Boston Blitz Read online

  Seated in the sunlight at a small table was a fragile woman of perhaps 45. She had been very beautiful once, and in fact, probably still was during her best moments.

  This was not one of those moments. She wore no makeup and she was clad in a simple print smock and furry slippers.

  She was having breakfast, at a time when most people were thinking about lunch.

  Bolan felt a surge of pity for this delicate goldfish who’d taken to swimming with sharks. He had to wonder just how much she actually knew about her husband’s activities. You could fool some of the people some of the time, but not all of …

  The butler was making an apologetic announcement. “Terribly sorry, Madam, the gentleman insisted upon being shown in immediately.”

  She was looking at Bolan without curiosity, without any visible emotion at all. In a voice of quiet refinement she asked him, “Are you a policeman?”

  Yeah, she knew a little.

  He replied, “Not hardly. I’m Mack Bolan.”

  Something flashed deep within those murky eyes, but here was a woman who had been trained throughout a cultured lifetime to look pretty and smile in the face of the most devastating emotions.

  She said quietly, “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Bolan? May I offer you some coffee?”

  Bolan declined both offers. The butler decided to leave them in privacy; Bolan also declined that courtesy. “Stay,” he commanded softly.

  Then he asked the woman, “Do you know why I’m here, Mrs. Greene?”

  She shook her head with that slight tilting motion taught at young ladies’ finishing schools and told him, “No. Should I?”

  He told her, “Your husband is a Mafia front. His real name is Al Guarini, also known as Al 88. Are we on common ground now?”

  The cool eyes were examining her coffee cup. Ignoring the rest of the declaration, she replied, “Al 88? How novel. Yes, I suppose so. My husband could have been a concert pianist, Mr. Bolan. He is a master of the 88 keys.”

  Bolan said, “I’ll bet he’s great on death marches.”

  Without lifting her eyes, she asked him, “What do you want, Mr. Bolan?”

  “I want the safe delivery of two human beings who are very dear to me, Mrs. Greene. I want my brother and I want my girl. You tell that to Al 88. You tell him that I intend to have them, and all in one piece.”

  “I see,” she replied quietly.

  “If I don’t get them, and very quickly, I’m coming blitzing all over his neat little Boston front. Tell him that.”

  The woman’s eyes remained transfixed to her coffee cup. In that fragile voice she asked the Executioner, “How much time do we have, Mr. Bolan?”

  He did not overlook the “we.”

  “Only God knows that,” Bolan told her. “I recommend that your husband move very quickly if he wants to save the day.”

  “All right,” she told him, raising the eyes to his gaze. “Thank you for the advance notice. I will deliver your message.”

  “Fine. Tell him this, also. Hot Al is now very, very cold and so are all his boys. So we can deal directly now. It’s down to him and me. Tell him that.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  Softly, he said, “You’ve been expecting me, haven’t you?”

  Her face confirmed what her voice would not. A variety of emotions surged around on there, erasing the training of a lifetime, before she quietly announced, “I love my husband, Mr. Bolan.”

  He replied, “I’m sorry to hear that. Your husband is an enemy of everything you should believe in.”

  In a barely audible voice, she replied to that. “Yes, I know.”

  “Tell him,” Bolan commanded gruffly, and he spun about to leave.

  “Mr. Bolan!” she called after him.

  He paused at the door. “Yeah?”

  “How do we … contact you?”

  “He’ll figure out a way.”

  He went on out then, and the butler glided along behind.

  The guy held the front door for him and followed him to the stoop to say, “Good day, sir. Smashing, that was simply smashing.”

  Bolan grinned soberly, said, “Thanks, I call it reverse English,” and he went away from Back Bay.

  That took care of Mr. Class.

  Sicilia the Slob was next on tap.

  15: Pat Persuasion

  Bolan contacted Leo Turrin and told him, “Okay, I’ve rattled a big cage. Keep your nose in operation. If you start smelling heavy feelers, protect yourself but react quickly. Don’t expose yourself to anybody in this town, though, I mean not anybody.”

