War Against the Mafia

Plasky nodded his head jerkily. 'Sure, sure Sergio, I'll make double-sure.' He moved quickly out the door, past the guard desk, and along the hall to the large chamber on the second level.

The council table had been set, the chairs placed, and each one was occupied. Plasky smiled at the close attention to detail, readjusted an arm on one of the mannikins, and moved a wine bottle closer to the dummy hand. He walked about the table in a close inspection, hands clasped behind him like a proud maitre d', then went to the window and inspected the positioning of the thin draperies that had been added during the reinstallation of the huge window glass. He stepped slowly about the room, checking the lighting, rechecking each little detail and wondering how it would look in shadow, through a sniperscope, and from perhaps a thousand yards distant. Then he punched a button on the hastily installed electronic device that would vary the lighting in a timed cycling and repositioning of light source, thus changing the projection of shadows onto the window-drapery. Plasky cackled inwardly as a shadowy arm was seen to move on the drapery, a head seemed to tip forward, a body appeared to lean across the table.

He had to see it again from outside. He hurried from the room and down the curving stairway and onto the patio, then sat on the wall and gazed up at the second-level window. Yeah, yeah, it was perfect, just perfect The place looked alive, with a full council going on. Plasky grunted with satisfaction and paced about the flagstoned patio in hot anticipation of the little welcome The Family had in store for the sonuvabitch of the century.

Walt Seymour was about to burst with contained excitement. 'How do we know he'll hit South Hills tonight?' he asked nervously, watching Turrin's face in the reflected glow of the instrument panel.

Turrin's teeth gleamed in a smile as he turned down the freeway ramp and began to climb into the exclusive neighborhood. It's a thing the cops call modus operandi,' he said. 'Bolan isn't interested in stirring up our whorehouse operation, he just wants to stir us up. It worked for him once, he figures it'll work again. He sweeps in, see, and raises hell down in the grass roots to force us all to the council table. Then, he figures, he's got us all together and he can plunk us like rats in a water barrel, see. This is what we been waiting for, Walt.'

'I wonder where the bastard's been all this time.'

Turrin scowled. 'Well-I hope he's just been licking his wounds. I'm positive Angie hit him the other night.' The scowl deepened. 'But from what I been hearing of his antics tonight-well-I dunno-he must o' not been hit too damn hard.'

'He's probably onto us,' Seymour said, his agitation visibly increasing. 'He's probably been laying up there somewhere watching us all this time, probably with binoculars.' He shivered. 'Or through that damn sniper scope. How good are those scopes, Leo? You were in the service. They any damn good?'

'They're plenty damn good,' Turrin replied. 'Good enough to see a fly's pecker at fifteen hundred yards.'

Seymour exploded into a mirthful fit. 'A fly's pecker,' he howled. Turrin grinned along with him, and he chuckled for a while, his tensions seeming to disintegrate in the penetrating good humor. 'If that guy is fool enough to hit us again,' he commented, following a long silence, 'we'll nail his ass for good.'

'Yes, I believe we will,' Turrin agreed. But he was scowling again, and it was still with him when he turned into the hillside estate of Sergio Frenchi.

Bolan stopped at a public telephone in the darkened approaches to a closed service station, dropped in a dime, and dialed a rehearsed number. The receiver at the other end was lifted before the first ring could be completed and a trembly feminine voice said, 'Yes?'

This is the phantom of the bedroom,' he announced pleasantly. 'Mack! Oh, Mack! Everything's okay?'

'Sure,' he said 'But the night's still young. I just wanted to check in, let you know I'm still in the picture. I may be tied up the rest of the night? Uh-you been waiting up for me to call?'

Her reply came in a tumble of words. 'Mack, I'll never go to bed again until it's with you. I tried, I really tried to, but that old bed just shrieked at me. No, I-I'm sitting up, I'm on the couch-oh Mack, don't let anything happen to you.'

It's not in the plan,' he said, chuckling reassuringly. 'I, uh, you know, Val, there's always a possibility of something going haywire, though. I forgot to tell you about the money. It's in a leather case, in the storage space above your hall closet. If anything-'

'I don't want the darned old money!' she cried.

'Just listen to me. If anything should go wrong, I want you to keep that money. Now, I mean it. Consider it as my estate. It's as much mine as anybody else's.'

'Mack, you'd better come back here to me. You've just got to!'

'Hell, I'm sorry I mentioned it,' he said uneasily. 'Anyway-I've got this kid brother, see. You know about him. He could use some money, too, and-'

'Mack, I'm going to start screaming!'

'Don't do that,' he said quickly. 'Don't worry, it'll all come out okay. I just thought I should mention the money, just in case.'

'I just want you. She was sobbing. 'Call it off, Mack. Just come back. Come back right now.'

'You're making it awfully tough on me, honey,' he told her. 'You know what I have to do.'

She was regaining control. 'All right,' she said. 'I'll be brave. Is this better?'

'Much better. Be a good girl now and go to bed. I want you nice and fresh when I get home.'

'I'll try.'

'I love you, Val'

'Oh God, Mack, I love you nutty!'

'It's great, isn't it.' His voice was glowing.

'Yes, yes darling, it's great.'

'Well- back to work. Stay cool, now.'

'I promise. I'll stay cool. You do, too. And Mack...'

'Yeah?'

'I don't care who you have to kill, or how many. You come back here to me.'

'I'll be back,' he said, chuckling. He hung up, and his smile faded, and he stared glumly at the black box. It was odd, he reflected, how life came in bunches and gobs, and always at the wrong times. He had so much more to live for now than ever before, and he was facing the most perilous moment of his lifetime. He sighed, muttered, 'I'll get back, Val,'-fingered a kiss onto the telephone mouthpiece, and The Executioner went off to join the gathering.

Lieutenant Al Weatherbee of the Metropolitan Police sleepily gathered his thermos jug and sandwiches and headed toward the police garage with his young sergeant, John Pappas. 'Well, Johnny,' he said tiredly, 'if our intelligence is good, tonight will be the night'

'You say he knocked off three of their joints tonight?' Pappas asked, grinning.

'Yes, and don't look so happy about it. He's making us look like monkeys too, you know.'

They stepped into the elevator and were silent in the descent to the garage. They stood quietly and waited as a half-dozen marked patrol cars gunned up the narrow ramp to the street, then went over to their squad car. Pappas slid behind the wheel and reached over to help

Weatherbee with his burden. 'You planning on eating all this in one night?' he asked.

'Oh, between the two of us, I figure we can take care of it all right,' the lieutenant replied. 'And it could be a long, long night.'

'Well, it's three o'clock already, and I just ate at two.'

'It could still be a long time till breakfast.' Weatherbee settled into the seat, nodded to his companion, and the car eased up the ramp.

'How many units they sending out?' Pappas wondered aloud.

'We'll have a dozen cars in the general area, eight of them assigned directly to us, the other four for backup as required. The sheriff is cooperating on this one, also. He's promised a minimum of ten men in the canyon, on the county side, and possibly some mounted units. I think we'll have him pretty well sewed up. If he shows, and I think he will, I don't see how he can possibly slip away from us this time. Unless...' Weatherbee scratched his cheek thoughtfully and showed his partner a wry smile. 'Unless he really is a ghost, like the newsmen have been