Nevada Run

by David Robbins

  He looked at the Warrior, blinking rapidly, then up at the chandelier.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Hickok asked. “I said howdy.”

  “Hi,” the man replied. He had black hair and dark eyes.

  “Would you do me a favor?” Hickok inquired. “Would you find Kenney and get some tokens for me? I’d like to play the slot machines for a spell.”

  The mobster stared at the gunman. “I’m not your servant.”

  “No, but you have been shadowin’ me,” Hickok said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man responded.

  “And I was born yesterday,” Hickok cracked. “Look, we both know you’ve been tailin’ me, and you must be gettin’ as bored as I am if you’re admirin’ the lights. Don Giorgio told me I could have anything I wanted, and I want some tokens. I promise I’ll stay right here until you return.”

  Although no one was within ten feet of them, the mobster lowered his voice. “But you’re not supposed to know I’m following you!”

  “Darn! Now you tell me!” Hickok said.

  “If Kenney finds out you made me, I’m in hot water,” the mobster divulged.

  “I won’t tell if you don’t,” Hickok pledged. “Now what about the tokens?”

  “I’m not to let you out of my sight,” the mobster said.

  “I’m thinkin’ of payin’ Don Pucci’s place a visit later,” Hickok commented innocently. “You certainly can’t follow me over there.”

  “Mister, my orders are to stick with you like glue,” the mobster disclosed. “Where you go, I go.”

  “What if I have to tinkle?” Hickok queried.

  “Then I’ll tinkle too,” the mobster replied.

  Hickok started to turn, pleased at the confirmation of his suspicion concerning the men assigned to shadow him. They would tail him if he left the Palace, which meant he had to lose them before leaving. And there was one more thing he needed to know. He gazed at the mobster. “I hope I didn’t do anything to get you in trouble with your head honchos,” he said with sincerity. “I know they’re watchin’ us on hidden cameras.”

  The mobster glanced around nervously. “Don Giorgio and Kenney don’t spend all their time watching the monitor. Internal surveillance is conducted by Security from the Security Office. There’s a hookup in the Don’s office which he can tap into whenever he wants. But Kenney is working the floor, and the Don might not be watching.”

  “Then I’d best be gettin’ along,” Hickok said. He walked off, observing the patrons, calculating. He doubted the cameras would be trained on him the whole time. The tails were expected to keep an eye on him. If he could shake the shadows, and if he could leave the casino and head upstairs without the cameras observing him, he stood a good chance of locating another exit from the building. The front entrance was too risky. The Don was bound to have it covered.

  But how could he get upstairs without causing a ruckus?

  The answer came from an unexpected source.

  Hickok was walking past the blackjack tables when he saw her again.

  The one with the nice teeth. The one who had walked by him five times during the afternoon. Each time she had smiled seductively and given him a come-hither look, and each time he had returned her smile and gone about his business. The last such incident had been prior to the poker game. She had sashayed up to him and requested a match to light her cigarette. He’d checked his pockets, told her he didn’t have any matches, and walked off, leaving her with her rosy red lips gaping.

  Now there she was again, watching a blackjack game.

  She was about six feet tall, and she had been blessed with a body of abundant proportions in all the right places. Her hair was a dusty gold, worn down to the small of her back.

  Her eyes were blue. The front of her red dress formed a V with the point touching her navel. When she leaned forward, her breasts threatened to make a bid for freedom. Her face was oval, her lashes long and lovely.

  Hickok repressed a smirk and stepped up to her. “Howdy. Remember me?”

  She turned, her eyes widening slightly before she recovered her composure. “I remember you,” she said huskily. “You’re the man who doesn’t carry matches.”

  “The name is Earp,” Hickok fibbed once more. “Wyatt Earp.”

  “Mr. Earp,” she said softly. “I’m Nadine.”

  “That’s a right pretty name, ma’am,” he complimented her.

  “Thank you, Mr. Earp,” she said.

  “Call me Hi…” Hickok began, then caught himself. “Wyatt.”

  Nadine grinned. “As you wish. What can I do for you?”

