Assault on Soho Read online

  “And when did he come to you?”

  She wrinkled her brow and replied, “Some months back. Three, perhaps four.”

  “Was that before or after the blackmail started?”

  “Oh it was after. I’m positive of that. It was because of that trouble that the Major decided to have a full time watchman about the place. Charles lived in, you see. Had his own flat in the cellar.”

  “And how did the Major happen to pick Charles for the job?”

  Her eyes blanked and she said, “I haven’t the foggiest notion.”

  Bolan sighed and stretched toward the night stand to crush the cigarette into an ashtray. When he straightened, Ann was lying back on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge. He stared at her for a thoughtful moment, then told her, “I’ve no intention of ditching you, Ann.”

  “Thanks,” she replied in a half whisper. “But I’m releasing you. You have no obligations to me.”

  “It isn’t a matter of obligation,” he said.

  Her face took on a warm glow. Her eyes half closed and she whispered, “It isn’t?”

  He shook his head. “Uh-uh. It’s a matter of safety. Yours. Whoever did it to Charles might decide to do it to you, too.”

  “Why me?” she gasped.

  He shrugged. “Why Charles?”

  She said, “But that’s ridiculous!” Her face, though, showed that the idea was not entirely ridiculous.

  “Just what is your job at de Sade?” Bolan asked her.

  She closed her eyes and flung an arm across the top of her head. One foot came up on the bed and she wriggled about in discomfort.

  Bolan said, “Dammit, it’s important. Now what do you do over there?”

  “I plan the parties,” she replied, her voice barely audible. “I stage the shows and see to the decorations and make arrangements for the food and beverages. I am in complete charge of all party arrangements.”

  Bolan said, “What’s involved in staging a show?”

  “Many things,” she replied listlessly. “Foremost is a thorough understanding of the members’ various idiosyncracies. First I must determine precisely which members will be attending. Then I simply build the show around the sort of things that give them enjoyment.”

  “Where do you get the actors?”

  “They’re a repertory company, under contract to the club. They are well paid and quite content with the working conditions. Also some of them, I suspect, have idiosyncracies of their own.”

  “How about you?”

  “What?”

  “Idiosyncracies.”

  Her face flamed. “I have a huge one.”

  “Tell me.”

  She sighed. Her eyes remained closed and she said, “Utter revulsion. I find the entire thing abominable and revolting.”

  “Then why do you stick on with it?”

  Following a long silence, she replied, “I once thought that I stayed because of the Major. We’re not exactly a father and daughter item, you know, nothing like that. I believe that the Major is constitutionally unsuited for the father role. But he did take over my upbringing when my aunt died. He’s a very cold man, as you may have noticed, but he does have a sense of duty. I suppose that he instilled that in me, also. He saw to my problems for a number of years. I suppose that, when I came of age, I felt a need to see to his problems. But the Major released me last year … even asked me to go … so I haven’t that excuse to fall back on any more, have I?”

  “So what are you saying?” Bolan probed on.

  She came up to one elbow, tossed her head to one side, and opened her eyes to fix them on Bolan. “I’m saying that I don’t know why I stay on. Perhaps I have become fixated on abomination and revulsion.” She looked away from him then and asked, “Do you find me revolting?”

  “Not at all,” he murmured.

  “I’m a damn virgin, did you know that?”

  It was time for Bolan to look the other way. He was curiously embarrassed by the admission. “No, I hadn’t noticed,” he muttered.

  “And I’m twenty-six years in this world. Now isn’t that some sort of an anachronism in this flaming age.” She said it quite bitterly.

  Bolan wanted to leave the subject. He said, “Did you stage the show for last night’s party?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did it include a torture scene in the cell where Charles died?”

  Her eyes flared as she replied, “Yes, but not that one.”

  “What was scheduled for that room?”

  “Jimmy Thomas.”

  “And what is Jimmy Thomas?”

  Her faced again flamed. She said, “Jimmy Thomas is a sodomist … a—a passive, a vessel.”

  “I don’t get you.”

