So he was ready, the taste of victory strong on his palate. Even if somehow Bolan should manage to get past them and onto his boat, he'd never make it out of the harbor. This "Med moor" bit was tailor-made for a fast getaway. The guy had told him that the U.S. Navy used the method for its Sixth Fleet operations in the Mediterranean, so they could haul out of port on a moment's notice, without all the dicking around with tugs and crap trying to get underway.
Bolan might like the setup too, naturally. As long as he didn't think there was any chance of a hot pursuit out of that place. The cruiser could run rings around that falling-apart salvage boat, so just let the hotshot bastard try some of his razzle-dazzle around here. He'd find out damn quick how far he could get with it.
Tony had six guns on the cruiser itself, and two of those were heavy automatics. He had two boys up on top of the warehouse with shotguns, and two more inside. He had boys spotted all along that wharf, mixing it up with the local yokels and ready to fall in behind Bolan and plug any escape out the back door. And he had a boy stationed on the salvage rig, just for the locker. Bolan, Quick Tony was absolutely certain, would never set a foot on that boat
It was a lot different here than at Monte Carlo. If it hadn't been for police interference, Lavagni would have nailed Bolan at Monte Carlo and ended all the anguish once and for all.
But there would be no such interference here. The village had one hick constable or something, sheriff maybe, a real comedian with a uniform like a Manhattan hotel doorman and about the same police ability.
Also, Tony had this time been given plenty of time to set the thing up properly. He had Bolan right where he wanted him, by the balls that's where, and Quick Tony could hardly wait to start squeezing.
Nothing could go wrong, nothing. Even if the kid suddenly lost his mind and tipped the thing to Bolan — even that wouldn't change anything.
Bolan fancied himself as a Sir Galahad or something when it came to the dames. He had even put his head on the block for a bunch of damn French whores — if the guy had a weak point, that was it. He couldn't walk away from a dame in trouble.
The pregnant kid broad meant nothing at all to Tony Lavagni. He didn't let himself get involved with people that way. She wasn't a peopleat all, she was just a tool, and he'd use her any damn way he could. He's shove a hook up her ass and dangle her from the yardarm if he thought that would bring Bolan around.
Bolan knew that, too.
And Bolan was a sucker for people.
The guy had a real people problem.
And he was going to lose his goddamn head over that problem. His first mistake was in sending that dumb hick lad in to do a man's job. Lavagni couldn't understand Bolan pulling a stunt like that, unless the guy was really getting desperate. Or unless…
Quick Tony began to fidget. Maybe the bastard was just setting him up. Maybe he never intended to actually use that boat. Maybe he'd sent the kid in as a diversion, nothing more. Maybe he was suckering Tony into concentrating everything at Puerta Vista while he slipped out some other way.
Lavagni tried to dismiss the idea. Hell, he had to play the hand that was there, didn't he? Bolan was no god, he was no superman. Everybody made dumb mistakes now and then, even cagey shits like Mack Bolan. Still, Quick Tony couldn't help wondering about…
He looked around and caught the eye of Joe Fini, crew chief on the cruiser. "Any word yet from Charlie?" he asked him.
Fini shook his head and replied in a near-whisper. "We been trying to raise him ever since we got docked. Maybe something's gone wrong with the radio. You want me to go down and try the car radio?"
Lavagni emphatically shook his head no. "Not now, hell. What about Latigo?"
"We ain't heard nothing from him for two hours, since he went west."
"I told Charlie to send all those boys to Puerta Vista."
"Well they was covering a lot of territory," Fini whispered. "I guess it takes awhile to get 'em all back together. This radio stuff ain't all it's cracked up to be."
"What the hell are you whispering about?"
Fini laughed self-consciously. "I guess it's just the mood around here. I feel like tiptoeing when I walk."
Lavagni growled, "Well tiptoe in there and see how our little madonna is making out. I don't want her losing her mind yet, I might need it"
"For what, Tony?"
"Never mind for what. Just cheer her up, make her feel like it's all gonna turn out okay. It ain't, of course, but you've been lying to broads all your life so go tell some more lies."
