One of the nicer surprises of the Pittsfield battle was the last-second revelation that Leo Turrin was an undercover cop.
It was friends like Leo that made the war a bit less impossible... but just a bit less.
They had worked out the telephone routine for contacts which would not jeopardize the security of either.
Bolan got his response this time on the first ring.
A hell of a comforting sound said, "Yeah, hello."
Bolan said, "Avon calling."
"Well at least you didn't drag me out in the middle of the night this time. Hey... paisano... get the hell out of that Goddamned town."
"Can't. Not yet. The irons are hot."
"That's not all that's hot. The wires are burning from coast to coast, and they're all screaming one thing. Death to Bolan. You picked a bummer this time, buddy."
"They're all bummers. The word is already out back there, eh."
"Hell, hours ago."
"The mob's telegraph gets better all the time."
"The first word didn't come from that side of the street."
"No?"
"No is right. The fuzz wires were burning minutes after your hit. Well, maybe an hour after. Ever hear of a James Matchison. Captain James Matchison?"
"No. Should I?"
"You should, and I'm betting you will. He heads up a specialty outfit in the soggy city, geared for open warfare and committed to the salvation of San Francisco. It's called the Brushfire Squad, and they've elected you their next triumphal achievement. They're not going to give you the keys to the city, Sarge."
"I don't want the keys, just the garbage franchise."
"They're going to bury you in their garbage, friend."
"Did Matchison tell you that personally?"
"He did."
"They actually contacted you?"
"Via the usual routine, yeah. I'm the quote foremost living authority unquote on Mack the Bastard. The guy wants your blood, Sarge. I could smell his taste-buds at three thousand miles. Take my advice and get out."
"What did you tell him?"
"The usual honest truth, what else."
"Okay, I'll take a helping of that, too. Give me a rundown on Daddy DeMarco. What are his pet things here?"
"The usual stuff."
"Tell me something unusual."
Turrin sighed across the wire. "One of these days, my buddy, my fuse is going to get lit from both ends and I'm going to go up in a puff of police outrage and mob vengeance. Why can't you just say hi, how's the weather, how's your heart beating, and let it go at that."
Bolan said, "Okay. How's your heart beating, Leo?"
The cop/Mafioso chuckled and replied, "Same as ever. Uh, you're looking for a fresh handle, eh?"
"Yeah. The boys are starting to treat me with respect. Soon as I hit town, everything grinds to a halt."
"Yeah, well, that's per official directive from the commissioners. You're going to be getting that from now on."
"Well..."
"You might look at an outfit calling itself Baysavers, Incorporated."
"What are they saving?"
"The San Francisco Bay, among other things. Can you imagine the mob getting ecology conscious?"
Bolan said, "Sure. They've been fighting the overpopulation problem for years."
Turrin chuckled and said, "They're fighting industrial pollution now."
"Then there must be a buck in it somewhere," Bolan replied.
"There's the secret. There are plenty of bucks in it."
"Nothing's sacred, is it."
"Just omerta. Uh, you know about Thomas Vericci?"
"Tom the Broker."
"Yeah. He's an invisible director of Baysavers... and not always so invisible. The feds are poking into it, but they can't prove anything yet. Meanwhile several formerly profitable bay-area industries have been forced into receivership, and at least two of them have wound up in Vericci's other pocket."
"Which side of the street does this intel come from?"
"The police side. We hear very little, really, from the west coast arms. We meaning the mob. They run their own cozy little shops out there, with as little contact with the national council as they can get away with."
"Yeah, so I've heard. Okay. It sounds pretty vague, but maybe I'll look at Baysavers."
"Do it easy. The words I get, Vericci got a bunch of kids conned into the act. Naider's Raiders types. They think they're saving the bay for the fishes. I guess they don't know about the sharks they're running with."
"I get the picture," Bolan said, "Speaking of pictures, what do you know about porno movies?"
The man in Pittsfield chuckled merrily. "Not as much as I'd like to know. Which end are you talking about?"
"What ends are there?"
"Well... you've got distributors and you've got exhibitors. Some of the boys have been active in both areas, from time to time."
"Who makes the movies?"
"Nowadays, just about everybody. They're legit in most places."
"This could be important, Leo. Do you know of any of the boys in this area who might be making these movies?"
"No, not offhand. I could look into it, but it would take awhile."
"I guess I don't have awhile."
"Okay. Anything else on your mind?"
"What can you tell me about the ChiComs?"
Turrin whistled softly. "Nothing."
"Nothing at all??"
"That's right. I keep hearing Red China rumors, but it all sounds pretty wild. I wouldn't even repeat such crap, not even to you."
"Okay. How about Mr. King?"
"Hell, you do jump around. What about Mr. King?"
"Who is he, really?"
"I wish I knew. So do ten thousand feds. Speaking of them, you're on their shit list, buddy. Especially after Haiti. The men up high are actually frothing at the mouth, I hear."
"Sorry if I embarrassed them," Bolan said drily. "But a hit is a hit."
"Well, they did have some bad moments. Haiti is an OAS member, you know. And with all the rumors floating around that you're actually being sponsored by everybody from the FBI to the CIA... well, it got pretty messy."
Bolan laughed out loud.
"Don't laugh," Turrin said. "Even some of the congressmen are starting to wonder if you're sponsored. The feds are going to have to burn you, buddy, just to prove the rumors wrong."
"About Mr. King," Bolan prompted, changing the subject.
"Hell I told you, I don't know. I guess there aren't more than two or three men in the whole country who know his true identity. The name has been falling out of tapped telephones for years, and everybody generally agrees that he pulls the strings all over the western states... but hell that's it, Sarge. There just simply isn't any make on the guy. And he's not Mafia, he's bigger than that."
"I hear that Don DeMarco is his pipeline into the mob. I hear that's what made DeMarco, and that's what's keeping him made."
There was a long pause, then Turrin replied, "You've got better ears than mine, then. I never heard anything like that."
"Okay. Thanks a bunch, Leo."
"You, uh, don't want to know about anybody else?"
"You know I do." Bolan's voice went softly serious. "How are they?"
The reference was to Bolan's sole surviving relative — the kid brother, Johnny. And to Valentina Querente, Bolan's warmest love, the schoolteacher who'd taken over the care and feeding of young John.
"They're fine," Turrin reported. "The kid keeps a scrapbook on you. He's going to be wanting to join you some day, Sarge... if you should live so long. I mean... he wants a piece of your war. If you're still around by then."