David Golemon - Event

They were met as the doors of the elevator closed behind them. Campos was there with Staff Sergeant Mendenhall and two other men. All were dressed in civilian clothing and Mendenhall was smiling.

"What is it, Sergeant?" asked the major.

"After your arrival at the center, we were laying bets on what security personnel would be reassigned. I'm just glad to have a job this morning, sir."

"The morning's still young," Collins replied, letting his eyes linger for a moment on the staff sergeant. He turned and asked the older marine, "You have something for us, Gunny?"

The old man nodded in affirmation and produced two large manila envelopes. He gave one each to Collins and Everett. They opened them, and inside were two forms of ID and a badge in a leather wallet and a holstered nine-millimeter Browning automatic with two extra clips of ammunition. Collins raised his eyebrows.

"Better to have too much than not enough," Everett said, sliding the two magazines into his back pocket.

Collins did the same and clipped the holstered nine-millimeter into the waistband of his jeans under his Wind-breaker and toward the small of his back. Then he looked at the badge he held in his hand. It was a star inscribed with DEPUTY UNITED STATES MARSHAL. Collins slid the leather-encased shield into his waistband, allowing the badge to dangle there.

"What in the hell do we do if we just happen to bump into real marshals?" the major asked.

"We go to jail for impersonating a federal officer and pray that Niles can get our asses out," the naval officer answered, grinning.

"Great. Well, who's coming?" Collins asked.

Mendenhall introduced the other two men as marine PFCs, O'Connell and Gianelli. PFC O'Connell had a decidedly Southern drawl, and there was no doubt at all Gianelli hailed from New York.

"Gunny here wants permission to come along with us. He doesn't really expect to be used in any real capacity, maybe watch the car. Mrs. Hamilton said it was totally up to you," Mendenhall said in a lowered voice. "Spec 5 Meyers up front will mind the store, if you concur, sir."

Collins looked the old man over. He wasn't real comfortable with the idea, but the man was still a marine, thus had earned respect long ago. "Getting some air with us today, Gunny Campos?"

"About goddamn time too. I'm damn tired of babysitting these boys and bickering with the tourists. I can still run rings around most of these men, and the day I let someone from the army beat me, I'll just..." He saw the major looking at him. "I... uh... yes, sir, very ready to get out of here. I know the town and I know exactly where you need to go. Present company excluded on the army comment, Major."

"Quit while you're ahead, Gunny. You're welcome to come along, but don't get used to it. You know the area here, so let's roll."

"Yes, sir."

Staff Sergeant Mendenhall drove while Everett rode shotgun with O'Connell in the middle. The other three, including Collins, rode in the back. In less than five minutes they were in the area of the old Strip that housed all the famous and older casinos.

"Gunny, see if they have a back door to this place and stake it out," Collins said as he left the car. "You stay with him, Gianelli."

"Yes, sir."

Collins watched them head toward the back of the building. Then he, Everett, Mendenhall, and O'Connell walked around to the front of the club. Once there they didn't hesitate. A bored-looking woman sitting behind an old desk didn't even glance up from her People magazine as they passed, merely blew a bubble with her gum and let it snap before sucking it back in and starting over. They went up a long flight of stairs toward the smell and noise of the Ivory Coast Lounge.

The room was dark and much larger on the inside than it looked from the outside. Music was playing, but no one was onstage. A waitress with rather large and sagging breasts was leaning down and speaking with a man in a black suit who sat in a palm-covered booth. He looked up at the newcomers and slid out of the booth, ducking his head under the fake elephant tusks and palm fronds. He whispered something to the topless woman and then walked away, disappearing into the back of the club. The waitress watched him leave, then placed her tray down on the table and hurried away through a curtained doorway to the left. She glanced back at Collins and Everett as she pulled the drapes closed.

Through the strains of the Moody Blues singing "Nights in White Satin," a man with a swooping seventies Elvis haircut stepped through the same curtained doorway after a few minutes and up to the four men, eyeing them closely.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" he asked loudly over the music, smiling with stained teeth exposed and moving his shoulders as if he were warming up for something.

Everett sized up the tall, unbearably thin man and decided he wasn't much of a threat.

"Looking for someone," Collins said, leaning forward a little, noticing the slight bulge the man had under his own jacket. He was definitely armed.

"Have a name, cop?" the man asked, pegging them immediately as some sort of law enforcement.

Collins said nothing; he just looked at the club's proprietor. After a moment he produced a small wallet-sized photo that Mendenhall had given him earlier in the car. It was Reese, the picture having been taken last year for his Event Group ID.

"His name is Reese, he may have been here last night or earlier this morning," Collins stated.

Elvis hunched his shoulders, then popped a toothpick into his sneering mouth.

"Man, you know how many people come in here a day?" he asked, eyeing the other three men on either side of Collins.

The major looked around the empty club and smiled as the Moody Blues' haunting melody was still playing to an empty house. "It must be a bitch with all these people here to notice one man."

The Elvis wannabe just smiled and looked at the floor, not saying anything.

"You mind if we have a look around?" Everett asked.

"Not without a warrant, my friend," Elvis said, looking up, the smile now gone.

"Ah, we paid the cover," Everett said, smiling, "can't we take an itsy-bitsy look around, pretty please?" He held his right index finger and thumb about an inch apart.

"Fuck off, cop."

The four soldiers exchanged amused looks. The man saw this and became a little unsettled. Collins brushed by him before Elvis knew what was happening and walked farther into the club.

"Hey, fuckhead," the man started to protest, then felt a hand slip quickly under his jacket and deftly remove the gun from the hidden holster. "Hey! I have a permit for that!"

Everett effortlessly punched the release button and ejected the ammunition clip, then pulled the slide back and allowed the chambered round to fall to the floor.

"I'm sure you do, I just don't feel comfortable with Elvis and firearms, call it silly," Carl said.

Collins was walking toward the stage, looking around at the cheap decor of the club. He fingered some dust off the platform of the stage, then suddenly the darkened room filled with the bright flashes and sharp reports of gunfire. Collins threw himself to the floor, crawling around the base of the stage. He pulled his sidearm and was pointing it to where he thought the shots had come from. The noise was deafening in the empty lounge. Two more loud explosions rang out, and this time he saw the muzzle flash. It came from the same curtain the woman had disappeared into earlier. Collins rolled but knew the shots hadn't been aimed at him.

"Anyone hit?" he shouted to his men, with his gun pointed and his eyes still on the curtain.

"We're alright, but Elvis took one in the head," Everett called out.

"Shit! The curtain, there's gotta be a door. That's where the shots came from."