CHAPTER FOUR: FAMILIES AT WAR
The red Porsche drove down the residential street coming to a stop in the driveway of a small house decorated with a fake brick exterior. The driver, an average looking male in his early twenties, stepped out of the car and around to the passenger door, which he opened. The female passenger stepped out and almost immediately their arms went around each other as they walked to the front door.
It was late, so once at the door, the two exchanged a few words and then kissed good night. The driver returned to his car, backed out of the driveway and drove off.
****
Less then a mile down the road high beams of headlights pulled up so close behind the Porsche that they were all the driver could see in his rearview mirror.
This would have made any driver nervous, but more so for this one due to the lifestyle he lead. This very well could be more then just a bad driver who forgot to turn his high beams off. This could be real trouble.
Then the van behind the Porsche passed it on the left, so close that they almost sideswiped each other. Once the van passed the Porsche, it cut back into the same lane so close that the only chance to avoid a collision was for the Porsche's driver to take his car off road, which he did narrowly avoiding hitting the van anyway and ran head on into an old oak tree.
The Porsche's driver wiped the blood caused by flying glass away from his eyes and unfastened his seatbelt. Then he opened his glove box and removed a small pistol. His nerves were so frazzled after all that had happened so quick that he was unable to hold on to the firearm, which fell onto the passenger's side floor. The driver leaned over in an attempt to retrieve it.
However, before this happened he heard a deep voice say, "H.B. Devenolla?"
H.B. turned his head to face the voice while his hand continued looking for the fallen weapon and answered though where the driver's side window use to be, "Yeah. That's me, but you have me at a disadvantage since I don't know your name."
The stranger who was dressed entirely in black and had an Uzi trained right on H.B.'s head replied, "I have you at a greater disadvantage then that. You might as well give up finding your gun, mine is trained on you and you'd be dead before you could consider bringing yours to bear on me."
With this, H.B. brought both of his hands to rest on the steering wheel and asked, "What is it you want then?"
The stranger answered, "I just wanted to say good night."
Seconds later H.B.'s head looked like it was waiting to be grilled up and served on a bun with mayo onions and pickles. The stranger tossed something into the wreckage of a once very nice car and the marksman's medal came to rest on the mangled remains of H.B. Devenolla's head.
With this the stranger casually walked back to his van and drove off. The Executioner had come to Los Angeles.
**
After his brief meeting with H.B. Devenolla, Marcus Bolan returned to his hotel room where he had a message at the front desk to call the old man. He knew that meant Hal Brognola and quickly returned his call.
"Junior," The relieved voice said, "I was afraid you wouldn't return my call tonight." Hal opened with.
"Firecracker, what's wrong?"
"I've just learned that the government knows who you are." Was the answer.
There was a second of stunned silence and then Marcus inquired, "How?"
"Well, you weren't to careful with your finger prints in Chicago and Dallas. Plus, it didn't take long after your desertion for the government to figure out who you were. The way the demolishing of the mafia went down in those cities, a very well trained individual or a team of very well trained individuals could only have carried it out. Now let's think about it, a recently deserted Navy SEAL whose family tree has a history of not playing very well with the mob and who has an ax to grind with them. Either way, they know who you are."
Marcus laid back on the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose in concentration, exhaled heavily and asked, "How long do I have until this is officially released?"
The answer was, "Well, it is being kept very hush hush right now and the only people who are suppose to know are those in the FBI, the Congress and the White House with an official need to know. But as you know, leaks happen. I already know that a few minor leaks have happened because I found out from my sources within the FBI. Now, if I'm able to find out from my sources in the FBI, then the media will be able to find out from theirs. Or a Congressman who thinks that busting you wide open might be the key to reelection could very well have sources in the FBI Or as far as we know, the Commission very well could have their own sources in the FBI, Congress or even the White House. So to answer your question you may have no time left at all before they know who you are."
Bolan sighed and said, "Well firecracker. Your just a bucket of good news tonight aren't you."
"I'm sorry that the news couldn't be happier, but I thought you'd want to know right away." Hal said with a hint of remorse in his voice.
"No, no you did the right thing Firecracker and I appreciate it. Thanks. I'll be in touch." Marcus said and then hung up the phone.
After ending the conversation, Bolan laid back on the bed and thought about the newest development of his one-man war on the mafia.
**
The mood that evening at the Devenolla Estate wasn't any better. The news of H.B.'s demise had reached them.
Tony Devenolla, a very rotund man with closer to triple chins instead of double chins was obviously fighting back crying in front of his men.
"It's Bolan. He tore of Chicago, he tore up Dallas, now he is here to tear us up." One of the Devenolla lieutenants said.
"But what we have to know is if it is really Bolan. Did H.B. and the other's miss and Bolan get Bolan hunting again? Is it a copycat like some say, an obsessed fan, who is after us for whacking his hero? Is it a brother, son, cousin, nephew like some say? Or even, is it the ghost of Bolan, come back from beyond the grave to exact revenge for his untimely departure from the world?" Another Devenolla crew chief brainstormed.
"Whichever way it is, we have to increase our defenses. Whoever it is, is here for Don Devenolla. I won't let him get him like he got Don Caparone and Don Damino. I'm going to boost defenses of the house; we will begin traveling in a motorcade like the freaking president." Devenolla's chief bodyguard said.
"Enough of this Bolan talk. There is no Bolan. Bolan died. It is not a copycat, it is not a family member, and since there is clearly no such things as ghost, goblins, and ghouls there is no Ghost of Bolan hunting our organization." Tony Devenolla cut in with much grief and anger evident in face and voice.
"Boss, with your life on the line we can't just go on living happy go lucky. Someone took out H.B. like they took out the other hammers on the Bolan hit. In Dallas and Chicago they weren't happy with just taking out the hammers, they took the Dons to. You're in danger. We can't ignore this." The chief bodyguard retorted.
