during the day and work nights to get my bills paid. I came here from Iowa to go to school. Don’t ask me why I chose the University of Baltimore. Maybe so I could get out of Iowa. I’d lived there all my life. Am I talking too much? I do when I get nervous.”
When the coffee was ready she found some grocery-store doughnuts that were two days old but still good. She said she was an only child and she was taking a course in television journalism, hoping to get into newscasting. She hoped the doughnut was okay. After ten minutes she ran out of small talk, excused herself and went to the bathroom. When she returned he saw that she had been crying.
She sat across the small coffee table from him, her eyes bright.
“So what kind of work are you in?”
“Insurance. I have clients all around the country.”
The phone rang.
She looked at him, fear radiating from her eyes.
He held up his hand, let it ring five times, then picked it up.
“Yeah, what the hell you want?”
The only sound from the wire was a gentle click.
“Wrong number,” Bolan said, and hung up. He watched her. “You feeling better?”
