Shadow Hunt. Don Pendleton

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      The Executioner had dealt with some “Family” members in the past. If they were the real deal, he knew he could have his hands full. He wasn’t about to go with the two thugs, but it was important to use the false niceties anyway, then no one could claim offense later.

      “You don’t get it, mister. It wasn’t really a request,” Baldy said. He cracked his knuckles, trying to look menacing in a way that would have been intimidating to anyone who couldn’t fight, but was almost comical to someone who could. “There are ways that we can be convincing,” he added.

      He nodded at his partner, and both men moved forward at the same time. Bolan stepped back, dropped low and leg-swept Baldy, which knocked him off balance and into the second man. The big guy stumbled back but kept his feet. The soldier didn’t give him time to regain his balance completely, moving forward to plant a spin kick in the center of the other guy’s chest.

      He wanted them alive, since dead men didn’t talk, so he pressed on without weapons. Twisting, Bolan turned back and planted a solid right hook into Baldy’s jaw, keeping him off balance and hurting. The big guy reached forward and grabbed Bolan’s ankle. The Executioner went with it, dropped to his knee on the captured leg and did a low spin, connecting the back of his heel with the man’s face. There was a crunching noise and a muffled scream as the guy’s nose broke and blood flowed freely.

      Both legs free again, the soldier stood up in time to catch a glimpse of Smythe moving away from his hiding place at a nearby vehicle. Bolan moved to go after him, but Baldy wasn’t done yet, and hit Bolan from behind with a hammer shot to his back. Stumbling forward, he almost lost his balance in the loose gravel, but managed to catch himself and turn in time to block the follow-up swing.

      As the man closed in, Bolan swung both hands wide and clapped him on the ears, trying to rupture his eardrums and forcing him completely off balance. A car peeled out of the lot, and he knew that Smythe was gone.

      The second guy was getting slowly to his feet as Baldy staggered around holding his head. Bolan was tired of playing and pulled his Desert Eagle free. “Enough playtime,” he said, pointing it at the man trying to get to his feet. “Don’t move again, or your buddy is dead.”

      “Does it look like I’ll miss him?” he snapped, still holding his aching head.

      Disappointed that he wasn’t deafened, Bolan shrugged and said, “No.” He took two quick steps forward and buffaloed the guy on the ground, who went out like a light.

      “You’re dead,” the bald thug said. “You know that?”

      “I can see you’re going to be difficult,” Bolan replied, turning the gun in his direction. “But you’d be amazed how cooperative you’ll become after I put a .44-caliber round in your leg.”