"You know he didn't, Ma, you know where I was."
She nodded.
"It was a trap for Bolan. And to set it, you had to guess he was coming here. You knew I was here with Randy, and you didn't beef up security."
He chuckled nervously.
"Hey, Ma, I knew you'd handle yourself. It was Bolan who had to watch himself."
"He roughed up Randy pretty bad."
David sneered.
"That little pretty boy twerp had it coming."
Denise Parelli tried to tell herself that she did not discern jealousy in her son's voice and eyes.
"Look, David," she said, "we have a lot of trouble here. If we're not careful Bolan will bring the whole operation down on top of us. We've got to cover our tracks."
"What about tonight's... shipment?"
"That will go out as scheduled. We'll just move up the time a little bit. I've already spoken to Wallace. He'll see to it. But after that, I think we need to let things cool down for a while before we do any more."
David shook his head.
"You're letting Bolan stampede you," he scoffed. "We can handle him. He drops a couple of marksman's medals around town and expects everyone to crap in their pants. Not me, Ma."
"I looked into his eyes, David," said Denise. "I saw what we're up against. And I knew a lot of people who tried to handle Bolan. They're all dead. Besides, you did not exactly strike me as the soul of bravery once you found out the Executioner was in town and looking for you."
"I've got men to take care of that sort of thing." David's face flushed with sudden anger. "What do you want me to do? You want me to get a gun and go face Bolan down in the street like some goddamn cowboy?"
"No, David. I don't want that. I don't want you dead."
Parelli's fist slammed down on the desktop.
"Then tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do!"
She couldn't help but smile slightly at that.
Senator Dutton had used those exact words when he called to tell her that Bolan had cornered him in the hotel.
So did Randy Owens when he finally got around to calling her after that business down on Rush Street.
Everyone looked to her for direction, it seemed.
That was the way it had been with David's father, after the cancer got too bad for Vito to function, she recalled. On the surface her husband had still been the strong, fear-inspiring don of the Parelli family.
But inside he had been unsure, full of doubt born of the pain and his own mortality staring him down.
Vito the Butcher had never expected the woman whom he had married strictly as a showpiece and to give him an heir, to possess the intelligence and business sense she had demonstrated, let along the ruthless drive that gradually turned her from adviser to the true head of the family.
She had retained that position when the leadership role had been thrust on David at the tender age of twenty-four. She had steered her son and the family business successfully ever since, through senate investigations and takeover tries from rival organizations, but always with herself in the background and the world thinking her son called the shots.
Things had not been going all that well lately between mother and son, however, she reflected, David had always had a streak of rebelliousness in his heart, and this Bolan thing was bringing it out even more. He was restless to run things on his own, but if he did he would make a mess out of them, she was sure of that. But she knew he could be handled and how to get him to do the things she wanted him to do.
"All right," she said softly, coming out from behind the desk. "I'll tell you what to do. Come here."
David stared at her for a long moment, then stepped closer to her.
She stood and walked to where he sat on the corner of the desk. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes.
"Tonight's shipment will go through as planned. But we're going to destroy all the other evidence and concentrate on other things for a while."
"But..."
She put a soft fingertip on his lips, brushing them closed.
"Uh-uh," she said, shaking her head. "I know how lucrative this operation is, but there are plenty of other things we can do to make money. We're going to cover our tracks and lie low until this Bolan business is over."
"What do you mean, cover our tracks?"
"I mean that some of our associates who know too much about... the children... will have to be taken care of."
A light shone in David's eyes when she said that. He moved closer to her, until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face.
"Owens?"
"Even Randy," Denise answered, no hesitation in her voice.
She had thought about it and had made up her mind already, especially after Randy's disgusting performance in front of Bolan in this house a few hours ago. Owens was fairly dependable in turning out porno films and was a diverting stud in bed, but was certainly not worth jeopardizing anything important for.
"What about Bolan?" David asked.
"Our people are out combing the city looking for him and so are the police. They want him as badly as we do. We have plenty of protection here... now, that is. He won't be able to get near us when we go out to take charge of the operation tonight.'' She reached up to stroke his cheek. "Bolan won't hurt you, Davey. Mama will see to that."
"Yeah, you're right. You're always right."
She pulled him closer, resting his head on her shoulder, patting the back of his head gently with her fingertips.
He would do whatever she said now.
It always worked.
Mama's little boy would do anything for her.
She had started things in motion even before her son had answered her phone summons a half hour ago to return home.
All the loose ends would be tied up before this night was over, and the Executioner would have nowhere to turn, and the Chicago streets would run red with Bolan's blood...
15
The orphanage was on the South Side of Chicago, in a middle-class neighborhood.
The institution occupied an entire block. The administration building was a long, narrow structure that ran along the front of the property, with four dormitories at right angles behind it. At the rear of the complex was a gymnasium.
The orphanage appeared asleep as Bolan parked Lana Garner's Camaro across the street from the offices.
The single-level structure was the only building of the orphanage to exhibit any signs of life: two lighted windows next to the main glass entranceway into the lobby, where night personnel would be on duty, and a single light down at the far end of the building.
Lana, seated beside Bolan, watched him look in the direction of the one lighted window.
"Mr. Wallace often keeps late hours," she said. "That's his office."
"Luck may be on our side for a change," Bolan grunted, cutting the Camaro's engine and lights. "This is where you stay put while I do some recon."
She held up something for his inspection.
"I've got the key to the other way in," she reminded him. "And I don't think Mr. Wallace will try anything violent this close to home. Would he? Whatever he's up to, he still needs his legitimate cover as the kindly head of the orphanage."
Bolan considered that.
Smart lady as well as tough and dedicated, he decided. One of the real good ones.
"You've got a point," he admitted. "Okay, you come along this time, but be careful. Please."
She reacted to that last word by touching her fingertips to his, and something electrical and pleasant passed between them for one instant.
"You, too," she said. "We need you. The kids asleep in that orphanage, the world. We need you, Mack Bolan."
He did not know what to say to that, so he said nothing.
They broke contact and left the car, quickly covering the distance to the side door of the building, huddling in shadows at the opposite end from the lobby entrance and the lighted night duty office.