Twenty minutes later he struck again, this time at the Manhattan offices of Schwieberg, Fain, and Marksforth — purportedly an investment brokerage firm but actually the funnel through which Gambella's illicit wealth was spread into the legitimate business world. The firm went abruptly out of business at 11:22 A.M. that Wednesday in December, the partnership dissolved by mutual death, its records consumed by a fire of incendiary origin. Again, a tall man in army fatigues and an OD field jacket pressed a marksman's medal into the shaken palm of a female employee before he calmly departed the scene.
At a few minutes past noon, in the back room of a neighborhood restaurant on 144th Street, a weekly "business luncheon" of the Upper Manhattan Protective League was disrupted by an obvious lack of protection. This group, consisting of neighborhood politicians and musclemen, was severely depleted of active membership by the sudden appearance of two fragmentation grenades on the menu. A tall man in army combat dress stopped at the cashier's counter and settled the property damages with a thousand dollars in cash and a marksman's medal.
At one o'clock, Bolan telephoned the newsroom of a New York television station. In a recorded interview given at that time, he described the atrocities committed upon the body of Evie Clifford, spoke of his fears for "two of her friends," and revealed his plans for the Gambella Family of New York.
The interview was aired on local television at 1:30, and the cool tones of the Executioner were heard on local radio outlets repeatedly throughout that day.
"I am going to destroy the Gambella Family. One by one, crew by crew, business by business — I am going to wipe them. I will not be bought off or scared off by threats against defenseless and innocent persons, and if one more sweet kid is turned to turkey because of me, then these turkeymakers are going to discover what a real nightmare is all about. There is no escape for these people. I know each of them, I know where they go and what they do, and I am going to hunt them down, all of them, and I am going to execute them."
The sensational story was quickly picked up by television and radio networks, and two New York daily newspapers came out with special editions featuring pictures and details of the carnage at Kluman Brothers Packing Company, scene of Evie Clifford's grisly murder; the destruction of the Gambella mansion and the added carnage there; the three strikes of the late-morning blitz across Manhattan. Speculation also linked the six bodies found in Brooklyn on Tuesday with Mack Bolan's presence in town, and the body count of "at least thirty-five dead Mafiosi"was given considerably more attention than the instance of a single innocent victim.
And the big city settled back with an air of expectancy, a frantic air in some quarters, waiting to see what would happen next.
Bolan had given the Capo— indeed, all the Caposof New York City — another option to think about.
Chapter Fifteen
Tutti
"Sure, I'm getting feed-in from both sides of the stream," Leo Turrin's voice reported across the connection from Pittsfield. "You're really rattling the cage there, buddy. Hey, it's all over television here, even. You going nuts or something?"
"Maybe," Bolan replied gloomily. "So what'd you find out?"
"First of all, let's take the matter of official reaction. Do you know how many cops the city of New York has to throw against you, my blitzing buddy? At last count, roughly thirty-two thousand. That's a lot of men in blue, more than enough to populate an average American city."
"They haven't bothered me yet," Bolan muttered.
"Well, they've known you were in town since that first little fracas at Midtown Station. But they're a pretty cool bunch, those New York cops. They have so much crime there, on a minute-to-minute basis, that they just play it by the numbers and everything waits its turn, even a Mack Bolan. But your turn has come, buddy. You're on the hot list, and you can bet your ass that right now those guys are gearing up to stop you.
There's an unofficial quote shoot on sight unquote order covering you at this moment. You're getting the mad-dog treatment."
"Okay, that's one," Bolan said. "What's two?"
"Two is Freddie Gambella and Company. I hear the guy is frothing at the mouth — throwing tantrums all over the place. You torched his beloved palace, you rotten shit, and stamped out the guard besides, plus terrifying his lady. Very undignifying, Sarge, for a Capo."
Bolan said, "Yeah. So what's new?"
"What's new is that you'd better get the hell away from there, and via the quickest means. Try a time machine and go back to the seventeenth century or something."
"Get serious," Bolan growled.
"I'm as serious as I can get. I never saw such a guy. I thought I'd seen it all here, when you went after Sergio. Then when I saw what was left after the hit on Miami Beach I told myself, why hell no Leo, nowyou're seeing it all. So here you are taking on the City of New York, complete with its Five Families and fellow travelers. When do you figure your luck is going to run out, buddy?"
Bolan was being gently chided, he knew it — but he didn't mind. He chuckled and told his friend, "I guess I'm like the New York cops. I have so much crime on my hands I have to take it minute by minute and luck by lucky break. You know what I want to hear, Leo. How's the mob reacting to my Tarzan act?"
"Oh they're impressed. Jittery as hell. A lot of 'em are suddenly finding reasons why they have to go out of town for awhile. And I get the feeling that a lot of displeasure is building against Gambella. High level displeasure. The other bosses, I hear, are quite concerned because of…"
"Because of what?"
"Aw, shit. And me a double agent."
"Uh-huh. Okay, you started to spill. So out with it. What's going on that I should know about?"
"Dammit, Mack, there are some things — "
"You know better. I need every item of intelligence I can get"
There was a brief pause, then Turrin's breath hissed across the line in a lengthy sigh. "Okay. Some day I'm going to get nailed up over this double-agent stuff. Why did I have to add youto my list of tragedies?"
"Give, Leo."
"May I first impose on our friendship to give you a bit of very sober advice?"
"You may," Bolan told him. "Go on, impose."
"You're a dead man. You know that, don't you? I mean, not to be morbid but just to face facts, from one friend to another. You're a dead man."
Bolan said, "Thanks, friend… but… yeah okay, I accept that."
"Okay. So it's just a matter of time before your death certificate becomes official. You may have another day, another week, another month — — — or maybe just another hour. So what the hell are you accomplishing?"
It was Bolan's turn for silence. Presently he replied, "I don't know, Leo. I've just been playing it by ear, trying to stay alive, hoping to carry the fight against this Goddamned cancer that a lot of people in this country still think doesn't exist. They're all going to wake up one day and find it eating them alive. I don't know, Leo. What the hell do you mean, what am I accomplishing? I'm harassing the hell out of them if nothing else. What kind of question is that to ask a dead man?"
Turrin chuckled. "Okay, it was a leading question. You've been waging a war of attrition — like in 'Nam, right? With the odds at about a million to one. So who do you think is going to win this war, Sarge?"
"I never hoped to win it, Leo," Bolan told him. "The damned outfit is omnipresent, omniscient, and omnipotent. I know that. It's like fighting heaven. You can spit in God's face fifty times a day every day, but you know that in the end it's all going to go his way. Okay. So I've just been pushing sand around on the beach, not trying to fill the ocean with it."