“I’m talking about the shipment this guy was supposed to’ve lifted. He didn’t.”
“He didn’t what?”
“He didn’t get it.”
“Bullshit, who says so. Is Joe—”
“Sure, what the hell you think? We got a turkey that ain’t shut up for an hour now.”
“No shit!”
“Yeah. The stuff’s out there, somewhere, on the side of that hill.”
“No shit!”
“Yeh. Joe says to send those guys down lookin’ for it.”
“You mean these …?”
“Yeh, the figure boys. They didn’t up and leave, did they?”
“Course not. When Joe says stay, they stay. Well look …”
“How many boys you got left out there, Red?”
“Well not many. I don’t like softing the joint. I mean, if that guy comes back.…”
“Nah, he’s holing up somewheres. Hell, we got this town so heavy a guy can’t hardly breathe.” Bolan chuckled. “Everything’s stopped dead ’cept the roll of the dice and slap slap slap of the cardboards.”
“When that stops, I’m getting off,” the guy replied, laughing.
“Me too.”
“Well where are we supposed to look?”
“Straight down the hill from where the hit was. This guy says they just got tossed overboard, so look straight down the hill.”
“I guess that turkey’s name ain’t Bolan, huh?”
“I wish it was.”
“Me too,” the guy said glumly. “Listen, there’s only four of us. I mean, except for the button-down collars.”
“They don’t count,” Bolan agreed.
“They sure don’t.”
“They try to jump up each other’s asses at the first snap of a trigger.”
The hardman laughed. “That’s right.”
“It won’t hurt ’em to do a little midnight mountain climbing. Right?”
The suggestion broke the guy up. Some seconds later he gasped, “I wish I could go out and watch ’em.”
“Don’t,” Bolan cautioned. “You stay in the joint.”
“Yeah I will, but I wish I could.”
“I wish I could bring you a couple dozen broads, Red. You sound like an okay guy.”
“Yeah, you too. Listen, when you coming out?”
“Soon as I can take care of a few things here first. You know. Listen, this is what Joe says, not me. Keep this quiet.”
“Oh sure.”
“As of this minute right now, you talk to nobody.”
“Oh sure, right.”
“You got my name? Vinton. Remember it. You talk to nobody else.”
“I got it, Vinton, yeah. Don’t worry.”
The guy definitely was beginning to sound worried, though.
“Get that chopper warmed up,” Bolan commanded. “And keep it ready. Things are getting hot down here. You-know-who just might need a quick way out.”
“Oh … you mean … a couple of you-know-whos.”
“That’s it.”
“Oh yeah, say. Do you know them personal?”
“What the hell?”
“Oh sure, I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. You’re okay, Red.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry if I sounded.…”
“Oh hell no, that’s okay. Listen. Maybe I should.…”
“Huh? What was you gonna say?”
“You sound like an okay guy.”
“Oh, well thanks.”
“Listen.”
“Yeah?”
“Your boss is … well, how do I put this?”
The voice from Hard Mountain was becoming more troubled by the moment. “You mean the carpet, yeah, we all been wondering about that.”
“Well, you-know-who didn’t ’preciate that stuff down at McCarran this morning.”
“Oh God, I guess not. God that was terrible.”
“Listen. Just a word, eh? Cool it with Joe.”
“Oh God yeah, thanks Mr. Vinton.”
“Don’t uh, don’t say anymore to him than you have to. You know? Just yes and no and that’s all. You know?”
“God yes, I know. Don’t worry. I won’t.”
“Okay. Talk to me, and that’s all.”
“Pardon me, but Joe didn’t tell you to call, did he.”
“You got me, Red. He didn’t.”
“God, we were all wondering about that.”
“You’ll be okay, Red, don’t worry.”
“Hell I appreciate—”
“Don’t mention it. Send those jerks down the hill. If they find the stuff, just cool it. Sit tight. I’ll be along soon as I can.”
“Oh sure. Are you, uh, bringing a force out?”