"Hell, I don't parleyvoo her lingo," Fini replied.
"Then use sign language. But watch where you put your hands. I don't want her going into shock right now."
Fini grinned wickedly and said, "Party pooper."
Lavagni shook his head disgustedly. "You call that a party? A pregnant cow?"
"They make the best lay," Fini told his boss. "They got everything to gain and nothin' to lose." He laughed and moved softly toward the cabin.
Lavagni watched him disappear inside, then he returned his attention to the wharf.
Hurry up Dammit, hurry up.
Lavagni lit a cigar and brooded over the situation for several minutes. Fini came back on deck and whispered, "She's okay. A little bit uptight, but okay. I think she figures Prince Charming will come riding up any time now."
"I wish he would," Quick Tony complained.
Fini chuckled and moved back to his station.
Lavagni craned his head about, spotting the other boys. Everybody was ready. Every thingwas ready. Why didn't the bastard come on and get it over with? That kid told him eight o'clock, and here it was nearly eight thirty already.
It was almost as bad as the wait at Glass Bay. Lavagni shivered, remembering the awful scene they'd had there.
Well it wasn't going to happen here. It wasn't going to...
He stiffened and took a closer look along the wharf. Something was going on down there. The Manhattan doorman was moving around and people were taking off.
A chill trickled along Lavagni's spine. He turned around to whisper to Fini, "Get set, something's coming off."
Shops were closing, hastily, and the marketplace was being cleared. This was supposed to be the late-closing night. That guy had told Lavagni that those shops wouldn't close until nine o'clock. So what the hell was?..
The rube cop was walking along the line of fishing boats now, yelling something in Spanish. Guys were jumping off onto the wharf and beating it.
Fini hoarsely called over, "What the hell is it, Tony?"
"I dunno," Lavagni shot back. "But if that big rube comes this far, you know what to do with 'im."
The cop spun around, though, and went back toward the middle. Evidently his only interest had been in clearing the commercial area. While Lavagni was pondering this, the cargo lights came on all along the wharf, brightly illuminating the entire strip.
A growl began deep in Lavagni's throat and he told Fini, "Okay, give the signal. The guy's coming, and I think maybe with help."
"You think he's got the law on his side, Tony?"
"Shut up what I think. Just give the signal."
Fini went to the flying bridge and briefly illuminated the big spotlight, then he returned tensely to his station. "Okay," he whispered.
"Cool it, now," Lavagni warned, in a voice loud enough to be heard in the immediate dock area. "Follow my lead."
And then a lone figure could be seen moving quickly along the wharf from the marketplace. The toonerville cop fell in beside him — and it was just the kid — and the two of them moved unhesitatingly, along the line of fishing boats and into the public area.
Lavagni softly called out, "Watch it, now. It's going to be a razzle-dazzle, so look alive."
And then the kid and the toonerville comedian were standing there at the stern gangway. Lavagni was trying to look everywhere at once and wondering what the hell the guy was trying to pull when the kid's voice came across, taut but well under control.
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"We have come for Rosalita."
"How do you want her?" Lavagni sneered back. "By the pound or by the pint?"
The toonerville cop got into it then. "It is illegal to hold a citizen of Puerto Rico against the will. If you are holding a woman in this manner, you will surrender her at this once."
Quick Tony wanted to laugh out loud.
That fuckin' comic cop didn't even carry a gun.
He said, "Well I'll tell you what. We'll look around and see if we got a stowaway on board after we leave here. If we find one, and we just might, then we'll send her back C.O.D., in a shark's belly."
The kid stiffened and thrust his chin forward. "I bring a message for a SenorQuick Tony."
Lavagni's pulse leaped. The bastard knew who he was going against! Okay, great. That made it personal, and that made it all the sweeter. He called back, "So deliver the message."
"SenorBolan accepts the challenge. He will fight you, in this place, at this time."
"So why ain't he here?" Lavagni sneered.
"He is here. He watches you at this very moment. But he will not fight while Rosalita is in the way of harm. You must release her first. Then he will fight."
Lavagni's eyes became busier. He shouted, "You gotta be kidding! I'm not falling for a routine like that!"
