David Robbins - Nevada Run

Blade was hoping Don Marchese would continue. He wanted to learn about the high-ranking visitors from the Family’s allies.

“What exactly is their grievance?” Don Siegel inquired.

Don Pucci looked at Blade. “Tell them about the snatch.”

Blade spent five minutes describing the abduction of Mindy. None of the Dons spoke until he was finished.

“This is deplorable!” Don Lansky stated. “We have a standing rule not to involve outsiders in our affairs.”

“How do we know one of us is involved?” Don Talone questioned. “The evidence is not concrete. Someone could be setting us up.”

“Someone was setup, all right,” Don Pucci said. “This was found on the body of the stranger found at the kidnapping scene.” He tossed the token to Don Marchese.

Each of the Dons took a turn at examining the token.

Don Talone, the last to inspect it, laughed. “A token? This is your evidence? This doesn’t mean a thing. Anyone can obtain a token.”

“There is one more thing,” Don Pucci said coldly. “Something the Warriors didn’t even think of. Something I discovered when I was looking at the address book.”

“What address book?” Don Marchese queried.

“The address book they found on the body of the man with the token,” Don Pucci elaborated. He extended his right hand toward Blade. “May I?”

Blade reached into his right rear pocket and withdrew the small black address book. He gave it to the Don.

Don Pucci waved the book. “This is the incriminating evidence linking one of us to the kidnapping.”

“A lousy address book?” Don Talone remarked sarcastically.

Don Pucci’s features became rigid. “This lousy address book has the name and address of its owner written on the inside of the front cover.” He slid the address book to Don Marchese. “Enlighten all of us.”

Don Marchese picked up the book and opened it. He stared at the handwriting for several seconds, his lips twitching in budding anger.

“What does it say?” Don Siegel prompted.

“Property of…” Don Marchese said, reading the writing. “Alberto Manzo, 6415 Roseway Avenue.”

“Manzo!” Don Lansky exclaimed. “He was one of Giorgio’s button men.”

“This still doesn’t prove Don Giorgio was involved,” Don Talone said.

“It does for me,” Don Pucci stated.

“The evidence is incriminating,” Don Cuascut commented, “but not conclusive.”

“How much more do you need?” Don Pucci asked. He surveyed the men at the table. “Do you have any idea of the gravity of the situation? We risk antagonizing a strong alliance with a powerful military force. We risk the Federation marching on Vegas. Do you want that?”

Don Talone snickered. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I?” Don Pucci rejoined. “Let me remind you of a few facts. We have several thousand soldiers, all told. We’re strong, but we don’t have a standing army, per se. We’ve survived for so long because of two conditions. First, we never meddle in the affairs of outsiders. Never. For over a century we have honored this rule. Second, we’ve paid off the necessary people to guarantee we’re left alone. But the officials in California and the Civilized Zone on our payroll will not look kindly on having a young woman from one of their allies kidnapped by one of us.”

“If she was,” Don Talone interjected.

“Don Giorgio’s animosity toward me is no secret,” Don Pucci said.

“Everyone here knows he wants to oust me. He couldn’t try a direct hit with his own button men, because he knows many of you are close friends of mine and he would face your combined wrath. Someone—and let’s, for the sake of argument, assume Giorgio is responsible—has hired independents to whack me. Four times, no less!”

“Four?” Don Lansky said.

“There was another attempt earlier,” Don Pucci disclosed. “The Warriors saved me.”

“I heard about it,” Don Marchese mentioned. “I am sorry.”

“The outside talent hasn’t been able to do the job,” Don Pucci said. “So now someone—and, again, who else but Giorgio would do it?—has attempted to instigate my death at the hands of the Warriors.”

“This is all speculation,” Don Talone declared. “You can’t prove Don Giorgio is involved.”

The door suddenly opened.

Blade looked up at the man striding into the meeting room. His mind registered the cruel visage, the oily black hair, the brown eyes, and the black suit, and he intuitively realized the new arrival was Don Giorgio.

“Don Giorgio,” Don Pucci said, confirming Blade’s deduction. “You are early.”

Don Giorgio scanned the room, his arrogant gaze lingering on the Warriors. “You’ve started the meeting without me?”

“You are the topic of our meeting,” Don Pucci stated. “I’d hoped to settle matters before you arrived.”

Don Giorgio stared at Don Pucci. “What kind of stunt are you trying to pull?”

“Why don’t you take a seat?” Don Pucci suggested. “We would like to discuss the matter of a kidnapping with you.”

“Is this a meeting of the Council or an interrogation?” Don Giorgio demanded testily.

“It is both,” Don Pucci answered.

“I am insulted by your lack of courtesy,” Don Giorgio said to Don Pucci.

“I came over to your joint in good faith, with only six of my men, as required by our agreement. And now you say you want to grill me over some kidnapping?”

“We do not intend to grill you,” Don Lansky said. “We merely want to ask a few questions.”

“Why should I agree to this breech of etiquette,” Don Giorgio snapped.

“If you have nothing to hide, I see no reason why you can’t cooperate,” Don Pucci stated.

Don Giorgio stared at each of the other Dons. “Are all of you in this together?”

“Don Pucci has made serious charges against you,” Don Lansky offered placatingly. “We simply want to set the record straight.”

“I refuse to be treated like one of the pezzonovante,” Don Giorgio said disdainfully.

Embroiled in their dispute, accustomed to conducting their business in private amongst themselves, with their attention fully focused on another, they collectively disregarded the presence of the three Warriors. The last thing they expected was to have their conference interrupted by an outsider. So they were all the more disconcerted when a disruption abruptly occurred.

Helen walked up to the table and leveled her carbine at Don Giorgio.

“Where’s my daughter, you bastard!”

Don Giorgio stiffened. “Who the hell are you?”

“The name is Helen,” she told him icily. “You kidnapped Mindy, my daughter. Where is she?”

“I did not kidnap your daughter, bitch!” Don Giorgio growled.

Helen shot him.

The single round caught Giorgio high on the right shoulder and spun him completely around. He doubled over, his left hand pressed against the wound, blood trickling over his fingers, his face contorted in savage rage.

Without exception, the other Dons were gawking at Giorgio, dumbfounded.

“Helen!” Blade said harshly, grabbing the Armalite barrel and pushing it upwards.

Just then the door opened and button men raced into the room, each with a handgun. Each of the Dons had arrived at the meeting with six soldiers, and now those trigger men flocked to their Dons while uneasily eying everyone else.

Don Pucci was the first to recover. “There will be no more shooting!” he commanded sternly.

Don Giorgio straightened and examined his wound.

“It’s just a scratch,” he said contemptuously. “The bitch can’t shoot straight.”

“If I’d wanted you dead,” Helen assured him, “you’d be dead!”

Blade was expecting one of the soldiers to open up at any second. They were on edge, primed to kill. All it would take to initiate a blood bath was one wrong word or hasty action.