Tony Devenolla stood up, tipped over the table the others were sitting at in a rage of fury and said, "You think I've lived this long in the life being stupid. You keep talking this Bolan nonsense and you won't see the say that young soldiers are referring to you as one of the old men. You won't rise in the family because we will have lowered you into the ground long before you get the chance to rise."
"Boss, who do you think it is then?" A different crew chief asked.
"Easy. Lets think about this. Lets see if this makes more since then the return of Mack Bolan." Tony Devenolla said in a mocking and patronizing tone of voice, " We have visitors in town don't we. The weakest family on the commission is here, who it just also happens that we have bad blood with going back beyond my father. They say their here as a "peace delegation", working with a "peace delegation" of our own to work out a truce to the cold war that has existed since the 1950s between the two families. Really it is a cover for taking us out and giving themselves a better seat at the table."
Silence filled the room for a second and then Tony continued, "The Gravani hit Chicago, the Gravani hit Dallas. They hit those places to start this talk of Bolan that you all seem to enjoy spouting. They were preparing for their visit here. So that they could rub us out. After we are gone, this Bolan will mysteriously disappear. They might even sacrifice a few of their own just to make it look good. When the dust settles, with the Caparone gone, the Damino gone, and the Devenolla gone, the Gravani will reap more profit then they ever did from any illicit business they are in."
Another moment of silence filled the room and Tony once again broke it by saying, "Take them out. I don't want one Gravani left at the end. Not here. Not Detroit. The only place I want anyone associated with the name Gravani is on a morgue's slab.
**
At 6 PM the next evening the war started.
Bill Gravani, the 20 year old and youngest son of Tony Gravani and the second in charge of the peace delegation from Detroit, had just finished enjoying a Mexican dinner at an LA restraunt with three of the Gravani soldiers that had come as part of the peace delegation.
Their driver hadn't shown up yet to pick them up so the four of them stood outside the restaurant smoking either a cigarette or cigar, joked and made idle chit chat. Then a brown Cadillac pulled up, this in itself wasn't unusual since it was a busy restaurant. However what happened next was. Seven men dressed in black from head to toe including the ski masks that covered their faces and the gloves on their hands, stepped out with full automatic AK-47 assault rifles pointed at the four Gravani men. The seven shadows open fired, cutting the Gravani down in a matter of seconds. They then jumped back into their Cadillac and sped off.
**
Word of the hit arrived to the hotel that Marcus Bolan was staying at. Only word didn't arrive to Marcus Bolan, but to Shawn Emoea, the underboss of the Gravani family and head of the peace delegation. Unknown to Marcus and Shawn, they were staying just a floor apart from each other.
"Boss, I've got some bad news." Emoea said into the phone as soon as it was picked up on the other end.
"Then spit it out. I've got a lot going on over here and I don't need wasted breath on a long distance call." Was Tony's reply.
"Well," Emoea began with obvious hesitation in his voice, "We've had a few ummmm developments of our own. Some of our boys got hit tonight. Bill was one of them."
Tony saying in a weak voice, "My Bill?" followed a pause on the line.
Shawn sighed and answered, "Yes boss."
"What happened?"
"We don't know for sure yet. This is LA so it could have been a drive by. But from what I've been told by people who saw it, I doubt that's the case."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well. There were several guys in the car. If it had been a gangbanger drive by they would have fired from the car, these guys got out. Gangbangers always whoop and yell during a drive by. These guys were coldly silent and never said a word. I've never heard of a banger concealing who they are. These guys wore ski masks and gloves. Gangbangers never worry about dressing for the occasion. These guys were dressed all in black."
"So, what is it your telling me Shawn?" Tony asked in regards to what he had just been told.
"Well boss. I believe it was an organized hit."
"The Devenolla?" Tony asked.
"Yes boss. I think so."
There was another moment of silence that Tony broke by asking, "So your telling me that the Devenolla invited us to L.A. just to whack those who came? To start a war?"
Shawn sighed and answered, "Yes boss. That is what I believe."
Gravani replied, "Well, there has been bad blood for a long time. For a long time the rest of The Commission has been afraid that Tony verses Tony would happen and now it is. I don't want you coming back here until every Devenolla is dead. Men Devenollas, old Devenollas, women Devenollas, baby Devenollas, dog Devenollas, cat Devenollas, and even goldfish Devenollas. Anyone or anything that is tied to the Devenolla dies. I want all their properties burned to the ground. I even want a good share of their employees dead. I want everyone to know that you don't hit the Gravani, especially when we are trying to make peace. Am I understood?
Emoea answered, "Yes sir. But I don't have enough men here for that."
Gravani answered, "You will. There is a small private airport 20 miles east of L.A. A friend of ours owns that. Be there at 6 P.M. in two days." and then broke the connection.
**
The next night, same hotel, only in Bolan's room, Marcus had the latest intelligence provided to him by Hal Brognola spread all over his bed, listening to the news and enjoying a meal from Burger King.
The newscaster was saying, "From all apparent happenings, we have a mob war occurring right here in Los Angeles. We at WCTX have confirmed that there are elements of two organized crime families here, our own Devenolla Family and the Gravani Family from Detroit Michigan. An unnamed source within the Devenolla family has told us here at WCTX that the Gravani were here for some sort of peace summit that was to end the long history of bad blood between these two families. However from the bodies the litter Los Angeles tonight, it appears that this bad blood has turned into open war...."
Bolan chuckled at this and thought, "You have to love it when they distrust each other so much that they start rubbing each other out over the actions of an outsider."
As Bolan thought this, the phone rang. He answered it to hear, " Junior this is Firecracker. Are you secure for conversation?"
"Affirmative Firecracker. What's up?" Bolan replied.
"It sounds like you've stirred up the hornet's nest there haven't you." Brognola started the conversation.
"Yeah, but the thing is. I'm not sure how." Marcus said chuckling.
"Well, we can say one thing with certainty. The mob hasn't received any leaks about who you are yet. Just lay low over there. Keep your head down and let the bad guys do your work for you."
