Free Violent Streets by Don Pendleton Page A

left, plugging a 9mm mangler through the bridge of his nose before he could reach gun leather. Then he spun to take the guy on the right. Round one pinned the guy's gun hand to his chest as he was coming out of his death spin. Round two entered his gaping mouth and exited from the rear in a shower of blood and bone fragments.
    And the sole survivor was taking it all in with astonished eyes, standing behind the desk with both hands flat on the broad top and making no move to leave it. His round eyes never left the smoking muzzle of Bolan's lethal Beretta.
    Mack Bolan had known from the moment of entry that this man would be Benny Copa, and that he would not be packing. The self-styled honchos of the mob considered themselves exempt from the dirty chores of the gun-bearers, and Bolan had learned from experience that that arrogance made them vulnerable in a pinch.
    The pinch was on Benny Copa now, and he knew it.
    Bolan crossed the office, his eyes and gun never wavering from Benny's pallid face. When he was less than a foot from the mobster, his Beretta almost grazing the little guy's nose and letting him savor the cordite smell of death, Bolan gave the guy a light push that dumped his slack form into a waiting swivel chair.
    And at that, Benny Copa recovered enough of his voice to break the silence.
    "Easy, man," he said, not quite pleading. "There must be some mistake."
    "You made it, Benny."
    Copa thought that one over quickly, licking dry lips.
    "Well, hey, I mean... it can't be all that bad, can it?"
    Bolan's face and voice were hard, unyielding.
    "That depends on you."
    And Bolan could see the guy's face and mind working, trying to read the possibility of a deal — or survival — into Bolan's words.
    "Okay, yeah," he said at last. "I can dig it. Let's talk a deal here."
    "Make it simple," Bolan said. "You have some information, and I want it. You give, you live. Simple."
    The look in Benny Copa's eyes was telling the Executioner that, yeah, the guy understood simple very well indeed. Copa nodded rapidly as he spoke.
    "Fire away... hey, I mean... ask, okay?"
    "You sent some crews out this morning, Benny. They didn't come home."
    Copa's face registered shock at Bolan's inside knowledge. He covered it a second later, but not before Bolan had duly noted the reaction.
    "Uh, I've got lots of crews, man," he said, stalling. "I run a big operation here."
    "I'm only interested in two."
    "Uh-huh, well... maybe we can make a deal here," he said, smiling craftily.
    Bolan pressed the hot muzzle of the Beretta Belle against Benny's forehead, hearing the flesh sizzle on contact. He let Copa wince and wiggle for a moment before withdrawing the gun, leaving an angry red circle above the guy's left eye.
    "You heard the deal, Benny. The minute I think you're shucking, I terminate the conversation."
    And Bolan's tone left no doubt that the conversation would not be the only thing terminated, sure.
    "Okay, okay," he said hastily. "Jesus, you can't blame a guy for trying."
    "Sure I can," Bolan said.
    Copa glowered back at his uninvited guest.
    "Christ, you don't give a man much slack, do you?"
    "The crews, Benny. Last chance."
    "All right, dammit! We're talking about five boys, right? Two at the airport, and three more at a certain lady's house?"
    Bolan nodded silently, letting the cornered weasel continue.
    "Okay, right," Copa said, nodding affirmation of his own words. "They were part of a package deal. Outside contract, you know? Nothing to do with organization business."
    And he smiled, as if that piece of information should settle everything.
    But it didn't.
    "What was their mission?" Bolan asked.
    The little mobster managed a sarcastic snort.
    "What do you think?"
    The cold expression of the Executioner's face stifled the feeble snicker.
    "They were disposal teams, man, you know?" Benny hastened to explain. "They were sent to dispose."
    "Hit teams," Bolan said.
    Copa nodded jerkily.
    "Who was their mark at the airport?"
    Copa shrugged