"My senorhas said to tell you this. It is a Mexican stand-off. You will understand this meaning, he thinks. He says that you will not release Rosalita even if he gives himself up. He says that you will kill us all, that it is your way. Therefore, he feels that he will not be aiding Rosalita in this manner. But he desires to fight with Quick Tony. He desires this very much. Release the girl, he says, and he will bring to you the thunder and lightning you so richly deserve."
Fini croaked, "That's a crock of shit if I ever heard it!"
The big dumb rube cop was just standing there like a bump on a log, gazing about him like a tourist on a sightseeing trip. The kid was standing there in a fighting stance, legs spread defiantly, jaw thrust forward — mad as hell and telling it like it was, Lavagni had to figure.
"You will notice that the officer has cleared the area," the kid yelled. "It is at my senor'sbidding. He is ready for the fight. He says to tell you this. When you have come from behind the woman's skirts, you will also be ready for the fight. Do you receive this meaning?"
"Don't fall for that shit, Tony!" Fini urged.
But Lavagni's mind was clicking through the situation. He called over, "What if I tell your senorto go to hell? What if I tell 'im we're going to have a gang bang on the poop deck with this little knocked-up girlie, and then we're gonna run what's left of her down the anchor chain for the sharks. How's he going to feel about that?"
"He has anticipated such a heinous action. He says, if this threat should be carried out, he will fade away into the night, Quick Tony, and he will take his own revenge in his own way, and at his own time. This is his message, it is all, it is final. If you desire a fight, then you know the conditions."
"Awright, just a second," Lavagni replied.
He called Fini over and said, "He's right, it's a Mexican stand off."
"Yeah but if you let the broad go, then you lose our only ace."
"It's not an ace anymore, that's just the point," Lavagni said. "It's a damn joker now. It's my fault, I messed up. I should be known, Bolan won't come storming up here if he thinks the broad might get caught in his own fire."
"Do you know the guy that well, Tony?"
"I could write a book about the guy," Lavagni replied. "Also I never did figure the guy to lust walk in and give hisself up. He's not that damn stupid."
"Well I guess we got only one play to make," Fini decided.
"That's the way I read it, Joe. We let the kid go and we take our chances on the 50-50 line. Either he'll come on in then or he won't I think he will. It's like him. I think hell make a play for the boat. He likes that wild razzle-dazzle stuff, and I guess he's getting tired of playing it cute. I'm betting the guy is ready for a showdown."
Fini sighed. "You're the boss," he said. "For the record, I'm with you. Personally, I don't like the way this uniformed dodo is acting up, this town constable. I'm afraid he knows something we don't. He might have a whole damn force hurrying down from San Juan or someplace, or maybe a vigilante group to back 'im up. Personally, Tony, I'm ready to either shit or get off the pot"
"Okay, go get the broad," Lavagni growled.
He turned back to the wharf and showed them his eyes and the top of his head and nothing else. "I'm calling your senor'sbluff," he announced. "And you tell 'im he better have plenty of that thunder and lightnin' to spare, because I'm gonna shove it right up his ass."
"Be assured, it is no bluff," the kid replied.
And then Fini was there with the broad and shoving her toward the gangway. She saw the kid and let out a muffled little cry and he met her halfway and helped her to the wharf.
Another broad came running down from the market area — a real looker. She was barefooted and wore a grimy looking blouse and a short skirt, and Lavagni thought she looked vaguely familiar, but he could not place her in his immediate memory.
The two broads hugged each other, and they were crying and carrying on. The toonerville cop had walked on to the end of the dock and was just standing there with his arms folded across his chest and watching the tearful reunion in front of the cruiser.
The prick would probably take all the credit. He'd probably become a local legend, the big bad marshal without a gun who faced the fearful gangsters and took back the senoritafrom their clutches, a regular Wyatt Earp of Puerto Rico. Lavagni was thinking that the fuckin' comedian had better get the hell clear — that is, unless Bolan turned out to be a total damn four-flusher.
