War Against the Mafia

responsibilities. I will fight the battle, spill the blood, smear myself with it, and stand at the bar of judgment to be crushed and chewed and ingested by those I serve. It is the way of the world. It is the ultimate disposition. Stand ready, Mafiosi, The Executioner is here.

7-Battle Order

Sergio Frenchi was a man who loved a good scrap; this much was obvious. The old eyes were sparkling with the excitement of anticipation, and he seemed to infect the others with his enthusiasm. The entire area Family was present, and a roll call would have sounded like a polling of the Greater Chamber of Commerce. Practically every strata of the business and professional communities was represented in the assemblage. There were bankers, lawyers, a medical doctor, accountants, insurance executives, two prominent educators; these rubbing elbows with gambling czars, small-time politicos, and racketeers of every stripe.

It was the first full-council, area-wide, which Leo Turrin had been privileged to attend. He was both amazed and impressed by the number and stature of those present. He moved alongside Nat Plasky and said, 'I don't get it. Why bring everybody out at a time like this?'

Sergio himself answered the question, as if on cue, raising his arms to quiet the hubbub. 'When The Family is in trouble, The Family belongs together,' he intoned. He smiled and let his eyes dance around the large room. 'Besides-a lot of you have never had to face up to a real threat before. You're soft- look at you, your manicured fingers and your two-dollar cigars-how do you think you got all this security, eh? You got it because men like me, men who never could relax enough to try those manicures and expensive cigars, were out there fighting and grabbing while you were in your mama's bellies, that's how you got it.'

'We're getting an object-lesson,' Seymour said, sotto voce.

Again right on cue, Sergio continued: 'You boys don't know what it feels like to be shot at and-'

'The hell I don't,' Plasky growled.

'- maybe it's true what they're saying about the organization, eh? Maybe we get too soft with all this legit business we got going. Don't forget where it all came from! Don't forget those dirty dollars keeping us up there at the front of the line! Listen!' He spread one arm in a dramatic sweep towards a group seated at his right. 'I even hear some of The Family is beginning to sneer at boys like these. Leopold, here, and his girl operation. Any of you gentlemen got any idea how many millions Leo's operation grossed so far this year? Eh? Well it makes any one of the rest of you look like peanuts! You hear? Peanuts!' He stabbed a shaking finger at a well-dressed man down the table to the left. 'You, Scali, where do you think the five million came from to back up your insurance reserves, eh? From heaven?' He waggled the finger and fixed the executive with a stern gaze. It came from whorehouses, yeah, yeah! How do you good gentlemen think we manage to keep our girls operating, eh? Through our contacts with the Chamber of Commerce? Eh? Lemme tell you all something- you are soft! And I-'

'I haven't heard him wind up like this in fifteen years,' Seymour whispered.

'I just wish he'd wind down,' Turrin said uncomfortably, but his eyes were all attention on the powerful and compelling old warrior at the head of the table. 'I'll bet he was a hell of a man in his day,' he added softly.

'He survived the wars,' Seymour grunted. 'He'll survive this one, too. Anybody making book on the outcome?'

'Not a chance,' Plasky chimed in softly.

'Now there's guns on the wall down here by the door,' Sergio was saying. 'Most of you may not get a chance to shoot one off, but you better damn sure have one in your hand when you walk out the door. Don't move around any out in the open, keep yourselves down and don't do anything stupid. We got the regular council room rigged so it looks like we're having a meeting up there. Don't nobody show themselves until he starts banging away, and even then don't do any shooting unless you can see something to shoot at. For God's sake, don't shoot each other. Something else, now, when...'

He lectured them for another five minutes, then released them. They straggled out in groups of three and four, a few wise-cracking about the pistols coming down off the wall. Turrin hung back, hoping to get in a few private words with Father Sergio. Plasky and Seymour joined the exiting crowd, Seymour glancing back impatiently at Turrin then going on without him.

Sergio took Turrin by the arm and said, 'It's like old times, Leopold. I wish your Uncle Agosto was with us, eh?'

'That'd be great,' Turrin agreed, smiling. 'I, uh, I been thinking-about that hill across the canyon. We have any men over there?'

The old man was smiling craftily. 'No, not on the hill, Leopold. Don't you worry about it. Sergio is ready for the war.'

'Well, I was just thinking,' Turrin persisted, '-this guy's a soldier, you know. He thinks like a soldier, and I've been thinking...'

Sergio patted his arm affectionately. 'Don't worry about the soldier,' he said grandly. 'Sergio has fought a couple of wars himself.'

'I'd like to go over there and scout around,' Turrin blurted.

'Oh?' The old eyebrows raised in high peaks. 'You'd go out there, alone, to meet this in the dark? Eh?'

'Yeah.' Turrin shifted uncomfortably under the strong stare. 'Regardless of the firepower we have massed over here, he could still slip away from it. I'd like to go over there and plug his escape route.'

'What makes you so certain his attack will come from over there?' The tone of voice was plainly teasing.

'I said, he thinks like a soldier. So do I.'

The old man laughed, and said, 'You're a good soldier, Leopold, and a good Mafiosi. Sure, sure, you go over there and take this Bolan single-handed. I believe you can.'

Turrin was still not certain if the old man was taunting him or not, but he took the words as official sanction. He left him standing there and raced up the stairs to the main level and ran to the parking lot, extricated his car from the jam, and tore out the drive in full acceleration.

'Where's Leo going?' someone asked, staring after the careening auto.

Sergio stood at the wall, arms crossed over his chest, smiling. 'He has gone to beard the lion in his den,' he said proudly, then added, under his breath, 'I hope.'

The speaker crackled and a terse voice announced: 'A car is speeding out of the Frenchi estate.'

Weatherbee snatched up the mike and said, 'Let 'im pass, don't one unit move off station until I give the word!'

'What do you think is going on out there?' Pappas asked.

'Plenty, I'd say,' Weatherbee grunted. I'd give a nickel to get in there and have a look at some of those faces. I bet there'd be some interesting ones.'

'Where do you think Bolan will strike from?'

'That's a good question. It's like trying to outguess the quarterback on a third-down play. Tell the truth, I don't envy this Mafia bunch. They have to sit and wait for him to make his hit before they will know how to react and where. It's like waiting for the beginning of an atomic attack, with this Bolan, anyway.'

Pappas was grinning. 'Well, it's a new role for the Mafia, isn't it. The tables are turned, so to speak.'

'Yeah. What time is it?'

'Three- forty.'

'See, I told you it would be a damn long night. You want a sandwich?'

Pappas shook his head emphatically. 'I couldn't eat a belly dancer's navel right now.'

'Nervous?'

'You could say that, yeah. I've been on plenty of stake-outs before, but this one...'

'But this one, you're rooting for the other side, is that it?'

Pappas shifted about uncomfortably and lit a cigarette.

'Isn't that it?'