Another person shouted an obscenity concerning the bright lights. Bolan shook his head regretfully, and bawled: "Look alive, everybody. The Executioner's here!" Even then the reaction was limited to two or three startled raisings of heads. He thumbed off the safety of the.45 and crashed a single shot into the hi-fi set. It stopped its noise instantly, even before the thundering roar of the heavy gun had ceased reverberating through the tightly packed room. Everybody was staring at him now in shocked attention. He released the kink at the end of the garden hose and sprayed the cold water liberally over all, hating himself for the bastard he was all the while.
There was a new tenor to the shrieks and mouthings now. Men were cursing and floundering about while women screeched hysterically. Bolan flung the hose into the room, stepped back into the kitchen, grabbed the nude girl and kissed her again, balanced a marksman's medal on the slope of a high breast, and departed.
There was to be one more prelude stop. He selected it carefully and headed the car toward the suburbs. It was just past two-thirty in the morning when he parked in the shrubbery a hundred yards or so down from the secluded pleasure palace on the eastern rim of the city. He rummaged in the back seat of the car and came up with three canisters about the size of a large can of beans. He stuffed them into a pouch at his waist and set off at a cross-country angle toward the house. Lights shone from every window, though dim and muffled by concealing draperies. Judging from the number of automobiles in the parking area, they were having a good night. As he drew closer he could hear music, and every now and then a feminine laugh. He walked upright across the grounds, pausing every ten or twelve yards to stand still and listen. During one of those stops he heard male voices nearby; one man was laughing restrainedly. He moved toward the voices and located the source quickly. Two men stood with their backs to him, about fifty feet from the side of the large house; each of them held a sawed-off shotgun cradled loosely in the crook of an elbow; each seemed entirely relaxed. One was large and beefy, the other of medium height and weight, and the smaller one was speaking.
Those guys are out of their minds," he said. "I wouldn't give no two hundred and fifty bucks for no party."
"Augh, two-fifty to these types is no more than two bits to guys like us," the other man replied. "I'd give two bits any time for an orgy like that."
"I thought Leo was comin' by," the other said, shifting the shotgun about and digging into a pocket. He produced a cigarette and struck a kitchen match on the stock of the gun. "I ain't seen 'im, have you?"
The large man chuckled. "Naw, he won't be around tonight. Bet on that. Blacksuit's got 'em all walking around on eggs."
"I'd like to shove this fuckin' shotgun up Leo's ass. You know these things get heavy after a while."
"Lay it down then," said a soft voice behind them. "But do it carefully and very, very quietly. Your first sound will be your last."
The men exchanged glances. The smaller one thrust his shotgun straight out in front of him, at arm's length, then slowly bent to the ground with it and carefully set it down. The large man wanted to discuss the issue. "Says who?" he wanted to know, but staring rigidly forward.
"You were just discussing me," Bolan told him. "I wear a black skinsuit."
"How do I-"
His words were abruptly halted by the shock of a heavy.45 automatic moving forcefully against his temple. He crumpled and a black-clad arm reached out of the shadows and caught the shotgun, broke it at the breech, and tossed it to the ground. The sharp tip of a pointed blade touched lightly upon the smaller man's throat. "I have no bitch with you, buddy," the soft voice announced. "You just give me some useful information and you might live a while."
The man's lips moved soundlessly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Anything you say," he croaked.
"How many guards?"
"Two more, just two more."
"Shotguns?"
"Yes. We weren't supposed to bunch up like this." He obviously wanted to keep talking. "I'm supposed to be at the front, Charlie had this side. Charlie's the guy you just conked. Mart's around at the back. Andy's got the other side. There's two guys inside, one upstairs in the hall, the other down at the front door. No shotguns, just shoulder holsters."
"Seems like a rather heavy guard for a whore house," the voice purred.
"Just since you started raisin' hell," the man replied, his voice taking on an ingratiating quality. "You got 'em shook up good, they even raised our pay."
"And a bonus to the one who gets me?"
"You ain't shittin', a bonus. A hundred grand worth of bonus."
"Don't you want to try for the bonus?"
"Me?" The tight throat was cleared again. "Who, me? Hell, no. I got nothin' against you, Blacksuit. Say, uh, the knife's about to bust through. It feels like it's gonna go through just any second now."
"Then be very still. Now, tell me..."
"Harry."
"Eh?"
"My name's Harry."
"Tell me, Harry, what's on the other side of that big window down here on the side?"
"Oh, that's uh, a sort of bar, you know. They can push back the walls in the middle there and it makes into a big clubroom. They got the walls back now and they're having a shindig in there right now. Yeah, right now."
"What sort of a shindig, Harry?"
"You know, a sex party. An orgy."
"What's upstairs?"
"Bedrooms, just bedrooms. Oh, and a long hall and a sittin' room. The upstairs guard station is just outside the sittin' room, in th' hall."
"What's on the other side of this party room, downstairs here?"
"Oh, well, I told you, they push the walls back, and it's all just one big room, clear across."
"How many people would you say are in there right now, Harry?"
"Oh, well, I can tell you exactly. I got the front detail, see. I checked thirty-two guys through. There's thirty-two in there, exactly."
"No girls?"
"Oh, well, yeah, there's girls. There's the twenty-five regulars and about, uh, oh I'd say about, uh. fifteen or so specials."
"Specials for what?"
"Well, for the party. They move 'em around for these parties, see. Specialists."
"Specialists in what?"
"Different lands of stunts, you know. Sex stunts."
"I see. Thank you, Harry. You've been very helpful. If I find out you've misled me, I'll come back and skin you."
"I ain't misled you."
"We will see," said The Executioner. He removed the pointed blade and immediately applied the.45 just behind the ear. The talkative informant fell over sideways without a sound. Bolan picked up his shotgun, checked it over for load and readiness, and carried it with him to the large window at the unguarded side of the house. He removed one of the canisters from his waist pouch and dropped it to the ground, then swung the shotgun against the window, dancing back to avoid flying fragments. The huge window went with a roaring crash; Bolan waited but a split second to clear any falling slivers, then thrust the muzzle of the shotgun against the exposed drapery, angling high toward the ceiling, and pulled both triggers. The double roar must have sounded like doomsday to those inside. A watermelon-sized hole appeared in the heavy drapery material. Bolan picked up the canister, flipped a lever at its top, and tossed it through the hole in the drapery. Heavy black smoke drifted back through the hole and billowed up between the drapery and the window frame. There were sounds of pandemonium within as Bolan hurried back to the fallen guards. He grabbed up the remaining shotgun and restored it to firing condition just as a man ran around the corner from the back side of the house. Bolan pushed the shotgun in the general direction of the running figure and pulled the trigger. The man was flung into the air like a rag doll, catching the full charge in the chest. Bolan swung to the sounds of thudding feet in the opposite direction and let go the other barrel. The target screamed and fell writhing to the ground, hands clutching at where his stomach had been. Bolan dropped the now-useless shotgun and got a grip on his.45 just as an upstairs window swung open and a man leaned out with a gun in his hand, foolishly exposing himself in full light.