And then Tony had another inspiration. He flourished his revolver and leaned over the railing and sighted down on Juan Escadrillo. "Hey you, kid!" he snarled. "The girl goes but you stay."
"Senor?"
"Yeah, you, with the big mouth. You hired the fuckin' goddam boat, didn't you? Awright now, you go sit on the goddam thing!" He waggled the revolver menacingly. "Go on, get aboard the scow. And well see if your great senorcan make it over there to join you."
The girl cried, "Juan, no!"
The other broad had some brains, though. She dragged the girl away, talking to her a mile a minute in Spanish, and the boy just stood there, and watched until they were well down the wharf, then he flashed a smile toward the cruiser and called up, "With pleasure I go to await my senor."
Lavagni felt like plugging the wise-ass, but he let him cross over and jump aboard the salvage rig. Then Quick Tony threw back his head and shouted, "Okay Bolan! Let's hear some of that famous thunder of yours!"
The hick constable in the admiral's uniform was moving toward the protection of the salvage boat.
Not that way, dummy, Tony thought, you'd do a lot better in another direction. When Bolan comes, hell come shooting and snorting. What the hell did this guy think he was, for crissakes, a goddam referee or something?
Come on, Bolan. Come on, baby, and let me taste your ass. Any way you want to show it. Try a line plunge in a car, that would be cute.
Come down the top of the warehouses — or try moving from boat to boat, like at Monte Carlo — only this time, baby, it's just you and me, Tony Lavagni and his quivering fate that's been playing hidey-seek all his life.
You, Bolan, youare Tony Lavagni's fate, his destiny. I owe you every fucking thing that I am right now, and I owe you everything that I'm going to become, a Capoyou dumb shit, that's what you've made me. Well come on, come on. What the hell are you waiting for?
"Let's hear some thunder, Bolan!" he screamed.
From the corner of his eye he saw the big hick down on the wharf lighting a cigarette, and Tony thought what a hell of a thing to be doing at a time like this — was it some kind of signal? Then the guy was putting the pack of cigarettes back inside his coat, and his hand came out moving fast — oh hell much too damn fast
— and something long and bulky was flying toward the cruiser.
For one awful and timeless instant that thing hung there in the cargo light of the warehouse, suspended in Tony's vision and in the air above the cruiser, and in that final micro-second of understanding, Quick Tony recognized that thing for what it was. It was a bundle of dynamite sticks, tied together with a cluster of blasting caps.
And then time moved on, and the thunder descended, and the last impression to find registration in Lavagni's horrified eyes was that big dumb hick comic constable sprinting gracefully across the end of the wharf, a big black blaster filling one hand and spitting destruction into the roof of the warehouse.
It had been no more than a fifty-fifty chance, and Quick Tony had won his bet, the guy had shown up, he'd been there all the time, and Quick Tony had met his fate at last.
And as he was lifted into that weightless midst of thunder and lightning, Quick Tony knew that he could thank Mack Bolan for everything he would never become.
Chapter Twelve
The deal
The impact bomb had come in at dead center, instantly disintegrating the superstructure and lifting the entire cruiser out of the water. Her restraining lineswere ruptured and the once-flashy speedster resettled at a crazy angle and drifted slowly into the channel, ablaze from stem to stern.
Nothing could have remained alive in that flaming wreckage. Bolan's attention had instantly swerved to the threats from other quarters, and the trusty Beretta had dispatched two gunners from the roof of the warehouse and another who had come running along the wharf.
And then he was aboard the old salvage boat and helping Juan cast off the stern lines. The ancient rig was made of stronger stuff than the Glass Bay cruiser. She had absorbed the blast shock with hardly a quiver and rode out the resultant minor tidal wave like a true queen of the seas.
Juan told Bolan, "The engine is turning. The moment I step aboard, I instruct the captain to make ready."
That was not all Juan had done the moment he stepped aboard. Sprawled out beneath the gangway was a guy in Glass Bay uniform, a gun in his clenched fist, the eyes wide and staring in surprise and fixed that way in death. Buried in his chest to the hilt was a heavy knife. The gun was a Beretta Brigadier, same model as Bolan's.
Caribbean Kill te-10 Page 10