"Oh I will. I'm just going to stay here and keep the hornets nest buzzing and then to mop up after they are done playing their games with each other."
"Ok. Just keep your head low. Firecracker out."
"Junior out."
**
The next day at 6 PM a medium size private jet flew into a private airport on the outskirts of L.A. The jet taxied to a stop.
While this was going on, Marcus Bolan cut the wire fence that ran the entire boarder of the airport and granted himself entrance. He crawled to where the cars were parked first. He found two vehicles that still had Mafioso inside, and then quickly and silently added C-4 plastic explosive to the exterior décor of these cars. He checked his remote, placed it back into his shoulder bag that was strapped to his shoulder and around his waist.
He then crawled from the cars to the sniper's nest that he has chosen on a brief examination of the grounds before he broke in, in a stretch of unmowed grass that had grown to a nice height. Once in position, he removed the sniper from his shoulder and sat it in position for quick use. He then removed the remote for the C-4 from his bag and watched as the events on the landing strip unfolded.
He saw the jet's door open and the ladder rolled into place. He then counted twenty-five Gravani hard men deplane. As these men stood there chatting, the jet refueled and took back off.
Marcus then pushed the first button on the remote quickly followed by the second button sending both cars into bright blaze. All thirty men on the landing strip drew their guns and turned to face the cars, which exposed their backs to Bolan's sniper rifle.
Bolan pulled his trigger five times and five of the newly arrived Gravani hard men fell before I knew what was happening. However, it didn't take long for the Gravani to turn around and open fire in the general direction that they had received fire from.
Bolan crawled away from their fire, back to the hole in the fence and his van awaiting him not far down the road, which he casually drove off in.
After he realized that they were no longer being shot at Emoea called a ceasefire and organized a search for the body of their assailant. All they found was a little medal military marksmen medal.
Emoea rubbed the medal between his fingers and said, "So it was the Devenolla in Dallas and Chicago. I have to let Tony know of this to."
**
As the days went by, the fighting between the Gravani and the Devenolla continued. Both sides loosing men. The Gravani had sent even more men from Detroit to assist in the war in L.A.
During this time, Marcus Bolan sat back content to watch the events he had accidentally set off. He only occasionally added his own touch to keep the confusion confusing.
A car loaded with Devenolla sat outside the First American National Bank waiting for the Gravani who had entered to come out.
"That's the nice thing about these big banks. You can get your money at home, you can get your money while your away, and your target becomes so much more predictable." One of the Devenolla said.
As this was said, Marcus walked by the car. Dressed in everyday cloths, the Devenolla didn't think anything about him until he tossed a hand grenade through an open window and ran to an alley just a few feet from where the car sat and rounded the corner.
Another explosion rocked L.A. Marcus glimpsed around the corner and noted to his grim satisfaction that none of the Devenolla had time to make it out of the car before it went off.
To insure that he didn't draw attention to himself by moving away from the shattered remains of the car, he joined the mass of curious onlookers who were gathering and discreetly dropped a marksmen medal on the ground near he hollowed out shell of a car for the police, the Gravani, or the Devenolla to find.
Yes, this has been the easiest campaign of Bolan's war yet, possibly the easiest of his and his father's war. All he needed to do was to provide a few nudges now and then to keep it going.
**
Later that night the Devenolla house was in an uproar of argument.
"Boss, this is a very bad idea. With this whole Gravani thing going on you should stay in the house. We control this environment. You go outside, and we can no longer completely control everything that happens. It's not like you have to stay inside forever, it's just until this Gravani affair is all said and done." His chief bodyguard said.
"This is the Charkovski exhibit. The youngest artist ever. He was rubbed out by the Russian government at age nine during the rule of Lenin." Tony said.
"Yes, I know boss. But, is seeing the paintings of some dead brat right now worth your life? Your love of art is no secret and if you know of this show, I'd put money on it that the Gravani do to. Why don't you just catch it the next time it comes to town?" The bodyguard replied.
"The next time it comes to town?" Tony Devenolla said his voice full of sarcasm and his annoyance becoming evident in his voice, "There might not be a next time. This is the first time ever that it has come to the United States. First time EVER, and I won't miss it."
"Boss. Under ordinary circumstances this would be no problem. But with the Gravani gunning for all of us, your going to this show would make it to hard to protect you. There will be too many faces we don't know as friend, foe, or nobody. You don't see don Gravani exposing himself by showing up around here do you? No, he is sitting all cozy in Detroit all safe and snug as a bug in a rug sir." The Bodyguard argued on.
Raising his voice, Devenolla ended the discussion by saying, "Look. I'm the boss your not. I say where we go and when we go. You don't. Your job is to protect me. So I'd suggest you figure out how to do your job at this exhibit. If you don't feel up to the task, I'll save the Gravani the trouble of rubbing you out and find someone to replace you who can do the job. Am I understood? I will never get the chance to see this pieces again and you know it. I don't care if you have to bring every man in the family. We are going.
**
At the same time this discussion was occurring, Shawn Emoea and the twelve capos of his hit crews were mobbed up in their hotel planning hits against the Devenolla and trying to figure out how they were going to get to the old man himself.
None of them were paying attention to the TV, which was on mostly for sound when the following advertisement caught Shawn Emoea's attention, "For one night only the works of the world's youngest art prodigy Yuri Charkovski will make it's American debut right here in Los Angeles. Los Angeles was chosen for this honored event because of the sophisticated taste in art its residents have. This is your once in a lifetime opportunity to see the work that so scared a Russian leader that he had this young artist and his entire family executed when he was only nine years old. After this show, you'll have to travel to other countries to see these masterpieces for the next fifty years, because that's how long these pieces are booked for outside the United States. So don't miss this chance, you, your children, your grandchildren and possibly your great grandchildren will not have another opportunity."
Shawn looked at the others and said, "Old man Devenolla is an art nut right?"
