"I have," Bolan assured him. His gaze flicked to Mary Ching. "Mary can fill you in later, I don't have the time. But you better believe this. A full scale mob war is brewing here. It involves not only the organization boys but their fellow travelers as well. That means blood in the streets, and maybe a lot of innocent blood with it."
"Go on."
"So my way is much cleaner."
The shrewd old eyes were sizing him up, wondering, measuring, taking a vote. The ballot fell in the box, and Captain Gibson told the Executioner, "Okay, I'm still listening."
"I'm thinking of a clean sweep, from the bottom to the top. I'll take the top and leave the bottom for you."
"That's damn nice of you."
"Be realistic," Bolan argued. "You'll never wrap up the big boys and you know it. And as long as they're up there, this town will be crawling with torpedoes and leeches of every variety. When the big boys fall, the influence falls with them. You'll need to set up annexes to your jails to handle the load."
"So why tell me about it?" The guy was interested, though, definitely interested. "Why don't you just go ahead and do it. Why consult me first?"
"I might need your help."
"Uh huh, I guess I saw that coming."
"Nothing open, nothing that would put you on a spot. I just want you to pass a few words around for me."
"And what are those?"
Bolan smiled, for the first time during the meeting.
"Would you say that we've come to an agreement in principle?"
The cop smiled back, and it was a hideous thing. He wasn't used to smiling, and it moved all the wrinkles the wrong way. "You might say that."
"Okay," Bolan said. I'll be in touch with you through Mary."
"Why not get it all on the table right now? I'm here, you're here, let's have it."
"Not yet," Bolan told him. "I'll be in touch."
"Hell, you've got me dangling, fella. What the hell have you got in mind?"
"You'll know very soon," Bolan assured him.
He grabbed Mary's arm and they left there in a hurry.
Yeah, very soon. The whole thing would be cracking... very soon now.
"Say that again," requested Leo Turrin's troubled voice, all the way from Pittsfield.
"Something wrong, Leo? You don't sound too good," Bolan decided.
"No, I'll tell you later. I'm just not sure I heard you right. What was that again?"
"I said I want you to get a message to Augie Marinello."
"In your name?" the Caporegime asked.
Bolan said, "No, just in my spirit. Don't make the impression that it came from me."
"What do you have in common with the Lord of the East?" Turrin wanted to know. He still sounded troubled... almost cold.
"Blood, maybe," Bolan said, chuckling. "He's still the big boss?"
"More or less," Turrin replied in that curiously masked tone. "What he says at council usually turns out to be the way things go. What kind of a message, Sarge?"
"I want him to know there's a conspiracy brewing on the west coast. Top drawer stuff. Big enough to wreck the whole arm. The shot heard 'round the world, that sort of thing. Following?"
"Yeah. What's the pitch?'
"A new coalition," Bolan replied.
"Coalition of what?"
"Try the ChiComs with Daddy DeMarco as a starter. How does that grab?"
"Easy, easy," Turrin said. "I've told you things have been in the wind."
"But you didn't tell me what sort of things, Leo."
"Right, well... hell. Okay. Here's the way I'm reading. The boys hate the hell out of the commies. You know?"
Bolan said, "I know. But business before pleasure. Right?"
"So right. Business before anything. I hear they've been trading. Mostly in narcotics, but other things too. Uh, Mack... what coalition?"
"It's only in my mind, right now. But it could be for real, Leo. It could be. I'd like for Marinello to think it is for damn sure."
"Why?"
"Because I want him to shake the hell out of Daddy DeMarco."
"Okay. What's the plot?"
"The plot is simply this. DeMarco is Mr. King's boy... even more, maybe, than he's the organization's boy. And Mr. King has big ideas for the West Coast.
With trade routes to the Chinese mainland now almost a certain event in the near future, Mr. King is moving swiftly to dominate the entire import picture, and the exports to China as well. Not just narcotics, not just contraband, but the big sweep, everything. The picture forming?"
The man in Pittsfield was evincing definite interest now. "Yeah. Keep going. Uh, you're saying this Mr. King is coming out in competition with the regular mob setup."
"Right, in direct competition. Would this suggest a conflict of interest to your mind? Concerning DeMarco and his close ties with King?"
"Sure. Is this for real?"
"It could be. There's a certain old Chinese gentleman here who is definitely worried about something pretty close to that. So worried, in fact, that he has already formed a counter-coalition."
"Who with?"
There's a dime-store hood here called Franco Laurentis. Know him?"
"That guy. Yeah. Crazy Franco. They call him that because he's always had a Napoleon complex. Thinks he was born to rule the world or something, or so the story goes."
"Perfect," Bolan said.
"Yeah, well, he's also DeMarco's enforcer."
"Even better yet. He's pulling something cute on the old man, Leo. It sounds like he's trying for a takeover — or something very close to that. Uh, get this name now, Daniel Wo Fan." Bolan spelled it. "Local Chinese honcho, very strong ties with Taiwan. He and Franco have been cozying it. They're interlaced in various projects around the bay area. I believe Franco has made an agreement with Wo Fan... to kill the ChiCom trade."
Turrin whistled across the connection. There was a momentary silence, then he said, "The guy must really be crazy if he's trying to cross DeMarco. The Don is old, but he's a hell of a long ways from dead. He's eaten guys like Franco Laurentis for casual snacks."
"That's the whole idea, Leo."
"Yeah, yeah, I get the drift. Well... hell, it's a great idea, Sarge. I would guess that Franco is the head torpedo in charge of stopping you. If, uh, if he's thinking of crossing the old man, this would be his golden opportunity."
"Exactly what I'm thinking. You know what to say to Marinello now, Leo?"
Sourly, Turrin replied, "I do. I just wish I could be out there to see the results."
Bolan said, "Well... if I get luck, Leo, I'll give you a blow-by-blow account."
"Do that. Listen, wait, don't hang up yet."
It was coming now, the trouble in Leo Turrin's voice. Bolan asked him, "You ready to tell me about your problem now?"
"Yeah. I've, uh, got something disturbing to tell you, but..."
"But what?"
"I don't want you to get all upset. I mean, maybe it's nothing at all."
A chill chased itself down Bolan's spine. He said, "Let's have it."
"Well, Johnny and Val have taken off somewhere."
Something ticked loose in Bolan's brain. He said, "Since when?"
"Since I tried to get in touch this morning. I wanted them to know I'd talked to you. They... just aren't there, Sarge. No one at the school remembers seeing either of them since early last night."
Bolan's guts were coming unglued. "Their clothes, Leo, what about..."