As if in answer to his thoughts the telephone began to jangle; shrill tones ripping at the predawn silence of the parking lot. Bolan scrambled from his car and caught it on the third ring.
"Morning, Sticker." It was the code name he had used with Leo Turrin in the "old days," and it felt good, rolling off his tongue without a second thought.
"Morning, hell," the gruff male voice came back at him. "I'm not awake yet. What's the rumble?"
Bolan smiled.
"Rumor has it that Minotte bought the farm last night."
Surprise was evident in Nino's distant voice.
"Oh, yeah? I hadn't heard that. Who was selling?"
"They're a new firm in town," Bolan told him. "I take it that they're based in Tokyo."
There was a moment of thoughtful silence on the other end before Tattaglia continued.
"Well, uh, maybe I have heard of that, after all."
The Executioner sensed the mafioso's hesitance, realizing the position he was in, but it did not change the immediacy of Bolan's problem, the urgency of his need.
"I need whatever I can get," he prodded.
"Well, there might be something... sorta vague, you know, but nothing definite."
Bolan could feel the strain the other man was under, wondering how much to say, what to hold back.
"Anything at all. I'm on short numbers here."
"You've got a guy out there," Tattaglia said at last. "He runs a restaurant or something. Sushi, all that kind of shit. Name's Seiji Kuwahara. What I hear, he's sort of the ambassador from Tokyo. You know?"