Scimone moved toward the door.
Ill go myself. Well put her and the kids in the south wing. They wont bother you from there.
Nazarione waved and headed for his private elevator. For just a few hours he wanted to get away from business.
Ardly Scimone took one man and a crew wagon and drove to the Albergetti residence. The police had been there, had talked to Angela and left. When Scimone arrived, Angela was lying in the middle of the living room, her blouse open, a drink in her hand, an empty Scotch bottle beside her. They bundled her up with the two kids and took them back to the Nazarione estate.
At first Angela barely said a word. She looked drunk, but in fact the booze had not yet affected her. She stared at Scimone and began swearing. By the time they approached the big house she had worn out her immediate anger.
Ill kill him! she shouted. Ill kill the son of a bitch who did this to my husband. Ill kill him!
When Angela got out of the car, she couldnt walk. Scimone had to carry her upstairs. The farther he carried her, the more relaxed she became as the alcohol finally took over her body.
Scimone set her on the bed in the wing where she would stay with her children, then hurried out the door. He locked the door from the outside. They were going to have trouble with that one. He had seen widows go this route before. When she sobered up she would be a real hellcat.
9
Mack Bolan had been hunting Captain Davis for over an hour. The captain was still on duty but not in the watch captains office. He was out investigating some problem or just cruising the town. Bolan had made some purchases earlier in the evening to be ready for a possible showdown. He wanted to handle Davis before he could do any more damage to the Baltimore Police Department.
The Executioner wished he had a police radio so he could contact the captain directly. Instead he phoned.
Yes, I need to talk to Captain Davis. If you can reach him have him call this number. Ill be here for five minutes. Tell him the name is Bolan. He hung up at once. Now if Davis took the bait, he would come with plenty of backup firepower.
Would he call? Or would he find the location of the phone booth and close in on it? Not enough time for the latter; he would call. Bolan waited by the phone. The booth was in the darkness beside a filling station. He left the door open so no light showed.
Two minutes later the phone rang. Bolan picked it up on the third ring.
Yes?
Bolan! What are you doing in my town?
Im working over the Mafia. I need your help.
Go on.
I thought you might give me some inside information on the Mafia operation here.
Yeah, I could do that. Where can we meet?
Just you and me no other cops involved.
Sure, sure, no problem.
You know where Gwynns Falls Park is?
Yes.
Drive there in an unmarked car. Come straight in the main entrance at the far end of the first parking lot. Open your door so the overhead light comes on and wait for me.
Id be a perfect target.
Are you worried? Is someone gunning for you?
Of course not, but cops are always targets.
Your choice. See me there in half an hour or forget it.
Ill be there.
Bolan ran for his car. He was on the side of town nearest the park, and wanted to be there first. He hoped Davis wouldnt send any patrol cars as backup. He figured not. Davis would know about the head money and would want the five million all to himself.
Ten minutes later, Bolan drove into the green area, eased into the second parking lot and checked out the first. It was too big to set up an easy trap. He filled a two-and-one-half-gallon garden sprayer with the cans of liquid he had bought earlier and set the nozzle to eject a steady stream instead of a spray. Then he sat behind a big maple tree and waited in the moonless night.
Precisely on time, a car rolled through the gate and into the first parking lot. It came to the end and stopped fifty feet north of Bolan. The headlights snapped off and the door opened, spreading light inside the car. It would make Davis almost blind to the outside.
Quietly Bolan moved into the darkness and trailed a three-inch stream of gasoline from one of the cans ten feet behind the unmarked police car. He made a U with the gasoline, pouring it on both sides of the car.
The darkness and the light inside the car let him do the task unseen. He crept into the wooded section at the end of the parking lot, shouldered the heavy sprayer and moved toward the car. He settled behind a wide tree to the right of the car but out of range of the headlights, in case the cop turned them on.
Davis, is that you? Bolan called. His voice sounded strangely hollow in the dark outdoors.
A figure stood beside the door.
Yeah, so lets talk.
Take out your piece and lay it on top of the car.
Hey, you dont ask a cop to give up his weapon.
I do. Im allergic to cops. But youre safe with me, you know that.
There was a pause, then a sound of metal against metal. Bolan figured Davis would also have a hidden weapon.
Youve been lucky so far, Davis. Youve got away with everything. First the two thousand a month bribe money youre taking from Don Nazarione, then the snuff on Lieutenant Paulson, and the blackmail on the two assistant chiefs. You even pulled off the cocaine plant on Chief Vincent.
What the hell are you talking about?
You, Davis. Youre just dirty as hell. Do you want to give up all this and turn states evidence against Nazarione and his killers? If you do, we can save you from the death penalty.
Youre insane. Im a cop. Six awards for valor, three commendations. I didnt come out here to be insulted.
Dont leave just yet. Bolan drew Big Thunder and put one heavy .44 round from the AutoMag into the police cars engine, then another. Your wheels just died on you, Davis. He struck a match, lit the remaining nineteen matches in the book and threw the flaming cardboard torch into the dark stain of gasoline on the tarmac.
There came an immediate whooshing sound as the gasoline and the vapor burst into flame. The trail of fire raced around the U shape he had poured.
Davis screamed and fired two shots from a handgun. Bolan, wedged behind a tree, pumped up the sprayer, triggered the nozzle and sent a stream of gasoline into the closest trail of flames. Quickly he laid down a gasoline line in front of the car, closing the box of flames around the car.
Davis fired again, missed and yelled.
What the hell you doing? I came out here to help you!
You came out here to kill me and collect the reward from the Mafia commission. It isnt going to work.
Bolan sent a dozen shots of the gasoline at Davis, who stood beside the car. In a few seconds his clothes were soaked with gasoline.
Now, Davis, you try to run through that ring of fire and you go up in flames. Lets get practical. You answer some questions and I might not kill you.
Go to hell, Bolan! Ill get inside the car.
Then Ill shoot at the gas tank and set the car on fire.
Davis had started to get in the car. Now he stopped. Through the snapping of the flames, Bolan heard Davis sigh.
Okay. What questions do you have?
When is the takeover try on the police department?
Davis inhaled sharply. How did you know about that?
Doesnt matter now. When is it?
They havent told me for sure yet. Its soon.
How many cops does Nazarione have on the take?
How many... probably three hundred or so. He doesnt tell me that.
Why was Chief Smith killed?
Because he was not the kind who could be turned around to our way of thinking.
Bolan used the sprayer again to increase the fire surrounding the car, then sprayed Davis again before he slid inside the car.
Just a reminder, Davis. Youre not fireproof.