David Robbins - Nevada Run

“Will you consent?” Ozzi asked.

“Why do you want her? She’s an outsider,” Giorgio remarked. “Why not pick one of the local girls? You could have the cream of the crop. You’re a made man. A big wheel in my organization.”

“I want Mindy,” Ozzi stated.

“What do you see in her?” Giorgio inquired.

“I don’t know how to describe my feelings,” Ozzi responded. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

Giorgio grinned. “Some call it love. I call it lust. If you want to marry her, she’s yours. But there are two conditions.”

“Name them,” Ozzi said eagerly.

“First, you wait until this Warrior business is resolved,” Giorgio directed.

“As you wish,” Ozzi stated dutifully.

“Second, you convince her the marriage is in her best interests,” Giorgio said. “She’s a little hellcat when she gets her temper up. I don’t want one of my lieutenants dragging his betrothed down the aisle the day of the wedding. Everyone would talk.”

“I’ll convince her she loves me,” Ozzi pledged. “Even if I must slap her around a bit. She’ll get the message.”

“You have the right attitude,” Giorgio said approvingly. “A woman needs to be slapped around now and then to keep her in line. Sock her in the gut. That usually works for me. They don’t like to be bruised, so you’ve got to be careful when you hit her in the face.”

“Can I go see her now?” Ozzi queried.

“Go ahead.”

“What about me, boss?” Sacks asked.

“I want you to go down to the casino,” Giorgio directed. “Keep an eye on Hickok. Send Kenney up to me.”

“Okay,” Sacks said.

“I’ll give the Warriors until tomorrow to off Don Pucci,” Giorgio remarked. “If they don’t, I can only assume they don’t intend to kill him. I’ll put out a contract on every Warrior in town.”

Ozzi and Sacks exited the room.

Don Giorgio stared at the doorway, reflecting. Ozzi was one of his best button men, but the kid was soft in the noodle. Imagine being dumb enough to fall for the skirt from the family! Mindy was a liability, incriminating evidence. The girl had to be snuffed, and Kenney was just the man to do it. An accident could be arranged. The poor bimbo would hang herself from a light fixture. All Kenney would need to do would be arrange a scheduling snafu so the girl’s room was unguarded for a while.

Ozzi would be heartbroken.

But those were the breaks!

The four hit men were closing in on Don Pucci’s party.

Blade did the only thing he could do; he suddenly crouched in front of the Don’s wheelchair, aimed the Commando barrel over Pucci’s right shoulder, and sighted on one of the trigger men with a pistol, the nearest one.

Startled, the Don’s eight men swung their machine guns at the giant.

Afraid of hitting the Don, they held their fire.

Blade cut loose, the Commando chattering loudly, the stock bucking against his shoulder.

The closest hit man took a burst in the chest and was flung to the carpet.

Mario swung in the direction Blade had fired.

Don Pucci’s hands were sliding under the red blanket in his lap. Several of his men started toward him.

The hit man with the sawed-off shotgun let fly into the back of one of the Don’s men at point-blank range, the buckshot blowing the man’s chest out and sending him sprawling. Pivoting, the hit man took a bead on the Don.

Blade squeezed the trigger, stitching the shotgun-wielding killer from the crotch to the forehead.

One of the two remaining hit men shot a pair of the Don’s guards and aimed at the Don.

The last hit man was barreling toward the wheelchair.

Caught unawares by the abrupt assassination attempt, with their attention focused on the Warriors, none of the Don’s men had fired a shot in the first three seconds of the attack. Now, as they realized the true danger was coming at them from the crowds, not the bar, they spun to confront the last two hit men. But they were too slow.

Geronimo and Helen fired simultaneously. Geronimo’s Browning struck the hit man on the right in the face and he crashed onto his back. Helen’s Armalite sent a half-dozen rounds into the last hit man, into the left side of his chest. He twisted and toppled over.

In the aftermath of the shooting, the casino was as quiet as a tomb.

Blade slowly stood.

Don Pucci turned his wheelchair and scrutinized the four dead hit men, then glanced at his own casualties. He gazed up at the giant. “Thanks. They nearly nailed me.”

“Do you know who they were?” Blade asked.

“No,” Don Pucci said. “But I’ll find out. They were probably sent by Giorgio, but I’ll never be able to prove it. He’d hire outside talent for a job like this. He’d never use any of his own men.”

“Why does Giorgio want to kill you?” Blade queried.

“Why else?” Pucci responded. “He wants to take over Vegas. But I can’t do anything about him unless I can uncover some proof. I must justify my actions to the other Dons.”

“I thought you are running the show in Vegas,” Blade observed. “Why must you justify your actions to them?”

“Courtesy,” Don Pucci said. “If I don’t show them respect, they’re not about to show me any respect. All the Dons belong to the Council, our governing body. If any of us has a grievance against another Don, we bring it up in Council. If I was to hit Giorgio without a justifiable grievance and the agreement of the Council, an all-out war could result.” He glanced at Mario, then nodded toward the bodies. “Clean up this mess. Discover who they were. And send ten grand to the families of each of our boys who were whacked.”

Mario hurried off, barking orders to the Don’s men.

The casino came alive again, gradually, the customers mingling and conversing as the gambling resumed.

“You took this calmly,” Blade said, praising the Don.

Don Pucci sighed. “This has happened before. Why do you think I’m in this damn wheelchair?”

Blade stared at the body of the hit man with the shotgun. “What if they had gotten past your men?”

Don Pucci’s hands came out from under the red blanket. Clutched in his right was an Eagle 357 Magnum pistol. “I’m confined to a wheelchair, but I’m not helpless.”

Helen stepped up to the wheelchair. “Do you know where my daughter is?”

“I wish I did,” Don Pucci replied. “I owe you for saving my life. I’ll do anything I can to help.” He reached up and gingerly touched his right ear, smiling at Blade. “That piece of yours almost ruptured my eardrum. I can hardly hear for all the ringing.”

“Sorry,” Blade said.

“Don’t apologize,” Pucci remarked. “I’m alive, aren’t I?” He paused.

“Now, about this kidnapping business. I’m not involved, but if you give me time, I will try and find out who is behind it.”

Blade watched the Don’s men removing the corpses. Two men in jeans and T-shirt were approaching, bearing buckets and mops to soak up the puddles of blood. He saw eight or nine people playing a row of slot machines, and he wondered how they could callously disregard the bloodshed they’d just seen. How could they become so engrossed in the slot machines so soon after witnessing the Shootout? Why were the slot machines so fascinating? He recalled the token Mario had given him, the one in his left front pocket. If the opportunity arose, he intended to use the token and learn the secret of the slot machines firsthand. He…

The token!

Blade abruptly remembered the other token in his possession, the one in his back pocket, the one he had found on the corpse in Halma, the one from the man killed at the kidnapping scene. He reached into the pocket and fished out the blue token, then held it up to read the words printed on both sides: JOHNNY’S PALACE.