Free War Against the Mafia by Don Pendleton

haul that hot ass away from here and leave a working man alone."
    Her eyes softened and she gazed at him with new respect. She said, "Well-l-l..." in a voice tinged with indecision, then simply smiled at him.
    An electronic squeal and then a hum broke the silence, followed swiftly by the voice of Leo Turrin, obviously issuing from a concealed speaker somewhere in the clubroom. "Okay, Sarge," it said. "Another point for you. Hey, what are you? A goddamn iron man? Huh? I wonder if
I
could pass that test!" Turrin was enjoying himself and the moment hugely. "Hey-hey-grab that hot blonde and drag her delectable ass up the stairs. You hear me? Go on and enjoy yourself!"
    "I hear you, Leo," Bolan said softly. He was looking for the speaker.
    "Hey, it's closed-circuit TV. I'll show it to you later. Mitzi-you take good care of my friend-you hear me?"
    The girl was smiling good-humoredly. "Sure, I hear you, Leo," she replied.
    "And that makes another piece you owe me on the house!" He laughed uproariously. The speaker squealed, then was silent.
    "See what your devotion to duty cost me?" the blonde said, now smiling ruefully at Bolan. She snared one of his hands and tugged at him. "Well, c'mon, let's go find some place to bury that bone. Or are you still saying it's not the time?"
    "It's the time," Bolan agreed, moving in-tow toward the carpeted stairway. Bolan the goddamn iron man knew very well he could pass the next test-over, and over, and over again. He followed the blonde seductress up the curving sweep of stairs, along a wide, beautifully decorated hall, and into a large bedroom. It was a sumptuous affair, complete with canopied bed, deep carpeting, and lavish furnishings. Bolan emitted a soft whistle.
    "Nice, eh," the blonde said, turning to him with a warm smile. Her gaze angled down to his loins, one hand moving spontaneously with the eyes. "What's your druthers?" she asked, lashes lowering demurely.
    "What?" Bolan said, one hand toying with a soft shoulder.
    "Do you prefer it sitting, standing, laying down, all-fours, belly-to-belly, or oral-genital?"
    Bolan merely grinned, pushed her an arm's length away, and carefully untied the bow at her hips, thoughtfully disentangled the stole from the warm flesh of the thighs, drew it over her head, and dropped it to the floor, then stood gazing at her, one hand raised contemplatively to his chin. She smiled and did a slow pirouette, arms raised gracefully, concluding with a repetition of the bump-and-grind she had shown him downstairs.
    "Don't tell me," he said, grinning, "-I'll bet you were on the stage."
    She gave a short laugh, lowering her arms and standing somewhat awkwardly, perhaps even self-consciously. Bolan had taken command; this was obvious. She laughed again, a bit nervously, turned and strolled toward the bed, hesitating momentarily to gaze at him over her shoulder, then studiously folded back the bedcovers and crawled onto the luxury of silken sheets, plumping a pillow beneath her head and rolling languidly onto one side and staring at her companion of the boudoir. Bolan was undressing. She watched him as he stripped, her eyes following each flexure of the manly frame. He carefully draped his clothing over the back of a chair, stalked over to the bed, and stared down at her with a penetrating gaze, his lips set in a half-smile.
    She smiled back at him and patted the bed beside her.
    Bolan seized the patting hand and dragged her off the bed. She stumbled to her feet, spluttering. "You like to throw it," he said. "So throw it"
    "Aw look, I was just-"
    "Throw it!"
    She threw it, repeatedly, grinding and tossing her hips in a pretty fair facsimile of a burlesque queen, and obviously tiring fast. Bolan was standing back, hands on hips, watching her labors. Presently she said, "Is this how you get your kicks or is this a grudge fight?" She had come to a panting halt, glaring at Bolan with a despairing light in her eyes. He laughed and folded her into a tight embrace, his flesh