Chicago Vendetta. Don Pendleton

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      “You can’t wish this away no matter how hard you try.” Bolan grimaced, hesitant to say more, but he felt it was the only way he could get Rusch to come around to thinking clearly about the situation. “And I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but what I’ve learned about Shalib Grec leads me to believe half the Chicago Police Department has a target painted on its back. The only way we can stop him from killing any more of this city’s finest is by going through Esparza to find him.”

      “And you’re convinced Esparza’s here,” Rusch said, inclining her head. “At this club. Of all the places in this city.”

      “I am.”

      Rusch took a deep breath, sighed and studied Bolan for a time before finally nodding. “Okay, I’m willing to try this your way. What’s the plan?”

      “I’m sure Esparza isn’t directly connected to a guy like Grec,” Bolan told her. “After all, Grec hates cops. My guess is that Esparza does know Axel Madera, and Madera owns this club.”