“I’m thinking about it.” Bolan chuckled. “Who’d you say is the head cock out there?”
“Hey, uh, if you mean what I think you mean.…”
“Yeah, you know what I mean,” Bolan assured him.
“Listen, don’t you worry about a thing. I’m in charge of this joint until you say otherwise.”
“I’ll see you, Red.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Vinton. Sure thing.”
Bolan hung up and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke in a dense cloud toward the center of the lobby.
Nothing, he would have enjoyed telling Red-the-head-cock, is ever a sure thing. Nothing. But that was no reason to quit trying.
Bolan never quit trying.
He got up and went into the lounge and ran full-body into Toby Ranger and her Canuck side-kick, the body-lover.
“Pardon me, honey,” he apologized nastily. “You should look out where I’m going.”
He went on to the bar without looking back.
He knew, though, that the two girls were still standing in the doorway, watching him.
He threw a five spot on the bar and loudly demanded service.
For double-dam sure, there was no such thing as a sure thing.
It looked as though his dice had come up aceydeucey. It was a crap-out.
13: NATURAL
Bolan had not set the stage in Vegas. Others had. And the man from blood was a superb opportunist who would grab any handle, twist any combination, and push on any door which might tend to equalize the staggering odds in his game of war and survival.
The situation in Vegas at that moment was heavily weighted against mere survival for Bolan. Any suggestion that he could not only survive but also score some degree of victory seemed unthinkable. But he would snatch at those handles, massage the combinations, and lunge against those doors until something worked … or until he suddenly dropped dead.
His greatest hope lay in the stage set for him by the forces intent on destroying him. The confusion and tension in the town was monumental, and he meant to play that angle for all it was worth.
But now here was Toby Ranger approaching him, in the enemy’s heartland. One wrong word, a single suspicious gesture, anything at all which could seem out of place could mean his unmasking … and his total undoing.
She sidled up beside him at the bar and said, “Buy a girl a drink, honey?”
Without turning his head, Bolan loudly replied, “I already been laid twice today. Beat it!”
He felt her stiffen. The other girl moved in on his other side and placed everything she had against him.
He said, “Whatsa matter? Business all that bad?”
The Canadian laughed softly and said, “You’re a riot, did anybody ever tell you that?”
No one seemed to be giving any attention to the little comedy at the bar, but Bolan figured that couldn’t last forever. He tasted his drink, set it down, and hissed, “Thanks, kids. You’re all I needed.”
“Just keep it up, you’re doing fine,” the blonde told him. “We may even take you into our act.”
He growled, “Yeah, Little Leddo, the lead-stuffed dummy. Bug off, eh?”
“We’re looking for Tommy,” the body-bumper told him.
“I don’t have him,” Bolan
assured her.
“Somebody has,” the blonde said.
Bolan picked up his drink and yelled, “A hundred bucks? What is it, gold-plated or something?”
Toby’s face turned fiery red.
Bolan laughed loudly and said, “Awright, let’s talk it over.”
He took the blonde’s elbow and steered her away from the crowd at the bar and to a booth at the rear. The other girl followed close behind. Bolan slid into the booth and left the girls standing there. “Siddown, siddown,” he said grandly.
Toby flounced in and angrily whispered, “I should blow the whistle on you, you smart—”
“Shut up!” Bolan snapped. He told the Canadian, “Siddown!”
She did.
He told them, “This is no show biz stand, kids. When this curtain falls, it’s a shroud. Now what’s this about Anders?”
The Canuck was rubbing his arm. Toby Ranger’s face was still set into angry lines. She said, “He’s been missing since five o’clock. We tracked him here. And suddenly the trail ends.”
“Did he come alone?” Bolan wanted to know.
“No. Two other men were with him.”
Bolan said, “Okay, I’ll find him.”
“Gee thanks.”
“Isn’t that what you want me to do?”
“Well, sure,” the Canadian put in.