"Yeah. So?" Was the answer and question posed by one of the Gravani hammers.
" So, we can take the rest of the night off. All we have to do is have all of our boys art this Russian kid's thing and we win." Is how Emoea answered.
The twelve men in the room chuckled and Emoea returned their humor with a disgusted look.
"What boss? You really don't think the old man is stupid enough to his face at this art thing with a war going on in his backyard now do you?" One of the capos asked.
Emoea took a slow drag off of his cigar, and calmly looked at each of the crew bosses as inwardly he worked to calm his irritation. "It's easy. Old man Devenolla is a fool. He feels like an iron man here in L.A. He will go to this and he will have a good many of his men there. What he doesn't know is that most of the Gravani are here to."
"Boss, you really don't think.." One of the capos started.
Emoea cut the capo off, "Yes I do. And we will be there. All of us, in force. This war will end there that night. After that night, the Devenolla will be as extinct as the dinosaurs."
**
For about the first half hour, everything at the art exhibit was, as you would imagine such an event. Quite mummer of conversation, everyone wearing suits and dresses, admiration of the young talent that was cut short.
Marcus enjoyed moving among the people, civilian, and Mafioso alike while he could without his face being recognized. It was a luxury that he knew he wouldn't have for much longer; this game of his was about to get real rough. This would probably be his last campaign of enjoying being completely unknown among those he hunts.
Then the first shots rang out. They came from outside the auditorium that had been rented to host the exhibit. In a matter of seconds it became obvious inside the auditorium who was civilian and who was combatant. The civilians were cowering anywhere and everywhere they could to hide from the bullets that could have been coming from and going to anywhere.
It was also for the most part noticeable on who was Gravani and who was Devenolla. A large portion of the Devenolla was huddled with their backs turned towards him around Tony providing him the best protective bubble they could. The rest provided a firing line, which broke as soon as the Gravani inside the building open fired. Shortly after the firing line broke, so did the protective bubble and it was everyone for himself.
Within minutes bodies from both families and the civilians that didn't move fast enough littered the auditorium floor. Holes were punched through priceless treasures that had been painstakingly preserved for decades.
Upon seeing that his side was not going to win this battle, although credit was due to his men considering that only a handful of Gravani remained standing, the fearless leader of the Devenolla family beat a hasty retreat to the rear of the auditorium to the emergency exit for he couldn't think of much more of an emergency then having a lot of armed men hunting you.
Once he was outside Tony noticed the fifteen corpses in the back of the building. Fighting the urge the contents of his stomach had to evacuate his body he quickly moved around the side of the building to where he noticed more bodies.
"They actually fought to the last man out here, like they are doing inside right now." Tony thought as he moved around to the front of the building.
In the front of the building he discovered the true reason no one was left living outside. In front of him stood a man in his late twenties, dressed entirely in black putting a bullet into the head of the last living wounded Gravani. He had the pistol in his hand, two more in holsters one on each hip, a third pistol in a shoulder holster, a bandolier of grenades strapped to his chest and an M-16 slung to his shoulder.
" Don Devenolla. I can't thank you enough for holding the Gravani accountable for me killing your boy. This little war of yours has saved me so much trouble here in L.A."
"You? Huh? Who are you?" Tony Devenolla asked, his puzzlement plain in his voice.
"That's easy my dear soon to be dead man. I'm Marcus Bolan. The son of Mack Bolan and Toby Bolan who you are guilty of ordering murdered in cold blood."
A look of pure shock registered on Devenolla's face as he asked, "But what are you doing here?"
"That's easy. I'm making sure that no one leaves this little party alive. I simply waited for your boys and the boys Gravani sent all this way to duel it out, and then picked off those that remained alive. I'm on my way inside to make sure that all the police have to deal with when they get here are bodies. To be honest, I'm surprised to find you outside." Marcus said and then added with a note of sarcasm in his voice, "What an example you are to your men."
Devenolla went for the pistol he had concealed under his jacket, but Bolan got the drop on him. It all seemed in slow motion for both men. Devenolla reached into his jacket and in response Bolan raised the Glock that was in his hand at his side. Marcus took a brief but careful aim on Devenolla and pulled the trigger. The bullet went in as a small hole but came out by removing the back of Tony's head leaving his face as a mostly empty shell before his body made it's slow decent to the ground.
He then dropped one of his signature marksmen medals on Tony's chest and went inside the auditorium to finish his work quickly before the police arrived.
**
In Detroit, Tony Gravani laid in his bed relaxing watching the late night news when the newscaster made this announcement, "Murderer or hero? That is the question on many minds tonight. From official sources within the U.S. Justice Department, we now know who has been raising terror among the ranks of the Mafia underworld. Since the mysterious murders started rumor after rumor circulated among official and unofficial circles but an anonymous source has broke the news that the murder's name is Marcus Bolan. The true to life son of Mack Bolan that no one knew about, and that he didn't know about until after mafia hit men gunned down his parents. Bolan is a Navy S.E.A.L wanted by the Navy for desertion, and now wanted by the many civilian agencies as well for multiple murders. The number of murders he has committed is unknown right now because apparently he struck again in the middle of a mob war in Los Angeles. Here is a photo of Marcus Bolan that was provided along with the leak from the Justice Department. If you see this man, a cautious warning from our station do not approach him and please do not try to apprehend him. He has proven himself to be very dangerous. If you do see this man, please contact your local police dept or the FBI."
Tony Gravani's face drained of blood and became white enough that you would mistake him for a vampire. In a murderous rage he jumped up and knocked the TV off its stand shattering all over his floor.
He returned to his bed and sat on its foot resting his elbows on his knees and his head in the palms of his hands as he though, "Why? Why couldn't it have been the Devenolla making a power play? I've just seriously depleted my manpower to solve this problem and I am nowhere. NOWHERE!!!!!!! And to make things worse, I know I'm on his list. So I have a madman after me and less protection then I've ever had in my life."
