Nostra family somewhere around his 21st year. He was never again arrested or hospitalized throughout a long career as a Mafia 'soldier,' serving mostly as an 'enforcer' and bodyguard to various Capos, or family bosses. He had participated in more than a score of murder contracts and had come west with DiGeorge when the latter ascended to the rank of Caporegime, or lieutenant, in the early days of the Los Angeles Family. The nickname 'Screwy Looey' had stuck with him through the years, but was rarely used to his face. Pena had long been a power in the Western Family, though without official rank until Mack Bolan's execution of DiGeorge's chief enforcer in the Beverly Hills fracas.
Married only to his job and faultlessly loyal to his Capo, Pena had received the nod from DiGeorge to fill the sudden vacancy. Even Pena, however, realized that this promotion had been largely based on a scarcity of qualified candidates. It was generally acknowledged that whatever Pena lacked in brains was more than made up for by his brute strength, stubborn tenacity, and unflagging loyalty to his Capo. No one doubted that Screwy Looey would succeed in his new post. More than he himself wanted to succeed, however, he wanted to please Julian DiGeorge. This desire overrode all other considerations. He had vowed to serve up Mack Bolan's head 'on a platter' for his Capo's extreme pleasure.
Pena arrived in Palm Village on the morning of October 5th in the lead vehicle of a five-car caravan which proceeded directly to the public parking lot at the edge of Lodetown. There they were met by Willie Walker (nee Joseph Gianami), an advance man who had already obtained city permits for 'door-to-door selling,' and who, moments earlier, had rented an empty store building on the Lodetown square, ostensibly for use as a book crew headquarters.
Willie Walker led the caravan to the alleyway rear entrance to the store and chatted with a uniformed policeman as Pena's soldiers unloaded heavy cartons of 'books' from the trunks of the vehicles.
Moments later, with Pena's 25-man crew sprawled about in the comparative coolness of the rented store, Walker reported his conversation with the policeman. 'He said it was okay to park in the alley, but we can't block it.'
Pena nodded and said, 'I'd rather just stay in the cars. At least they're air conditioned. It's hot enough in here to cook us alive.'
'The building went with the permits,' Walker replied, grinning. 'Not much, is it? They got a law here that you gotta be an established firm in this town to do business here. It cost me five a head for the permits, fifty for a week's rent on the store, minimum, and fifty for what they call an associate membership in the Merchant's Association.' The grin widened. 'And they call us racketeers.'
'Everybody has to make a living, Willie,' Pena growled, dismissing the implied graft. 'Well . . . hand out those permits and get the kids busy unpacking those boxes. There's hardware and extra ammo under the books.'
'Okay.'
'Get the books stacked around, make it 1ook good. Put a couple of empty boxes up by the window and let the label show, in case anybody wants to look in and see what we got here.' Pena wiped a trickle of perspiration from each temple and added: 'Make it quick and get the kids back into those cars. Christ, we'll dehydrate in this dump.' He held out a hand. 'Gimme some of those business cards, I'm gonna pass some around to our next-door neighbors. Community relations, you know, and it'll give me a chance to look around.' He winked, pocketed the cards, and walked toward the front of the building, dragging Walker with him. 'Listen, I want one of those big choppers on the floor in each car. And put some books in the back windows, and I want every man with a book in his hand. This has gotta look good. And listen . . . I don't want those cars parked in a alley when we're all mobbed up in here. One car in the alley, in case we need it quick . . . the others you spot around close. Just make sure they're where we can get to them, and that we're not gonna get blocked off or locked in.'
Walker nodded his understanding of the instructions, closed the door behind Pena's departure, and immediately began carrying out the orders. Upon Pena's return some minutes later, the store looked precisely as it was meant to look — like a hurriedly set up center of operations for a crew of itinerant book salesmen. A city map which Walker had purchased for $1.25 from the City Clerk's office was tacked to a wall, on which was being marked the assignment for each squad.
'How long's it gonna take us to cover this hick burg?' Pena inquired.
Willie Walker stared reflectively at the large map. 'I'd say we can tap every house in about three to four hours, if we move fast. Five or six if want it real careful.'
'I want it fast,' Pena replied, 'I just spotted something real interesting over in that parking lot.'
'Yeah?' Walker said, his eyes shifting quickly from the map to his boss' face.
'Yeah.' Pena was frowning in thoughtful concentration. 'Julio's car. Bolan must have dumped it there. I walked past quick and casual. Keys are in it. Blood spots on the seat.'
'What's on your mind, Lou?'
'I'm just wondering if the bulls have that car staked out. I saw something else interesting, Willie. Two L.A. cops just walked into the police station.'
'Yeah?'
'Yeah. You sure you sold the hicks on our cover?'
'I'm pretty sure.'
'You gotta do better than pretty sure, Willie.'
'Okay, I'm sure. They're sold, Lou. All the guy was worried about was getting his fifty for this shack.'
Pena rubbed his nose, glared at the city map, then sighed and said, 'Let's get moving. I want Johnny Spiffy to stay with Julio's car, though. But tell 'im to not fall for no cops' tricks. Make sure he has a picture of this Bolan. Make sure everybody has one. And Willie . . .'
'Yeah, Lou?'
'Make sure everybody understands one thing. We're here to hit this guy Bolan. I don't want no sloppy fingers. Any soldier tells me he saw Bolan, and then can't tell me he saw him dead . . . well, he just better not come back at all, Willie. You know?'
'I know, Lou. Don't worry. We got the best crew in the country. We'll get this Blacksuit Bolan.'
'We better, Willie. Mr. DiGeorge says we better.'
'What if the cops get to him first, Lou?'
'Then there'll be some dead cops, too. We ain't backing down to no cops on this hit, Willie. You know?'
The rented store suddenly seemed much cooler to Willie Walker. The veteran Mafia triggerman solemnly nodded his head and replied, 'I know, Lou.'
Chapter Eight
The hit
Mack Bolan was seated comfortably on a leather recliner in Jim Brantzen's living quarters. His hair, which he had bleached on his departure from the East some weeks earlier, was now darkened again to a jet black and the temples lightened with glints of silver. Small plastic discs were affixed to the forehead above each eye and over each cheekbone. A narrow linear shell of the same substance and about one inch long covered each side of his lower jaw, meeting at the chin. An ordinary oversized Band-Aid covered the bridge of his nose.
'How goes it?' asked Brantzen, entering through the doorway from the clinic.
'Great, I guess,' Bolan replied, speaking through barely parted lips. 'Just don't ask me to get chatty.'
'You want some more freeze?' the doctor asked solicitously.
Bolan carefully shook his head and raised a hand-mirror to inspect once again his rearranged features. 'Can't believe it's me,' he mumbled. 'How long before I can get along without these doo-dads?'
'Those 'doo-dads' are a hell of an improvement over being wrapped up like a gift, Mack,' the surgeon replied. 'Just remember, they're the only thing holding you together.'
'Yeah, but for how long?'
Brantzen shrugged his shoulders. 'Depends on your recuperative powers. Maybe a week. Maybe two. It's a pressure principle for suturing, Mack. Beats hell out of stitching. You fool with them, though, and you'll have some