Nevada Run

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Nadine’s suite was sumptuously adorned. She closed the door behind them, flicked on the lights, and indicated a huge living room. “Make yourself at home.”

Hickok sauntered into the living room, admiring the luxurious accommodations. “Wow! What do you do for a living? Rob banks?”

Nadine laughed and walked toward him. “Not quite. I’m a secretary.”

“You must make a heap of dough,” Hickok remarked, “if you can afford to live here.”

“I don’t live here, silly,” Nadine said. “I’m renting the suite while I’m on vacation. I saved for a whole year to be able to stay here.”

“You like to gamble?” Hickok commented.

Nadine winked at him. “I like excitement.”

Hickok winked back. “Me too.”

Nadine glanced at a door in the center of the right-hand wall. “Do you mind if I change into something a little more comfortable?”

“Suit yourself,” Hickok said.

Nadine smiled and strolled to the door. “This will just take a minute or two. Don’t go away!”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” Hickok assured her.

Nadine entered the next room and shut the door. “Stretch out on the sofa. I’ll be right there,” she called out.

“Okay,” Hickok replied. Instead, he unslung the Henry and leaned it against a chair, then ran to the hall door and eased it open a crack.

A tail was in the corridor, approximately 20 feet away, leaning against the wall and staring moodily at the floor.

Hickok recognized the shadow. It was not the young mobster he’d spoken to in the casino. This was the other youngish mobster, the one in the brown suit, the one he’d seen in Don Giorgio’s office. There must have been a changing of the guard. He closed the door and returned to the living room. As he was reclining on the sofa, Nadine emerged.

“Now I’m comfortable,” she declared contentedly.

She was also almost naked. Hickok averted his eyes, gazing at a nearby chair. The red negligee she was wearing did an adequate job of covering her navel, but that was the only part of her anatomy it seemed to cover.

“What’s wrong?” Nadine inquired, coming around the end of the sofa.

“Nothin’,” Hickok mumbled.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy?” Nadine asked.

Hickok quickly sat up to give her room to sit. “Me? Shy? Not in a million years.”

Nadine perched herself next to the gunman. “Do I embarrass you?”

“No,” Hickok said. “But maybe you should put on a robe or something.

You could catch your death from pneumonia.”

Nadine laughed. “I’m fine. Believe me.”

Hickok stood. “I believe you.” He took a step away from the sofa, keeping his back to her. He held his right hand alongside his belt buckle and clenched his fist.

“You are shy!” Nadine exclaimed. She grabbed the fringe of his buckskin shirt. “Come on. Have a seat. Let’s get to know each other.”

“I can’t,” Hickok said. “I’m hitched.”

“So what if you’re married?” Nadine commented. “It doesn’t make a difference to me.”

“Are you sure you want me to turn around?” Hickok inquired with the utmost civility.

Nadine tugged on his shirt. “Of course,” he said.

“I should warn you,” Hickok advised her. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What kind of surprise?” Nadine inquired. She noticed the angle of his right arm and misconstrued his intent. “Oh, you naughty thing, you!” she declared, giggling. “I love kinky men!”

Hickok’s brow furrowed. What the blazes was she talking about? “So you want my surprise?” he asked, wagging his fist.

Nadine caught the movement and tittered. “Give it to me!”

Hickok shrugged. “If you insist.”

Nadine was grinning in lewd anticipation when he slugged her, his wiry form whipping around in a right arc, his right fist slamming into her jaw and flattening her on the sofa.

Hickok raised his fist for another blow, but the hooker was out cold, a rivulet of blood seeping out the left corner of her shapely mouth. “It may not make a difference to you, lady,” he addressed the unconscious prostitute, “but it makes a world of difference to me. I’ll never cheat on my missus.”

Nadine groaned.

Hickok grabbed the Henry and dashed to the hall door again. He inched the door outwards until he could see the corridor.

The tail was gone!

Or was he?

What if the turkey had shifted positions? Hickok started to gingerly open the door wider, when suddenly the door was flung all the way open.

There stood the smirking mobster with a Detonics Combat Master MK

VI in his right hand. “What are you up to, asshole?” he demanded.

“About six feet,” Hickok replied.

“A smartass, huh?” the mobster said. “Up with your hands.”

Hickok released the Henry and casually raised his arms.

“You didn’t think I saw you before, did you?” the mobster mentioned.

“But you don’t pull one over on Ozzi that easily.”

“Your handle is Ozzi?” Hickok queried.

“What if it is?” Ozzi peered over the gun fighter’s left shoulder and spied Nadine on the sofa. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothin’ much,” Hickok said. “I tucked her in, is all.”

“I knew you were up to no good,” Ozzi stated. “Okay. You’re coming with me.”

“Where are we going?” Hickok questioned.

“To see Don Giorgio,” Ozzi disclosed. “He went over to Pucci’s joint but he should be back soon.”

“Why don’t we grab a bite to eat first?” Hickok suggested.

“And give you the chance to make a break?” Ozzi rejoined. “Not on your life. And keep those hands in the air. Don’t try to touch those Colts. I’ve seen you in action, and I’m not taking any unnecessary risks. I’ve never seen anyone as fast as you.”

Hickok grinned. “Thanks for the compliment.”

“All Warriors must be morons,” Ozzi muttered. He backed up several feet. “Let’s go. Head for the stairwell at the end of this hall. And remember, if you lower your arms by a fraction, you’re dead meat.”