  “You think someone will be feeling for a meet?” Turrin asked.

  “Unless all my feel is dead, Leo, someone will be pounding on hell’s door for a meet.”

  “Okay, you’d better tell me about it.”

  “Not yet. Too delicate at this stage. I want no muffs, so the less you know the better. If the word comes along, though, play to it. Go ahead and set it up. I’ll agree to anything reasonable. Just don’t expose yourself.”

  “Why all the—?”

  “I’m going to drop a name on you, Leo, just a name, and just in case things go sour for me. You can take it from there. Okay?”

  “Okay. Drop.”

  “Guarini, Alberto.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Sure?”

  “Sure—no, wait. There was a Guarini in the old … but no. That guy died ten years ago.”

  “Were you at the wake?”

  “No, but I—what are you saying? What does Guarini have to do with—?”

  “That’s the full drop for now, Leo, sorry. I leave you there. Now you cover yourself.”

  “Pretty, uh, pretty big?”

  “You know it.”

  “Well wait.”

  “Get Brognola to check it out for you, if you must have details now. But very carefully.”

  “What the hell, Mack.”

  Bolan sighed heavily. He said, “Something big is brewing, Leo. Probably has been for a long time. I’m beginning to understand why the nationals are so shook up over this snatch. But listen, Leo. I want Johnny and Val. That’s number one. After they’re in the clear, well … then I’ll cooperate all I can in this other thing. Just play it by ear and try like hell not to over-react to anything you see or hear. If someone big—I mean someone up high, now—tries to set up a meet with me, you see that it gets set up. I want nothing to scare the guy away, nothing to take away my bargaining edge. And that means, buddy, no damned prying and snooping around my big man’s heels until I’m done with him.”

  “Okay, sure. Hell, you know how I feel about all this, Mack.”

  “There could be people around this guy, I mean sympathetic people with a lot of influence. So don’t expose yourself. Don’t let the guy get that close to you.”

  “I got you.”

  “Okay. What else have you got?”

  “You’re sounding better.”

  “I’m feeling better.”

  “You should be. Here’s what I’ve got. Chelsea is in a state of shock. The backlash from your blitz has already started up there. The Chelsea cops have made over fifty arrests in the past two hours, guys they should’ve had behind bars years ago. The clout palaces are crumbling. They’re rounding them up now, before you take it into mind to visit again, I guess.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Yeah. I hear other municipalities are beginning to think in the same direction. And there’s panic in all the clout palaces, everywhere in the area. The shock waves have traveled clear to Providence. People down there have empaneled a special grand jury, and they’re handing out indictments up the kazoo.”

  “Sometimes a gentle nudge is all it takes to move the ball,” Bolan commented musingly.

  “Yeah, well, that’s not exactly any gentle nudging you’re doing around here, buddy.”

  Bolan pushed a tired sigh along the line and said, “I’m glad to hear about these developments, Leo. But what can you tell me about Sicili
a?”

  “Sorry, not much. Coast Guard finally found his boat. It had been run aground up in Ipswich Bay, just around the horn from Pigeon Cove. Bloodstains all over, but all of them match up with the, uh, turkeys from last night.”

  Bolan shivered. “Okay. Thanks. That takes care of the facts, eh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Now let’s have the odors.”

  Turrin sighed. “Don’t go on the blitz again, Mack. That’s a gentle suggestion from an old friend.”

  “Might have to. What do you have?”

  “There are movements. All around. The factions are getting together. Mutual protection, I guess, the herd instinct. A guy by the name of Hoops Tramitelli is re-organizing the army. Know him?”

  “I think we met, sort of.”

  “You did. He was the head hardman at Middlesex last night.”

  “Okay, yeah, I make the guy.”

  Turrin said, “Way I hear it, you’re number one head on their list. Sicilia is number two.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And what do you hear about Al 88?”

