David Robbins - Nevada Run

Blade ran his left hand through his hair. Hickok’s idea did make sense.

With Giorgio preoccupied, three Warriors should be more than enough to quickly effect Mindy’s release. “It might work,” he grudgingly conceded.

“Then I reckon I’ll see you yahoos later,” Hickok said, and took a step toward the curb.

“Hold it,” Blade said. “I’ll go to the Palace.”

“Don’t be a donkey,” Hickok objected. “You’re the brains of this outfit.

If anyone can figure a way to get Mindy out of the Golden Crown, it’s you.

Helen should go with you because she’s Mindy’s mom. And Geronimo has to go with you too, because he can’t hoodwink folks the way I can.”

“I can hoodwink as good as you any day!” Geronimo responded, then paused. “What’s hoodwink mean, anyway?”

Hickok stared into Blade’s eyes. “You can see I’m right, can’t you?”

Blade reluctantly nodded. “You go.”

“Why am I so blamed brilliant all the time?” Hickok mumbled, and stepped to the curb.

“Wait!” Blade declared. “Cross at the next intersection!”

Hickok looked at each of them. “The direct approach, remember?” He winked at Geronimo. “Take care of that mangy, low-down, lyin’ Injun butt of yours.”

Geronimo started to reply, but the gunman was gone.

Hickok darted into the traffic, swinging his Henry from side to side, weaving between the cars. Some of the drivers slammed on their brakes at the sight of the Warrior. Others ducked for cover when the Henry swung in their direction. There was a lot of metallic squealing and grinding intermixed with curses and screams, but the gunfighter reached the opposite side of the boulevard unscathed.

Geronimo expelled a deep breath. “I wish he wouldn’t pull stunts like that.”

“If he didn’t,” Blade commented, “he wouldn’t be Hickok.”

“Too bad he’s married,” Helen remarked.

“Hickok will give us the time we need,” Blade said, heading for the Golden Crown. “Let’s make sure his sacrifice is not in vain.”

“Sacrifice?” Helen repeated. “You sound like you don’t expect to see him again.”

Blade watched the gunman wade through the stream of pedestrians on the far walk. “We may not,” he said grimly, then stalked toward the Golden Crown Casino.

Don Anthony Pucci’s personal casino was an imposing, stately structure 15 stories in height. Ten glass doors faced the boulevard, each with its frame painted a metallic gold. The trim on the windows was also gold.

While the exterior on the upper floors was an opaque black glass, the lowest floor was a clean, white stucco. Patrons were flocking in and out of the casino constantly.

Blade walked up the three cement steps to the first door and gripped the handle. He paused long enough to glance across the boulevard at Johnny’s Palace.

Hickok was just entering Giorgio’s casino.

Blade opened the door and stepped inside, the Commando in his right hand.

Geronimo and Helen followed.

Blade walked several yards and stopped to get his bearings.

The lobby of the Golden Crown was opulently, tastefully furnished with plush red carpet, subdued blue walls decorated with paintings, and chandeliers to provide the illumination. Customers were everywhere.

Geronimo tapped Blade on the left arm and pointed at a sign on the nearby wall.

The Golden Crown management welcomes you to the ultimate gambling experience! Exchange Centers are located throughout the casino. If you have any questions, our helpful Hostesses will gladly assist you. Enforcers are on the premises at all times to discourage disorderly behavior. The first drink is on the house. Thank you and come again!

Blade surveyed the enormous lobby, scanning the hundreds of people engaged in a variety of activities; some were seated at tables, playing cards; some were seated around a large wheel; others were at tables where cards were pulled from wooden boxes; and over two hundred were yanking levers on odd machines with flashing lights and twirling fruit emblems.

“How will we ever find Mindy in here?” Geronimo wondered aloud.

A petite brunette in a red and black outfit, her red, ruffled skirt barely covering her thighs, approached the Warriors with a wide smile. A square blue plastic tag attached to her black blouse identified her as a HOSTESS.

“Hello,” she greeted them. “My name is Leslie. Welcome to the Golden Crown.”

“Hello,” Blade said.

Leslie raked them with a critical eye. “My! You certainly are armed to the teeth! Expecting trouble?”

“You can’t be too careful these days,” Blade commented, “May I help you in any way?” Leslie asked.

“We’re looking for someone,” Blade told her. “A young woman named Mindy.”

“Is she an employee of the Golden Crown?” Leslie asked.

“We know she was brought here,” Blade replied. “I don’t think she would be an employee.”

“Is she a guest?” Leslie inquired politely.

“She’s my daughter,” Helen interjected brusquely.

“I can check the casino register to see if she’s a guest.”

Leslie offered. “What’s her last name?”

“She doesn’t have one,” Helen said.

Leslie grinned. “Everyone has a last name.”

Helen leaned toward the hostess, her eyes flinty. “We don’t. Neither does Mindy. We know she’s here. Tell Don Pucci we want her!”

The hostess blinked twice. “Don Pucci?”

“Yes,” Blade stated courteously. “We’re here at Don Pucci’s invitation.

Tell him the Warriors have arrived.”

“The Warriors?” Leslie repeated quizzically.

“Do it!” Helen snapped impatiently.

Leslie’s eyes widened slightly. “I’ll be right back,” she promised, and walked off to the left.

“Why’d you give us away?” Geronimo asked Blade.

“I didn’t,” Blade said, glancing at Helen. “Blabbermouth here did.”

“I’m sorry,” Helen said, not sounding sorry at all. “I’m tired of pussyfooting around! It’s obvious we could search for weeks in a building this huge and never find Mindy. So I decided to try Hickok’s method, the direct approach.”

“Now we’re in trouble,” Geronimo said.

“Why?” Helen queried.

Geronimo gazed around the casino. “Because Hickok’s method only works for Hickok. I call it the Blundering Idiot Principle.”

“The harm is done,” Blade stated. “We’ll have to play it by ear from here on out and pray for the best.”

“I’d like it better if Pucci didn’t know we’re here,” Geronimo observed.

Blade cradled the Commando in his arms. The colossal casino would be impossible to search completely from top to bottom, so Helen’s blunder was logically justified. But he was peeved at her for taking the initiative without his approval. He intended to submit her to a refresher course in the necessity for Warrior obedience after they returned to the Home.

If they returned.

“Here comes the bimbo,” Helen declared.

The hostess walked up to them, smiling sweetly. “I called the main office. They’re sending someone down to see you.”

“Thanks,” Blade said.

“Mind if I ask you a question?” Geronimo mentioned.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Leslie responded.

“This is our first trip to Vegas,” Geronimo revealed. “And there are some things I don’t understand. For instance, why do the casinos accept prewar currency? Without the Government of the United States to back the money, isn’t it worthless?”

“Prewar currency is not worthless because it’s backed by the casinos,” Leslie said. “Let me explain. I asked about this once, and this is what my supervisor told me. There is a lot of prewar currency floating around. Its face value is zero, but the Dons decided to use the prewar currency instead of printing their own money. All of the national mints stopped functioning during the war. No one has the capability to make money. So the Dons use the existing currency at an exchange rate of pennies on the dollar. It’s cheaper for them than manufacturing their own.”