Rudolfi sniffed the brandy and tugged at an earlobe, then he turned to Bertelucci and said, "Try the house again, Vito."
Bertelucci grunted and picked up the mobile telephone, placed the call, and settled back with a gloomy gaze at his boss. He got his connection. "Roxanne? Vito. Anything?" He listened for a moment, then spoke past the mouthpiece to Rudolfi. "We have company. Lavagni and crew. What shall I tell her?"
"Tell her to get Lavagni and crew drunk."
"Seriously, Tom."
Rudolfi sighed. "Tell Roxanne to escort them to the chateau. Give them the full VIP treatment. She knows." He glanced at his watch. "Tell her we should be there by midnight. Perhaps with a prize."
Bertelucci nodded and relayed the instructions through the telephone, then he hung up and sat back with a sigh, lit a cigarette, and resumed the surveillance at the window. Around and around they went, and where they'd stop, nobody would... He flashed a quick glance at his boss and told him, "I need to take a piss."
Rudolfi downed the brandy before signifying receipt of the request. Then he kicked the driver's seat and said, "The place on St. Jacques, Roller. I suppose we all should get out and refresh ourselves."
Guevici's eyes in the rearview mirror were grateful. "Yeah, Tom, this ring around the rosy is making me dizzy as hell. Of course if it was accomplishing anything..."
"Shut up, Roller," Rudolfi commanded. He did not like to hear his own doubts voiced. Bolan would come. He knew that he would come. An empire awaited that coming. A lion with a roar could not for long remain mute. "Go on around," he said suddenly, changing his mind about the stop at St. Jacques. "Stop at the house of Celeste. We will refresh ourselves there."
Guevici threw a delighted grin toward the rear seat. "Maybe me'n Julio can trade places for a while."
Rudolfi grimaced disgustedly and replied, "How can you change places with Julio when you have never bothered to learn the language, Roller? How can you command a French crew when the only words in your vocabulary are deshabillez-vous and etendez-vous?"
Guevici chuckled. "I don't even know those. What'd he say, Vito?"
"Take off your clothes and lie down," Bertelucci grunted.
"Well, I guess that would get me by in there, wouldn't it, Tom? Anyway, I got better words for it than that."
"Give me a word for Bolan," Rudolfi quietly commanded.
"Bastard," said Guevici, coldly.
"Remember it then. And here is another. Death. Morte, Roller, in French. Morte has two faces. Remember that also. It comes and it goes, at the same time. Make sure, when you are looking at the bastard, it is going. Eh, Vito?"
"Just let me look at the bastard, Tom," Bertelucci said. "You'll see which way it's going."
The car was slowing and pulling to the curb.
"I would give ten thousand francs for such a look, Vito," Rudolfi replied, sighing.
The monzoor was about to get that look... but it would cost him an empire.
The shiny blonde head moved up the stairway and into the shadows at the top. Her breathing lurched raggedly as the apparition in black detached itself from the darkness and arrested her forward movement. "My God!" she hissed. "It is you! This is insane! This is..."
Bolan tapped her lips with a finger and said, "Quiet. Take me where we can talk." He could not see her clearly but he could hear the uneven breathing of tight emotions, could feel the warmth of her and smell the delicate aromas of boudoir grooming, and he could not keep out the vision of that enchanting female body as he had last seen it. He followed her down the hall and into a dimly-lighted bedroom. He closed the door as she dropped to the bed and turned to regard him in a mixture of fear and female interest. She wore flimsy harem pajamas and velvet slippers, leaving very little to the male imagination, and Bolan had to look away from her as he said, "You know why I'm here."
Her lips moved woodenly in the reply. "I suppose it's obvious. But it's also insane. There are a dozen of them here, armed to the teeth."
"Don't worry about that. I want you to get the girls out before the fireworks start."
"But how?"
"What are they doing down there?"
"Talking, just talking. Julio won't allow any bedroom action, no drinking, no nothing."
"Who is Julio?"
"The head thug, I take it. Large man, about 35 or 40, obscene and violent. He's in charge. Celeste is thoroughly frightened by him. Her husband, Marcel, was..."
"Marcel was her husband?"
"Well, not really, but they had a warm thing going."
"What were you about to say?"
"Marcel was always the go-between. For the payoffs, I mean. He was mixed up in many other things, also."
"Celeste is paying mob protection?"
"Of course. Otherwise she could not stay open a night through."
"How does she feel about this invasion?"
"You mean this one, tonight? She is very angry. With you, too, Mr. Bolan."
"I see you found the name."
"Of course. It is all we have heard for hours."
"Okay, give me the setup. How many on the second floor?"
"Eight. Three or four more on the ground floor. Others are in the street outside, I'm sure of that."
"And the girls?"
"All right below, in the party room."
"Yeah, okay." Bolan was deliberating the possibilities.
The girl asked, "How did you get in here?"
"Same way I'm getting you out," he told her. "The roof. Go get the girls, but very quietly. It all depends on you if they live or die. I'll give you two minutes to get them up here, into something warm, and onto the roof." He was looking at his watch. "I'm making the hit at exactly 10:30. You'd better be clear by then."
The girl's lips had begun to quiver. As she moved toward the door she asked, "How about Celeste?"
"What about her?"
"She hates you. I wouldn't guarantee her reaction to your presence here."
"Does she hate me enough to die?"
"I guess not."
"Be sure she understands the choice, then. Have you decided how to round 'em up?"
"Something will come to me."
"Try this. The boys down there are probably getting bored as hell. Make an announcement of some special entertainment. You want all the girls upstairs to work it out. Gay, you know? Strip-tease or something. Can you do it?"
She was vigorously nodding assent. "Yes, that sounds good." She hesitated in the doorway and turned back to whisper, "Mr. Bolan, it would be such an insane waste if..." She gazed at him for a brief moment, leaving the statement incomplete, then spun out the door and along the hall.
Bolan followed her to the stairwell and again took position in the shadows. Moments later a burst of excited chatter sounded from below. The young redhead was the first one up. She brushed against Bolan and whispered, "Merci," and ran along the hallway. Apparently she had spread the word to the girls while Bolan was talking to the English girl. All were now racing up the stairs in a pretty good show of giggling excitement, but brushing by Bolan with whispered thanks.