The crack of Carson's shot was lost in the roar of the AutoMag, a head shot that all but took the money man's head apart, splattering a gory mess across the glass wall of the office a few feet behind him.
Carson's body slammed back and he fell, joining his three men in death on the dirty floor.
Bolan's eyes searched the shadows around him for Owens. He heard running footsteps echoing from the back of the building.
One of the actresses shouted from that direction.
"Hey, wait a minute! Take us with you, goddamn it! Wait a minute!"
A door slammed somewhere in the rear of the studio.
Bolan raced in the direction of the noise. He heard a car door slam and an engine crank to life. He bit off a curse. He could not let Owens escape!
"Hold it!"
Bolan stopped, Big Thunder ready in his fist.
A figure materialized out of the shadows and Bolan recognized him as the man who had been operating the camera. The guy held a pistol trained on Bolan. Bolan noticed that the gun was the one that the first goon had dropped when Bolan blew him away. The cameraman's hand was shaking as he pointed the weapon at the Executioner.
"Put it down," the soldier ordered sharply. "My quarrel's not with you."
"Not with me? Hell, the way you're shooting up the place, what does it matter who your quarrel's with?" the cameraman said. "I just want out of here!"
"Then put the gun down and go," Bolan told the guy.
"So you can shoot me in the back? No thanks!"
The warrior looked at the young man for several seconds, then slid the AutoMag back into its holster.
His quarrel tonight was not with a flunky who was guilty of no more than operating a camera.
"Take off," he growled. "You won't get a better offer."
The cameraman studied Bolan for a moment, gulped nervously, then bent and gingerly placed the pistol on the floor. Then he turned and bolted for the nearest exit.
Bolan followed, alert for any traps that might be waiting for him.
Nothing happened until he almost reached a narrow door in the rear corner of the building.
Then a woman bumped into him.
It was Tess. She gave a choked, panicky cry, pummeling his chest with her small fists.
"Let me go, let me go!" she wailed.
Bolan gave her a firm but gentle shove that sent her staggering away from him.
"I don't have you," he pointed out. "Where's Randy?"
She had donned a silk wrap that fell open with the push. She jerked it tightly about her, clasping the see-through material closed and folding her arms across her chest.
"He ran out on us, the rotten son of a bitch!" she raged. "He said if we were ever raided, he'd stick with us, that dirty lying bastard!"
"Did he actually leave, or is he still here somewhere?"
"I saw him drive off. He had his car parked out there behind some garbage cans. A good place for slime like him to park, if you ask me."
"Where are your friends, Babs and Rudy?"
The brunette threw a glance over her shoulder.
"Scared to come out of the dressing room. They're hiding under the bed. Hey, you're not a cop at all, are you?" She stepped back, her apprehension mounting.
"I came for Owens, not you," he assured her.
That did not convince her. She started trembling.
"Oh, mister... please... we heard the shooting but we haven't seen anything. I haven't seen you, okay? Please let us go..."
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said firmly. "Where would Owens be likely to go?"
Tess swallowed and hugged herself.
Here in the back of the warehouse, away from the hot lights, there was a chill in the air.
"He... he hangs out at a bar on Rush Street," she told him. "A place called Jimmy Kidd's. Right next to a massage parlor called Sheba's. They're both part of the same operation."
"Why would Owens go there?"
"He'd feel safe there if he was scared and on the run. Jimmy and Sheba would see to that. And he sure looked scared when he hauled ass on his way out of here. Ran right past me!"
"Jimmy and Sheba. They own the setup?"
A nod of the dark head.
"They run the place. I think Randy's real boss is that Mr. Parelli."
Bolan took a step closer to her at that statement.
She flinched but stayed where she was, clutching the wrap to her throat.
"What do you know about Parelli?"
"He's been here," Tess answered in a strained voice. "I don't know if I should talk about him..."
"Tess, have they ever filmed kid porn here?"
She forgot her fear and her eyes flashed angrily at him.
"Look here, whatever the hell your name is, I do this sort of thing for the cameras once in a while when I'm short on the rent, okay? I'm not a pervert."
"Do you know of any films like that being shot here?"
She cooled down a little.
"I... never heard about it. I wouldn't have worked for those creeps if I had. They were weird enough as it was!"
Bolan quickly assimilated the things the woman told him.
Tess could be lying about Owens's leaving the warehouse. He could still be hiding out somewhere in the building, if not on this floor then on one of those above. He just as quickly rejected those thoughts. The woman's manner and the sounds he'd heard of a car starting up just after Owens had fled, made him decide Tess was speaking the truth about the porno director having fled.
Bolan started past Tess, toward the outside metal door. "Take your friends and go," he advised her on his way out.
She hurried away in search of her friends, Babs and Rudy.
Bolan looked around, taking in the surroundings.
A few incendiary grenades would do the trick and send Parelli's warehouse up like kindling, but to do that Bolan would have to wait and make sure that the three actors were safely away, and he could not afford to waste the time.
He still had an appointment with Randy Owens at a bar called Jimmy Kidd's, next to a massage parlor called Sheba's.
Bolan pushed through the doorway, into the bitter cold.
Outside, the night was waiting.
8
Randy Owens was scared.
He parked his Lancia one block away from Jimmy Kidd's, the closest space he could find in the after-show crush. His legs were shaky as he hurried along the sidewalk toward the bar. He could not get that awful image out of his mind, the way that Bolan guy had looked when Randy and Carson came out of the office.
Owens had not even considered doing anything except running. And he had not looked back. He didn't want to know.
All he wanted now was a drink and a place to hide out for a while. He thought about calling Denise when he got inside, then the ache in his groin reminded him that maybe it wasn't such a great idea, not after what had happened earlier at the house. It had been bad enough after he and Denise Parelli had forced their way out of the closet where Bolan had stashed them.
Randy still felt queasy from the knee in his crotch and from being knocked unconscious by Bolan, but he did have enough presence of mind to realize he was on the Parellis' hit list as well as Bolan's.
The realization made him feel worse. He fought off the panic that threatened to take control.
A biting wind stung his face as he hurried toward the entrance of Jimmy Kidd's.
A flashing neon sign above the door announced the name of the place, but that was the only decoration on the squat little brick building.
The bar was only one side of the building. Next door housed Sheba's.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door and was glad when it swung softly shut behind him. He shuddered briefly. And it was not only from the cold. Sure, it felt good to be out of the chill wind, but it felt even better to be where Bolan would not find him.
Jimmy supplied his barmen with shotguns, which were kept under the bar. All of the employees in Jimmy's and Sheba's were well acquainted with handling trouble and not just obnoxious drunk trouble, either. The bartenders also carried handguns tucked under their aprons. Many high-ranking mobsters frequented Jimmy Kidd's. They had to feel secure here. They wouldn't have it any other way.