  “I saw you standin’ here and figured we could chew the fat,” Hickok replied. “I don’t have any friends here and I’m a mite lonely.”

  Nadine’s grin became a wide smile, her white teeth glistening. “How sad.”

  “Do you mind if we shoot the breeze?” Hickok inquired politely. “I couldn’t help but notice how friendly you were earlier.”

  “I didn’t think you’d noticed me,” Nadine said.

  Hickok ran his eyes up and down her body. “How could anyone not notice a beautiful woman like you?”

  Nadine was clearly pleased by his attention. She cleared her throat and gazed around the room.

  Out of the corner of his left eye, Hickok saw Kenney 20 feet away, regarding them intently.

  Nadine’s head nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

  Kenney beamed.

  Hickok pretended to be immersed in the blackjack game for a few moments.

  “Are you hungry?” Nadine asked.

  “Nope,” Hickok replied.

  “Me neither,” Nadine said. “And if we want to talk, we won’t have much privacy in the casino.”

  “I don’t know where else we could go,” Hickok remarked artlessly.

  “I do,” Nadine stated. “I’m on vacation. I have a suite upstairs. If you don’t mind, we could go up there and talk. I have some munchies in the fridge if you do get hungry.”

  “I don’t know…” Hickok hedged. “What would your husband or boyfriend say?”

  “I’m not married,” Nadine answered. “And I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Then I guess we can go up to your room,” Hickok said, putting a nervous tinge in his voice.

  Nadine looped her right arm in his left. “Don’t be shy! I won’t bite.

  We’ll have fun together.”

  Hickok smiled at her. “I hope so.”

  Nadine led the gunman toward the elevators along the far wall. “Tell me about yourself,” she coaxed him.

  “There’s not much to tell,” Hickok said.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Oh, here and there,” Hickok responded.

  “What do you do for a living?” Nadine probed.

  “This and that,” Hickok answered.

  Nadine’s eyes narrowed. “I saw you tangle with Murphy,” she mentioned.

  “I hope it didn’t shock your sensibilities,” Hickok remarked decorously.

  “No,” Nadine said. “I’ve seen shootings before, but I’ve never seen anyone draw a gun as fast as you do.” She paused. “Do you do everything so fast?”

  Hickok chuckled. “Not everything.”

  “That’s nice to hear,” Nadine commented. “Some things should be done nice and slow.”

  “Like eatin’ venison steak,” Hickok said, and licked his lips.

  Nadine laughed. “I was thinking of something else.”

  Hickok looked at her. “Oh? What?”

  “I’ll save it for a surprise,” Nadine stated, and giggled.

  “Oh, goody!” Hickok stated. “I love surprises!”

  They reached the row of six elevators. Nadine pressed an UP button on the wall, and they took the first elevator which opened, the second from the right.

  Nadine punched the button for the eighth floor. “I’m in 819,” she mentioned.

  The elevator door closed and they ascended.


  Nadine squeezed Hickok’s left arm playfully. “This is going to be fun!”

  Hickok smiled. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Blade, Geronimo, and Helen stood quietly next to the huge windows overlooking the glittering city. Dusk enshrouded the landscape, and the nearly infinite variety of Vegas’s neon lights had flared to life. To the three Warriors from the Home, where kerosene lanterns were a luxury at night, the impression was dazzling.

  Blade turned and faced the doorway to the moderately sized chamber as the door opened and the Dons filed inside. The five men were a curious mixture of statures and physiques.

  A large, circular wooden table filled the center of the room. Six wooden chairs ringed the table at regular intervals. Seated in his wheelchair near the windows, his hands on the table, his back to the Warriors, was Don Pucci. The token from Johnny’s Palace was clenched in his left hand.

  The five Dons halted when they saw the Warriors.

  “What the hell is this?” demanded a portly, bald man in a white suit.

  “Council meetings are to be conducted in private. No soldiers. No Consiglioris. No one else.”

  “With your indulgence, Don Marchese,” Don Pucci said. “I have called this emergency meeting of the Council, and these people are present at my invitation. Their testimony is essential to the topic we will discuss.”