  She had to close her eyes to explain. “He—he … well, you saw the device, I’m sure. He bends himself into the locks and … receives.”

  Bolan’s mouth was dry. He said, “Yeah. So why wasn’t Jimmy Thomas in there receiving, instead of the old man?”

  She explained, “The Major said that he’d received a request from one of the members to … to …”

  “To do what?”

  “One of the members desired Jimmy’s personal company during the party.”

  “And when was this?”

  “At the last moment, I suppose. I had to leave early. Remember, I was meeting you at Soho Psyche.”

  “Supposedly the Major was, too,” Bolan pointed out.

  “He was there,” she said. “He told me that he knocked into you just outside the dining room.”

  Bolan said, “Yeah, about twenty minutes late.”

  “But he said that he’d explained that to you. The gangsters were following him. He was trying to shake them loose.”

  Bolan decided that he did not wish to tell her differently, not at the moment. He sighed and asked her, “Just how emotionally attached are you to Major Stone, Ann?”

  She replied, “Not at all. I’ve explained all that, I’d thought.”

  He said, “Suppose it turns out that Major Stone is the one who killed the old man.”

  Her eyeslashes fluttered rapidly. “That’s preposterous.”

  “Is it?”

  “Utterly.”

  “Well just for the sake of argument, suppose he did. How would you feel about that?”

  Her voice dropped into low key again as she said, “Then I would fear that he had gone quite mad. I would feel the deepest pity for him.”

  “If he did do it, Ann, I’ll probably have to zap him.”

  “You’ll have to what?”

  “There’s something smelly about this whole setup, and I’m not talking about sexual perversion. Something very rotten and very evil is underlying this entire mishmash, and I’m betting that Edwin Charles did not die at some madman’s spur of the moment whim. He died for some damn good reason. I believe that this reason somehow is related to my presence in London, and I’m betting that the killer and I will have a showdown before it’s all over. When that happens, Ann, I will probably kill him.”

  She murmured, “And you believe that this shadowy ‘someone’ could possibly be Major Stone.”

  “It’s more than a possibility,” he told her.

  The girl pulled herself erect. She crossed her legs, Indian fashion as she sat on the bed. She gazed steadily at Bolan for a thoughtful moment, then said, “But suppose that Charles was actually in on the blackmail plot?”

  “That could change things,” Bolan admitted. “Do you think he was?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I hardly know what to think at this point.” She got off the bed and went to the window, pulled back the blinds, and stared somberly outside. “It’s daylight,” she announced quietly. “What a difference twenty-four hours can bring.”

  Bolan wanted to get things firmly understood. He told her, “The point of it all, Ann … I may turn out to be your very worst enemy.”

  “You could never be that,” she murmured, still gazing out the window.

  “A f
ew minutes ago you were ready to blow my head off,” he reminded her.

  “Not really.” She sighed and her head drooped toward the windowpane. “I was simply shocked and frightened and confused. I could never have pulled that trigger. I’m in love with you, Mack.”

  Bolan said, “All right, maybe I feel something of the same for you. But it won’t change a thing at the nitty-gritty level, Ann. I’m going to keep hacking at this thing, and the chips are going to lie where they fall.”

  Silent tears were oozing down the smooth cheeks as she turned to him and said, “Then let’s make a pact.”

  “What sort of pact?” he asked gruffly.

  “To love one another … ’til murder do us part.”

  He said, “Dammit, Ann,” and moved to her and took her in his arms.

  She gave way entirely then, the sobs racking her and the tears flowing unrestrained. Bolan held her and patted her and whispered, “Hey, hey, hey …”

  She had her cry, and a tender kiss or two, and she was nuzzling contentedly at his shoulder when suddenly she stiffened and raised her head to gaze intently out the window.

  “Mack!” she said, her voice tight with alarm. “You said you’ve been afoot … but … did a taxicab bring you here?”

  He followed her gaze to the window and replied, “Yes, but I had him drop me up on Euston Road. What’s going on out there?”