Hickok walked from the suite and turned in the direction Ozzi was indicating, to the right. The corridor was deserted. “Where is everybody?”

“Down in the casino,” Ozzi replied. “The upper floors are like a tomb during the evening.”

Hickok thoughtfully studied the green door ahead, debating whether to make his move there or wait for a better opportunity. There was a small window in the door at shoulder height.

“Stop!” Ozzi barked when they were six feet from the stairwell. “Stand facing the left wall.”

Hickok obeyed.

Ozzi carefully moved past the Warrior and up to the door. He was about to push it open so he could enter the stairwell first. The Warrior might be tempted to swing the door into him, or use it as a shield while drawing the Colts. By going first, he thwarted both strategies. He detected motion on the other side of the door and glanced through the window.

Kenney was hurrying up the stairs, his countenance uncharacteristically grim. He disappeared a moment later.

What the hell?

For a few seconds Ozzi was mystified. Why was Kenney heading upstairs? Normally, Kenney would be conducting his daily casino rounds, inspecting all the tables and insuring everything was running smoothly.

There was nothing upstairs of any interest. Except, of course, for Mindy.

Mindy!

A hard object unexpectedly touched Ozzi’s left ear.

“Guess who?” Hickok quipped.

Ozzi gulped, his eyes on the stairwell.

“Let go of the hardware,” Hickok directed, his right Colt pressed against the mobster’s head. He grabbed the top of the Detonics pistol.

Ozzi released the weapon.

“Smart man,” Hickok said. He slid the pistol under his belt. “Now let’s mosey back to Nadine’s room.”

Ozzi slowly turned. His mind was racing with the implications of Kenney’s presence in the stairwell. Kenney never varied his routine. Never.

But the man was doing so now? Why? A queasy sensation developed in Ozzi’s gut. “Wait!” he blurted.

“Quit stallin’,” Hickok admonished.

Ozzi looked at the gunman. “Do you know Mindy?”

Hickok was instantly all attention. “Mindy? What about her?”

“She’s the reason you’re here, right?” Ozzi inquired.

Hickok nodded. “How do you know about Mindy?”

Ozzi hesitated. What if he was wrong? The Don would never forgive him. But if he was right, then the Don must have sanctioned the killing.

“Mindy is two floors up,” he revealed. “I think she’s in danger.”

“What do you care?” Hickok asked suspiciously. “Is this your notion of a cockamamie trick?”

“No!” Ozzie responded. “I’m serious, man! She could be in danger.”

“Take me to her,” Hickok directed. If Mindy was really in danger, retrieving the Henry would have to wait. Every second counted.

Ozzi turned and opened the stairwell door. He took the stairs two at a stride.

Hickok stuck with the trigger man. He was puzzled by the mobster’s evident sincerity, and he decided to go with his instincts. If Mindy was in the Palace, he intended to rescue her. And no passel of mangy city slickers was going to stand in his way!

Ozzi passed the landing for the ninth floor.

Hickok drew his left Colt.

As the landing for the tenth floor loomed overhead, Ozzi slowed slightly.

What if he was making a fool of himself? What if Kenney was just checking on Mindy’s welfare? He was behaving rashly, and a wiseguy needed a cool head at all times. What had Don Giorgio said in Minnesota?

“If you blow your cool, you’re a fool.” His best bet was to confirm Mindy was okay on the sly, a task he could not perform with the Warrior in tow.

No sooner did the realization dawn upon him than he threw himself backwards, hoping to catch the gunman unawares.

He nearly succeeded.

Hickok’s lightning reflexes served him in good stead. He dodged to the left to avoid the hit man’s hurtling body, but Ozzi grabbed his right arm and yanked, causing him to lose his balance and to topple backwards.

The pair tumbled down the stairwell for eight feet.

Hickok’s head smacked onto the edge of one of the concrete steps, and he wound up on his left side, dazed. He saw Ozzi come out of a roll and dive toward him, and he managed to lash out with his right foot and kick the button man in the face.

Ozzi was knocked for a loop. He landed on his back, four steps below the Warrior.

Hickok surged erect as Ozzi was rising. He took a stride and slammed the barrel of his right Python across the mobster’s mouth.

Ozzi, staggered, reeled.

Hickok closed in, battering the hit man again and again. First the left Colt, then the right, then the left once more.

Ozzi, his mouth and chin a bloody, pulpy mess, sank to his knees, then collapsed.

Hickok was tempted to plug the varmint, but the shot might attract other gangsters. He holstered the Colts and glanced up the stairwell. Was Mindy really in the building, or had Ozzi fabricated the story to augment his chances of turning the tide? Hickok knew he couldn’t afford to leave without verifying whether Mindy was in the Palace, whether she actually was on the tenth floor.

He jogged up the stairs.

If Ozzi had been right about everyone being down in the casino, finding an alternate exit from the Palace should be a piece of cake. A side door would suffice, or a window close to the ground.

Hickok reached the tenth floor landing and halted, peering through the window in the door.

The corridor was vacant.

Warily, his ears straining, Hickok opened the door and stepped into the hallway. He advanced slowly until he came abreast of the nearest door on the right. His right hand closed on the doorknob.

The danged thing was locked!

Hickok frowned as he surveyed the corridor. There were over a dozen rooms. Which one was Mindy in? He walked to the next door, which was on the left, and touched the knob.

A piercing, terrified scream abruptly shattered the stillness.