The red Porsche drove down the residential street coming to a stop in the driveway of a small house decorated with a fake brick exterior. The driver, an average looking male in his early twenties, stepped out of the car and around to the passenger door, which he opened. The female passenger stepped out and almost immediately their arms went around each other as they walked to the front door.
It was late, so once at the door, the two exchanged a few words and then kissed good night. The driver returned to his car, backed out of the driveway and drove off.
****
Less then a mile down the road high beams of headlights pulled up so close behind the Porsche that they were all the driver could see in his rearview mirror.
This would have made any driver nervous, but more so for this one due to the lifestyle he lead. This very well could be more then just a bad driver who forgot to turn his high beams off. This could be real trouble.
Then the van behind the Porsche passed it on the left, so close that they almost sideswiped each other. Once the van passed the Porsche, it cut back into the same lane so close that the only chance to avoid a collision was for the Porsche's driver to take his car off road, which he did narrowly avoiding hitting the van anyway and ran head on into an old oak tree.
The Porsche's driver wiped the blood caused by flying glass away from his eyes and unfastened his seatbelt. Then he opened his glove box and removed a small pistol. His nerves were so frazzled after all that had happened so quick that he was unable to hold on to the firearm, which fell onto the passenger's side floor. The driver leaned over in an attempt to retrieve it.
However, before this happened he heard a deep voice say, "H.B. Devenolla?"
H.B. turned his head to face the voice while his hand continued looking for the fallen weapon and answered though where the driver's side window use to be, "Yeah. That's me, but you have me at a disadvantage since I don't know your name."
The stranger who was dressed entirely in black and had an Uzi trained right on H.B.'s head replied, "I have you at a greater disadvantage then that. You might as well give up finding your gun, mine is trained on you and you'd be dead before you could consider bringing yours to bear on me."
With this, H.B. brought both of his hands to rest on the steering wheel and asked, "What is it you want then?"
The stranger answered, "I just wanted to say good night."
Seconds later H.B.'s head looked like it was waiting to be grilled up and served on a bun with mayo onions and pickles. The stranger tossed something into the wreckage of a once very nice car and the marksman's medal came to rest on the mangled remains of H.B. Devenolla's head.
With this the stranger casually walked back to his van and drove off. The Executioner had come to Los Angeles.
**
After his brief meeting with H.B. Devenolla, Marcus Bolan returned to his hotel room where he had a message at the front desk to call the old man. He knew that meant Hal Brognola and quickly returned his call.
"Junior," The relieved voice said, "I was afraid you wouldn't return my call tonight." Hal opened with.
"Firecracker, what's wrong?"
"I've just learned that the government knows who you are." Was the answer.
There was a second of stunned silence and then Marcus inquired, "How?"
"Well, you weren't to careful with your finger prints in Chicago and Dallas. Plus, it didn't take long after your desertion for the government to figure out who you were. The way the demolishing of the mafia went down in those cities, a very well trained individual or a team of very well trained individuals could only have carried it out. Now let's think about it, a recently deserted Navy SEAL whose family tree has a history of not playing very well with the mob and who has an ax to grind with them. Either way, they know who you are."
Marcus laid back on the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose in concentration, exhaled heavily and asked, "How long do I have until this is officially released?"
The answer was, "Well, it is being kept very hush hush right now and the only people who are suppose to know are those in the FBI, the Congress and the White House with an official need to know. But as you know, leaks happen. I already know that a few minor leaks have happened because I found out from my sources within the FBI. Now, if I'm able to find out from my sources in the FBI, then the media will be able to find out from theirs. Or a Congressman who thinks that busting you wide open might be the key to reelection could very well have sources in the FBI Or as far as we know, the Commission very well could have their own sources in the FBI, Congress or even the White House. So to answer your question you may have no time left at all before they know who you are."
Bolan sighed and said, "Well firecracker. Your just a bucket of good news tonight aren't you."
"I'm sorry that the news couldn't be happier, but I thought you'd want to know right away." Hal said with a hint of remorse in his voice.
"No, no you did the right thing Firecracker and I appreciate it. Thanks. I'll be in touch." Marcus said and then hung up the phone.
After ending the conversation, Bolan laid back on the bed and thought about the newest development of his one-man war on the mafia.
**
The mood that evening at the Devenolla Estate wasn't any better. The news of H.B.'s demise had reached them.
Tony Devenolla, a very rotund man with closer to triple chins instead of double chins was obviously fighting back crying in front of his men.
"It's Bolan. He tore of Chicago, he tore up Dallas, now he is here to tear us up." One of the Devenolla lieutenants said.
"But what we have to know is if it is really Bolan. Did H.B. and the other's miss and Bolan get Bolan hunting again? Is it a copycat like some say, an obsessed fan, who is after us for whacking his hero? Is it a brother, son, cousin, nephew like some say? Or even, is it the ghost of Bolan, come back from beyond the grave to exact revenge for his untimely departure from the world?" Another Devenolla crew chief brainstormed.
"Whichever way it is, we have to increase our defenses. Whoever it is, is here for Don Devenolla. I won't let him get him like he got Don Caparone and Don Damino. I'm going to boost defenses of the house; we will begin traveling in a motorcade like the freaking president." Devenolla's chief bodyguard said.
"Enough of this Bolan talk. There is no Bolan. Bolan died. It is not a copycat, it is not a family member, and since there is clearly no such things as ghost, goblins, and ghouls there is no Ghost of Bolan hunting our organization." Tony Devenolla cut in with much grief and anger evident in face and voice.
"Boss, with your life on the line we can't just go on living happy go lucky. Someone took out H.B. like they took out the other hammers on the Bolan hit. In Dallas and Chicago they weren't happy with just taking out the hammers, they took the Dons to. You're in danger. We can't ignore this." The chief bodyguard retorted.