  “Did I forget to …? Charles warned me that the taxi companies were alerted to watch out for you. Now see what …”

  Bolan grabbed the blinds and closed them with a jerk. Russell Square was beginning to crawl with bobbies. He flung himself away from the girl and snatched up the guncase and headed for the door.

  Ann grabbed his suitcase and ran after him.

  “You stay!” he commanded.

  “I’ll not stay,” she replied firmly. “I’ve a rental car in the alley. Don’t waste time arguing.”

  Bolan knew the wisdom of that last remark. He quickly doused the lights and grabbed Ann’s elbow and hustled her through the doorway and along to the rear stairway.

  With a lot of luck, they just might make it. “Listen,” he said urgently, “if the cops start shooting, then that’s it and it’s the end of things. You hit the dirt and dammit don’t move a muscle. And you tell ’em that I was holding a gun on you. Remember that, you were my prisoner—otherwise they’ll throw the book at you.”

  “We’ll escape,” she said confidently. “Never worry, we’ll get through.”

  She was plucky as hell and Bolan was proud of her and … yeah, he was more than just proud of her.

  He hadn’t really wanted to leave her behind. They’d made a pact. They were together until … Bolan was hoping for a long romance. But, under the circumstances, he was not counting on it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  DOUBLE DUPLICITY

  Giliamo and Turrin were outside to greet the new arrivals as the glistening motorcade swept into the drive. Staccio had remained in the house, growling, “If Arnie Farmer wants to see me, let ’im look me up.”

  As the vehicles continued to pull in, Giliamo leaned back toward Turrin and remarked, “Christ, how many heads has he brought with him?”

  Turrin grinned. “You ain’t seen nothing. This is just his personal party. We made arrangements around town for the other crews.”

  The driver of the lead vehicle jumped out and snatched open the rear door. A loud command from inside resulted in the door being hastily closed again. The driver ran down the line of vehicles, thumping doors and issuing orders on the run. Men began erupting from the cars and milling about in confusion until crew leaders took over and turned the chaos into order. Two groups went to the street, broke up, and disappeared. Others began prowling the grounds and manning the fence. Another group filed solemnly past Giliamo and Turrin with hardly a glance at the reception committee and went inside, presumably to shake down the house.

  Turrin had watched all this with a bemused smile. In a low aside to Giliamo, he remarked, “Talk about your palace guard. The President should have such a security thing, eh?”

  Giliamo, though, was obviously impressed by the show of force. He said, “Look I don’t blame ’im. I know. I been there.”

  “You been where?”

  The Jerseyite flushed and replied, “Never mind, I know all about this Bolan and I gotta hand it to Arnie Farmer, he knows what he’s doing.”

  Turrin chuckled and watched the proceedings without further comment. Presently a hard-looking man approached the Castiglione vehicle, quietly opened the door, and said something to the men inside in a hushed voice. Two bodyguards exited from the front seat, on the opposite side, and took up waiting positions there, looking nervously around. Another two came off the jumpseats in the rear and bracketed the doorway with their bodies. Then the man himself stepped out, followed quickly by a companion. The bodyguards fell in to form a tight circle and the party moved forward with Castiglione barely visible in the center.

  As they were ascending the steps, Turrin muttered to Giliamo, “Now don’t forget and call ’im Arnie.”

  Giliamo nodded and stepped forward with a big smile. “Glad to see you, Mr. Castiglione,” he called out. “Christ, things have been going to hell over here. I’m sure glad to see you.” Then the smile faded, and Danno pulled on a shocked face. Nick Trigger was standing there beside the great man, and he also was wearing a dumbfounded look.

  Castiglione was giving Giliamo a thoughtful glare. He said, “I’m glad to see you too, Danno. Nick’s been telling me all about your fuckin’ head getting blown off.”

  Giliamo said, “Christ, I thought the same about him! For Christ’s sake, Nick, how’d you get out of that?”

  Nick smiled pastily and glanced at Arnie Farmer. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I think I got my brains rattled a little.”

