Death Squad

Lyons was thrown temporarily off-guard by the sudden question. "I don't... how do you mean?"

"What did you want to see Rickert about?"

"Is he working the details of the dragnet?"

"How come you answer every one of my questions with one of your own?"

Lyons colored and cleared his throat. "That son of a bitch was at my house today."

"What son of a bitch?"

"Bolan."

A heavy silence descended. Presently, Braddock said, "It took you long enough to tell me about it."

"I wanted to see Rickert first."

"Why?"

"Look, Captain, he just walked right into my house. My son entertained him in the living room while Janie was trying to rustle him up something to drink!"

"No, dammit�Bolan!"

Another silence; then: "I can understand how you feel, Carl. Look, we'll put a man on your house. Next time he..."

"He won't be back. He sat there and waited for me. I talked to him. He did what he came to do, and he left."

"I see. No�I don't see. Just like that? He left?"

Lyons curtly nodded his head. "Damn right. I wasn't about to risk a gunfight. Not with Janie and Tommy fifteen feet away."

"All right. There are various questions that immediately come to my mind, but for openers, what did he come to do?"

Lyons glared steadily into his superior's eyes for a tense moment; then he wordlessly got to his feet, walked out of the office, and returned an instant later carrying a small plastic case. "Something here I want you to listen to," he announced in a choked voice. "Make your own conclusions. I've already made mine."

* * *

Zeno Varone's voice rasped through the telephone line in a threatening snarl. "Well by God, Charlie, you just better put a spike in it, that's all I can say. Just what the hell you think your job is, anyway?"

"Don't talk like a total ass," Rickert came back in an angry near whisper. "This isn't anything I can control. It's value enough that I'm even able to tip you to it."

"We won't stand still for no rousting, Charlie."

"And just what in hell do you think you can do about it?" responded the lieutenant's infuriated whisper.

"I'll tell you what we can do about it! Well slap 'em with so many false-arrest suits, they'll..."

"Then you'll have to do your slapping from a cell! I'm telling you, they are beginning the roundup at eight tomorrow morning. Now you take it from there!" An abrupt click and a hum announced the disconnection.

Varone shouted into the hum, "You're not too goddamn important to get your name on a contract, Rickert! Rickert? If you hung up on me you sonnabitch, I swear, I'll ..." A short pause, then: The sonnabitch hung up on me."

Bolan smiled at Loudelk and turned off the recorder. "Glad we stopped by to pick this up," he said. "Stop at the next phone. I want to make a call."

Loudelk nodded and angled into the outside lane of traffic. At the next intersection, he swung into a service station and halted the car alongside a telephone booth.

Bolan dropped his dime through the slot and dialed the number of the police switchboard. "It's urgent that I speak with Lieutenant Charlie Rickert," he told the switchboard operator.

"Just a moment, please."

"He's on the Tim Braddock detail, Hardcase."

The word seemed to be a magic key. "Oh, yes, just a ... ringing."

Bolan thanked the operator, smiling grimly at Loudelk through the glass of the booth. A deep male voice answered the first ring. "Hardcase."

"Urgent for Charlie Rickert," Bolan responded. "He said I should call him here."

"Just a sec. He's on special. I'll get that number."

"Thanks." Bolan winked at Loudelk.

The voice returned to the line almost immediately. "Hang on, I'm going to flash the operator."

"Okay."

The operator responded on the third click. "Transfer this call to thirty-seven-eleven," the officer instructed.

Bolan again waited while the new connection was being made. A female voice answered. "Urgent for Charlie Rickert," Bolan said.

"Just a moment, please."

Bolan hummed a tune under his breath. "Who is calling please?" the woman asked a moment later.

"It's a hardcase," Bolan said.

"Rickert here," announced a surly voice, after another brief wait.

"Rickert, this is Mack Bolan."

"Yeah, well this is Little Annie Fannie. I don't have time for..."

"Shut up and listen to me. This is Bolan. I'm hitting your buddies tonight."

A short silence later, Rickert said, "On the level? This is really who you say?"

"I don't have time for games either, Rickert."

"Okay. So now just tell me when and where you're hitting so we can be sure to stay out of your way. What is this? What do you want?"

"I just want to play a tape for you, Rickert. It will be delivered to Braddock first thing in the morning, but I thought I'd give you a sneak performance. You listening?"

"I'm listening."

Bolan touched the rewind button on the recorder, then punched the playback control and snuggled the telephone mouthpiece against the recorder's speaker. He let it run for about thirty seconds, grinning at Loudelk all the while, then stopped the recorder and returned the telephone instrument to his ear. "How'd you like the sneak preview?" he asked in a cold voice. "Pretty sneaky, eh?"

The telephone line was silent. Bolan jiggled the hook, and the switchboard operator came on. "Your party disconnected, sir," she announced. "Do you want me to ring back?"

"No, that's okay," Bolan said, grinning into the" mouthpiece. "I guess it's a permanent disconnect. Thank you, operator."

He left the booth and returned to the car. "How'd he take it?" Loudelk asked, smiling.

"He took it hard," Bolan replied. "And ... I think he took it on the lam."

Chapter Twelve The Squeeze

"All right, here's the situation," Bolan told the assembled Death Squad. "The pressure is building, strong and fast. The local Maffianos are in a state of general alarm. They're using the pattern I've been expecting them to all along, closing ranks and making preparations to crush us the next time we show ourselves. It's Vanh Duc all over again, but with a troubling difference. That difference has been created by the police interest in this operation. The pressure is on the cops, too, and they're trying their best to lower the boom on us. So we have to worry about two fronts. There's also another item that's liable to throw us a curve. The cops are worried about the Mafia buildup. They view this whole thing as a sort of gang war that could spill out onto their streets at any moment. So they've added a bit of spice to the pot. They've decided to begin a harassment campaign that will keep the Mafia off-balance and unable to wage warfare. Okay�so the word has been leaked to the Mafia. They know that the cops are going to begin rounding them up first thing tomorrow."

"What effect will this have on our plans?" Zitka asked.

"I don't know for sure," Bolan replied, frowning. "I do know, though, that our success depends on getting our job done at the quickest possible pace and getting the hell out of this area. L.A. has about the toughest police department in the nation, and when these guys gear up for you, you can bet that your days are numbered. Two immediate effects, or possiblities, that I can see. Either we'll get knocked off our pace as a result of the police Interference or else the Mafia will go into hiding or take a trip or something until the heat's off. Either move will defeat us, or at least defeat our objectives."