  Another Don, a small man with brown hair and eyes, attired in an immaculate blue suit and shining, black patent leather shoes, spoke up.

  “What is this topic, Don Pucci?”

  “We are here, Don Lansky, to discuss the danger of Las Vegas being attacked by a Federation army,” Don Pucci replied.

  The Dons exchanged startled glances.

  “Vegas is going to be attacked?” Don Marchese queried in astonishment.

  “Please,” Don Pucci said, gesturing at the chairs. “Have a seat. Everything will be explained.”

  The Dons quickly sat down.

  Don Pucci angled his wheelchair so he could see the Warriors and the table. “First, I must make the introductions.” He waved his right hand at the Warriors. “These three are Warriors from a compound called the Home located in Minnesota.”

  With raking stares, the Dons scrutinized the newcomers.

  Don Pucci went on. “Their leader is Blade, the big one. The Indian is Geronimo. The broad is Helen.”

  “Why are they here?” asked a man in a green suit with a ragged scar on his left cheek.

  “I’m getting to that, Don Siegel,” Don Pucci stated. He motioned for Blade to step over to the table.

  Blade complied, the Commando slung over his shoulders, his hands on the hilts of his Bowies. “Hello, gentlemen,” he said.

  Don Pucci pointed at the Dons, introducing them one by one, going from right to left. “This is Don Marchese, then Don Lansky.” He indicated a stocky man in brown with a bulbous nose and a sloping forehead. “Don Cuascut. Don Siegel.” Next he pointed at a lean man in a gray suit. “And, finally, Don Talone.”

  “Wait a minute,” Don Talone said in a high-pitched voice. “Where is Don Giorgio? We can not hold a Council meeting without all of the Dons present. You know the rules.”

  “Don Giorgio will arrive in a half hour,” Don Pucci explained, “I wanted to have thirty minutes to ourselves. You’ll understand why in a few moments.”

  “This isn’t proper,” Don Talone said.

  Don Pucci smiled benignly. “Don Talone, your friendship with Don Giorgio is well known and we can appreciate your loyalty. However, in this instance your loyalty is misplaced. Thanks to your friend, we are in jeopardy of having the Freedom Federation declare war on us.”

  “What is the Freedom Federation?” Don Lansky asked.

  Don Pucci nodded at Blade. “Would you do the honors?”

  “The Freedom Federation is an alliance of seven factions,” Blade detailed. “Three of the factions, the Family, the Clan, and the Moles, are all located in what was once Minnesota. Our allies include the Flathead Indians in Montana and the Cavalry in the Dakota Territory. Our two largest members are the Civilized Zone and the Free State of California.”

  “I’ve heard of the Federation,” Don Siegel mentioned. “Why would they want to give us any grief?”

  Don Pucci frowned. “Because one of us is responsible for kidnapping a young woman from the Family,” he answered.

  Blade studied the expressions on the Dons. They were each digesting the news with a calm, but somber, detachment. All except for Giorgio’s friend, Talone. He was biting his lower lip nervously.

  “The Warriors and I spent the afternoon together,” Don Pucci went on.

  “I am convinced their grievance is genuine. If we don’t show them respect and help them, they could take their case to the Federation leaders. Do we want to risk having a Federation army sent against us?”

  “Hold the phone,” Don Marchese said. “We have high-ranking visitors from California and the Civilized Zone all the time. We pay them good money to insure they don’t meddle in our affairs—”

  “But this time we have meddled in theirs,” Don Pucci said, interrupting.

  Blade was hoping Don Marchese would continue. He wanted to learn about the high-ranking visitors from the Family’s allies.

  “What exactly is their grievance?” Don Siegel inquired.

  Don Pucci looked at Blade. “Tell them about the snatch.”

  Blade spent five minutes describing the abduction of Mindy. None of the Dons spoke until he was finished.

  “This is deplorable!” Don Lansky stated. “We have a standing rule not to involve outsiders in our affairs.”

  “How do we know one of us is involved?” Don Talone questioned. “The evidence is not concrete. Someone could be setting us up.”

