David Robbins - Nevada Run

What a fool he’d been!

Blade suddenly perceived the reason for his previous ambiguous feelings of unease. The answer had been staring him in the face the whole time, figuratively speaking, and he’d been too dense to notice! Why would the man found dead near Halma have a token from Don Giorgio’s casino unless he frequented that casino ! He looked down at Don Pucci. “Would one of your men gamble in Giorgio’s casino?”

Don Pucci snorted. “None of my men would be caught dead in Giorgio’s joint. The games there are rigged.”

“What about Giorgio’s men?” Blade probed. “Would they gamble in your casino?”

Don Pucci shook his head. “Not likely. I don’t trust any of Pucci’s men.

They rarely come in here, because if they do I have one of my boys stick with them like glue. It makes them too uncomfortable.” He squinted at Blade for a moment. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

“There were three people with Helen’s daughter when she was abducted,” Blade detailed. “Two of them were murdered. We also found the body of a stranger. And on his body I found this.” He flipped the token to the Don.

Don Pucci deftly caught it and inspected the token. His lips compressed and his nostrils flared.

“One more thing,” Blade said, acting on his hunch. “What does Don Giorgio look like?”

“How should I describe him?” Don Pucci replied. “He has black hair and brown eyes. He’s a heartless bastard, the meanest-looking son of a bitch you’d ever want to meet.”

Ted’s word came back to Blade in a rush. “His hair was black, his eyes brown. His face was kind of mean looking.” He placed his right hand on his forehead and stared at the floor.

Geronimo nudged his friend’s right elbow. “What’s the matter?”

“Blade? What is it?” Helen added.

Blade removed his hand, his countenance set in a chiseled mask of suppressed indignation. “We were set up,” he said huskily.

“What are you talking about?” Helen asked, perplexed.

“Don Pucci didn’t take Mindy,” Blade elaborated. “Don Giorgio did. Giorgio is using us. He probably hoped we’d barge into this casino and confront Don Pucci. Why else was Ted told we could find Mindy at the Golden Crown Casino?”

“Then Mindy isn’t here?” Helen queried, distraught by the revelation.

Blade shook his head.

“Giorgio wanted us to kill Pucci for him,” Geronimo deduced.

“That’s my guess,” Blade concurred.

“If Mindy isn’t here, where is she?” Helen inquired.

“I can answer that,” Don Pucci interjected. “If Giorgio took your daughter to set you up to whack me, then she’s either in his joint or dead.”

“Oh, no!” Helen said mournfully.

“If you take him on, if you try to locate the girl in his casino, he’ll kill her for sure,” Don Pucci stated. “He’s not about to leave around any evidence connecting him to this caper.”

Helen looked at Blade. “What do we do?”

“We need to come up with a plan,” Blade replied.

“He’s right,” Don Pucci said. “You must play it cagey. If you rush over to the Palace, Mindy is as good as dead. If Giorgio spots any of you in his joint, he’ll snuff her.”

The three Warriors exchanged startled glances.

“Hickok!” Blade exclaimed.

“Who is this Hickok?” Don Pucci questioned.

“He’s a Warrior, like us,” Blade answered. “And he’s in Giorgio’s casino right this moment!”

“Then God help Mindy,” the Don stated grimly.

“How many cards do you want, hick?” the professional gambler asked. He was holding the deck in his left hand.

Hickok glanced at the ring of spectators watching the game. Over an hour ago they had started gathering, after word of his winning streak had circulated around the casino. Initially, six players had been in the game, but one by one Hickok had eliminated them. Now only the arrogant gambler remained, and it was his turn to deal.

“Come on, hick,” the gambler said, baiting the gunfighter. “I don’t have all day.”

Hickok deliberately stalled. How much longer, he wondered, did he need to stay in Giorgio’s casino? How much time did he need to buy Blade and the others? It would be dark soon. Surely they had found Mindy by now. But if so, why hadn’t one of them shown up to let him know? He glanced at the Henry, leaning against the table to his left.

“How many cards?” the gambler repeated.

Hickok gazed at his hand. Three kings, a four, and a nine. He discarded the four and the nine. “Two.”

The gambler dealt two cards to the gunman.

Hickok picked up the cards and almost laughed aloud. The two of spades and the two of diamonds! He had a full house!

“Dealer takes three,” the gambler said, and did so.

Hickok was beginning to worry about his friends. He had stayed in the Palace to insure he was the focus of Giorgio’s attention. Sure enough, he’d been under surveillance all day. He suspected they would shadow him if he departed the casino, and he didn’t want to lead Giorgio’s men to his fellow Warriors. But he was growing weary of waiting, and he was extremely concerned for Blade, Geronimo, and Helen. What if they were in trouble?

He decided to give them until nightfall, then go looking for them, shadows or no shadows.

“Are you playing or daydreaming?” the gambler snapped.

Hickok smiled sweetly. This varmint was going to get his, real soon!

“It’ll cost you to stay in the game, Big-Mouth. Five hundred.” He counted out the chips and added them to the pot.

The gambler studied the man in buckskins. He was convinced the blond man was a country bumpkin, and he was determined to show the upstart how the game of poker was played by a real pro. “You’re not bluffing me, mister. I’ll match your five hundred.”

Hickok watched the gambler slide five hundred to the center of the table.

“What do you have?” the gambler asked belligerently.

Hickok laid his cards on the table, face up. “Read ’em and weep, sucker.”

The gambler looked like he was choking. He turned crimson and sputtered, then dropped his hand on the table in disgust.

Hickok reached out and claimed the pot. “Stick around. I’ll give you some lessons on how to play this game.” He grinned at the recollection of the many hours he’d spent playing card games at the Home. Rummy. Gin.

Pinochle. Poop on Your Neighbor. Fish. Poker. Many others. The Family members never actually gambled; they played for the sheer fun of playing.

And as an avid student of the Old West, Hickok’s favorite game was poker.

“Damn you!” the gambler suddenly barked. He stood, shoving his chair backwards.

The spectators scurried away from the table.

“You shouldn’t gamble if you’re a poor loser,” Hickok remarked.

“You son of a bitch!” the gambler spat out. He swept the right flap of his coat aside, revealing a Charter Arms Bulldog revolver in a holster on his right hip. “On your feet!”

Hickok slowly rose, his hands resting on the table. “If you apologize, real nice like, you’ll live to play cards again some day.”

The gambler snorted contemptuously. “Apologize! You can kiss my ass first!”

“I wouldn’t touch your butt with a brandin’ iron,” Hickok retorted.

A new voice intruded on their dispute. “Hold it right there!” Giorgio’s right-hand man, Kenney, hurried up to the table. “Murphy, you’ve been warned about your temper before!” he admonished the gambler. “And you know the rules. No gunplay.”

“Hang the rules!” Murphy declared. “This is between him and me!”

“The Don will not appreciate this,” Kenney noted.