The blood at Bolan's ribs had congealed, the wounds minimal, the pellets from the shotgun blast obviously having grazed the ribs and gone on. Still, there was some discomfort there and Bolan was finding his patience beginning to fray.

They pulled to a halt in the theatre circle. Bolan said, "Give me the keys and get out."

Giliamo did so, watching his captor narrowly as Bolan slid out from the other side.

"Over there," Bolan said, waggling the Uzi.

"Over where?"

"Up on the stage."

Giliamo stared at Bolan for a silent moment, then whirled about and trudged away with Bolan close behind. They climbed the steps to the stage, then Giliamo blurted, "Hey look, what the hell are we doing up here?"

"You like to act, Danno," Bolan quietly replied. "I thought I'd give you a stage."

The big man stiffened, then sagged noticeably. His voice was muffled with anger as he said, "If you knew who I was, why'd you let me keep it up?"

"Get out there at the center of the stage," Bolan commanded.

"You go to hell," Giliamo snarled. "If you're gonna kill me, do it right here."

Bolan rapped him across the face with the butt of the Vzi, not lightly. Giliamo staggered back, holding one hand to the injured jaw, and went where Bolan directed.

"Down on your knees," Bolan said.

The caporegimeglared at him, but did as he was told.

"Where do you want it?" Bolan asked, thrusting the Vziforward.

Giliamo choked on the words. "You know I don't want it anywheres, Bolan."

"You've been bullshitting me for ten full minutes, Danno. You can stop it now anytime you want. You can stop something else too, Danno."

"You know I can't. If I talk, and you don't kill me, then they'll just do it later on anyway. I'd rather just get it over with right here."

"Who's going to know you talked, Danno? Who's going to tell them?"

The Jerseyite was thinking about it. Presently, in an almost inaudible voice, he asked, "Just what is it you want to know?"

"Who did it to the old man?"

"You ast me that a dozen times already! And I still don't know what you're talkin' about!"

"The old man in the museum, Danno. Who tied him up like a turkey and shoved a hot iron under his back?"

"Shit, I don't know what you're talking about, Bolan, that's God's truth."

"Are you saying that you or none of your boys did it?"

"That's what I'm saying, whatever it is."

"You were in that museum, Danno."

"Sure. I was in there for about a minute. Me'n Nick, and Sal, and one other boy I can't think of his name right now. But we didn't do nothing to no old man."

"Who is Nick?"

"Nick Trigger, also known as Nick Endante. Maybe you heard of him. He used to work for DonManzacatti, way back when."

Bolan was becoming more and more satisfied with the tone of the interrogation. Giliamo was loosening up nicely. He said, "Yeah. So what is Nick Trigger doing in England?"

"He's enforcing."

"So what was he enforcing at that museum tonight?"

"Nick was my contact here, see. I come over about a week ago, while you was in France. Look, I didn't ask for the lousy job, Bolan. I never wanted it. I got nothing personal against you. But when the bosses say go, the Danno Giliamo goes. You gotta understand that."

"Yeah, I understand that, Danno. But about this Nick Trigger. How'd he get onto that thing at the museum?"

The prisoner was obviously working towards a decision, a very important one to him. Life and death hung in the balance, and his soul was sweating. He grimaced and said, "You're putting me on one hell of a spot, you know that."

Bolan shrugged his shoulders. "It's just between you and me, Danno. But you better make up your mind. I'm not standing out here all night."

"How do I know you're not going to execute me anyway?"

Bolan shrugged again. "I guess that's just the chance you have to take, Danno. But for what it's worth, I don't kill my friends. Not even temporary ones."

Giliamo took a deep breath and said, "Okay. What was it you ast me?"

"I want to know the connection between Nick Trigger and that museum back there."

"Well, like I said, he's enforcing. He's got some hooks into the guys that run that place. I don't know what exactly. They're a bunch of queers or something I think, and Nick's got it into them over that I guess."

"Okay, so how did he know to look for me there?"

"Honest to God, Bolan, I don't know. Nick isn't— wasn't, I guess he's a toasted weenie right now—he wasn't the most talkative boy around. He called me up the other night and told me to look for you at Dover.

He even gave me the name of the boat and the time and everything. Then after we lost you down there, he told me to look for you at that joint, that museum up there. That's all I know about it."

"But you guess he had a pipeline, eh?"

"Yeah, it sure looks like it."

"Okay, now about tonight. You said you were inside the museum. When was that?"

"That was about ten thirty, maybe a quarter 'til eleven. But we didn't see no old man. There was just this uppity little prick, talked with a fancy English accent. We spent most of our time just getting up there where he was at, hadda tramp through all those queer rooms. They got some sick stuff in that joint, Bolan. Or I guess you know about that."

Bolan said, "Yeah." His jaw had stiffened and his mouth was suddenly quite dry. "What about those little rooms on the second floor? What was in them?"

"Buncha fuckin' torture stuff, you know what."

"No people?"

"No people 'cept us. What're you getting at?"

"This little guy," Bolan said. "About five-six or seven? Stiff as a ramrod?"

"Yeah, that's the guy. Talked to us like we were dirt, and him queer as a three dollar bill I guess. I felt like sluggin 'im."

"What'd you talk to him about?"

"Not me, it was Nick. They went off to themselves and parleyed about something. Just took a minute, then we left. Nick—"

"Who else did you see in there, besides this little guy?"

"There was a lotta people down in that cunt room, you know, kids. Getting ready for a party or something, I guess."

"Okay, go on with what you were saying about Nick."

"What was that?"

"You left. Then Nick did something."

"Oh. Well, Nick sat out in the car with us 'til this guy came out, about ten minutes later. Then they took off together."

"Whotook off together?"

"Nick and this queer little prick. They took off together. Few minutes later the other queers started draggin' in. In fancy limousines, some of 'em. Cars dropped 'em off and went on. I never went back inside after that."

Thoughtfully, Bolan said, "But there were three boys inside during the firefight. They came out and threw down on me."

"Well, that was something else all over again. Those boys found a tunnel or something, just before the fight started. We figured that was your way in and out, and we found your callin' cards—the three boys with the broken necks or whatever. Those boys went in under the ground to smoke you out, Bolan. That's all I know about that."

"I think you're giving it to me straight, Danno," Bolan said quietly.

"I am."

"Okay, just one more thing. Where's the family headquarters in this town?"

"Aw shit, I just can't give you that, Bolan. That's too much, I could never live with myself."

Bolan watched him for a moment, then said, "Okay, I guess you're right. Get going, Danno."

"You're letting me go?"

"A deal's a deal. Goodbye, Danno."

"You're not, uh, going to shoot me in the back, Bolan."

"You know better." Bolan removed the clip from the Uziand jammed it into his pouch. "Just go on."

The caporegimecould hardly believe his good luck. He struggled to his feet and said, "I ain't really told you anything to be ashamed of."