  “Someone was setup, all right,” Don Pucci said. “This was found on the body of the stranger found at the kidnapping scene.” He tossed the token to Don Marchese.

  Each of the Dons took a turn at examining the token.

  Don Talone, the last to inspect it, laughed. “A token? This is your evidence? This doesn’t mean a thing. Anyone can obtain a token.”

  “There is one more thing,” Don Pucci said coldly. “Something the Warriors didn’t even think of. Something I discovered when I was looking at the address book.”

  “What address book?” Don Marchese queried.

  “The address book they found on the body of the man with the token,” Don Pucci elaborated. He extended his right hand toward Blade. “May I?”

  Blade reached into his right rear pocket and withdrew the small black address book. He gave it to the Don.

  Don Pucci waved the book. “This is the incriminating evidence linking one of us to the kidnapping.”

  “A lousy address book?” Don Talone remarked sarcastically.

  Don Pucci’s features became rigid. “This lousy address book has the name and address of its owner written on the inside of the front cover.” He slid the address book to Don Marchese. “Enlighten all of us.”

  Don Marchese picked up the book and opened it. He stared at the handwriting for several seconds, his lips twitching in budding anger.

  “What does it say?” Don Siegel prompted.

  “Property of…” Don Marchese said, reading the writing. “Alberto Manzo, 6415 Roseway Avenue.”

  “Manzo!” Don Lansky exclaimed. “He was one of Giorgio’s button men.”

  “This still doesn’t prove Don Giorgio was involved,” Don Talone said.

  “It does for me,” Don Pucci stated.

  “The evidence is incriminating,” Don Cuascut commented, “but not conclusive.”

  “How much more do you need?” Don Pucci asked. He surveyed the men at the table. “Do you have any idea of the gravity of the situation? We risk antagonizing a strong alliance with a powerful military force. We risk the Federation marching on Vegas. Do you want that?”

  Don Talone snickered. “You’re exaggerating.”

 
“Am I?” Don Pucci rejoined. “Let me remind you of a few facts. We have several thousand soldiers, all told. We’re strong, but we don’t have a standing army, per se. We’ve survived for so long because of two conditions. First, we never meddle in the affairs of outsiders. Never. For over a century we have honored this rule. Second, we’ve paid off the necessary people to guarantee we’re left alone. But the officials in California and the Civilized Zone on our payroll will not look kindly on having a young woman from one of their allies kidnapped by one of us.”

  “If she was,” Don Talone interjected.

  “Don Giorgio’s animosity toward me is no secret,” Don Pucci said.

  “Everyone here knows he wants to oust me. He couldn’t try a direct hit with his own button men, because he knows many of you are close friends of mine and he would face your combined wrath. Someone—and let’s, for the sake of argument, assume Giorgio is responsible—has hired independents to whack me. Four times, no less!”

  “Four?” Don Lansky said.

  “There was another attempt earlier,” Don Pucci disclosed. “The Warriors saved me.”

  “I heard about it,” Don Marchese mentioned. “I am sorry.”

  “The outside talent hasn’t been able to do the job,” Don Pucci said. “So now someone—and, again, who else but Giorgio would do it?—has attempted to instigate my death at the hands of the Warriors.”

  “This is all speculation,” Don Talone declared. “You can’t prove Don Giorgio is involved.”

  The door suddenly opened.

  Blade looked up at the man striding into the meeting room. His mind registered the cruel visage, the oily black hair, the brown eyes, and the black suit, and he intuitively realized the new arrival was Don Giorgio.

  “Don Giorgio,” Don Pucci said, confirming Blade’s deduction. “You are early.”

  Don Giorgio scanned the room, his arrogant gaze lingering on the Warriors. “You’ve started the meeting without me?”

  “You are the topic of our meeting,” Don Pucci stated. “I’d hoped to settle matters before you arrived.”

  Don Giorgio stared at Don Pucci. “What kind of stunt are you trying to pull?”

  “Why don’t you take a seat?” Don Pucci suggested. “We would like to discuss the matter of a kidnapping with you.”