Tony Devenolla stood up, tipped over the table the others were sitting at in a rage of fury and said, "You think I've lived this long in the life being stupid. You keep talking this Bolan nonsense and you won't see the say that young soldiers are referring to you as one of the old men. You won't rise in the family because we will have lowered you into the ground long before you get the chance to rise."
"Boss, who do you think it is then?" A different crew chief asked.
"Easy. Lets think about this. Lets see if this makes more since then the return of Mack Bolan." Tony Devenolla said in a mocking and patronizing tone of voice, " We have visitors in town don't we. The weakest family on the commission is here, who it just also happens that we have bad blood with going back beyond my father. They say their here as a "peace delegation", working with a "peace delegation" of our own to work out a truce to the cold war that has existed since the 1950s between the two families. Really it is a cover for taking us out and giving themselves a better seat at the table."
Silence filled the room for a second and then Tony continued, "The Gravani hit Chicago, the Gravani hit Dallas. They hit those places to start this talk of Bolan that you all seem to enjoy spouting. They were preparing for their visit here. So that they could rub us out. After we are gone, this Bolan will mysteriously disappear. They might even sacrifice a few of their own just to make it look good. When the dust settles, with the Caparone gone, the Damino gone, and the Devenolla gone, the Gravani will reap more profit then they ever did from any illicit business they are in."
Another moment of silence filled the room and Tony once again broke it by saying, "Take them out. I don't want one Gravani left at the end. Not here. Not Detroit. The only place I want anyone associated with the name Gravani is on a morgue's slab.
**
At 6 PM the next evening the war started.
Bill Gravani, the 20 year old and youngest son of Tony Gravani and the second in charge of the peace delegation from Detroit, had just finished enjoying a Mexican dinner at an LA restraunt with three of the Gravani soldiers that had come as part of the peace delegation.
Their driver hadn't shown up yet to pick them up so the four of them stood outside the restaurant smoking either a cigarette or cigar, joked and made idle chit chat. Then a brown Cadillac pulled up, this in itself wasn't unusual since it was a busy restaurant. However what happened next was. Seven men dressed in black from head to toe including the ski masks that covered their faces and the gloves on their hands, stepped out with full automatic AK-47 assault rifles pointed at the four Gravani men. The seven shadows open fired, cutting the Gravani down in a matter of seconds. They then jumped back into their Cadillac and sped off.
**
Word of the hit arrived to the hotel that Marcus Bolan was staying at. Only word didn't arrive to Marcus Bolan, but to Shawn Emoea, the underboss of the Gravani family and head of the peace delegation. Unknown to Marcus and Shawn, they were staying just a floor apart from each other.
"Boss, I've got some bad news." Emoea said into the phone as soon as it was picked up on the other end.
"Then spit it out. I've got a lot going on over here and I don't need wasted breath on a long distance call." Was Tony's reply.
"Well," Emoea began with obvious hesitation in his voice, "We've had a few ummmm developments of our own. Some of our boys got hit tonight. Bill was one of them."
Tony saying in a weak voice, "My Bill?" followed a pause on the line.
Shawn sighed and answered, "Yes boss."
"What happened?"
"We don't know for sure yet. This is LA so it could have been a drive by. But from what I've been told by people who saw it, I doubt that's the case."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well. There were several guys in the car. If it had been a gangbanger drive by they would have fired from the car, these guys got out. Gangbangers always whoop and yell during a drive by. These guys were coldly silent and never said a word. I've never heard of a banger concealing who they are. These guys wore ski masks and gloves. Gangbangers never worry about dressing for the occasion. These guys were dressed all in black."
"So, what is it your telling me Shawn?" Tony asked in regards to what he had just been told.
"Well boss. I believe it was an organized hit."
"The Devenolla?" Tony asked.
"Yes boss. I think so."
There was another moment of silence that Tony broke by asking, "So your telling me that the Devenolla invited us to L.A. just to whack those who came? To start a war?"
Shawn sighed and answered, "Yes boss. That is what I believe."
Gravani replied, "Well, there has been bad blood for a long time. For a long time the rest of The Commission has been afraid that Tony verses Tony would happen and now it is. I don't want you coming back here until every Devenolla is dead. Men Devenollas, old Devenollas, women Devenollas, baby Devenollas, dog Devenollas, cat Devenollas, and even goldfish Devenollas. Anyone or anything that is tied to the Devenolla dies. I want all their properties burned to the ground. I even want a good share of their employees dead. I want everyone to know that you don't hit the Gravani, especially when we are trying to make peace. Am I understood?
Emoea answered, "Yes sir. But I don't have enough men here for that."
Gravani answered, "You will. There is a small private airport 20 miles east of L.A. A friend of ours owns that. Be there at 6 P.M. in two days." and then broke the connection.
**
The next night, same hotel, only in Bolan's room, Marcus had the latest intelligence provided to him by Hal Brognola spread all over his bed, listening to the news and enjoying a meal from Burger King.
The newscaster was saying, "From all apparent happenings, we have a mob war occurring right here in Los Angeles. We at WCTX have confirmed that there are elements of two organized crime families here, our own Devenolla Family and the Gravani Family from Detroit Michigan. An unnamed source within the Devenolla family has told us here at WCTX that the Gravani were here for some sort of peace summit that was to end the long history of bad blood between these two families. However from the bodies the litter Los Angeles tonight, it appears that this bad blood has turned into open war...."
Bolan chuckled at this and thought, "You have to love it when they distrust each other so much that they start rubbing each other out over the actions of an outsider."
As Bolan thought this, the phone rang. He answered it to hear, " Junior this is Firecracker. Are you secure for conversation?"
"Affirmative Firecracker. What's up?" Bolan replied.
"It sounds like you've stirred up the hornet's nest there haven't you." Brognola started the conversation.
"Yeah, but the thing is. I'm not sure how." Marcus said chuckling.
"Well, we can say one thing with certainty. The mob hasn't received any leaks about who you are yet. Just lay low over there. Keep your head down and let the bad guys do your work for you."
