Part 14 (1/2)
”What guy?”
Frank threw a glance at the Maserati. ”That guy.”
”I'll be taking him in.”
”In where?”
”h.e.l.l, back to the head-shed. There's a hundred thou' on that boy.”
”Sell him to me.”
”What?”
”Let me take him in. For the family-our pride. It would help us in this time we're having. Don't you think? How many families has this boy made monkeys of? Just about all of them. Right? It would help us here in Philly if . . . Johnny, I'll do anything you say. But let me take him in. Naturally I'll turn the contract purse over to you.”
”Oh, h.e.l.l, I don't know,” Bolan said.
”I'll give you the purse and add ten of my own. Make it twenty. Whatever you think is right.”
Bolan repeated, ”I don't know. It's more than I money. It's like you said, pride too. I mean, you know. The boy that got this boy is going to be something special. You know?”
d.a.m.n right Frank knew.
The idea was full into his gut now and it was tearing him apart. He was shaking all over as he told the wild card from New York, ”Name your price, just name it. Johnny, I've got to have this boy.”
Bolan hesitated as long as the moment would allow, then he told Frank the Kid Getting Legs Under Him, ”Well, I guess money isn't everything, is it? Like you say, people will be kissing your hands some day. You won't forget me when that day comes, will you, Frank?”
”Listen, you know better. Anything you ever want, Johnny . . .”
”Okay, just give me the purse. But you better give it to me now. Just to keep things straight.” ”You want it now? All of it now?”
Bolan stretched his neck and popped a burp into his palm. ”Well, if you can put your hands on that much, yeah.”
”Oh, h.e.l.l, I can. Johnny . . . does Don Stefano know? About . . .?”
Bolan a.s.sured him, ”Oh you're the first to know.”
”Okay.” The guy was soaring. ”It's between you and me, then, and it's going to stay that way. From now on it's Frankie and Johnny, right? Hey, those two names go together. Look, I got the money. I was planning another trip to Sicily and I got the cash stashed. Johnny, I'm going to give you a hundred and ten.”
”That's d.a.m.n big of you, Frank. But the hundred's okay.”
”No, you're going to get the extra. Listen, wait right here, we'll seal this deal right now.”
Bolan halted the guy as he was starting to trot toward the house. He said, ”Keep it quiet, Frank. One guys knows and it blows the whole thing.”
”s.h.i.+t, don't worry.”
”While you're in there . . . this is important call your crew bosses. Send half to Jules, half to Carmine. Be sure and do that, Frank, because they may not have much time left.”
”I will, honest to Christ, I will.”
The guy hit the back door on the run.
Bolan leaned against the Maserati and rubbed his eyes.
It was an Executioner's never-never land, and a melody played by ear had never sounded sweeter.
Chapter 22/ Numbers Falling.
They transferred Bolan's side of the $110,000 transaction to the trunk of Frank Angeletti's Buick -with necessary modifications-and Bolan rode with the guy as far as the gate.
Frank was bubbling over from head to toe, already living the fantasy of ”the man who got Mack Bolan”-he could hardly wait to begin the victorious trek to Commissione headquarters in New York.
For the third time Bolan had inquired and was rea.s.sured regarding the disposition of Frank's Sicilians. They were on their way, the Kid swore, half of them going to join Jules Sticatta, the other half to Carmine Drasco.
Bolan stepped out at the gate and sent the conquering hero off with a wink, and he was hurrying back to the house when a scuffle on the front lawn commanded his attention.
Some guy over there was getting the h.e.l.l beat out of him, or so it looked. Three of the yardmen had the guy on the ground and were giving it to him with fists and feet when Bolan broke into the fray and began pulling boys off.
”Lousy cop!” one of the guys yelled.
So it was. The young plain-clothes man whose path Bolan had repeatedly crossed that day now lay at his feet.
The guy's eyes blazed up at Bolan and he wasbreathing like a steam engine, mad as h.e.l.l-probably more so at himself than anything else.
Bolan pulled the guy to his feet, brushed him off, examined him for damages and found none. He'd probably have tender ribs and a sore belly for a day or so, but he'd live through it.
The dignity, though-that might be another matter.
A hardman was dangling the cop's revolver from a finger, giving Bolan a questioning stare.
Bolan accepted the gun and jammed it into the guy's holster. He told him, ”You can't blame the boys for jumping you. It's your neck that's out, you know. You have no business in here. That was no annual permit you boys brought in here tonight.”
Sammy had heard the commotion also and was coming running. He slowed at the sight of Bolan /Cavaretta, sized up the situation and said, ”Geez, now what?”
Bolan replied, ”Now, nothing The guy was just leaving.”
The yard boss protested, ”h.e.l.l, Johnny, if the guy has been prowling around here . . . well, I don't know.”
”Nah, it's okay,” Bolan said. ”The guy wants the same thing we want. He's a soldier of the same side. Right? Beat it, cop. Good hunting.”
The detective spun about, without a word, and headed for the wall.