"Would you like to make a statement?"

"Not unless I'm under arrest."

"You know you're not under arrest."

"Then I have no statement," Bolan said, smiling tightly.

"What sort of screwy ideas you got in that noodle of yours, Sarge?"

Bolan held his hands up, palms out "No screws whatsoever," he replied.

"When are you due back in Vietnam?"

"I'm not due back." Bolan grinned engagingly. "New orders came yesterday. Humanitarian reassignment."

"Reassignment where?" Weatherbee asked quickly.

"To the ROTC Unit at Franklin High, right here in Pittsfield."

"Aw shit! the policeman exploded.

"Because of the kid brother," Bolan added meekly. "I'm his only kin."

Weatherbee charged to his feet and paced the floor between the desk and the door, working furiously at a sudden charge of static energy. "Well, this just complicates the hell out of things," he said presently. I thought you'd be tucked securely away in those jungles and out of my hair." He stabbed a finger to punctuate each word as he added, The front lines of Vietnam would be the most humanitarian assignment you could get!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bolan said uneasily.

"Sure you do, you know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the Mafia, an organization that can't afford to forgive and forget. I'm talking about a guy known as 'The Executioner,' who may or may not have executed five of their number-and those guys don't give anybody the benefit of any doubts the way the law does. I'm talking about the streets of my city becoming a shooting gallery, and of my inability to do anything but sit on the sidelines and watch like a spectator because I don't have any physical evidence to take into a court of law.

"I'm levelling with you, Sarge. Understand this! You're up the creek whether you're guilty or not! You look guilty as sin-maybe not guilty enough for a court of law, but guilty sure as hell enough for the law of the Mafia! They may not get to you today, or even tomorrow, but believe me they will get to you.