Read Online California Hit by Don Pendleton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Don Pendleton
Tags: Mafia, San Francisco (Calif.), det_action, Bolan; Mack (Fictitious character), Vietnam War; 1961-1975
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velocity and a performance uniformity that was really outstanding.
At twenty-five yards the big bullets tore up a one-inch bull in rapid fire, and with a two-hand stance he'd grouped a full clip of those blitzers into an area the size of a man's heart at a range of one hundred yards.
Amazing, yeah.
It was a hell of an impressive looking weapon, too — all silver with ventilator ribs across the top of the barrel — she looked, in fact, just mean as hell, and this was one of the reasons Bolan selected the Auto Mag for the mission. The psycho warfare was almost as important as the other.
The Beretta was sighted in for a pointblank range of twenty-five yards; Bolan had the Auto Mag worked in for precision targeting at one hundred yards; between the two he figured he had a good one-two punch capability.
And there would be no dangling weapons on shoulder straps, nor any of the usual encumbrances of big-punch arms.
He shoved the Auto Mag into the waistband of his denims and concealed the overhang beneath the wind-breaker.
So... he was ready.
Russian Hill was ready.
Bolan just hoped to hell that Mary Ching would not be found among the enemy.
Either way, Bolan had survived another crisis point.
He was coming out shooting.
7
Tiger of the Hill
Tony Rivoli Jr. was literally born into the DeMarco Family. His father, before him, had been captain of the palace guard through most of the early family history. The elder Rivoli had come west with DeMarco to stake out the virgin territory and he'd been the Don's trusted companion and personal gun during those bitter years of war, intrigue and the establishment of empire.
Big Tony had taken a DeMarco niece as his wife, and Little Tony had always regarded the mansion on Russian Hill as his natural home. He was born in the big oval bedroom on the third floor; later that entire level of the house had been converted into an apartment for the Rivoli sub-family. Little Tony still lived there — alone now, except for the steady parade of San Francisco's finest flesh, whom he managed to smuggle in while the old man slept.
Anna Rivoli, Little Tony's mother, died of natural causes one week following her only child's tenth birthday. Quiet household gossip insisted that she "drank herself to death." Big Tony was killed in a gun battle with a rival outfit in the early fifties, almost two years to the day later.
From that moment forward, Little Tony Rivoli's life had followed a curious pattern. The Don never publicly recognized him as a blood relative. He was always, "My old friend Tony Rivoli's kid... little Tony." But DeMarco had gone through the formalities of having himself legally declared the boy's guardian. He'd given him a home, an education, and later a position in the official household. But there was no warmth between the two, no obvious family ties, and certainly no hint or suggestion that little Tony would one day share in the DeMarco estate.
In fact the old man frequently reminded Rivoli that his "good fortune" depended entirely upon the Don's continued good health.
"That gun there was your papa's best friend, Little Tony," the old man liked to remind him. "It's yours, too, you know. That's the blood between you'n me, and don't you forget it. When I lose the need for your gun, then we've lost our common bond. You better remember that and you better stay on your toes. And you for damn sure better keep me alive as long as you can. 'Cause when I go, Little Tony, every damn thing you got in this world goes with me."
Rivoli was twenty-five when first he heard the whispered story that his father's death had been, perhaps, an unnecessary event. There had been tensions in the official family, rivalries, and a jockeying around for power — pressure from without and stress from within. As the story goes, Don DeMarco had begun to suspect the loyalty of Big Tony — and he had sent his house captain and old friend out on a personal hit purely as a test of that loyalty. And he had sent
At twenty-five yards the big bullets tore up a one-inch bull in rapid fire, and with a two-hand stance he'd grouped a full clip of those blitzers into an area the size of a man's heart at a range of one hundred yards.
Amazing, yeah.
It was a hell of an impressive looking weapon, too — all silver with ventilator ribs across the top of the barrel — she looked, in fact, just mean as hell, and this was one of the reasons Bolan selected the Auto Mag for the mission. The psycho warfare was almost as important as the other.
The Beretta was sighted in for a pointblank range of twenty-five yards; Bolan had the Auto Mag worked in for precision targeting at one hundred yards; between the two he figured he had a good one-two punch capability.
And there would be no dangling weapons on shoulder straps, nor any of the usual encumbrances of big-punch arms.
He shoved the Auto Mag into the waistband of his denims and concealed the overhang beneath the wind-breaker.
So... he was ready.
Russian Hill was ready.
Bolan just hoped to hell that Mary Ching would not be found among the enemy.
Either way, Bolan had survived another crisis point.
He was coming out shooting.
7
Tiger of the Hill
Tony Rivoli Jr. was literally born into the DeMarco Family. His father, before him, had been captain of the palace guard through most of the early family history. The elder Rivoli had come west with DeMarco to stake out the virgin territory and he'd been the Don's trusted companion and personal gun during those bitter years of war, intrigue and the establishment of empire.
Big Tony had taken a DeMarco niece as his wife, and Little Tony had always regarded the mansion on Russian Hill as his natural home. He was born in the big oval bedroom on the third floor; later that entire level of the house had been converted into an apartment for the Rivoli sub-family. Little Tony still lived there — alone now, except for the steady parade of San Francisco's finest flesh, whom he managed to smuggle in while the old man slept.
Anna Rivoli, Little Tony's mother, died of natural causes one week following her only child's tenth birthday. Quiet household gossip insisted that she "drank herself to death." Big Tony was killed in a gun battle with a rival outfit in the early fifties, almost two years to the day later.
From that moment forward, Little Tony Rivoli's life had followed a curious pattern. The Don never publicly recognized him as a blood relative. He was always, "My old friend Tony Rivoli's kid... little Tony." But DeMarco had gone through the formalities of having himself legally declared the boy's guardian. He'd given him a home, an education, and later a position in the official household. But there was no warmth between the two, no obvious family ties, and certainly no hint or suggestion that little Tony would one day share in the DeMarco estate.
In fact the old man frequently reminded Rivoli that his "good fortune" depended entirely upon the Don's continued good health.
"That gun there was your papa's best friend, Little Tony," the old man liked to remind him. "It's yours, too, you know. That's the blood between you'n me, and don't you forget it. When I lose the need for your gun, then we've lost our common bond. You better remember that and you better stay on your toes. And you for damn sure better keep me alive as long as you can. 'Cause when I go, Little Tony, every damn thing you got in this world goes with me."
Rivoli was twenty-five when first he heard the whispered story that his father's death had been, perhaps, an unnecessary event. There had been tensions in the official family, rivalries, and a jockeying around for power — pressure from without and stress from within. As the story goes, Don DeMarco had begun to suspect the loyalty of Big Tony — and he had sent his house captain and old friend out on a personal hit purely as a test of that loyalty. And he had sent
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