They were now less than twenty paces from 'the barn. A hard looking guy stepped through the opening between the hanging doors, a submachine gun cradled at his chest. Bolan's mental mug file clicked to an immediate make. It was one Rudi Folani, an old pro who'd last been noted in the St. Louis area.
Bolan said to Copa, "God, you've dredged them from everywhere, haven't you?"
Copa growled, "I like to stick with the tried and true. But maybe it's not always such a good idea."
They were ten paces out when Bolan called ahead, "How's it swinging, Rudi?"
The guy did a double take as he replied, "There's still a few swings left in it, sir. Do I know you, sir?"
Bolan winked at Copa as he replied, "You'd better not."
Folani understood the meaning of that. It was an embarrassment, a breach of ritual. "Right, sir, I'm sorry."
Copa was still engaged in the inner struggle with his own troubles, but he seemed to be putting it all aside as he told Bolan, "Rudi is still the best of his kind, Omega. He never asks why or how. He only asks what."
"You're right," said Bolan-Omega. "They don't come like that in the new packages, do they?"
Folani did not mind being the subject of such praise. He stroked the auto, grinned at the lords of his realm, and went back inside.
"I meant it," said Copa, quietly. "Rudi's the best there is. And he's not so old. He's still mean as sin."
"Just don't give him much to think about," Bolan suggested.
"Oh, you're right there. I don't." The guy was loosening up. "But he's a perfect watchdog. The best. I say sit and he sits. I say hit and he hits. That's all I want from Rudi."
"That's all you need from Rudi," Bolan agreed. "Just keep him on the family jewels and you can rest your mind "
It was enough. Copa's gaze flicked to the barn as he responded to it. "You know about that, huh?" He chuckled, though without great humor. "You guys are the beatingest "
No, Bolan did not "know about that." But he was trying. "A bit here and a piece there, Nick," he explained while not explaining. "We haven't been nosing around. But we do hear things. You know?"
Yes, Nick knew. It was the Ace's duty to hear things. He said, "Right-you can't help that, I guess. Neither can I. Sometimes I-even-it's hard to keep a lid on, isn't it? The boys sometimes talk right out, in front of Mrs. Copa. I've told 'em and told 'em, and still they-what the hell can you do?"
"You keep her on a short leash, I guess," Bolan replied sympathetically.
"Right. That's all you can do. At least until I get it all safed. But-well I guess you noticed-it gets on her nerves. Hell, I hate that. But what can I do?"
The boss of Nashville was coming around, again. Not exactly jovial-but talkative, anyway. "You're doing it," Bolan assured him. "I wouldn't worry. She's a class lady. She'll pick up.”
"Oh sure."
"You can't afford to risk a misstep, now." "Hell no. I risk nothing."
Bolan could not nudge it beyond that. He, too, could not afford a misstep; he could not openly pry into the secrets of that barn.
Something else had become nudged loose during the exchange, though. The Mafia boss had relaxed somewhat and he seemed to be rethinking his problem with Crazy Gordy Mazzarelli.
"You think I should try drawing Gordy out, eh?"
"Hey, Nick, forget it. I didn't come to tell you how to-"
"No, no, come off that. You're the troubleshooter. How would you handle it?"
Bolan sighed and took a couple more steps toward the barn, He very deliberately produced a cigarillo and lit it while shaded eyes prohibited the secrets of that interior. Then he turned back to Copa and told him, "I wouldn't walk straight up and hit him on the mouth, Nick. That could be a costly piece of satisfaction. I’d cool it, and watch him, and wait my chance."
That other voice was barely audible as it plied, "Do it, then."
Bolan shifted his gaze about fifteen degrees to the right as he asked just as quietly, "Did I hear your fingers snap, Nick?"
"You did."
They both knew the meaning of that. The troubleshooter had just received a license to hunt from the Lord of the Hills.
Bolan-Omega said, "You understand-once I start, there's no calling it back."
Copa sighed and said, "Just do what you have to do to save the investment. But do it quietly."
Bolan glanced at his watch as the distant sound of copter blades stole into the moment. Time was up. Grimaldi was nearby.
He casually put a hand into his coat pocket and punched the button on the microradio as he told his host, "My chopper is coming. It's time to go. But I'll be around. You'll give Gordy my message?"
Copa's lips twisted into a wry smile, but the eyes did not know it. "Cheese for the rat, huh?"
Bolan grinned soberly. "You said that; I didn't."
"Yeah but you've been working on me to say it ever since you got here. Don't deny it." Bolan-Omega did not deny it. He said, "It's your territory, Nick."
"But it's your game," Copa said, still smiling wryly.
Bolan hoped that was true.
Yeah. He certainly hoped that it was.
CHAPTER 12
Grimaldi's eyes were looking a bit wild as Bolan climbed aboard and said, "Hit it."
They hit it, moving up and away before Bolan was fully settled into the seat. He put on the headset and told his pilot, "Perfect timing, Jack."
Grimaldi showed him a shaking hand and said, "I never get used to this."
"Neither do I," Bolan admitted.
"How'd it go?"
"Okay, I think. Do we have ground communications?"
"Yeah. I was just talking to them. Switch your headset over to the left hand position." "Got it. Can you hear me?"
"Right. Go ahead. You're on."
"Rover, do you read Skyman?"
Tommy Anders' delighted tones bounced back through the earphone. "Five by, guy. Do it."
"He bought it. Are you in position?"
"In place and waiting, old buddy. Is the game the same?"
"No changes at this time, Rover. But play it loose."
"I read the game the same and we play it loose. We gone, bye bye."
Bolan switched the headset back to inter-com and asked Grimaldi, "Did you hear it?"
"I heard it," the pilot tensely replied. "So now what?"
"So now we wait and watch and hope," Bolan told him.
"The story of my life," Grimaldi replied, sighing.
Exactly. That was exactly what it was.
"He didn't stay long," Mazzarelli nervously observed.
"Not that guy," Copa said. "He's not here to fart around. Jeez, he's an impressive son of a bitch."
"What, uh, what's it all about, Nick?"
"Damned if I know yet. Makes no sense to me. You sure you told me all you know about that Leonetti kid?"
"God is my witness, Nick. So what'd the guy say?"
"About what?"
"About anything. Exactly what did he want?"
"Damned if I know for sure. Those guys play it close to the chest. But he's going to be around awhile, Gordy. I want you to treat him right. That means stay out of his way."
"If that's what you want, sure."
"That's what I want."
"What's he looking for? What does Leonetti have to do with it?"
"I don't know for sure. He says Leonetti is Clemenza's man. But you know how these guys are. They don't say much. But I think he was sent by the sponsors."
"What made you think that?"
"Well, he's got a Full House."
"Yeh, but that comes from…” Mazzarelli nervously lit a cigarette. "I guess I don't understand how those-who sends those guys? I mean, how are they sent?"
"Hell, Gordy, I could send them."
"You could?"
"Sure. A year ago, no. Today, yeah. I just call the head shed and tell 'em I need someone. Whatever they send is whatever fits the problem and whatever fits the sender. Now, see, I don't think I could draw a Full House, though. I mean, after all, let's be men, my horsepower isn't that high yet. Get me?"
"Okay, sure, I get that. You're saying a Full House means a lot of horsepower sent it."