Griff paused for one last look at the warrior in black.
"I imagine it'll be a little while before this old heap of ours is missed," he said, with a nod to the unmarked car he and Laymon had arrived in.
The police vehicle had a removable flasher clamped atop the roof on the driver's side.
Griff worked his way back toward the activity centered around the rescued children. They were being transferred from the truck to the ambulances for attention. The survivors of the Parelli hardforce had surrendered and were now being handcuffed and herded roughly toward other waiting vehicles.
The buildings were being hosed down by the fire fighters, too late to save anything of the structures, Bolan could see. And he saw that the office where he had killed David and Denise Parelli had already burned down to nothing but a smoldering rubble.
He turned to find Lana staring after the two cops, and beyond Griff and his partner toward the cluster of children being cared for. A look of profound sadness crossed her smudged features.
"I wish we could save all of the children who need us. These are the lucky ones. With proper treatment, they stand a good chance of normal lives. I wish we could help them all..."
"Maybe we have," said Bolan. "When people like the Parellis get involved, and a Mafia family is toppled, it makes headlines. And that's what this problem needs... all the attention it can get. Publicity about what's happening could put an end to it. There was a time when a kid was safe playing in his front yard. Maybe there'll be a time like that again."
Lana looked back at him.
"What about us?"
The fires were reflected in her eyes, Bolan saw this close. He caught the scent of her and it was natural and exciting to him.
He nodded to the unmarked police car.
"Climb in," he invited this comrade in arms, this special person with whom he would now be forever bonded by that singular comradeship born only of two people surviving enemy fire together; a bond forged in combat is unlike any other. "We've done our share for tonight, Lana. Let's find out about us."
"You've got it, soldier," she said, grinning.
They climbed into the car.
Bolan took the wheel. He headed away from the ever-growing cluster of flashing police lights and flames licking the sky; away from a battle that meant something to him.
No one tried to stop them.
He felt a gentle pressure on his upper thigh. He looked down and saw that Lana had rested the fingertips of one hand, feather light.
The electricity of her touch crackled between them just as it had when they had first met, those fast few hours ago.
A lifetime spent on the field of battle is a living hell.
Mack Bolan's life was hell.
But living on the edge as the warrior did, there were times when he crossed paths with others who lived as large as he, and although those occasions were infrequent, Bolan felt they were a touch of heaven... the reward for a lifetime spent in hell.
Bolan had decided that before leaving Chicago he would make time to seek a touch of heaven with this woman, if that was what she wanted.
He switched on the unmarked cop car's flasher light and piercing siren to clear the traffic ahead. Then he fed the vehicle more gas, gunning away from there into the waiting night.
The next mission, the next hellground, the next enemy would not be going anywhere, he knew from bitter experience.
For the Executioner, hell on earth would always be right around the next corner.