"But there are tensions?" Bolan asked interestedly.

"There are tensions," Brognola assured him. "The council wanted to regulate prices. DiGeorge won't go for it. He controls a big slice of their narcotic imports. He feels that the pricing is his affair, and he wholesales to the other families on his own terms. Yes, there are tensions."

"Thanks," Bolan said. "That gives me something to parlay, I'm especially interested in the council's enforcers, though. What can you tell me about that?"

Brognola coughed and said, "The Talifero brothers, it is said, have the most feared crew of enforcers in the country. These brothers are loosely called 'Pat and Mike.' They are . . ."

"Okay, I've heard of Pat and Mike. What you say wraps it up. Maybe I can keep my neck out of . . ."

"Be careful, Pointer," Brognola urged. "These Talifero boys are double trouble. It's said that once they get their orders, they are like guided missiles, there's no way of calling them back or scrubbing the hit. The triggermen in their crew are like an elite Gestapo, taking orders from no one but Pat and Mike. The brothers themselves operate directly out of the Commissione."

"Exactly what I wanted," Bolan commented. "I'd better bug off now."

"Uh, Pointer . . ."Brognola said hurriedly.

"Yes?"

"I'm flying to Washington tonight. I'd like to make a representation on your behalf."

"What sort of representation?"

"A sort of unofficial 'forgive and forget' representation. Do you follow me?"

"Who's playing games now?" Bolan said, chuckling.

"He's dead serious, Bolan," Lyons broke in.

Brognola said, "Rather, uh, high offices have been apprised of your successes here. We've suspected your true identity and now that you've confirmed it . . . well . . . I'm not promising anything, but . . . I believe I can get you a portfolio — unofficially, you understand — if you'll agree to continue on in your present role."

"It is my intention to continue," Bolan said. "Unless I die soon."

"You aren't going to die soon, are you?" Lyons said, chuckling.

"Not if I can help it."

"Can we do anything to help?"

"I doubt it. I guess it's my show — win, lose, or draw. Uh, you might look into the death of Charles D'Agosta two years ago, age about 20, supposedly drowned on a boating accident off San Pedro."

"Mafia rubout, Bolan?" Lyons asked.

"Let's can him Pointer," Brognola broke in nervously.

Bolan laughed and said, "The rubout is an outside chance. Look into it, will you?"

"I'll do that," Lyons assured him. "Anything else?"

"You might pray."

Lyons and Brognola chuckled. Bolan said, "Well . . ."

"Braddock says thanks," Lyons added hastily.

Bolan said, "Sure," and broke the connection. He returned to the new Mercedes, checked his gunleather, and set off for the villa. Police-community relations had never seemed better for Mack Bolan. He wondered vaguely what was implied by acquiring a "portfolio."

"Maybe it's a license to kill," he muttered to his Mercedes. "And then again," he added thoughtfully, "maybe it's a license to die."

Either way, Mack Bolan was not too impressed with licenses. He had his rage to keep him warm.

The gate guard grinned warmly and said, "Hi-ya, Franky. God, I heard about the fracture this morning. They say it was like a wild man. I wished I'd been with you."

Bolan kept his face straight and said, "You might get a chance, Andrew Hardy." He soberly winked one eye and eased on over to his usual parking place. He noted that the gate guard had trotted down to engage another guard in an animated conversation.

Benny Peaceful appeared as Bolan was leaving the Mercedes. He showed Bolan the peace sign and said, "Somebody has been waiting for you by the pool for a couple of hours. Somebody's gonna be terrible disappointed if you don't go in that way."

Bolan acknowledged the message with a nod of his head. He paused to light a cigarette and said, "What's rumbling, Benny?"

"The whole joint's rocking over your work this morning," the youth replied, laboring to maintain a sober visage. "Don't surprise me none, of course. I knew what you could do, Franky."

"I need your help, Benny Peaceful," Bolan said, staring over the boy's head. "I think I know what you can do, too."

Benny seemed to grow an immediate inch. Following Bolan's lead, he averted his eyes in a casual inspection of the sky. "You just say it, Franky Lucky," he said solemnly.

"A boy like you can change his thinking when the right time comes," Bolan suggested.

"You watch me."

"Pat and Mike could use a boy like that."

The youth's breath hurriedly left him. He staggered slightly, regained his balance, and then gave way to the glowing smile that was fighting for control of his facial muscles. "God!" he exclaimed. "I knew you was something special."

"A boy that knows when to keep quiet, and then when to come running at the right time — he can be a valuable boy," Bolan pointed out.

"You just snap your fingers, Franky Lucky," Benny assured him.

"Okay. You be ready for the snap." Bolan tossed away the cigarette and entered the enclosed patio. Benny Peaceful came in several paces to the rear and took up station against the wall, his face glowing like the sunrise. Bolan went back to him and said, "Listen, I made a decision, you're my second here. You know?"

The news was almost too much for Benny Peaceful. His lips trembled, he drew in a ragged breath, and he gasped. "I'm your boy, Franky. What's going on?"

Bolan leaned closer. "I told you, Benny, a valuable boy has to change his thinking. Deej is out. Understand?"

The youth nodded his head in an uncoordinated jerk. "I been hearing," he replied. "I been changing my thinking, since a long time back."

"Okay, now you round up the other boys that've been thinking. We don't want the good to go down with the bad, do we, Benny Peaceful? I'm making that your Number One job for right now. You mark the ones that are fit to save. You know?"

"God, I know, Franky."

"Okay. You get these boys aside. Boys who have been thinking ought to know that what happened on the desert this morning was nothing but a prophecy of things to come. You know what I'm saying?"

"Screwy Looey had that coming," Benny Peaceful agreed eagerly. "A lot of muscle around here has got it still coming."

"It'll get to 'em, don't you worry," Bolan declared somberly. "It's up to you, Benny, to cull out the others so they don't get hurt. I don't have the time, so I'm depending on you. Now you get these boys aside and you tell 'em what's what. And you tell 'em to wait for your fingers to snap."

Benny Peaceful fought down another broad grin. "My fingers? Sure — sure, Franky."

"Get your crew organized."

"I'll get right to work, Franky."

The youth took off on a strangely hurried-casual gait, disappearing around the corner to the parking area. Bolan clucked his tongue and went on over to the pool and Andrea D'Agosta.

"What was all the chatter with Boy Blue?" she asked him.

"Got rid of him, didn't I?" Bolan replied, smiling.

"Don't look so happy," she said. "I've been waiting out here for hours. I'm afraid your moment has almost arrived, whoever you are."

Bolan leaned down and brushed her cheek with his lips. "Yeah?"

"No time for that," Andrea fretted. "Victor Poppy is here with that man from Florida. They're all in Poppa's study right now."

Bolan clung to his smile. "Did you get this man's name?"

"I heard Victor call him Tony. That's all I know. Little man, sallow, skinny, scared. About 40."

Bolan sighed and said, "Thanks."

"Don't thank me, just get me out of here."

"Are you ready to go right now?" Bolan asked her.