Detroit Deathwatch

The watch commander was staring at the man from Communications with eyes narrowed to mere peep- slits.

Holzer coughed delicately and said, 'Are your shivers talking to you now, Joe?'

17 Fated

'Glad you caught the coder,' Leo Turrin's taut tones greeted the Executioner. 'This is very hot.'

'And getting hotter,' Bolan said. 'I've been wanting to spot you. Where's that phone booth, Leo?'

'Just down the street from Tommy Damio's place. That's our headquarters, please take note. You're a couple minutes late. I was about to go on.'

'Sorry. I've been busy. Just got the message. What's so hot?'

'Brognola.'

Bolan said, 'Tell Hal — '

'No wait! Hear mine first. This is really hot, straight from the headshed. Hal says scratch all past favors, scratch everything. He's putting it right on the line this time. This is tough, so hear me out. He says, quote: 'Do not even breathe upon the person or the mere shadow of Butch Cassidy,'

unquote. It's an order. He wants you to understand that.'

Bolan replied quietly, 'Since when does the fed give me orders.'

'Not your orders, buddy — his, straight from the oval office, I understand.'

Bolan pondered that bit of information for a moment, then said, 'It's that grave, eh?'

'Worse than grave, Sarge. Those guys in DC don't even breathe the name Cassiopea. They still use the code name, Butch Cassidy, in all references to the guy. The dirt they're digging up gets more frightening with every bite of the shovel. There are ramifications here so downright scary that they — '

Bolan interrupted with a terse, 'Okay, Leo. Tell Brognola I'll try to not bruise the guy. But I am going to have a talk with him.'

'No, Sarge — no. Not even that.'

'Sorry, but I've got priorities too, Leo. I'm talking to the guy.'

Turrin's voice was choked with defeat. 'I know better than to argue with you. I trust your feel, Sarge. But for God's sake, the fed doesn't even want this guy to know that they know.'

'They've got him on the make list here in Detroit.'

'How do you know that?'

'He's staked out.'

Turrin groaned.

Bolan said, 'Don't worry about it. They're being very soft. Enough so that I believe I can slip through without a fuss.'

'Watch yourself. Don't believe everything you may have read about cops in Detroit. They're tough cookies, and they crumble with great difficulty.'

'Yeah,' Bolan agreed. 'I got that reading. Well, my numbers are falling. Be dark soon. You're staying at Damio's all night?'

'Right, and don't ring off yet. I've got some intel for you. Something's not exactly on key here in mobtown. Charley Fever is beating the drums and getting all the old guard out to that joint you hit last night. I get the feeling that he's taking over. That's quite a step for a guy like Charley. I mean — he's plenty tough, sure. Right now he's walking around with a hole in his shoulder you could fish through. But he's never been anything more than a reliable gun hand — I guess you know that. He's coming on as the strong man now, though, and the old bosses are listening to him.'

'So they're mobbing up at the hardsite?'

'Yeah. But just the old guard. This could be the crack we've been looking for all these years. Detroit has always been a very solid town, you, know. I mean, no family intrigues. Well, here's the interesting part. I told you the old men back east were sending in head parties. That's about a dozen of them in town now, from almost any point you want to name. I get it now that there has been a fissure brewing here, just beneath the surface, for some time. Detroit never really stood close to the nationals, you know that. Apparently this has been due mainly to the influence of Crazy Sal. Well, now Sal is dead and — '

'He didn't make it, then?'

'Figured you knew. No. He died about noon today. Anyway, with Sal out of the picture, I believe the old men from the east hope to swing Detroit closer into the fold. Now Charley Fever, as I understand it, is rallying the old guard. The others have been very discreetly advised by La Commissione to stand clear of Charley Fever. Let him take the Bolan heat, they're saying. We're sending you guns to keep you insulated. Sit tight. And let Charley Fever worry about Mack Bolan.'

Bolan grunted. 'I could have written that script.'

'Yeah. Well, it's a good one, from our point of view. You did some good work out there last night, Sarge, and Brognola wants you to know that he's well aware of it. It shook them good and embarrassed a lot of their traveling companions. Nobody got booked out there last night, but a hell of a lot of interesting names got added to the make lists. Now the whole Combination is jittery as hell. Hal would sure like it better, though, if you could just forget you ever heard of Butch Cassidy. I'm sorry I even mentioned the name.'

'You didn't have to, Leo. And I can't forget it. It's a personal matter. I'll walk as softly as possible, but I have to make that guy.'

Turrin sighed. 'Then we'll consider him made. Talk to the guy if you feel like you must, but I got a personal message for you from myself.'

'I'm listening.'

'End it there. Talk to Butch Cassidy, find out whatever it is you think you have to know. Then fade. Quick. Go somewhere far and quiet, and lay for a while. This is between buddies. As you are standing there right now, Sarge, you're a dead man. You're dead. Unless you get out of this town quick. Now they're up for you. All of them. Both sides of the street. The cops are at full mobe, riot units and all. By sundown they'll have roving patrols — you could call them destroyer forces — just prowling the streets and poised for a quick response. They have armored vehicles, massive firepower, gas, gadgets, the whole bit. Besides that, a special force of U.S. marshals hit town about an hour ago — every one of them an expert marksman and they're packing big rifles.'

'I know about all that,' Bolan commented wearily. 'Thanks anyway.'

'That's just one side. The other is just as bad. The cream of the country's streets have packed this town, and they're all heavy guns. I'm at Damio's, and holding. Buffalo is over at Thomasetta's. Three New York crews are brooding over — '

'Save it, Leo. I know.'

'You save it. Get out.'

'Can't.'

'Damn it, why not? What's so damned urgent?'

'I told you. Personal.'

'Graves are very impersonal, Sarge. What do you want engraved on your marker? 'Here lies Mack Bolan's war'? Over some personal vendetta?'

'It's no vendetta. It's an onus.'

'A what?

'Forget it. I'll fade as soon as I can.'

'Don't hit that joint out there again.'

'The yacht club?'

'That's the one. They're expecting you back. Charley is stacking the joint with every gun he can command. It won't be as soft as it was last night.'

'Who says it was soft last night?' Bolan muttered.