Save the Children

11

The kitchen noises from one direction and the ballroom sounds from the other continued unabated. No one had ventured into the narrow passageway connecting the two areas during the thirty or so seconds of this exchange between Bolan and Dutton. But Bolan knew that luck could not last forever.

"I've... only heard rumors," Dutton said haltingly, "but they could be rumors you haven't heard."

"You're stalling, Senator."

"All right, all right. It's... his mother. Parelli's mother."

That caught Bolan's interest, but he did not let Dutton know that.

"What about Denise Parelli?" he growled.

"Well, uh, it's unsubstantiated, but I've heard some people in the know suggest that... well, that David Parelli is a figurehead, that he only appears to run things, but somebody else is really pulling the strings. You know how those gangsters would feel about taking orders from a woman. The Mafia is sexist, to put it mildly."

Bolan frowned thoughtfully, wondering if he had finally found what he was searching for since he arrived in Chicago.

"Are you suggesting that the real head of the family is Denise Parelli?"

"That's what I've heard," Dutton answered with a nod. "It's just a rumor, but I've heard that Denise took over the reins when old Vito was fighting off the Big C. Everyone thought The Butcher was still running things, and after he died Denise didn't let go. Her son gets all the respect, but she tells him what, when and how much. But like I said..."

"Right," growled Bolan. "Just a rumor. Now tell me where Parelli is."

"I have no idea! We've never met. I only received phone calls from the man."

That was the only way it would be handled, thought Bolan, turning this provocative tidbit over in his mind even as he decided what to do about Dutton.

The senator sounded sincere enough and he was sure still scared enough. He was either telling the truth or he was a consummate liar, which, considering his line of work, was altogether probable.

It was not often Bolan heard something new from the underworld grapevine, but Senator Mark Dutton was close enough to the source that there just might be something to it, which put an interesting new twist on things.

Sleek, attractive Denise Parelli, the actual boss of a ruthless Mafia family, ruling things from behind the scenes with an iron hand?

Yeah.

Bolan could see it, all right.

The revelation didn't really change things that much, though.

There were still too many loose ends, too many dangling questions.

When the time came for the all-out blitz that would write a fiery end to the Parelli family... son, soldiers and maybe mama, too...

Bolan wanted no loose ends, no questions.

Dutton's eyes were darting left and right frantically, looking for the first opening so he could bolt from the man who had him cornered here, but no one had showed yet from either end of the passageway.

"W-well?" he asked Bolan. "You won't kill me, will you, Bolan?"

Bolan made up his mind. "Not this time, Senator. You just bought your life back."

Dutton sighed all the way from his shoelaces.

"Because of what I told you?"

"Because of the things you said to the crowd in that ballroom," Bolan corrected. "Because of a check for forty thousand dollars to a ghetto playground. That bought you your life, Senator. Clean up your act. You won't get another chance."

"I... I..." Dutton was too shaken up, then he found the words. "Thank you," he said fervently.

"And don't raise a ruckus while I'm on my way out of here, and maybe you'll be lucky enough never to see me again."

"W-whatever you say," Dutton replied, pale and trembling.

Bolan left the politician standing there and elbowed his way through the swing door, back into the ballroom.