  “Not a murmur. You wiped out his whole damned hard force, Sarge.”

  “You’ll be hearing from him,” Bolan muttered.

  “I will?”

  “I’m betting somebody’s life on it.”

  “Okay. Uh, Guarini is Al 88. Right?”

  Bolan sighed. “Yeah. With a legit cover. Watch it, Leo. Play it very cool.”

  “Hell, you know it.”

  “Okay. Talk to me again in two hours.”

  “Will do.”

  “A minute, Leo. What’d they do with Figarone?”

  “Took his statement, released him. He played it pretty straight, Mack, from what I could gather. I guess you instilled the fear of something higher than omerta in him.”

  “Good. Thanks, Leo.”

  That took care of one loose end. Bolan hung up and consulted his notebook, then made another call.

  Ten rings were required to bring Books Figarone to his telephone.

  The voice was weak and irritable. It said, “Okay, who’s that?”

  Bolan told it, “Thanks, counselor. You played it straight.”

  “Christ! Leave me alone, Bolan! What the hell do you want of me now?”

  “I hear your buddy Hoops is rounding up a head party.”

  “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised, but I know nothing about it.”

  “I thought you might want to get the word to Skip,” Bolan said.

  “I don’t get you.”

  “He’s number two on their list, right behind me, and I guess you know why. And I was just a little surprised to find you at home, counselor.”

  “Surprised why? What do you mean?”

  “Well, they … what the hell, I guess I’m wrong. Forget it.”

  “Wrong about what? Forget what?” The guy was starting to sweat. Bolan could almost smell the perspiration through the telephone.

  “Just something I heard,” he replied lightly. “Probably nothing to it. Forget it, you’ve had your time in hell. I just wanted to thank you for staying with those bodies, even if they weren’t who I thought they were.”

  “Now just a minute, Bolan! What the hell are you talking about? What have you heard?”

  “It’s just … what the hell. I told you they’ve got this hard on for Sicilia now.”

  “Yes, yes, I can understand that. But what …? You started to say something about … Does somebody have a hard on for me too, Bolan?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess they would get ideas like that.”

  Bolan could feel the sweat dripping all over the floor around Figarone’s telephone.

  “You mean just because I …? You mean, they’d think I was …? Aw, no. Hoops and all the boys know me better than that. They wouldn’t think …”

  Bolan said, “Sure, you’re right. You have nothing to worry about, so forget it. Get some rest. You deserve it. You sound pretty tired. I guess, uh, you have pretty good locks on your doors and all, eh?”

  “Hey what the hell, Bolan! What’re you trying to do to me? Are you just …? Or is there something you’re not telling me, I mean really something. After all, I put my head way out on a limb for you last night. And I even waited right there with those stiffs, and answered all those questions. I followed your wishes to the letter. I gave a complete statement. Now if you know—”

  “Well sure, that’s just it, I guess. I guess the boys got the idea that you were just a bit too cooperative. I guess they figured you had a lot to cover up. You know.”

  “Jesus Christ, Bolan!”

  “Hey, relax. They’re your friends, right?”

  “That’s no Goddamned comfort! You know that!”

  “What the hell are you yelling at me for, counselor?”

  “This is all on your account! I want some protection! I want—”

  “Hey, relax,” Bolan broke in soothingly. “The best way to cool this thing is to cool that hot merchandise. Right?”

  There was a momentary silence, then: “So that’s it. You’re trying to set me up for another try.”

  “Guess again,” Bolan said. “I’m already working another angle. I just called to say thanks, counselor.”

  “What other angle?”

  “Al 88.”

  “Oh. What, uh …?”

  “We have this understanding. Either he delivers the hot merchandise, cool and happy, or I rip up his cozy little cover operation.”

  “Oh … God! You know his identity?”

  “I do.”

  “Well that’s …” A whole new tone was edging into that voice now. “That’s a little hard to believe, Bolan. The guy is so well covered, even we don’t know who he is.”

