Baltimore Trackdown by Don Pendleton Read Free Book Online Page B

dark guy supposed to be Bolan was busting up a gambling spot uptown.
    When they got there, the ruckus was still going on. Two of them covered the rear door and five others, including Bolan, stormed into the club and spotted the troublemaker. He held a chair in one hand and a butcher knife in the other. The five converged on him; he swung the chair at Bolan.
    The Executioner grabbed the chair, jerked it forward, throwing the man off balance. As he flailed his arms and dropped the knife to regain his balance, one of the Mafia soldiers slammed into him with a shoulder block that carried him to the wall. They grabbed his arms, twisted them behind him and marched him out the back door.
    The man was about twenty, blond and blue-eyed.
    He gave his name and it checked with the ID he carried.
    “Can’t be our man,” one of the hoods said. “Too young, too blond — no way.”
    Ten minutes later the Caddy was heading back toward the Nazarione mansion. The man at the club had been enraged at losing his week’s pay on the gaming tables and tried to even the score by breaking up the place. The on-site security swore up and down the guy was Bolan and they were not going near him without shooting first.
    “Hell, he was no more the Executioner than I am,” said one of the soldiers beside Bolan.
    “Yeah, or me,” Bolan said.
    The goon looked at him and laughed. “You look about as much like his picture as that dude we left in the alley back there with his arms broke.”
    Bolan had not been able to stop the “penalty” the young man underwent for smashing up two tables in the club. He could have stopped it, but it would have blown his cover.
    One man swung up an Uzi submachine gun. He shook his head. “Damn, I wish to hell that ammo had arrived. I’d have greased his ass good with thirty rounds and never let up on the trigger.”
    Bolan watched the man caress the gun. The odds were two to one its firing pin had been removed. The Executioner still did not like the odds. He would get to the third Uzi if he could before he bailed out of the place.
    He had learned part of what he wanted to know about the enemy camp. They were “up” for this battle with Mack Bolan. They had some good equipment, and some of the men were sharper than he had seen before in the average Mafia goon squads.
    When they got back to the mansion, there was a general meeting of fifteen soldiers and one lieutenant as they talked about the operation that afternoon when Chief Jansen got away.
    “How did he get the two guards outside?” the lieutenant asked.
    “Shot them, the radio said,” one of the hoods volunteered.
    A man named Frank was the leader of the discussion. Now he looked around.
    “The whole idea is to learn from that mistake. If you’re put on guard, do it! Your life depends on it. If we got a job going down and you’re out there, the guys inside depend on you. So make damn sure nothing and nobody gets at you or past you. With this Bolan bastard, you don’t ever get a second chance. Just ask Big Jake or Tony L. Their funerals will be day after tomorrow. Only the families of the men are to attend.”
    That quieted them for a moment. Frank saw the mood.
    “All right. So next time we get him, and then all of you can go to his funeral!”
    They cheered, Bolan with them, then they quieted.
    “You might wonder about another try for Assistant Chief Jansen who we missed today. Don Nazarione just decided we blow him away. It’s all we can do now. Okay, that’s all for tonight. You guys will be getting more briefings. We think the more you know about what we’re doing, the better you can help get it done.”
    Bolan got next to Frank as they walked out of the recreation room. He had been introduced before.
    “Frank, I got to make a phone call. Augie said contact him tonight sometime. He said be careful about the line. What’d he mean by that?”
    “You’re reporting back to Augie Bonestra in Boston, right? I’ll check, but I’m damn sure what