The man who had fully learned the true meaning of folly was cringing against the cabin bulkhead, wild eyes framed around the black barrel of the Beretta.
Bolan gave him plenty of time to get the feel of imminent death, then he pulled the pistol away and sheathed it. "Get the film," he commanded.
The guy staggered into the main cabin, Bolan close behind. He slid back a wall panel, fumbled with the dial of a safe, and a moment later dropped a small film cannister into Bolan's outstretched hand.
"That's all?" Bolan asked.
"I swear."
'If it's not, I'll be back to see you."
"I swear!"
"Let's go," Bolan said.
They returned to the car — Tony Danger puffing and weaving on unsteady legs.
Marsha Thornton stepped out to greet them.
The deadpan gaze slid the full length of Tony Danger and she said, quietly, "Just look at that."
Bolan opened the can of film and passed it over to her. He also handed her a pencil-flash and told her, "Make sure it's the one."
She examined several frames, quickly, distastefully. "Yes. That's it."
"Burn it." He gave her a butane lighter.
"Right here?"
He nodded. "Right here."
She stripped the cannister, unreeling the film into a loose pile on the cement drive.
As she worked at it, Bolan shoved his prisoner to the side of the car and told the girl, "When you get home, tell your husband all about it. Tell him the hold is gone, except what he built himself and wants to keep for himself. But tell him this. If he stays held, I'll have to come back. And I'll have to break all the holds, my own way. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
She murmured, "Yes, I understand."
"Tell him also that I've located the missing radio gear." He glanced at Tony Danger, then placed a cigarette in his mouth and leaned toward the girl to light it. "I'm going to hit it tonight. I'm giving him that much break. He will understand, just tell him that."
Marsha Thornton, not at all deadpanning anything now, assured the Executioner, "I'll tell him. Thanks."
He said, "Stand back. You'll never get it lit that way."
He pulled her aside, thumbed off a firestick, and tossed it into the pile of film.
It went up in a puff of brilliant incandescence, writhing and shriveling into the nothingness from which it had come, and he told the girl with the glowing eyes, "Now take off. And don't look back. Don't ever look back on this."
She brushed his cheek with moist lips and ran toward her own vehicle.
Bolan told Tony Danger, "You're some rotten bastard, you know that?" Then he crammed the guy into the Ferrari and they returned to town in silence.
Bolan pulled up in front of the police station.
The returning prisoner, baffled but uncomplaining, told the big cold guy beside him, "Listen, Bolan, I — "
"Get out of my car, guy," the frosty voice commanded.
Tony Danger got out and the Ferrari shot forward into the night.
A moment later Bolan pressed the call button on his shoulder-phone, summoning the Politician to a conference.
He told him, "Find Gadgets and get on him right away. I fed Tony the bait and dropped him off. It's All Systems Red now, so let's get into close order."
"I've got something hot from Lisa Winters," Blancanales reported.
"Save it 'til we regroup. I've got to spring this trap."
"He really went for it, huh?"
"He went for it, all right. With straining ears and licking lips."
"Just don't let him get clean away, Sarge. He's the one that burned Howlin' Harlan."
The Executioner's voice was tensely frosted as it snapped back, "Are you sure of that?"
"As sure as you were that Howlie didn't burn himself," Blancanales replied.
"Okay. Get on trap station. Get Gadgets in with all speed. This one is liable to be just one beat off the numbers."
Damn right.
"This one" would indeed be crowding every number at Bolan's disposal. Plus a few that he hadn't even found yet.
18
Rawhide
John Tatum and Carl Lyons were waiting in a darkened vehicle in a stakeout position outside the police building when Bolan dropped his passenger.
Tatum straightened quickly and declared, "There she blows. The Ferrari."
Lyons' attention was riveted to the dishevelled man who had lurched onto the sidewalk. "That's Tony Danger, eh?"
"The one and only." The Captain chuckled. "Looks like he's been through a grinder."
The Ferrari was already gone, taillights faintly twinkling in the distance. "That Bolan's a cool bastard," Lyons commented.
"Well probably never know just how cool," Tatum said, sighing.
"Look at that. The guy's actually going inside."
"Oh he's strictly legit," the homicide chief said drily. "Wait'll he finds out he was released over an hour ago."
"Just hope he reacts properly."
"He will. I'd have to mark Bolan A-plus on that score, he knows his enemy."
"I'd still quote it at a hundred-to-one," the L.A. cop sniffed.
"No, not that wide. Tony will call his boss as soon as he realizes it's a new game. And then I think it'll go pretty much as Bolan laid it out."
"Hope you realize you're betting a twenty-six-year career on that," Lyons said. "I mean ... Bolan's some other kind of guy, yeah. But dammit John, he's no superman."
Tatum chuckled. "We seem to have reversed positions," he said. "Relax, Sergeant. You don't have to take the role of devil's advocate. I'm not going off half-cocked."
Lyons laughed self-consciously. "Sorry."
"It's okay. I might have been a Mack Bolan myself, once. Guys like him don't come gift-wrapped from heaven or hell. They're just guys ... like you, like me. Destiny shapes 'em. Not personal destiny, none of that shit. Human destiny. Or, if you'd rather, call it a chance combination of environment and circumstances, coupled with an individual's unique abilities. Bingo, a Mack Bolan appears. I saw a few guys like him ... in the hellgrounds of Europe, Second World War. Tell the truth, Lyons, I am glad the guy came to town. Made me remember."
"Wanta form a fan club?" Lyons asked grinning.
"I might do that," the Captain replied soberly.
"I, uh, hate to admit that I wasn't really listening when Bolan outlined his game to you. What, uh, what the hell … ?"
"It's a simple power sweep," Tatum explained. "Ben Lucasi is a small-potatoes area chief with dreams of empire. What the hell has he got here, really, in a quiet town at the corner of the nation? A bit of border smuggling, maybe a bit of trading in international contraband, close access to the free-wheeling gambling interests in Mexico. Can you build a national empire out of something like that?"
"Not without some hot gimmick," Lyons decided.
"Well, he's found one. Pretty wild idea, really, and pretty daring when you really think about it. I wouldn't think Lucasi was capable of it. But … well, Bolan tells me that Big Little Ben is reaching to corner the horsetrack action in this country. I mean the full gambit … from bookmaking to layoff books to numbers' lotteries, racing wires, the whole thing."
"How the hell could he manage that?" Lyons muttered thoughtfully. "The mob already has a pretty intricate structure around that business."
"Yeah, but Benny thinks he's found a new wrinkle. One that will put him in undisputed control of a worldwide gambling wire setup. Then the entire complicated U. S. structure will have to come begging to him to get into the big action. Yeah, it's a hot gimmick ... if he could make it work."