"If I had a chance, Bolan, I think I would," Chianti replied in a voice already dead.

Bolan's words were as cold as that spot in his chest as he told the contractor, "You've got that chance, Sam. But only one. After tonight, your chances are all used up. So go get some coffee and think about it. Go on."

It took a couple of seconds for the message to reach the Mafioso. He stared at Bolan unbelievingly, then asked, "You mean it?"

Bolan said, "For her, Sam. Not for you. For her, one time only."

Chianti lurched about and staggered toward the house, not looking back once until he reached the top of the steps. Then he threw Bolan a dazed glance and hurried inside. Through the window, Bolan saw the woman throw herself around her husband's neck, and then Bolan got away from there.

Yeah, one time only for love was not asking too much. Bolan just hoped he would not have cause to regret it. Somehow, though, it seemed that he had found a good note with which to close the day.

To state it in Rachel Silver's language, something had sparked between a German Shepherd and a man known as the Executioner, and the man had flung that spark back into the beast's face. There wasa difference. There had to be. Otherwise, survival was not even worth it.

Bolan was wearing his buckskins and purple glasses when he pulled into the garage at the East Side apartment building. The attendant gave the daisied VW a distasteful once-over and told the Executioner, "This is a private garage."

Bolan said, "Don't lay that on me, man. The Lindley chick wants me to pick up some stuff."

"At one'clock in the morning?"

Bolan shrugged. "Better late than never, man. Whatsa matter, you got house rules here, curfew or something?"

The guys eyes wavered. He asked, "Who did you say?"

"Lindley," Bolan replied boredly. He squinted at an open notebook lying on the seat beside him and added, "Eleven-G, it says here."

The attendant nodded and picked up a house phone.

Bolan suggested, "Tell her it's the Man from Blood."

The guy gave him a hard look. Bolan chuckled and told him, "That's the name of the service, dad. Youchange it, I can't."

The garage attendant completed the call, spoke briefly into the phone, and told Bolan, "Okay. Park over there at the service dock. And keep the noise down, it's a little late for commercial calls."

A minute-and-a-half later Bolan was pushing the button outside the Lindley-Qifford-Silver apartment. Lindley responded, her face a study in perplexed anxiety. She wore a transparent negligee and little else, and the initial reaction to the hippy-type at the door was a confused one.

Then Bolan smiled and pulled off the freak glasses. She grabbed him and pulled him inside and closed the door, all in the space of one muffled little yelp. She gasped, "We had you dead!"

Bolan said, "Not quite. I'm only staying a minute — just wanted to check you out."

"Well gee thanks! You could have called or left a message or something, you know!" She was building up a head of outraged steam. "I mean, we didn't nurse you night and day just to ho-hum you out of our lives with no idea whatever of what had become of…"

She ran out of breath and steam at the same time and melted against him, arms encircling his neck and pressing into a close embrace. Bolan rubbed her spine and patted her hip and told her, "You're right, I should have checked back sooner."

"I wish you had," Paula murmured. She pushed away from him and nervously massaged her forehead, "Evie has been so shook up… she ran out of here about eight o'clock to look for you… and she isn't back yet."

Bolan said, "That was a dumt> — "

"She had good reason!" Paula cried, flaring up again.

He was showing her a baffled frown. "You'd better give me all of it."

She said, "Well it begins with a bloodstained foyer and an empty apartment. Obviously there had been a fight here, of some sort. It looked as though they had caught up with you, and took you away. We knew it couldn't have been the police, or they would have been here waiting for us. Then Evie began having hysterics all over the place. She thought she was responsible. You've noticed, I'm sure, that Evie talks a lot. It seems that she had let something slip about you staying here, and she — "

Bolan interrupted with a taut, "Who'd she slip it to?"

Paula tossed her head nervously and replied, "She's been running around with this political action group, a young lib movement. She had lunch with a couple of the boys today. They've been having a lot of trouble lately with the hardhat faction, and the boys were discussing this. So Evie bubbled out with the information that she had just the man to take care of that problem. One thing led to another and she was swearing them to' secrecy and telling them… all about… you."

Bolan sighed and said, "Damn, this could be dangerous, Paula. Not for me so much as for you girls."

"Well, at any rate, Evie left here at eight o'clock to touch base with the lib group and to find out just how far the story had gone. And I'm getting worried… I can't reach any of them by telephone… and, well, she's been gone five hours."

"And Rachel?"

"Rachel has been meditating ever since we discovered the bloodstains."

Bolan made a pained face and asked, "Is it unusual for Evie to be out this late?"

Paula shook her head. "No, she's a free spirit. But… well, it was her frame of mind when she left here, and…" She pulled on a bright smile and said, "Oh nuts. If I had a dime for every hour I've spent worrying about that dumb bunny, I could branch out. Now, Evie is completely out of my mind. Youare there. Let me fix you something to eat, and you tell me what you've been up to." She was moving across the foyer and tugging at Bolan.

He stopped her and told her, "No, I can't stay. I came by to pick up my stuff and let you know I'm okay."

"So you're checking out," she said, giving him the sorrowing eye.

He nodded. "It's time, isn't it."

She sighed. "I guess it is. You have a place to stay, huh?"

He said, "Yeah. Little joint near Central Park. Serves my purposes fine. Look, Paula… I appreciate… I'll keep in touch, eh."

"You do that," she replied soberly.

"Could I, uh, get you to bring my suitcase out here? Tell Rachel, eh, after I've left, tell her I… hell, you know what to tell her."

"Yes, I know what to tell her," Paula said woodenly.

She whirled away in a flash of silk. Bolan watched her cross the big room and thought of how nice it could be for an ordinary guy who didn't have to worry about jeopardizing every life he touched.

Then she was back with the suitcase and walking him to the door.

She dropped the bag to the floor and informed him, "You're going to kiss me goodbye, mister."

He did so, and she moulded against him at every possible joining surface. The soft lips held him and dizzied him as warm sweet currents passed through and finally he broke the connection and told her in a ragged whisper, "That's some crazy therapy," and then he had the door open and the bag in his hand and he was getting away while he could.

He looked back as he rounded the corner to the elevators, and she was still there in the doorway and he thought God, how he'd love to have a normal life.

Downstairs, he made a production out of opening the side door to the micro-bus and rattling the bag around as he stowed it, then he tossed a wave toward the attendant's shack and called over, "Groove, dad, mission accomplished."

The guy ignored him. Bolan climbed into the VW and took his time lighting a cigarette before he cranked the engine and turned on his lights and got the windshield wipers in motion, then he eased out the clutch and circled onto the exit ramp.

A blur of motion to his left was the only warning, and then Rachel Silver ran into his path and stood there daring him to run her down. She wore a bulky maxi-coat and high-heeled boots, and Bolan was betting nothing else. He hit the brakes and shifted into neutral and crossed his arms atop the steering wheel, and then the door opened and she slid in beside him.