  “Too bad for you,” Bolan said easily. “The guy is right now sitting up in Government Center demanding that you and several other well-known figures get put out of business. He’s blaming this whole snafu on you boys in the north. He’s saying it was all set up between the Middlesex Combination and the Sicilia Gang. And he’s putting the pressure on all your clout routes, he wants you disenfranchised, all of you.”

  “Why should I believe that?” Figarone sneered. “From you, of all people.”

  Casually, Bolan said, “Go to hell, I don’t care if you believe it or not.”

  “Well what …? Why would he do a thing like that to me?”

  “He’s doing it very seriously, I mean with national approval. The old men want this area cooled. You guys are messing up a hell of a big operation, I mean a big national operation. If this doesn’t work, I hear they’ll probably hang some paper. You know.”

  “Why tell me all this? Simply looking out for my best interests are you, Bolan?”

  The Executioner chuckled dryly. “Course not. Look, Figarone. All I want is my kid brother and my girl. The rest of you guys can go to hell in a basket for all I care.”

  “What are you suggesting that we do?”

  “You’re the consigliere. You figure it out. But if I were in your shoes, I think I’d want this area cooled from my own efforts. You dig?”

  Bolan heard the snap of a lighter and the sucking sounds of a cigar being coaxed to life. Then the Cambridge lawyer asked, “What would be the best way to go about that, Bolan?”

  “Get those two people back to me. That’s all it takes, Books.”

  “I don’t have the faintest idea of even where to begin, and that’s the truth.”

  “You begin with Skip Sicilia.”

  “Big deal! If I’d known where Sicilia was, I’d have strangled him with my own hands hours ago.”

  “I’m going to start blitzing again in one hour, Books. I’m going to hit everything from Haymarket Square west, and that means I should reach Cambridge somewhere around three o’clock. I’m going to shake your Goddamned town to pieces, then I’m going to Charlestown and Somerville, then I’m going to circle back through Medford, Malden, and Everett. Have you heard what’s happening in Chelsea righ
t now, Books?”

  The counselor had heard. His voice was shaky as he told Bolan, “A rampage like that would be crazy. What’s that going to prove?”

  “It’ll prove that the heat is still on. Good-bye, Books. And I sincerely mean this … good luck.”

  “Wait dammit, Bolan wait! What can I do?”

  The guy was practically wailing.

  “You get with Al 88. And you get with Sicilia. That’s what I’d do. And I’d set things up between them, for an exchange of prisoners. I mean it. That’s the only save you’ve got left.”

  “How would I …? God’s sake! I don’t contact Al 88! He contacts me!”

  “I have the phone number, Books. It’s an answering service, but the message will get there.” Bolan read off the number. “Got that?”

  “No, wait while I get a pencil—hell, please don’t go away, I’ll be right back.”

  Bolan was not about to go away. He waited until the thoroughly aroused Cambridge boss returned to the line, then he read off the number again.

  “Okay, I got that,” Figarone panted. “Where the hell do you pick up stuff like this?”

  “Here and there,” Bolan replied. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything on Sicilia. Except that he’s not on his boat. It’s been found.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. So I leave it with you right there.”

  “Where’d they find the boat, Bolan?”

  “Ipswich Bay. It’d been run aground and abandoned.”

  “I see.” The attorney was regaining his composure. “All right. I’ll do my very best.”

  “You’d better.”

  Bolan hung up, pocketed his notebook, and returned to the battlefields.

  It was time for another punch or two at the city’s pressure points.

  16: Deadline for Death

  As mementos of the Northeast Expressway hit of the early morning, Bolan had a rather bothersome groove along the front of his right thigh, and a thin patch of hair and scalp had taken leave from the top of his head.

  The U-drive vehicle was carrying a couple of bullet holes in the door and all of the side glass had been shattered. He had cleaned away the mess and was running without windows.

  He had not seen a bed for going into the sixtieth hour, and food had become no more than a vague memory.