David Robbins - Nevada Run

Before he could rationalize a course of action, the four men confirmed their hostile intent.

Three of them pulled pistols, the fourth a sawed-off shotgun, and in unison they charged!

Don Giorgio’s suite on the third floor of his Palace was furnished much like the casino; it was tawdry and pretentious. The carpet was off-green, the walls orange and blue. All of the furniture was polished to a sheen.

Hickok cautiously followed Kenney into the Don’s inner sanctum, the Pythons cocked, anticipating a trap. They crossed a large room containing only 14 empty chairs, evidently a waiting room for those with appointments to see the Don, or the room where the button men congregated to await the Don’s orders. The second room they encountered, a spacious office, was likewise unoccupied.

“This is my office,” Kenney commented.

They came to a closed wooden door and halted.

Kenney rapped three times. “It’s me,” he announced. “He has me covered.”

“Come in,” a gruff voice declared.

Kenney opened the door and a Python barrel touched the back of his neck.

“Go real slow,” Hickok advised.

Kenney shuffled into the next room, a huge chamber with thick carpeting, several maple chairs, a sofa, and a wide desk aligned against the opposite wall.

Hickok kept his left Colt against Kenney’s neck as he vigilantly advanced into Don Giorgio’s office.

Three men were already there.

Seated behind the maple desk was a man with a strikingly harsh visage.

He had steely, hawkish brown eyes and exceptionally bushy brows. His mouth was a thin slit, his hair black and slicked. He wore a black suit. An aura of palpable menace enshrouded him.

This, Hickok instinctively knew, was Don Giorgio.

A youngish man in a brown suit stood to the right of the desk, his arms folded across his chest. He had green eyes and a pointed chin.

A trigger man, Hickok guessed.

The man standing to the left of the desk was older, with streaks of gray in his otherwise brown hair. His cheeks and chin sagged, as if his skin was too tired to support his face. His brown eyes nervously examined the Warrior. He was wearing a dark blue suit.

Another hit man, Hickok reasoned.

The man behind the desk extended his arms in a friendly fashion, palms outward. “There’s no need for the hardware, friend! I invited you up here to talk.”

Hickok gave Kenney a shove.

Kenney stumbled several feet, then caught himself and turned. “There was no need for that,” he said.

Hickok motioned with his Colts to the left.

Kenney took five steps to the left.

Hickok stared at the man behind the desk. “So you want to shoot the breeze?”

“I’m Don Giorgio,” the man stated haughtily.

“I know who you are,” Hickok said. “But I don’t know why I should let you live.”

“Let me live?” Giorgio repeated in surprise. “I asked you to come here as a token of my good will, and now you want to waste me?”

Hickok pointed both Pythons at the Don.

Giorgio, to his credit, didn’t so much as flinch. But the other three tensed, the young one dropping his hands to his sides and glaring at the gunslinger.

“I heard you aim to plug my pards and me for shootin’ your two-bit, four-flushin’ son,” Hickok stated.

Giorgio’s face reddened and his eyes narrowed. He seemed to wrestle with his emotions for a moment, then was calm. “Franky always was a hothead. He was always getting into fights over trifles. I tried to teach him not to sweat the small stuff, but he wouldn’t listen.” Giorgio paused. “The Enforcers report his death was a fair and square. Technically, I have no right to hold his death against you.”

“Get to the point,” Hickok prompted.

“The point, Mister…” Giorgio began, then stopped. “What is your name, anyway?”

“He says his name is Earp,” Kenney answered. “Wyatt Earp.”

Giorgio’s forehead creased as he stared at the gunman. “Mr. Earp, then.

I wanted you to know I’m forgoing my right to petition the Council for a sanction to snuff you.”

“This must be my lucky day,” Hickok quipped. “Why?”

“Why look a gift horse in the mouth?” Giorgio rejoined. “You should be grateful I’m not claiming my blood right.”

“Why?” Hickok repeated his question.

Giorgio leaned back in his chair. “It would be bad business to whack you. By tonight everyone in Las Vegas will have heard about Franky, and they’ll know his death was a fair and square. If I take action against you, I hurt my own reputation. Oh, I could call for a Council of the Dons and ask for a sanction to hit you. Every Don can ask for a Council whenever a grievance arises. I could present my case and demand a vote, and if the other Dons agreed and Don Pucci okayed the decision, you would be dead by morning. But word would get around. People would whisper behind my back. They would say I’d done wrong because Franky’s death was a fair and square. Do you follow me?”

“So you won’t kill me because it would be bad for your reputation and your business?” Hickok queried critically.

“That’s it in a nutshell,” Don Giorgio said.

Hickok snickered. “So much for family devotion.”

“What do you say?” Giorgio asked. “Do we shake hands and call it quits?”

“Not so fast,” Hickok said. “What about the runt downstairs?”

“I didn’t tell him to try and gun you down,” Giorgio replied. “He did that on his own. I don’t like gunplay in my casino. It affects the trade.”

“Then I’m free to go?” Hickok inquired.

Giorgio nodded. “And I want you to know there’s no hard feelings. In fact, I’d like you to spend time in my casino as my personal guest. All the chips and eats will be on me. What do you say?”

Hickok twirled the Colts into their holsters. “How can I refuse an offer like that?”

“Kenney will take you downstairs,” Giorgio said. “He’ll provide you with everything you need.”

“Thanks,” Hickok stated. He backed toward the door.

“Can you wait for me in the hallway?” Kenney asked the gunman. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“No problem,” Hickok responded. He hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt and strolled out.

Kenney moved to the door and watched until the gunfighter had passed through his office, the waiting room, and closed the hall door behind him.

He faced the Don. “Before I take that clown downstairs, I need to know what’s going on.”

“Yeah, boss,” Sacks chimed in. “I don’t get none of this. How come you’re letting that scumbag live after he snuffed Franky?”

Giorgio gazed at Kenney. “I want you to treat him to a good time. You know who he is, don’t you?”

Kenny nodded. “I figured it out. He’s one of those Warriors. Hickok, right?”

“Right,” Giorgio verified. “Which means the Warriors are already in Vegas. Give him anything he wants. Find Nadine. Tell her to hit on him. I want him to spend the night. If he leaves the Palace, I’m to be informed immediately. Understand?”

“Got you,” Kenney answered. He wheeled and departed.

Sacks shook his head, clearly bemused. “I don’t get none of this, boss.”

“I hate to admit it,” Ozzi chimed in, “but neither do I.”

“Then I’ll have to explain it to you,” Giorgio said. “I don’t want my lieutenants in the dark, so I’ll spell everything out.” He paused and stared at Ozzi. “Do you remember about a year ago, when that drifter lost a couple of grand at poker and couldn’t pay up?”

“Sure I do,” Ozzi said. “You were going to have me break his legs.”

“That was the one,” Giorgio confirmed. “He tried to trade information in exchange for canceling his debt. He claimed he knew about a Federation which might pose a threat to the Dons. He said this Freedom Federation, as it’s called, planned to consolidate their forces and conquer the western half of what was once the United States. He told me all about this Federation, about the different factions in it. I found his information very, very interesting, and I later verified most of it. There is a Freedom Federation, and they do have a protective association, of sorts. But they’re no threat to the Dons.”