The Executioner's.45 arced upwards and exploded once. The man's head snapped back and he disappeared from view. Bolan moved swiftly toward the front door, rounding the corner just as another man, gun at the ready, hurtled off the porch, firing wildly as he ran. Bolan dropped to one knee and his finger moved of its own accord, squeezing off two calculated shots at the running figure. The man stopped firing, stopped running, and began flopping about the ground. Bolan returned to the side of the house and tossed another smoke cannister into the open upstairs window, then dropped the last one on the ground and retreated behind the fast-forming cloud.
He regained his car, turned it around, and headed for South Hills. The prelude skirmishes were at an end. The stage, he reflected grimly, should now be set for the big kill. He just hoped he hadn't overplayed the prelude music.
5 - The Gathering
"Shit, I'm telling you the asshole is running wild again!" Plasky jabbered, pushing on into Sergio's bedroom. "Leo's on 'is way-"
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," the old man cried. "Calm down, will you." He shot a glance at his bodyguard and nodded his head calmly; the guard inclined his head slightly in an understanding and returned to his desk in the sitting room and picked up a house phone. Sergio sat stiffly upright at the edge of the bed, and said, "Now, Nathan, what is all this?"
"I said Bolan is at it again," Plasky replied, spacing his words in firm articulation, obviously smarting under the earlier shushing. "He hit three of Leo's places in less than an hour, and he killed four of the guards out at the Meadows. Leo is on his way out here now, and he's bringing Walt with him."
"Well, it's what we have been waiting for, isn't it?" Sergio replied, smiling calmly.
"Yeah, but hell, are you just going to sit there?"
"Would you like it better if I tried walking on the ceiling?"
"Aw hell, Sergio, we gotta man the ramparts. We gotta get the men-"
"Terry is seeing to those details at this moment," Sergio said, his eyes flicking past the open door and to the man at the desk. "Now simmer it down and get ahold of yourself. I'll tell you what. You go down to the council room and see that the stage is well set, eh?"
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!"