She sat up and shook her ample breasts and laughed. “Hey, big guy, want some of these?” She crawled toward him.

“You’re drunk,” Jo Jo said, smelling the alcohol.

“So what? I’m fantastic when I’m drunk. Just took on two of your little helpers. Told them I wouldn’t tell you their names so they wouldn’t get shot. Oops! Not supposed to talk about guns. The two guys were marvelous! Both at once. Wanna hear?”

The phone rang. Jo Jo glared at his wife, his face revealing the anger inside. The phone rang again. He grabbed it.

“Yeah?” He listened a minute. “No shit?” He listened again. “Yeah, right... Bastard! Get Nino down there right away to start putting things back together. I want that place ready for business tomorrow night. We can’t afford to have the Flamingo dark. Get moving!”

He shook his head and hung up. He scowled at his wife. “Get some coffee and then go to bed. I’ll deal with you in the morning.”

Jo Jo went to the garage, stepped into the Cadillac and drove downtown to check on the damage at the Flamingo.

At the Flamingo half an hour later, Nino Tattaglia frowned. He had expected Bolan would hit them somewhere, but not like this. The Flamingo was the flagship of the Nazarione gambling operation. The old man had stuck to gambling as his main source of income, leaving narcotics to the other families.

Nino talked with the cops, identified the two slain men and began looking for some solid proof. He had talked to Mack Bolan a week earlier, and the Executioner had said he would be coming to Baltimore soon. Nino was surprised at how soon. Against a wall, he found a black-and-dull-silver army marksman’s badge, the Executioner’s trademark. He showed it to the police.