His greatest hope lay in the stage set for him by the forces intent on destroying him. The confusion and tension in the town was monumental, and he meant to play that angle for all it was worth.
But now here was Toby Ranger approaching him, in the enemy's heartland. One wrong word, a single suspicious gesture, anything at all which could seem out of place could mean his unmasking… and his total undoing.
She sidled up beside him at the bar and said, "Buy a girl a drink, honey?"
Without turning his head, Bolan loudly replied, "I already been laid twice today. Beat it!!"
He felt her stiffen. The other girl moved in on his other side and placed everything she had against him.
He said, "Whatsa matter? Business all that bad?"
The Canadian laughed softly and said, "You're a riot, did anybody ever tell you that?"
No one seemed to be giving any attention to the little comedy at the bar, but Bolan figured that couldn't last forever. He tasted his drink, set it down, and hissed, "Thanks, kids. You're all I needed."
"Just keep it up, you're doing fine," the blonde told him. "We may even take you into our act."
He growled, "Yeah, Little Leddo, the lead-stuffed dummy. Bug off, eh?"
"We're looking for Tommy," the body-bumper told! him.
"I don't have him," Bolan assured her.
"Somebody has," the blonde said.
Bolan picked up his drink and yelled, "A hundred bucks? What is it, gold-plated or something!"
Toby's face turned fiery red.
Bolan laughed loudly and said, "Awright, let's talk it over."
He took the blonde's elbow and steered her away from the crowd at the bar and to a booth at the rear. The other girl followed close behind. Bolan slid into the booth and left the girls standing there. "Siddown, siddown," he said grandly.
Toby flounced in and angrily whispered, "I should blow the whistle on you, you smart..."
"Shut up!" Bolan snapped. He told the Canadian, "Siddown!"
She did.
He told them, "This is no show biz stand, kids. When this curtain falls, it's a shroud. Now what's this about Anders?"
The Canuck was rubbing his arm. Toby Ranger's face was still set into angry tines. She said, "He's been missing since five o'clock. We tracked him here. And suddenly the trail ends."
"Did he come alone?" Bolan wanted to know.
"No. Two other men were with him."
Bolan said, "Okay, I'll find him."
"Gee thanks."
"Isn't that what you want me to do?"
"Well, sure," the Canadian put in.
Bolan was staring at the blonde. Her eyes fell. "I'm sorry," she said. "I guess it is a pretty dry stand, isn't it."
He said, "You know it."
"Well, you look great," she assured him.
"Didn't fool you," he said.
"I'm special," she replied, smiling.
"Yeah, you are at that," he told her.
She colored again and glanced at the darkhaired girl. "We'd better leave him alone, I guess."
The Canuck said, "You swim divinely."
He told her, "I bleed the same way. Where are the other girls?"
The blonde replied. "We're supposed to go on in an. hour. They're getting the costumes ready."
Bolan said, "Well, I'll nose around and find our man. But you girls beat it out of this joint. It's full of poison."
"Okay," the blonde replied meekly.
Bolan left them there and went into the casino. The section there was light and listless. The help seemed uptight and jittery. Less than a hundred people were at the tables. Another twenty or so were feeding slots at the back wall.
Bolan's quick visual sweep disclosed maybe a dozen hoods, all locals if his instincts were still operative. He wondered about that and decided that the casino had been placed off-limits to the visiting torpedoes.
Somewhere in that crowd, also — Bolan was sure — would be a goodly representation from various police branches.
Across the partition, in the dining room, a show was getting underway with a fanfare from the band — muffled, in the casino, so as not to distract the more important business at the tables.
Bolan stopped at a craps table which was enjoying a small flurry of action. He threw a twenty at the croupier. The guy pushed him a stack of chips and announced, "The cubes are hot."
"I'll bet," Bolan growled.
He watched the up-man bounce the dice across the table for a pair of threes.
"The point is six," the house man announced.
Bolan pushed his stack of chips into play and proclaimed, "He makes it."
"House covers."
The guy rolled a seven and cried, "Aw shit!"
"Craps," announced the croupier.
"It figures," Bolan sneered, and walked away.
The stairway to Vito's joint was blocked by a couple of hardmen. Bolan went straight to them and said, "Is he there?"
The gunners looked him over and one of them replied, "Yeh, he's there."
"Run up and tell 'im I wanta see 'im."
A muscle popped in the guy's jaw. He said, "Fuck you, and run up yourself."
Bolan sniggered. "You boys out here don't take no shit, do you?" he commented.
"Not jsually," the guy said.
Bolan grinned and went on up the stairs.
A little guy in shirtsleeves occupied a chair at the landing. He looked at the visitor and asked, "Where ya going, stud?"
"Run in there and tell the man I want 'im," Bolan demanded, recognizing Max Keno.
"Who wants him?"
"Vinton."
"I don't know ya, Vinton."
"You will, Max. You will."
"Oh, well… you wanta see him?"
"I didn't walk all the way up here to see you, dumdum."
The little guy smiled and said, "Ain't it a hell of a day? You hurt much?"
Bolan rubbed his jaw and said, "Nah, I still got my swinger, I guess that's all that counts."
Keno laughed and told Bolan, "Just push the button on the door there. They'll let you in."
"Who's in there besides him?"
"Aw, that wop, the comic. They're still sweating him."
"That's really why I came," Bolan confided. "They think he should've broken down long ago."
"Well, Joe figures it's better to last it longer and get it better, he ain't getting too rough. Vito got carried away yesterday on the other guy."
"And now Vito gets carried away," Bolan said, his voice dropping low.
"Yeh, I hate that. I was with Vito three years. He was okay to me. I hated that."
Bolan sighed. "Don't worry, we all did, even you-know-who. Well…" He shrugged and smiled philosophically. "That's the way it goes sometimes. We I ever know, do we, Max? I just push the button eh?"
"Yeh. Just a minute, I'll…" The little tagman heaved out of the chair and went over to work the local dockworks for the out-of-towner.
What the hell. The guy could turn out to be his next boss, who could know?
He pressed the intercom signal and said, "It's Vinton, He wants in."
"Who?" came the reply.
"You know. Vinton He's with… you know."
The buzzer sounded and the door popped open. Bolan strolled in, noting that Vito's elaborate security jazz had been abandoned. The tower was not manned, there were no spotlights.
Joe Stanno was stretched out on a couch, asleep.
Tommy Anders occupied a swivel chair in the center of the room. Two guys sat facing him, another was perched atop the desk, just behind the comic. It was this one who challenged Bolan.
"Whattaya want in here?" he growled.
Bolan ignored him.
Anders looked like hell. His hair was in his face and his head was lying back on his shoulders as though his neck couldn't hold it up any longer. He was tied to the chair. There was no visible evidence of acts of violence suffered, but Bolan knew.