"Oh I will. I'm just going to stay here and keep the hornets nest buzzing and then to mop up after they are done playing their games with each other."
"Ok. Just keep your head low. Firecracker out."
"Junior out."
**
The next day at 6 PM a medium size private jet flew into a private airport on the outskirts of L.A. The jet taxied to a stop.
While this was going on, Marcus Bolan cut the wire fence that ran the entire boarder of the airport and granted himself entrance. He crawled to where the cars were parked first. He found two vehicles that still had Mafioso inside, and then quickly and silently added C-4 plastic explosive to the exterior décor of these cars. He checked his remote, placed it back into his shoulder bag that was strapped to his shoulder and around his waist.
He then crawled from the cars to the sniper's nest that he has chosen on a brief examination of the grounds before he broke in, in a stretch of unmowed grass that had grown to a nice height. Once in position, he removed the sniper from his shoulder and sat it in position for quick use. He then removed the remote for the C-4 from his bag and watched as the events on the landing strip unfolded.
He saw the jet's door open and the ladder rolled into place. He then counted twenty-five Gravani hard men deplane. As these men stood there chatting, the jet refueled and took back off.
Marcus then pushed the first button on the remote quickly followed by the second button sending both cars into bright blaze. All thirty men on the landing strip drew their guns and turned to face the cars, which exposed their backs to Bolan's sniper rifle.
Bolan pulled his trigger five times and five of the newly arrived Gravani hard men fell before I knew what was happening. However, it didn't take long for the Gravani to turn around and open fire in the general direction that they had received fire from.
Bolan crawled away from their fire, back to the hole in the fence and his van awaiting him not far down the road, which he casually drove off in.
After he realized that they were no longer being shot at Emoea called a ceasefire and organized a search for the body of their assailant. All they found was a little medal military marksmen medal.
Emoea rubbed the medal between his fingers and said, "So it was the Devenolla in Dallas and Chicago. I have to let Tony know of this to."
**
As the days went by, the fighting between the Gravani and the Devenolla continued. Both sides loosing men. The Gravani had sent even more men from Detroit to assist in the war in L.A.
During this time, Marcus Bolan sat back content to watch the events he had accidentally set off. He only occasionally added his own touch to keep the confusion confusing.
A car loaded with Devenolla sat outside the First American National Bank waiting for the Gravani who had entered to come out.
"That's the nice thing about these big banks. You can get your money at home, you can get your money while your away, and your target becomes so much more predictable." One of the Devenolla said.
As this was said, Marcus walked by the car. Dressed in everyday cloths, the Devenolla didn't think anything about him until he tossed a hand grenade through an open window and ran to an alley just a few feet from where the car sat and rounded the corner.
Another explosion rocked L.A. Marcus glimpsed around the corner and noted to his grim satisfaction that none of the Devenolla had time to make it out of the car before it went off.
To insure that he didn't draw attention to himself by moving away from the shattered remains of the car, he joined the mass of curious onlookers who were gathering and discreetly dropped a marksmen medal on the ground near he hollowed out shell of a car for the police, the Gravani, or the Devenolla to find.
Yes, this has been the easiest campaign of Bolan's war yet, possibly the easiest of his and his father's war. All he needed to do was to provide a few nudges now and then to keep it going.
**
Later that night the Devenolla house was in an uproar of argument.
"Boss, this is a very bad idea. With this whole Gravani thing going on you should stay in the house. We control this environment. You go outside, and we can no longer completely control everything that happens. It's not like you have to stay inside forever, it's just until this Gravani affair is all said and done." His chief bodyguard said.
"This is the Charkovski exhibit. The youngest artist ever. He was rubbed out by the Russian government at age nine during the rule of Lenin." Tony said.
"Yes, I know boss. But, is seeing the paintings of some dead brat right now worth your life? Your love of art is no secret and if you know of this show, I'd put money on it that the Gravani do to. Why don't you just catch it the next time it comes to town?" The bodyguard replied.
"The next time it comes to town?" Tony Devenolla said his voice full of sarcasm and his annoyance becoming evident in his voice, "There might not be a next time. This is the first time ever that it has come to the United States. First time EVER, and I won't miss it."
"Boss. Under ordinary circumstances this would be no problem. But with the Gravani gunning for all of us, your going to this show would make it to hard to protect you. There will be too many faces we don't know as friend, foe, or nobody. You don't see don Gravani exposing himself by showing up around here do you? No, he is sitting all cozy in Detroit all safe and snug as a bug in a rug sir." The Bodyguard argued on.
Raising his voice, Devenolla ended the discussion by saying, "Look. I'm the boss your not. I say where we go and when we go. You don't. Your job is to protect me. So I'd suggest you figure out how to do your job at this exhibit. If you don't feel up to the task, I'll save the Gravani the trouble of rubbing you out and find someone to replace you who can do the job. Am I understood? I will never get the chance to see this pieces again and you know it. I don't care if you have to bring every man in the family. We are going.
**
At the same time this discussion was occurring, Shawn Emoea and the twelve capos of his hit crews were mobbed up in their hotel planning hits against the Devenolla and trying to figure out how they were going to get to the old man himself.
None of them were paying attention to the TV, which was on mostly for sound when the following advertisement caught Shawn Emoea's attention, "For one night only the works of the world's youngest art prodigy Yuri Charkovski will make it's American debut right here in Los Angeles. Los Angeles was chosen for this honored event because of the sophisticated taste in art its residents have. This is your once in a lifetime opportunity to see the work that so scared a Russian leader that he had this young artist and his entire family executed when he was only nine years old. After this show, you'll have to travel to other countries to see these masterpieces for the next fifty years, because that's how long these pieces are booked for outside the United States. So don't miss this chance, you, your children, your grandchildren and possibly your great grandchildren will not have another opportunity."
Shawn looked at the others and said, "Old man Devenolla is an art nut right?"
