That wasn't no way to be talking to the Lord Enforcer of San Francisco, even if the speaker was the Capo, and the tone of voice — more than the words themselves — sent a cold tremor through Franco's belly.

"Wh-what's the matter?" he stammered. "Wh-what're you talking about?"

"I'm-a talk about-a this-a Bolan-a bastard," the old man screamed, lapsing into a heavy accent in his rage. "He come in here and knocked my place over! He hit Tony's kid and twenty or thirty other boys! He shot up my place and missed hitting me by an eyelash! Whatta you think I'm-a talk about, you dumb Dago torpedo, what the hell you think I talk about? Why you not onna street, why you not out there chasin' this boy's a-head all over town, huh?"

Franco Laurentis was not no dumb Dago torpedo. But it hardly seemed the appropriate time to be arguing the point.

Faintly, he said, "God, that's awful, Don DeMarco. He got away clean? He didn't even leave any blood?"

"He left a God damn-a medal, that's-a whatl You get your ass onna streets, Franco! Get down outta that ivory cunt tower and start doin' something right for a change!"

"I got everything moving, sir," Laurentis tried to assure the boss. "I guarantee you, we're gonna have that boy before the sun sets again."

"You sure about that, huh?"

"Yes sir, I am sure, I am positive sure about that."

"You better be. I'm-a tell-a you why you better be. I named you in my will, Franco."

"I don't, uh, I guess I don't get you," Laurentis told Capo.

"You gonna die with me, Franco!"

"What — I don't — you mean... ?"

"You know what I mean! I got your name on five pieces of paper. Five pieces, Franco. If I die by Bolan, you die by the paper! You better keep that in mind!"

The old bastard! He'd contracted Franco Laurentis!

He said, "I don't think that's... I mean, I think I got a right to discuss this with you."

"You got no rights! I give you a job! You do the job! You damn sure better do the job, Franco!"

And that was it. The nutty old bastard hung up on him.

And a whole new style of thinking and acting had suddenly entered Franco's life. If he had just known which five were holding those pieces of paper. Hell, it could be anybody. They could be from back East, they could be from anywhere in the damn world! But he didn't know, and there wasn't time enough left to track them down. They would be tracking Franco down the minute the old man bit Bolan's dust. God! An estate contract!

Ten minutes after the conclusion of that telephone conversation, Franco Laurentis, the torpedo's torpedo, was conducting a full scale council of war at the top of the joint. He had all his boys in there, and there wouldn't be any shitting around with style now.

The sly old fox was not dead yet, and he'd sure put it over on Franco. That was something that just had to be faced. It was a new game.

There was only one thing for Franco to do now.

He had to stop Mack Bolan before Mack Bolan stopped the old man.

There was nothing else he could do.

He would have to turn in Bolan's head, or else die without no damn style at all.

The torpedo's torpedo was not going to die without no damn style at all.

The gunleather was strapped to the side-railing of the bed and Bolan's hand was resting loosely on the grip of the Beretta Belle.

Another hand, a softly delicate one, was trying to come between Bolan and his Belle.

He opened an eye halfway and quietly commanded, "Don't."

She was lying partly across him, the velvety tenderness of her presenting the sweetest of burdens, one arm coiled down around his gun arm.

She whispered, "I thought you were asleep."

He told her, "I was."

"Well, that's some alarm system you've got there."

She moved away from him. The bedsprings creaked as she came to a kneeling position behind him.

Bolan voluntarily released the Beretta, as he rolled over to fix her in the binocular vision of both appreciative eyes.

"Do you always sleep with a hand on your gun?" she asked him.

"Until I get tired of living, sure."

"I'm sorry. I didn't understand. I just didn't want you going into a bad dream or something and shooting up the joint."

He said, "Okay."

"You really don't trust me, do you."

He said, "No."

"Even after..."

"Especially after," he told her.

Her eyes crossed in perplexity. "Boy, you sure live in a grim world, don't you."

"Like you said, I'm weird."

She wrinkled her nose and replied, "Sort of nice weird, though. Mack... are you wide awake?"

He assured her that he was.

She said, "I want to bare my chest."

Bolan grinned. "I like it just the way it is," he told her.

"You know what I mean. I want to get straight with you. No more mistrust. Okay?"

He said, "Suit yourself."

"Wouldn't you like to trust me?"

He tipped his head back and said, "Sure I would."

"Well listen to me. Wo Fan and Franco Laurentis are hooked together somehow."

Bolan's eyes flickered and he said, "Do tell."

"You already knew it, huh."

"I've been wondering."

"Well you can stop wondering. They definitely are. It's one of those marriages of convenience, I believe, but they definitely..."

"And the old cop?"

"Barney Gibson?"

He said, "Uh huh."

"Do I have to get that bare?"

He said, "No."

The girl sighed. "Well, I will. I have been in the employ of Barney Gibson."

"Who else have you been in the employ of?"

Her gaze fell. "Anyone who has the price, I guess," she admitted.

"And what is the price?"

She said, "Depends on the job."

"What is the nature of the work?"

"Intelligence."

Both eyes narrowed as Bolan asked her, "You telling me you're a private eye?"

She threw her head back and laughed, as though grateful for the break. "Not really. I'm not licensed." The eyes flashed wickedly and she added, "But I have a law degree and I once worked for Mr. Hoover."

Bolan groaned.

She asked him, "You have something against Mr. Hoover?"

He replied, "Just his womenfolk. I think women's lib must have pulled a secret coup on the federal level. Do you know how many federal dolls I've..."

Quickly she said, "I don't want to know, don't tell me. Anyway, I said I once worked for him. I've been freelancing for two years."

"Without license."

"Right, without license. I'm not public. A license would hamper me. I'm not a detective, Mack. I'm a spy."

He said, "Okay. What's the tie-in with Barney Gibson then? He paying you out of his own pocket?"

"Possibly. I wouldn't know if the city has a payroll code for paid informers."

He said, "I see."

"I've also been on Wo Fan's payroll, watching the operation at China Gardens."

"For what?"

"I don't know for what. I just watch and listen. Every night I file a written report of everything I've seen and heard."

"That business about the counterfeit art pieces?.."

She wrinkled her face and admitted, "I made that up."

The girl leaned forward suddenly and kissed him, lightly. It turned into a heavy one, and she pulled away gasping.

"Don't get me started again," she warned.

Bolan chuckled. He lightly caressed a silken arm and told her, "I don't have to trust you, Mary. I like you, and that's enough for now."

"Not for me," she said soberly. "What about instincts? Don't they count for anything? Can't you just know that I'm on your side now?"

He arched an eyebrow and said, "Now?"

She shrugged delicately. "I'm straighting it, I'll straight it all the way. I suspected that Wo Fan had an unholy interest in the Mafia even before I ran into you. Franco Laurentis tried to grab me by the rear one night. When I told him to get lost, he got real cute about our 'common interests' and he actually dropped Wo Fan's name on me. I mentioned the incident to Wo Fan the next day. He became very upset and started throwing out excited instructions, in Chinese, to his bully boys. I didn't know what he was saying, but..."