“You said it was a bum stand,” the man replied quietly. He retrieved the cigarettes and dropped them into a pocket. “Look,” he added, “I didn’t come all the way over here for a cup of lousy coffee. I want a shot at that hundred thou. Now if the guy ain’t here, then I say let’s go find out where he’s at.”
A contract man, Bolan thought. Bounty hunter, twentieth century style. Not even in the mob, but a freelancer. This intelligence opened interesting possibilities. Bolan pushed a step further.
“What’s your name again?” he growled.
“Dunlap,” the big man replied defiantly. “Jack Dunlap. You want me to spell it?”
“Just don’t forget, Jack Dunlap,” Bolan said, playing for all the marbles now, “that Danno and me are standing your expenses.” He chuckled drily. “I like a hot-trotter. You get over there and have yourself some coffee. And you tell Danno that Frankie says you get a spot up front. Understand? Where the action is. Eh?”
The man was grinning. He said, “Sure, Frankie. You won’t be sorry. What I hit stays hit, you’ll see.”
“Just save enough to identify, eh?”
“Sure.” Dunlap chuckled. “I go for the gut, so I hope you don’t identify by belly buttons.” He made one last futile attempt to get a good look at Bolan’s face, then moved on out and started across the street.
Bolan immediately glided down to the Lincoln which was idling at the curb just downrange, lights out, engine running. A stir of interest inside the vehicle greeted his approach. He bent down to speak through the driver’s window and snapped, “You boys get out there and cover Dunlap. He’s spotted something.”
Three doors opened instantly and quiet feet began moving off into the darkness. The driver remained in his seat. Bolan swung the door open and snarled, “You too, dammit, get out there!”
The man leapt out and ran quietly after the others. Bolan leaned inside and found the control lever for the spotlight. An instant later a brilliant beam stabbed across the darkness of the square and picked up the sauntering figure of Jack Dunlap.
Bolan roared, “There he is!”
Dunlap froze for an instant when the beam hit him, then he spun about with a large revolver in his hand and tried to dive out of the sudden brilliance. Others reacted quicker, and a hail of fire swept the spot, jerking the man about like a rag doll and punching him to the ground.
Bolan was behind the wheel and easing the car forward. “Wrong guy!” he yelled, and the spot picked up another figure running in from the far side of the square. This one halted stockstill and thrust his hands high overhead.
“Not me!” he screeched as another rattling volley descended, and sieved him, and flung him into eternity.
Bolan had the vehicle moving swiftly now, out into the traffic circle with all lights extinguished, and angling toward a broad exit. Sporadic bursts of gunfire continued to disrupt the stillness of the night and an excited voice over near the Museum de Sade was loudly demanding a ceasefire.
Bolan opened the big car up going into the turn. A gun crew at the corner gaped at him as he roared past, but no shots followed him. Apparently the confusion was complete.
Allies, Bolan was thinking, should at least know each other. They should, also, know their enemy.
This was an admonition which the executioner would have cause to remember later. For the moment, he was free and running through the wet wild woods of Londontown.
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About the Author
Don Pendleton (1927–1995) was born in Little Rock, Arkansas. He served in the US Navy during World War II and the Korean War. His first short story was published in 1957, but it was not until 1967, at the age of forty, that he left his career as an aerospace engineer and turned to writing full time. After producing a number of science fiction and mystery novels, in 1969 Pendletonlaunched hisfirst book in the Executioner saga: War Against the Mafia. The series, starring Vietnam veteran Mack Bolan, was so successful that it inspired a new American literary genre, and Pendletonbecame known as the father of action-adventure.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1971 by Pinnacle Books
Cover design by Mauricio Diaz
ISBN: 978-1-4976-8558-1
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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