Bolan was staring at the blonde. Her eyes fell. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess it is a pretty dry stand, isn’t it.”
He said, “You know it.”
“Well, you look great,” she assured him.
“Didn’t fool you,” he said.
“I’m special,” she replied, smiling.
“Yeah, you are at that,” he told her.
She colored again and glanced at the darkhaired girl. “We’d better leave him alone, I guess.”
The Canuck said, “You swim divinely.”
He told her, “I bleed the same way. Where are the other girls?”
The blonde replied. “We’re supposed to go on in an hour. They’re getting the costumes ready.”
Bolan said, “Well, I’ll nose around and find our man. But you girls beat it out of this joint. It’s full of poison.’*
“Okay,” the blonde replied meekly.
Bolan left them there and went into the casino. The action there was light and listless. The help seemed uptight and jittery. Less than a hundred people were at the tables. Another twenty or so were feeding slots at the back wall.
Bolan’s quick visual sweep disclosed maybe a dozen hoods, all locals if his instincts were still operative. He wondered about that and decided that the casino had been placed off-limits to the visiting torpedoes.
Somewhere in that crowd, also—Bolan was sure—would be a goodly representation from various police branches.
Across the partition, in the dining room, a show was getting underway with a fanfare from the band—muffled, in the casino, so as not to distract the more important business at the tables.
Bolan stopped at a craps table which was enjoying a small flurry of action. He threw a twenty at the croupier. The guy pushed him a stack of chips and announced, “The cubes are hot.”
“I’ll bet,” Bolan growled.
He watched the up-man bounce the dice across the table for a pair of threes.
“The point is six,” the house man announced.
Bolan pushed his stack of chips into play and proclaimed, “He makes it.”
“House covers.”
The guy rolled a seven and cried, “Aw shit!”
“Craps,” announced the croupier.
“It figures,” Bolan sneered, and walked away.
The stairway to Vito’s joint was blocked by a couple of hardmen. Bolan went straight to them and said, “Is he there?”
The gunners looked him over and one of them replied, “Yeh, he’s there.”
“Run up and tell ’im I wanta see ’im.”
A muscle popped in the guy’s jaw. He said, “Fuck you, and run up yourself.”
Bolan sniggered. “You boys out here don’t take no shit, do you?” he commented.
“Not usually,” the guy said.
Bolan grinned and went on up the stairs.
A little guy in shirtsleeves occupied a chair at the landing. He looked at the visitor and asked, “Where ya going, stud?”
“Run in there and tell the man I want ’im,” Bolan demanded, recognizing Max Keno.
“Who wants him?”
“Vinton.”
“I don’t know ya, Vinton.”
“You will, Max. You will.”
“Oh, well … you wanta see him?”
“I didn’t walk all the way up here to see you, dumdum.”
The little guy smiled and said, “Ain’t it a hell of a day? You hurt much?”
Bolan rubbed his jaw and said, “Nah, I still got my swinger, I guess that’s all that counts.”
Keno laughed and told Bolan, “Just push the button on the door there. They’ll let you in.”
“Who’s in there besides him?”
“Aw, that wop, the comic. They’re still sweating him.”
“That’s really why I came,” Bolan confided. “They think he should’ve broken down long ago.”
“Well, Joe figures it’s better to last it longer and get it better, he ain’t getting too rough. Vito got carried away yesterday on the other guy.”
“And now Vito gets carried away,” Bolan said, his voice dropping low.
“Yeh, I hate that. I was with Vito three years. He was okay to me. I hated that.”
Bolan sighed. “Don’t worry, we all did, even you-know-who. Well.…” He shrugged and smiled philosophically. “That’s the way it goes sometimes. We never know, do we, Max? I just push the button, eh?”
“Yeh. Just a minute, I’ll.…” The little tagman heaved out of the chair and went over to work the local lockworks for the out-of-towner.
What the hell. The guy could turn out to be his next boss, who could know?