"Yeah. So?" Was the answer and question posed by one of the Gravani hammers.
" So, we can take the rest of the night off. All we have to do is have all of our boys art this Russian kid's thing and we win." Is how Emoea answered.
The twelve men in the room chuckled and Emoea returned their humor with a disgusted look.
"What boss? You really don't think the old man is stupid enough to his face at this art thing with a war going on in his backyard now do you?" One of the capos asked.
Emoea took a slow drag off of his cigar, and calmly looked at each of the crew bosses as inwardly he worked to calm his irritation. "It's easy. Old man Devenolla is a fool. He feels like an iron man here in L.A. He will go to this and he will have a good many of his men there. What he doesn't know is that most of the Gravani are here to."
"Boss, you really don't think.." One of the capos started.
Emoea cut the capo off, "Yes I do. And we will be there. All of us, in force. This war will end there that night. After that night, the Devenolla will be as extinct as the dinosaurs."
**
For about the first half hour, everything at the art exhibit was, as you would imagine such an event. Quite mummer of conversation, everyone wearing suits and dresses, admiration of the young talent that was cut short.
Marcus enjoyed moving among the people, civilian, and Mafioso alike while he could without his face being recognized. It was a luxury that he knew he wouldn't have for much longer; this game of his was about to get real rough. This would probably be his last campaign of enjoying being completely unknown among those he hunts.
Then the first shots rang out. They came from outside the auditorium that had been rented to host the exhibit. In a matter of seconds it became obvious inside the auditorium who was civilian and who was combatant. The civilians were cowering anywhere and everywhere they could to hide from the bullets that could have been coming from and going to anywhere.
It was also for the most part noticeable on who was Gravani and who was Devenolla. A large portion of the Devenolla was huddled with their backs turned towards him around Tony providing him the best protective bubble they could. The rest provided a firing line, which broke as soon as the Gravani inside the building open fired. Shortly after the firing line broke, so did the protective bubble and it was everyone for himself.
Within minutes bodies from both families and the civilians that didn't move fast enough littered the auditorium floor. Holes were punched through priceless treasures that had been painstakingly preserved for decades.
Upon seeing that his side was not going to win this battle, although credit was due to his men considering that only a handful of Gravani remained standing, the fearless leader of the Devenolla family beat a hasty retreat to the rear of the auditorium to the emergency exit for he couldn't think of much more of an emergency then having a lot of armed men hunting you.
Once he was outside Tony noticed the fifteen corpses in the back of the building. Fighting the urge the contents of his stomach had to evacuate his body he quickly moved around the side of the building to where he noticed more bodies.
"They actually fought to the last man out here, like they are doing inside right now." Tony thought as he moved around to the front of the building.
In the front of the building he discovered the true reason no one was left living outside. In front of him stood a man in his late twenties, dressed entirely in black putting a bullet into the head of the last living wounded Gravani. He had the pistol in his hand, two more in holsters one on each hip, a third pistol in a shoulder holster, a bandolier of grenades strapped to his chest and an M-16 slung to his shoulder.
" Don Devenolla. I can't thank you enough for holding the Gravani accountable for me killing your boy. This little war of yours has saved me so much trouble here in L.A."
"You? Huh? Who are you?" Tony Devenolla asked, his puzzlement plain in his voice.
"That's easy my dear soon to be dead man. I'm Marcus Bolan. The son of Mack Bolan and Toby Bolan who you are guilty of ordering murdered in cold blood."
A look of pure shock registered on Devenolla's face as he asked, "But what are you doing here?"
"That's easy. I'm making sure that no one leaves this little party alive. I simply waited for your boys and the boys Gravani sent all this way to duel it out, and then picked off those that remained alive. I'm on my way inside to make sure that all the police have to deal with when they get here are bodies. To be honest, I'm surprised to find you outside." Marcus said and then added with a note of sarcasm in his voice, "What an example you are to your men."
Devenolla went for the pistol he had concealed under his jacket, but Bolan got the drop on him. It all seemed in slow motion for both men. Devenolla reached into his jacket and in response Bolan raised the Glock that was in his hand at his side. Marcus took a brief but careful aim on Devenolla and pulled the trigger. The bullet went in as a small hole but came out by removing the back of Tony's head leaving his face as a mostly empty shell before his body made it's slow decent to the ground.
He then dropped one of his signature marksmen medals on Tony's chest and went inside the auditorium to finish his work quickly before the police arrived.
**
In Detroit, Tony Gravani laid in his bed relaxing watching the late night news when the newscaster made this announcement, "Murderer or hero? That is the question on many minds tonight. From official sources within the U.S. Justice Department, we now know who has been raising terror among the ranks of the Mafia underworld. Since the mysterious murders started rumor after rumor circulated among official and unofficial circles but an anonymous source has broke the news that the murder's name is Marcus Bolan. The true to life son of Mack Bolan that no one knew about, and that he didn't know about until after mafia hit men gunned down his parents. Bolan is a Navy S.E.A.L wanted by the Navy for desertion, and now wanted by the many civilian agencies as well for multiple murders. The number of murders he has committed is unknown right now because apparently he struck again in the middle of a mob war in Los Angeles. Here is a photo of Marcus Bolan that was provided along with the leak from the Justice Department. If you see this man, a cautious warning from our station do not approach him and please do not try to apprehend him. He has proven himself to be very dangerous. If you do see this man, please contact your local police dept or the FBI."
Tony Gravani's face drained of blood and became white enough that you would mistake him for a vampire. In a murderous rage he jumped up and knocked the TV off its stand shattering all over his floor.
He returned to his bed and sat on its foot resting his elbows on his knees and his head in the palms of his hands as he though, "Why? Why couldn't it have been the Devenolla making a power play? I've just seriously depleted my manpower to solve this problem and I am nowhere. NOWHERE!!!!!!! And to make things worse, I know I'm on his list. So I have a madman after me and less protection then I've ever had in my life."