Baltimore Trackdown Read Online Free PDF

barreled across the track toward the stricken crew wagon. Its driver gunned it away, flopping tire and all, to the cover of the other Caddy.
    Bolan kept coming. Franconi kept screaming. The Cadillacs parted as the Chevy rushed toward them, and as soon as it had passed a dozen shots slammed into it. Bolan ducked and spun the wheel, turning and driving forward straight for the hoodlums. One man dived from the car and into a two-handed stance with his weapon. The Executioner cut him down with six rounds from the FA MAS. The second crew wagon turned toward the road. The remaining rounds in the MAS magazine shattered its right rear tire. When the rubber blew, the car stopped.
    Bolan slammed a fresh magazine into the FA MAS and fired. As the windows shattered, the Mafia soldiers fell out the far doors. Two tried to run for the highway, but they were brought down.
    Three down. How many to go?
    The Executioner raced past the closest Caddy, ducked, slammed into reverse and rammed the luxury car, sending forth from its radiator a cloud of steam and a stream of water into the dirt.
    A dozen shots from handguns peppered the demolition car. Bolan turned it around and raced toward the crew wagon again. He stopped just in front and, aiming over the metal shield, blasted the remaining windows of the second Cadillac. Two men slid out on the far side and Bolan wished he had some grenades. He circled, firing at anyone who moved.
    He aimed the AutoMag at the gas tank. Three heavy rounds pumped into the volatile fluid before it exploded, showering human parts and pieces of metal over the track. One lone Mafia hoodlum staggered away from the pyre. The Executioner slammed a flesh-shredder through him.
    Bolan crawled over the immovable door of his Chevy and looked at Franconi, still wired to the front bumper. His eyes were wild, his mouth slobbering drool. He had been screaming as loud as he could, but now his voice had given out and only a croak came through. Bolan slapped his face until the hoodlum’s eyes focused.
    “This is for Beth Hanover.”
    The Executioner got back in the Chevy, raced the engine and stormed after the last crew wagon.
    He saw a white handkerchief flutter.
    Bolan killed the Chevy’s screaming engine fifty feet from the dead Cadillac.
    “We give up!” a voice shouted.
    “You wanted Franconi, you got him!” someone else said.
    Bolan fired three rounds from the French army rifle into the windowless Caddy.
    “You give up the way you let Beth Hanover give up when you raped and tortured her last night?”
    “Franconi did it!” came a third voice.
    Three of them. He wanted one to get back to Nazarione and tell the Mafia boss exactly what happened at the little track and how two crews and his best hit man were wasted.
    “Okay, you have one chance. The three of you run for it. Get out the far side and run for the road. One of you will make it. That’s better odds than you gave Beth.”
    The three jumped from the car and raced for the road. They spread out and ran as hard as they could.
    Bolan nailed the first with a 3-round burst. The second took nine shots to put down. He fired over the head of the third, who made good his escape.
    When Bolan was satisfied both Mafia goons in the dirt were dead and that only he and Franconi were left alive, he checked the cars.
    He backed up the destruction derby Chevy, then raced toward the flaming Cadillac. At the last second Franconi screamed and he wound the wheel to the right, grazing the crew wagon. Four times he flashed past the furiously burning Caddy. Then he stopped and checked on his reluctant passenger.
    Franconi had passed out again. Bolan made sure the wires were tight, then slapped Franconi awake. The hit man screamed and groaned.
    “It’s all over, Franconi. I just passed sentence. For what you did to Beth, you don’t deserve to live. Nothing elaborate, just a little car crash.” Bolan started the Chevy, and pushed it into first. “Have a nice ride, pal.”
    He put a