  “I think somebody’s got something rattled, Castiglione growled. “Let’s talk about it inside. This’s the lousiest weather I ever saw, Danno. Is it always like this over here?”

  Turrin recognized the weather-talk as a subtle shift of favor from Nick Trigger to Danno.

  Giliamo had picked it up also. He replied, “It’s been pretty bad. They got a polution problem, I think, but then who hasn’t. And it mixes with the damned fog I guess, and you gotta wear warmer clothes than that, Mr. Castiglione, that’ll never do over here, you’ll catch your death o’ cold.”

  They went on past Leo Turrin with only a glance and a nod of the head from Arnie Farmer. Turrin nodded back and watched them go inside, and he was thinking that Danno was a Mafia politician to watch. Disarmingly frank and open, all smiles—and all the while probably, a switchblade concealed in his fist.

  The man who had been driving the Castiglione vehicle came slowly up the steps and stood beside Turrin. Leo gave him a cigarette and they both lit up. The driver exhaled and said disgustedly, “Big fuckin’ deal.”

  Turrin grinned and told him, “Maybe you’ll be Capo some day, Wheeler.”

  “No way,” the wheelman replied. “Not if I gotta act like that. That turns my stomach, Leo.”

  Toby Wheeler was a member of Turrin’s crew from Pittsfield. The name was obviously a Mafia monicker, but Leo had never heard any other used on the man. The story went that Wheeler had once been a racing car driver and twice had narrowly missed qualifying for the big one at Indianapolis. Now he was a valuable chauffeur, a wheelman par excellence. He sucked again on the cigarette and told his boss, “I got to take that Caddie back to the U-Drive, Leo. It’s pulling a little to the left in the turns. They shouldn’t check out faulty equipment like that.”

  Turrin nodded and said, “Okay, I’ll tell you when. Right now I want a report. What was Arnie talking about on the way in?”

  “This’n that, mostly that. Buncha shit, really. All about what he’s going to do to this Bolan bastard. And that other guy … what’s his name?”

  “Nick Trigger.”

  “Yeah, that Nick Trigger … did you see his face when he spo
tted Danno? He was out at the airport on his own, to meet the planes. Do you know what he was talking about most of the way in here? He was telling Arnie the Pig all about how Danno had fucked up everything over here, just everything, and about how Danno wound up walking into a Bolan trap and getting hisself splattered all over some street.”

  Turrin smiled and commented, “So that’s what it was.”

  “Yeah, and did you hear the first thing Danno says to Nick? He says for Christ’s sake, how’d Nick get out of that. How did Nick get out. And Nick had been telling Arnie the Pig that he wouldn’t go with Danno because he knew Danno was all fucked up. He told him that flat out, I heard it.”

  “You better go easy on that Arnie the Pig stuff,” Turrin advised quietly.

  “With all due respect to the good bosses, Leo, that’s what he is. But you’re right, I better go easy on it. I hear he took a territory away from a boy once just because the guy forgot to call him mister. Imagine that. Next he’ll be wanting to be called Don Castiglione. Listen, Leo, I’d rather not wheel for Arnie if you can get someone else.”

  Turrin chuckled. “Don’t worry, Arnie will be rolling with his own wheelman from here on. You was just a courtesy. Say, is that all you got to tell me?”

  “Naw, you were right, they’re planning something. They were talking careful because they know I’m with you. And I couldn’t put my finger on any one thing they said, but I know shit when I hear it. Take my word, Leo, they’re planning something.”

  “Okay thanks, Wheeler.” Turrin squeezed the man’s arm and went on inside to join the others. Leo knew damn well they were planning something. But that was okay. Leo knew how to make plans too.

  It seemed that the park at Russell Square was being used as a marshalling point for the police. Bolan could hear the sharp commands and sound of running feet as the squads split off into their search areas. He had agreed that Ann would pilot the car; she slid in behind the wheel as Bolan put his things in and dived into the back seat.

  A uniformed policeman ran into view and cried, “Hold on there!”—but the car had already begun to move and was picking up momentum in a quick plunge down the alley.