"After I use the bathroom I'm dressing and going home," she announced. "You're a disgusting pig!"
"You shitty little slut. Nobody calls me names."
"I'm not a slut!"
"What is this, a church picnic? You sell your ass for your bread, girly."
"You've got no right..." Charlotte ran for the bathroom, and stared at her image in the mirror.
When she came out she was crying.
I'm sorry, Leen. I'm so sorry!
She opened the sliding-glass door that led to the balcony.
The man looked up at her.
She stared back for a moment, then rushed forward and dived over the railing.
3
The Executioner stared at the rain. He brushed the water from his eyes and checked the number on the modest house in the Laurelhurst section of town.
Nice houses, old but well built, with good lawns. He walked up from the sidewalk and rang the bell.
Also Capezio should have known better than to answer the door himself. But he was young and still learning.
"Yeah?" he said, standing in the doorway.
Bolan grabbed his shirt, jerked him onto the dimly lit porch and pushed the muzzle of the Beretta 93-R against his temple. "Tell your wife you have to go next door and help your neighbor for a few minutes."
Capezio's eyes widened. He called the message to his wife, and Bolan closed the door.
"Who the hell are you?"
"You don't want to know, Also. We're going to your office."
Bolan pushed him toward the Thunderbird.
At the car Bolan frisked Capezio thoroughly, then shoved him across the seat to the passenger side. He got in behind the wheel.
As he drove, Bolan tossed Capezio a marksman's medal. The Mafia lieutenant examined it.
"So, you were in the Army. So what?"
"Just thought you'd enjoy thinking about it."