Miami Massacre

The bellman hesitated with one hand on the doorknob and said, "Sir?"

"I, uh, got some friends here," Bolan said hesitantly. "I missed a plane, got here late. I'm not sure, uh, how they registered. Know what I mean?"

A bland mask seemed to slide into place across the dark man's face. He said, "No, sir."

"Hell, Balderone made the arrangements, and I'm not sure how he gave out th' names. Now you know?"

A muscle twitched in the bellman's face. He said, "I believe you have found your cha

Bolan passed another bill into the man's hand. "Get me my pals' room numbers. Hell, I don't know what names they're using. Catch?"

The bellman seemed to have reached a decision about Bolan. He nodded his head and replied, "Discretion is the better part of valor, sir. I believe I can help you."

"You talk like a teacher, not no bellboy," Bolan commented harshly.

"I was a school teacher, sir . . . in Cuba. I will locate your friends for you . . . discreetly."

"That's th' stuff." Bolan spun around and stalked over to the room service tray. He lifted the bourbon and began pouring into his glass. He heard the door softly close. He smiled, again dumped the bourbon into the toilet, and got dressed. So the bellman was a Cuban exile, he was thinking. That could explain a lot of things. And yet . . . Bolan was not entirely sold and he was begi

Bolan quickly opened the envelope, glanced inside, then smiled and put another bill in the bellman's hand. "Go liberate Cuba with that," he said, and closed the door.

He sca

He went to his suitcase and put on his shoulder harness, inspected the Luger and shoved in a fresh clip, then affixed the silencer. The list went into his coat pocket and the Luger into the side leather, two extra clips in the reserve pocket.

Chapter Nine

The exiles

The Tidewater Plaza was a large squared horseshoe, four stories high, with gardens, patios, and pools inside the horseshoe at ground level. All rooms boasted an outside exposure via glass doors opening onto private patios or balconies. The winter season boom had not fully descended upon the Plaza, and at this hour of the afternoon the main lobby was quiet, the lounge all but deserted. Outside, around the pool, no more than ten tables were occupied. Several shapely young women were cavorting in the water. A middle-aged woman who already bore evidence of having defected to a darker race lay on a su

He briefly consulted his list and proceeded directly to the fourth door beyond the stairwell, gripped the Luger, and pushed the doorbuzzer. A deep voice beyond the door replied with a bored, "Yeah?"

Bolan buzzed again and said, "Ay, Al, come on, open up."

The door cracked open, the chainlock remaining intact, to reveal an eye and a sliver of face. The surly voice demanded, "Who the hell is that?"

The Luger phutted into the crack and the face rapidly receded with a dying grunt, a glass hit the floor just inside and liquids sloshed through the crack, then a heavy weight clicked the door fully shut.

Bolan walked up the hallway and around the curve, then stopped to press another doorbuzzer. The door opened at the first summons and a disinterested man of about 25 said, "Oh, I thought you was room service."

Bolan told him, "I was just over to Al's," and pushed on inside. A television was blaring unattended. On the balcony overlooking the pool, two other men sat at a small table, drinks and cards in front of them. "Hey, deal me in," Bolan told the man who had opened the door.

The man was looking him over with casual interest. "I know th' face," he said, "but I can't get th' name. Let's see now, don't tell me, waitami

"Bolan."

"Huh?"

Bolan's hand and the Luger were sliding into view. The Mafioso reacted then, whirling toward an open closet, his hand scrabbling along an overhead shelf. The Luger whispered and its issue splatted into the base of the man's skull, sending him spi

The two men on the balcony, less than 20 feet away, were fighting clear of the table and trying to come to their feet, one of them tugging at something in the waistband of his trousers. The Luger arced into the new target area, phutted twice in rapid fire, and the tugger lurched onto the table, overturning it with a crash of glass and metal. The other man was making a dive for the balcony railing. The Luger's silent chasers overtook him, doubled him into a convulsive knot poised for a frozen instant above the railing, and then he was over and gone. A horrified shriek immediately arose from the patio.

Bolan knelt into the closet and pi

He went to the fourth floor and jogged on around the horseshoe bend, reaching his next stop in a matter of seconds. He did not bother with the buzzer but rapid-fired three rounds of his new clip into the door mechanism, following immediately with a crashing kick. The door bounded open and Bolan was inside before the vibrations of the assault had subsided. A nude man was on the dishevelled bed, on his back and raised to both elbows, glaring at the intruder in startled anger. A girl stood just outside the doorway to the balcony, her back to Bolan. She was nude also, but dangling a large towel in front of her from the shoulders and obviously trying to peer down onto the patio below without exposing herself. She jumped visibly upon noting Bolan's presence and whirled about with a frightened scowl, the towel flying high and defeating its purpose. In a confused voice, she a

The outraged man on the bed was picking up on his delayed reflexes. He snarled, "You got no right bustin' in here like that! You got a warrant? Lemme see your warrant!"

Bolan stepped to the foor of the bed, said, "Sure, Julio, here you go," extended the Luger at arm's length, and gave the Mafioso his last rites.

The girl stumbled into the room, the towel dropped and forgotten, and gave Bolan the silent horror treatment. He assured her, "I'm not going to hurt you. Get your clothes on and get out of here. Quick!"

She murmured, "Ohgodohgod," and staggered on into the bathroom.

Bolan reached the hallway with his list in his hand. He consulted his, wristwatch, wavered momentarily, then ran along to the stairway and headed for the floor above and his final call at Tidewater Plaza.

Lt. Wilson panted down the stone steps and flung himself into the waiting vehicle. The car was screeching forward before his door was fully closed. He glanced at the driver, then swiveled about to regard Captain Harmon who shared the rear seat with another member of the Dade Force. "I got no details," Wilson puffed. "What's up?"

Ha