He pressed the intercom signal and said, “It’s Vinton. He wants in.”
“Who?” came the reply.
“You know. Vinton. He’s with … you know.”
The buzzer sounded and the door popped open. Bolan strolled in, noting that Vito’s elaborate security jazz had been abandoned. The tower was not manned, there were no spotlights.
Joe Stanno was stretched out on a couch, asleep.
Tommy Anders occupied a swivel chair in the center of the room. Two guys sat facing him, another was perched atop the desk, just behind the comic. It was this one who challenged Bolan.
“Whattaya want in here?” he growled.
Bolan ignored him.
Anders looked like hell. His hair was in his face and his head was lying back on his shoulders as though his neck couldn’t hold it up any longer. He was tied to the chair. There was no visible evidence of acts of violence suffered, but Bolan knew.
He went over to stand beside the couch and glare down at Stanno. “What the hell is he doin’ sleeping?” he snarled.
“Oh, did he forget to get a chit?” the guy at the desk said, with a voice heavy with sarcasm.
There were bad feelings here, very bad feelings, between the locals and the nationals.
Bolan caressed the band-aid at his nose and rubbed a bit of salt. “Did he have a chit at the airport this morning?”
The guy lunged forward and slapped the back of Anders’ head, taking it out on him.
The comic’s head snapped to the other side and he quickly picked it up. He stared dully at Bolan and said, very distinctly, “Fuck you.”
Bolan snickered and said, “Shit, I didn’t pop you, guy.”
“It still goes,” Anders muttered.
“He don’t like anybody,” Bolan said, grinning.
“He’s a smart ass!” the guy at the desk growled, and slapped the helpless man again. “Plays cute games with cops and a certain bastard.”
Bolan again looked toward Stanno.
“That guy will sleep through anything,” he said. “Wake ’im up.”
“You don’t wake ’im up!” the headslapper growled. “He was up all night and all day. Now leave ’im alone.”
“Sure, I’ll leave ’im alone,” Bolan said quietly.
“So whattaya want in here?”
“They sent me.” He went over and rubbed Anders’ scalp with his knuckles. “They say you’ve had the guy long enough. They wanta talk to ’im awhile. This guy is our only handle.”
“We ain’t sure about that!”
“Well when do you figure on getting sure? He was right there when two of your own boys got it, wasn’t he!”
“We’re working ’im the right way,” the guy stubbornly maintained.
“You was,” Bolan corrected him in a soft voice.
The two guys in the chairs stood up abruptly. The one at the desk slid off and walked around the chair to show Bolan a fierce scowl. “I’ve seen you somewheres, Vinton,” he declared.
“You’re going to be seeing me a lot,” Bolan promised, scowling back.
“Yeah?”
“On second thought, maybe not. You’re so cozy with sleeping beauty there, maybe I’ll just let you stay with ’im.”
The guy sent a suddenly worried glance to his two companions. He said, “Well now wait. Just what the hell …?” His gaze slid to Stanno and back to Bolan. His face tightened and he said, “Yeah?”
Quietly, Bolan said, “That’s the way it goes.”
The two other inquisitors were shuffling their feet about and giving each other significant looks. The spokesman for the trio dropped his voice to a quiet murmur and said, “Well, that’s a hell of a note.”
In the language of the mob, Joe Stanno’s death had just been announced as imminent.
“That’s the way it goes,” Bolan said again. “You can’t do nothing for a leper, you know that, so don’t go getting all busted up. Go on downstairs and find something to do. Better than that, get lost for a couple of hours.”
“Oh Christ no,” the guy groaned, the message just now fully reaching home. “Has it actually got to that?”
“You in love with the guy or something?”
“Well no … but … we been together a long time.”
“So you won’t want to be around for the next couple of hours,” Bolan suggested.
“How the hell can they just decide something like that with the snap of a finger?” the loyal crewchief whispered loudly.
“You wanta go up there and ask them?” Bolan said, the voice now hard and cold.
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