Miami Massacre

"God, don't tease me, Freddie," the woman was saying as Bolan stepped into the room. She lay crosswise on the bed, a beautifully proportioned blond — late twenties, Bolan guessed — flat on her back and fighting for a scissors-lock on the nude man who knelt on the edge of the bed.

The blond, also totally unclothed, did not see Bolan immediately; the man did, facing him head-on across the bed. His face went momentarily blank as his eyes lingered on the big silencer-tipped Luger in Bolan's hand, then he flipped back in a panicky reaction. Failing to understand his reason for the sudden move toward disinvolvement, the blond lunged after him and wrapped him up with both legs about the waist. He dragged her off the bed with him in a futile attempt to reach a gunbelt which was draped across a nearby chair. The Luger phutted a bullet into his ear, and he hit the floor with the blond still in tow. She stared at him stupidly for a moment then made a sick face and lifted stu

She quickly disentangled from the dead, shuddering, and declared, "God, you sh-shot 'im."

Bolan pulled her to her feet gently pushed her toward the bed. She grabbed a pillow and held it in front of her and began talking in a sudden rush of words. "That big ape was trying to rape me. I told 'im Joh

Bolan was busily shaking down the room. "Yeah, I could see you were putting up a hell of a fight," he told her.

"Well h-he threatened me. Said he'd shoot off my nipples if I didn't play ball."

"Yeah," Bolan replied. He was going through the dead man's clothes. "Where's Portocci?" he asked, fixing the girl with a baleful gaze.

She laughed in near-hysteria and said, "God, he don't check in and out with me. Look, you don't have to tell 'im about this — I mean, about me 'n Freddie. When he gets back, we can tell 'im-"

Bolan had crossed to the girl. She fell back onto the bed, retreating from the ominous advance, eyes on the Luger. The pillow fell away. She raised arms and knees in one supplicating motion and gurgled, "God, give me a break. I can make you glad you did."

Bolan grabbed an outstretched hand and jerked her to her feet, then pushed her towards the door. "Downstairs," he muttered.

She planted her feet at the door and looked back over a soft shoulder at him. "Like this?" she asked weakly.

"That's right," Bolan growled. "You walk straight through the hall and down the stairs, and don't you say a word, not one word."

"Wh-what do you want me to do?" she asked dully.

"I just told you. I'll be watching from up here, so don't get cute."

The blond opened the door, then turned back to Bolan in obvious confusion. "But Ralph and his boys are down there," she protested. "Shouldn't I put something on first?"

Bolan placed a hand between her shoulder blades and gently shoved her on out the door. "Just do what I told you to do."

"Joh

"And when will he do that?"

"Soon as he gets back from this trip."

"What trip?"

The blond swivelled about and regarded Bolan with a curious stare. "Say . . . who are you?"

"I'm Mack Bolan."

The girl's eyes flared wide. She wet her lips nervously with her tongue, said, "Well I'll be," and went on toward the staircase in a wooden walk. She threw a final look over her shoulder, smiled archly and, seemingly finding something perversely comforting in the sudden twist of circumstances, began humming lightly and swinging her hips in a provocatively swaying descent of the staircase. As soon as her head dropped from sight, Bolan trotted back along the hallway to the bedroom, stepped across the lifeless body, extinguished the bedlamp, and moved to the open window.

When he heard the girl's shrill voice proclaiming the presence of "a nut, upstairs," and the ensuing bedlam, he stepped quickly out the window and dropped to the ground. The two front men were staring curiously toward the house when Bolan touched down directly in front of them. One of them reacted immediately, clawing toward a shoulder-holster. He took Bolan's first muffled shot squarely between the eyes and fell over backwards without a sound. The other man was sprinting toward the rear of the car and jerking to free a revolver from a holster on his hip; Bolan's second shot tore into the back of his head and sent him sprawling face-down on the driveway.

Bolan added a fresh clip of ammo to the Luger as he ran for the front entrance to the house. The door was locked. He seized an iron lawn chair and heaved it through the picture-window, following closely with his own diving body. The blond stood at a far wall, gawking at him. A pair of feet hesitated on the stairway, then hastily descended. A heavy man, big pistol in hand, bent low to peer back into the living room, grunted an exclamation, and quickly swung in against the railing for firing position. Bolan got there first, however, firing from the prone position with three rapid shots up the stairwell. The heavy body jerked and sagged as two more men charged down, became entangled in the crumpled body, and slid the remainder of the descent with guns roaring wildly.

Bolan had regained his feet and was whirling to the attack, the Luger phutting u

The blond woman, still nude, had sunk to her knees and was trembling violently. Bolan crossed to her, knelt and gripped her shoulder. He clamped down hard with the hand and said, "About that trip . . . where is Portocci?"

"G-god I d-don't know," she stammered. "I th-think I'm sick. Yeah I am, I'm sick."

Bolan moved the heat of the Luger close to her glowing flesh and said, "I can make you a lot sicker, doll. I want some words about Portocci."

"I told you, I don't know," the girl moaned. "Flying. He's flying somewhere. Some meeting. I don't know."

"Private plane?"

"Huh?"

"How's he flying? Does he have his own plane?"

"Naw, he had reservations, that's all I know. God, I'm sick, mister, I'm sick. Let me get out of here, huh?"

"In a minute — if I get the right words. Are you Joh

The girl grimaced ruefully. "Yeah, I guess — one of 'em. I got some clothes upstairs. Please let me-"

"You recognized my name a while ago when I mentioned it. How?"

She laughed shrilly. "God, I ain't heard nothing but for weeks."

"But you've heard it very recently," Bolan persisted. "Tonight. Right?"

The girl miserably nodded her head. "A guy called in a while ago, some restaurant, some truck stop, out east of town. Said you was eating in his joint. Freddie sent a car to check it out."

Bolan nodded. "And just who is Freddie?"

"He works for Joh

"They found me," Bolan told her. "They won't be coming back."

She crumpled again, under that news. "God, you killed them all then. Look, I'm not no moll. Joh

"I want the rest of them first," Bolan said, carefully measuring the amount of strain the girl could bear.

"God, there ain't any left! I told you! They all went off with Joh