Chicago Wipe-Out

check it out. Car has Indiana plates, and the desk had 'em registered as Mr. and Mrs. William Franklin, from Indianapolis. Homer couldn't get no more. The day shift had gone home and nobody on duty remembered seeing the guy.'

'Homer played it quiet, I hope,' Tosca said.

'He said he did. The room number is B-240. That'll be south end, upstairs.'

'We have to go in through the lobby? I don't remember this layout.'

'Naw, there's four ways up from outside — two stairs going up from the parking lot, that's on this side, and two going up from the — whatta ya call it, the courtyard? — anyway, there's four outside stairs.'

'Oh yeah, I think I remember now. All these rooms open on the outside, upstairs they got this iron porch that circles around the joint. I got it now.'

'Okay,' Turk said, 'but listen. I want some boys in the lobby, and I want boys on all four stairways. I want no fuck-ups, Bernie.'

'Don't worry, there won't be any.'

'You take him inside. I mean that. He gets out in this mess and we might never see him again.'

'What if he ain't there?'

'Then you sit and wait, and send somebody down to tell me. And also you send me whoever else isin there.'

'Right.' Tosca nervously lit a cigarette and leaned against the door. 'You want this Bolan alive?'

'If you catch him in bed with his pants down, sure. But don't take no chances. If he's ready for a fight, just bring me his head and his hands, that's all I need. And don't leave nobody else alive. You know?'

'Right. Here's what I'm going to do, Turk. I'm sending two cars in right here, into the parking lot, as insurance. And I'm taking Bobby Teal and Joe the Bouncer with me up the south stairs. The rest of the boys I'll have covering the other ways out.'

Turk growled, 'You better leave a couple of plug men at the bottom of yourstairs, too.'

'Okay, yeah, I'll do that.'

'Okay, great,' Turk said. 'And just in case it allfalls to hell, I'll be waiting right here. Me and Willie Thompson.'

A man seated in the front beside the driver snickered and raised the snout of a Thompson submachine gun into view. 'I hope it all falls to hell,' he commented.

'Fuck you, Willie,' Bernie Tosca said, and flung himself back into the snowstorm.

Larry Turk chuckled and again touched the wheelman's shoulder. 'Okay, let's ease down in front of that exit.'

The heavy vehicle crunched slowly along the snowpacked street, taking station for a rub-out. 'You smelling blood, Willie?' Turk asked, still chuckling.

'Hell, boss, I can almost taste it,' Wille Thompson replied.

The ghostly glow of headlamps loomed suddenly in front of them as a large car, moving cautiously in the restricted visibility, swung past and into the motel entrance. For one electric instant the occupants were visible in the lights of Larry Turk's vehicle. The field general's chuckles stifled into a grunted, 'Christ! Wasn't that... ?'

'It sure as hell was!' the wheelman confirmed.

'Who?' said Willie Thompson. 'I didn't see 'em. Who was it?'

Larry Turk was swearing loudly to nobody in particular.

The wheelman told Wille Thompson, 'That was Pete the Hauler. With a car-full of boys.'

* * *

Some of the parcels which Bolan had brought into the motel room had been for himself. The black suit and overcoat had given way to a white, heavy-weather jumpsuit, water-resistant and tightly cuffed at ankles and wrists. Over this he wore a light but warm hooded jacket, also white, and gray rubberized boots with thermal linings.

His concern at the moment was for Jimi James. He gave her a final critical inspection and declared, 'I guess you'll do.'

'I guess I'd do for an Artie expedition,' she replied drily. Bolan had stuffed her into several layers of clothing — frilly underthings next to the skin followed by a thermal suit similar to Bolan's own, then the heavy wool pants-suit and knee-high boots, all in white. A hiplength ski jacket, muffler, cap and gloves completed the outfit — and she was feeling a bit put out by the entire thing. 'From the sublime to the ridiculous,' she groused. 'Where are our snowshoes?'

Bolan ignored the wisecrack and tested his access to the Beretta. Jimi could see the displeasure in his eyes. She said, 'Don't mind me. When I get scared I get sarcastic.'

'I don't mind you,' he assured her. 'It's this outfit... it's a bit clumsy.' He grinned and added, 'Look who's demanding perfection,' then he hit the light switch and the room went dark.

In a quavery voice, Jimi asked, 'Did you say down?'

He chuckled. 'No, I didn't.'

'Why are we standing here in the dark?'

'Can you see me?' he asked her.

'No.'

'When you can, we'll go out.'

'Oh,' she said, small voiced. Then...'Are you always this careful?'

'I try to be.'

A moment later she advised him, 'I guess my eyes are adjusted. I can see you. Sort of.'

He said, 'Fine,' and cracked the door open.

'M-Mack?'

'Yeah?'

'If I die... if we die...'

'Think living, Jimi — not dying.' He made a quick doorway recon, then took her by the hand and pulled her outside with him.

The choking snow enveloped them immediately and they moved swiftly along the upper porch to the stairway. Again Bolan paused to get the lie and the feel of the environment.

Jimi gasped, 'What's the?..'

'Hush,' he whispered.

The engine of an automobile could be heard idling somewhere just below. The motel's outside lights were no more than faint and isolated specks of useless luminescence. Bolan's hand went to the railing of the steel stairway, fingertips lightly pressed to the dry underside.

They stood that way for perhaps thirty seconds, then Bolan quickly propelled her along the porch and pressed her against the side of the building. 'Not a sound,' he whispered. 'Not even a harsh breath.'

Jimi knew that the Beretta was in his hand and that he was waiting for something of which she had not yet become aware. She covered her mouth with a gloved hand and huddled to the wall, blinking away the snowflakes which were trying to invade her eyes. Then she became aware that Bolan had moved slightly away from her. She reached out to touch him — he gave the questing hand a reassuring squeeze, and then he was gone.

Seconds later she heard voices, muted and ghostly in the wind, without source of direction, but apparently drawing steadily nearer.

'Jesuschrist I can't see a goddam thing.'

'Quiet, just be quiet.'

'What if we get lost?'