Read Online War Against the Mafia by Don Pendleton - Free Book Online

theirselves, see, and they all know that too. The organization does all their contact work-'cept for the field girls-and they get our full protection.
And
they keep the heavy share of the take. Like I told you, we're a democracy for the bold and the brave."
    "Yeah, I remember," said Bolan the Bold.
    "All right, come on," Turrin said, suddenly sniffing. "I'm going to show you one of our house operations."
    "I was wondering when we'd get around to the girl-watching," Bolan replied.
    "You don't know what girl-watching is yet," the vice-lord of Pittsfield said chummily. "Come on, I'm taking you to my home away from home. I keep it stocked with the best stuff in Pittsfield, and I dare you to keep your eyes on and your hands off. And you gotta do just that You gotta do
just
that."

8 - Goddamn Iron-Man Bolan
    It was a large house in the suburbs-nothing overly elaborate from the outside view, and certainly nothing to cause it to stand out from the other irregularly placed estates on the tree-lined street. An iron gate stood open, allowing ready access to the macadam drive. A gardener worked quietly in a flower bed near the front of the acreage of neat lawn. Numerous trees and shrubs dotted the landscape, all but hiding the house from street observation. A six-foot iron fence completed the isolation, there being no gate other than the automobile gate at the drive. Bolan looked again at the "gardener," deciding he was too young, too alert, and too near the open gate to be anything other than a disguised guard. Turrin brought the front wheels of the convertible to a temporary rest upon a slight lateral ridge in the driveway macadam, counting to five under his breath, then grinned at Bolan and gunned on along the curving drive toward the house. "We're up tight," he muttered. "There's a pressure switch buried in that hump. Always give it a five-second count, or you'll panic everybody in there." He nodded his head toward the white-painted structure looming in front of them. "We call the place 'Pinechester.' And it's legally chartered as a private club."
    "Looks nice, but deserted," Bolan commented.
    "Little early," Turrin grunted. "Don't get much daylight business. Most of the girls sleep until late afternoon, less they wanta get in some sunbathing or swimming or something." He noted Bolan's raised eyebrows, and added, "Yeah, there's a pool around back, nice one. This is one of our higher class houses. It's my pet, really. The girls here all treat me nice. They wanta stay here. Sheer luxury, huh."
    Bolan had to agree. They passed a double tennis court and a golf-putting green. "How many girls?" he wanted to know.
    "There's twenty-two bedrooms," Turrin replied proudly. "Sometimes we have more girls than that, sort of rotate days off and get the most out of the property. Real businesslike, you know." He glanced at his companion. "We sell memberships to this place. Like I said, it's a club.
Run
like a club. But the membership fee just gets the member in the door. Or he can use the pool and the other outdoors stuff at no extra charge. Then every so often we throw a party-by printed invitation
only-
and that costs the guy a
bundle.
We always got a waiting list for our parties." He pulled the car into a five-stall garage, killed the motor, and turned to Bolan with a huge grin. "We got half the aldermen in Gwinett on our party list. And the other half
trying
to get on," he added, chuckling.
    They went in through a side door, and Bolan found himself standing ankle-deep in the carpeting of a wide hallway. "Library in here," Turrin announced, rapping lightly on the wall as they proceeded centerward. "Looks nice, but wasted space. Couple of thousand books in there just turning to dust"
    They entered a smartly furnished room with a vaulted ceiling and two enormous crystal chandeliers. Couches and overstuffed chairs were placed here and there, in threesomes and foursomes, with accompanying side-tables, ash trays, and various bric-a-brac. "This's the