Nightmare in New York

Bolan said, 'Why you lousy fink! You conned me!'

Turrin emitted an embarassed snort and replied, 'Okay, so I slipped on purpose. But why don'tyou look into it?'

'What can a dead man see?' Bolan asked quietly.

'Brognola feels that a guy as dead as you could see most anything. He's still willing to go to bat for you. He thinks he can get you a federal portfolio, especially if — '

'No, dice, Leo. Tell Brognola thanks but I'll stay alive my own way. As for this big thing, I'll keep my eyes and ears open.'

'Okay, but keep them wideopen. Avoid taxicabs, bars, and all public places. That's where the mob is concentrating their look. And, uh, on this other thing… according to my feel, the thing is really coming to' a boil and the tensions are high— This is why the New York mob is so unhappy with Gambella. They feel that he waved a red flag in your face at the most sensitively inopportune time. Or that's the rumbles I get, at my level. Right now allof the bosses are out of your city, even Gambella — have been all day — and you know what that means.'

'A council,' Bolan said.

'Yeah, and a very touchy one. They've got a joint somewhere out on Long Island I think where — '

'Stoney Lodge,' Bolan sighed.

'Yeah. You do get around. So I'm impressed. I just heard about it myself today for the first time. Oh, and by the way — I looked into the election thing there. Nothing. So I don't know what to figure, I mean I can't read the timing.'

'How about my girls?' Bolan asked. 'You've talked about everything but them.'

'Yeah, well I guess that's because it's bad news all the way, Sarge. They've got them. Since last night sometime.'

'Okay,' Bolan said, his voice tightening. 'Where?'

'I don't know. I can poke my nose in just so many places, you know, without getting it burnt off. All I know is that they definitely have them, both of them. Check me for wrong. A delicious brunette babe with milk'n honey complexion and an unbelievable body. An older woman-of-the-world who knows where it's at and what to do with it, also a beauty.'

'That's them,' Bolan groused. 'So your tutti fruitican go to hell, Leo. I've got my own war to think about first.'

'It's all the same war, Sarge,' Turrin said faintly.

Bolan sighed. 'Yeah, I guess it is.'

'Well, di tutti, buddy. Time's up.'

Turrin hung up, and Bolan told the dead connection, 'Yeah, time is definitely up.'

He left the phone booth, returned to the VW and he mused aloud to his reflection in the windshield, 'The time is up for me and thee, girls. Now where the hell do we go from here?'

So Bolan had mis-read and mis-gauged Freddie Gambella. So much for options. The crafty old bastard had exercised all of them at once. And why not? That old saw about a bird in the hand versus two in the bush was as valid as ever. GambeUa could snatch the girls and still play soft games with Bolan.

Well — soi nothing had changed, except that now Bolan knew precisely where things stood. He did not have to try outguessing Gambella on strategy, and that was a poor game anyway when the other side held all the options. So things were simpler now, from Bolan's point of combat-view. Gambella had the girls. Bolan had to get them back. It was as simple as that.

Now. How best to accomplish that simple feat? With thirty-two thousand cops on your back? Plus, at conservative estimates, close to a thousand Mafia soldiers and an indeterminate army of bought politicos, made cops, free-lance street gangs, waiters, cabdrivers, bartenders, — God knew who else. Even the dogs on the streets, maybe, were…

Bolan's mind froze around that thought. Dogs! Stoney Lodge! Gambella had left home early in the morning. If one could believe his wife — and Bolan could, considering the circumstances — he went away saying he had a date with some girls. And all the New York bosses congregating at Stoney Lodge. Would Gambella have taken those girls out to… ?

No. No. Women were supposed to be verbotenat the joint. No women allowed at Stoney Lodge. And yet…

Turrin had said something about the bosses being unhappy, that Gambella was waving a red flag at Bolanat a most sensitive time. Well hell! The bosses should have been overjoyed with a red flag in Bolan's facelEspecially if it was keeping him dancing around Manhattan looking for a couple of girls who meant not a damn thing to them — while they plotted their tuttithing in the peace and quiet of the countryside.

But… if crafty Freddie the Fox was exercising double options again… if he was throwing his weight against the other bosses and dragging a couple of girls into the sanctum of Stoney Lodge against all tradition, just to make certain he'd keep twobirds in the hand… if he meant to keep Bolan off balance and chasing whippoorwills around Manhattan while the pigeonswere securely fastened to…

Goddammit, it figured! Double-option Freddie, the Capo's Capo, the most logical guy in the world to conceive of a Cosa di tutti Cosa. Freddie Gambella played for allthe marbles, allthe time. He was a real tutti Capo. Yeah, by God, it figured-Okay, Freddie. Get ready. You're about to meet Bolan di tuttiBolan.

Chapter Sixteen Movements

The VW, Bolan decided, was in danger of becoming a hot vehicle. Maria Gambella had seen it; perhaps others had, also, during the recent series of strikes. So, regretfully, it was time for a change.

He returned the micro-bus to the same 'dealer' and traded it in on a Ford Econoline, a dark green job with plenty of poop beneath the hood and a good van-configuration. For an extra twenty dollars, the guy made up nicely-artistic decals for the sides, ISLAND PARCEL SERVICE.

Then Bolan invested some more precious time in a second buying trip to the William Meyer arsenal, where he unloaded quite a chunk of money for various items of intensely pure warfare. Another thirty minutes were spent in loading and arranging the purchases in the van.

Next he set up a meet in Central Park with MacArthur and Perugia, the CIG people, in whom he confided the size and complexity of his immediate goals, though not the details. They rapped briefly on the problems confronting everybody from the inroads of organized crime, and Bolan hauled out maps and conducted a light briefing in which he emphasized the 'non-combatant nature' of their participation in the coming operation. He marked up a duplicate set of maps and turned them over to MacArthur, along with an item of ordinance, then the three of them synchronized their watches and Bolan made ready to depart.

Perugia followed him to his vehicle and told Bolan, 'I'd like to go with you.'

Bolan gave him a sizing look and regretfully shook his head. 'Sorry, Steve, no deal.'

'Why the hell not?'

'Because you're a greenhorn,' the Executioner bluntly told him. 'And it's just too damn risky.'

'I'll take my chances,' the youth insisted. 'I have a right to go.'

'Whatright?'

'You're not Italian, are you?'

Bolan grinned and shook his head. 'But some of my best friends are.'

'And some of your worst enemies,' Perugia pointed out. 'That's the whole point. You have any idea how many Italian-Americans there are?'

'No I don't,' Bolan replied.