By four-thirty there had been no problems. The lights in her room had gone out five minutes after he left, and nothing else stirred in the complex. He fired up his car’s engine and crept away from the curb and down the street. He had to remember to call her at noon the next day.

Bolan slept until ten a.m., then quickly showered and dressed. He snapped on the tv set to catch the news.

“...and said he would have no comment. Here at home, police have identified the victim of an early-morning murder that on-the-scene people describe as a torture killing. Elizabeth Hanover, a student at the University of Baltimore, was found dead in her apartment this morning by a friend. The coroner said she had been gang-raped and tortured. There are no suspects in the crime and no apparent motive. One resident reported a car leaving the front of the apartment about four-thirty this morning.”

Bolan turned off the set and stared out the window. Either they had come quietly while he was in the car, or they had arrived after he left. He slammed his hand against the wall and swore.

Another innocent victim dead because of him! Someone who merely brushed against him for a few hours! If he had done it differently...

He hurried from the hotel and walked for two miles, working off some of his fury. Then he stopped at a phone and called the business number Nino had left for him.

“Cousin Harley — same old voice,” Nino said on the phone. “Figured I’d hear from you.”

“Nino, anybody in your family get a broken arm last night?”

Nino laughed. “Yeah, I figured you’d know about that. A little enforcer named Wally ‘The Beast’ Franconi. A damn tough cookie.”

“Not tough enough when I find him. Where does he hang out?”

“Franconi runs a poolroom over on Grand.”

“Thanks, Nino,” Bolan said, and hung up, figuring how to deal with Franconi. This had to be a day The Beast would remember for the rest of his life — no matter how few hours he had left to live, or how unpleasant they would be.