Nevada Run

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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.

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.