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two hours. I’m supposed to be along for extra protection.”
    “I’ll be there as soon as it happens. When you see me, hit the deck and stay down. I may have to use quick target selection.”
    “Don’t worry about me. Just be sure you make it. This is a key man in their plans because he’s next in line to be chief.”
    * * *
    An hour later, Nino Tattaglia helped carry Assistant Chief Jansen from a car at a back unit of a motel. The door was open and they put the chief on the motel bed beside a black girl. The lady was nude and dead, and her body and the bed were covered with blood. There were six long slashes on her torso. Three stab wounds marred the soft dark skin.
    Polaroid pictures were taken of the chief in several positions beside the girl. In one, his hand was taped around a bloody knife and the blade pushed into the dead girl’s chest. Enough of his face was showing to be recognizable.
    “Strip him!” Big Jake Milano said. “Get his pants and shorts off and spread him out over her.” Milano was satisfied. He was getting good at this. Third time! Hell, he’d get a bonus. This time he’d take the old lady on a cruise of the Caribbean.
    “Got enough pictures?” Big Jake asked.
    “One more,” Tony Larasso said. He put another print on the dresser.
    Suddenly the door exploded inward. Before anyone could move, a figure dressed in black stormed in, waving an Uzi submachine gun. Big Jake went for his side arm, caught three slugs in his chest and collapsed against the far wall, dead.
    Mack Bolan sized up the four others in the motel room at a glance. There was a kid with a camera to the left, and two hardcases behind the bed to the right. Nino stood near the back.
    “Don’t move!” Bolan barked. One of the hard-cases dug for his belt holster and the Uzi spit out five rounds, nailing him against the wall for a few seconds until his corpse slid slowly to the floor.
    “Anyone else?” Bolan asked. The kid dropped the camera, leaned over and vomited. Bolan pointed at Nino.
    “Take out your piece and drop it on the bed, then get this other goon’s gun and put them both under the bed. Check out the puker here for hardware.”
    Nino did as he was told. He turned, holding his hands high.
    “Get the chief’s pants on fast!” Bolan snapped.
    As Nino complied Bolan grabbed the developed Polaroid prints from the dresser and pushed them inside his black jersey. He picked up the camera and ripped out the film, then checked out the door. No problems.
    Bolan pointed to the kid and the older man behind the bed. “Both of you, strip off all your clothes, then lie down on the bed beside the girl. Move it!”
    Both men shed every piece of clothing and lay down gingerly on the bloody bedspread.
    Nino put the chief’s pants and shirt on him. The cop was starting to come out of his drugged state.
    “You, carry that man outside,” Bolan barked at Nino. “You make any noise, or one false move, badass, and I’ll blow your head off.” Nino picked up the blood-smeared cop and took him to the door.
    Bolan’s rented Chevy sat six feet away from the motel room. The two Mafia lookouts were hunched over beside the door as though they were sleeping. Nino knew they would never wake up. He lowered the chief into the passenger seat and closed the door.
    Bolan waved Nino back inside the room and followed him.
    “Now, tough guy. Off with your clothes, too. Then join the others on the bed.”
    Bolan grabbed the bundle of clothing, closed the door, stepped into the Chevy and drove to the front of the motel. He stopped to call the police from a phone booth, watching the motel-room door as he dialed. As soon as he had them on the line, Nino stepped out of the motel room and ran full tilt down the alley.
    The Executioner told the police a girl had been killed in the motel by Mafia hoodlums. He gave the address, hung up and deposited the garments at the side of the booth. Then he drove off. Half a mile away he pulled over to the curb.