Nevada Run

CHAPTER EIGHT

“We’re being followed,” Geronimo announced.

Blade knew better than to turn around and search for their tail.

“Where?” he casually inquired over his right shoulder.

“About forty yards behind us,” Geronimo said. “There are two of them.

They’ve been shadowing us for two or three minutes.”

“Are they armed?” Blade queried.

“I don’t see any rifles or machine guns,” Geronimo responded. “But they could have handguns concealed under their jackets. They’re both wearing dark suits.”

“What’s the plan, Big Guy?” Hickok asked.

Blade pondered their next move. He estimated they were over a mile from the liquor store. Ahead was a stretch of highway with casino after casino on both sides. Secondary streets periodically intersected the main thoroughfare. More people than ever before jammed the sidewalks, and the vehicle traffic was bumper to bumper.

“Want me to take care of them?” Hickok proposed.

“We’ll do it my way,” Blade said. “Come on.” He walked to the nearest intersection and waited at the curb with a crowd of pedestrians until the traffic light displayed a WALK sign.

The Warriors quickly crossed.

Blade was hoping his strategy would work. They had traversed six intersections since leaving the liquor store, and he had noticed the traffic lights never flashed the WALK sign for more than 30 seconds. Anyone wanting to cross was compelled to walk rapidly. The two men following the Warriors would be unable to catch up until the next light change. He hoped.

“They didn’t make it,” Geronimo confirmed, idly gazing to their rear.

Blade increased his pace, searching for the ideal spot.

Geronimo, faking an interest in the casinos, scanned the structures to the rear. “The light still hasn’t changed,” he mentioned.

An alley appeared to the right.

Blade slowed, noting the crates stacked at the mouth of the alley, partially obscuring the entrance. “Where are they?”

“Still waiting for the light,” Geronimo said.

“Into this alley then,” Blade instructed them, and took a right when he reached it. The alley was littered with refuse and lined with metal trash cans.

“Yuck!” Hickok declared. “What a smell!”

“Reminds me of you before your annual bath,” Geronimo quipped.

Blade saw an open door 15 feet away. He cautiously advanced and peered inside, discovering a gloomy corridor with a closed door at the far end. “In here,” he ordered, then stood aside so they could file into the hallway.

“I don’t like being cooped up like this,” Hickok commented.

Blade stepped inside and drew the door shut until only a crack remained, enough visibility to afford him a view of the alley mouth and the stretch up to the door.

“Are you aimin’ to jump these clowns?” Hickok asked.

“I am,” Blade verified, peeking through the crack.

Hickok chuckled. “This is another thing I like about Las Vegas. There’s never a dull moment.”

Blade watched the mouth of the alley for their shadows. Seconds later two men in dark suits, with felt hats, reached the entrance and paused uncertainly. Blade knew they were perplexed. He doubted the pair had seen the Warriors enter the alley, so they must be wondering how the Warriors could have vanished into thin air.

The two men became embroiled in a heated exchange.

Blade grinned. One of the men, the skinniest, was gesturing along the main drag, indicating he wanted to stick to the highway. But the other one was jabbing his right thumb toward the alley, apparently arguing the alley should be checked before they proceeded.

The skinny one lost.

Both men walked into the alley.

Blade slung his Commando over his broad back and drew his right Bowie. “Geronimo,” he whispered. “Take the skinny one.”

Geronimo nodded, then handed the Browning to Helen. He slid his tomahawk from under his belt.

Blade tensed as the second man, a pale, mousy man not over five feet tall, approached the door. He waited until the last possible instant, until the mousy mobster was reaching for the doorknob, before he lunged, ramming his powerful right shoulder into the door and sending it flying wide.

Startled, the mousy mobster was caught off guard. The door struck him in the chest and knocked him onto the ground.

Blade was on the mobster like a pouncing panther. He leaped and landed with his right knee folded, his leg hard, ramming the knee into the mobster’s abdomen. The man grunted and turned red, gasping for air.

The skinny one reacted incredibly swiftly, his left hand going for a Smith and Wesson tucked in his waistband. He never pulled it.

Geronimo reached the skinny mobster in three bounds, the tomahawk glinting in the sunlight. He delivered a resounding blow to the left side of the mobster’s head with the flat of his weapon, splitting the skin and staggering the mobster but leaving the skinny man alive.

Blade placed the point of his right Bowie next to the mousy mobster’s left eye. “Why were you following us?” he demanded.

“Wasn’t…” the man replied, wheezing.

Hickok and Helen moved past Blade and Geronimo to cover the alley entrance.

“I won’t ask again,” Blade stated harshly. “Who are you? Why were you following us?”

“I wasn’t!” Mousy replied angrily.

Blade cut him. He slashed the Bowie across the man’s left cheek, leaving an inch-deep slit.

Mousy started to shriek.

Blade pressed his left hand over Mousy’s mouth. “Don’t make a sound or you’re dead!”

Mousy’s brown eyes widened fearfully.

Blade looked up. Hickok and Helen were near the alley mouth, blocking the view of the passersby. Skinny was clutching the wound to his head, blood seeping over his fingers. The mobster’s hat had fallen to the ground.

Geronimo held the tomahawk aloft, prepared to strike again if necessary.

Perfect.

He could concentrate on his interrogation.

Blade grinned down at the small mobster. “Now you were saying? Why were you following us?” He lifted his left hand.

Mousy took a gulp of putrid alley air. “Told to!” he blurted. “Orders!”

“Orders from whom?” Blade demanded.

“Orders from Kenney,” Mousy disclosed.

“And who is Kenney?” Blade queried.

“Kenney is Don Giorgio’s right-hand man,” Mousy explained. “We were at the casino a while ago when a call came in. Somebody whacked Giorgio’s son, Franky—”

“I know,” Blade interrupted. “We did.”

“You admit it?” Mousy asked in astonishment. “You must be wacko!”

“Keep talking,” Blade stated.

“Kenney got a description of you guys,” Mousy detailed. “He told us to tail you. We cruised the strip until I spotted you, then we parked and tailed you on foot.”

“What were you supposed to do? Kill us?” Blade inquired.

“Just follow you,” Mousy said.

Blade smirked. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Honest!” Mousy asserted. “We were ordered to follow you, make a note of places you stopped at and the people you talked to, and call in a report every hour.”

“Does Giorgio want revenge for the death of his son?” Blade asked.

“I haven’t talked to Don Giorgio,” Mousy replied. “I talked to Kenney.

But if you’re asking my opinion, yeah. Giorgio won’t stand still for the racking of Franky. He’ll probably ask Don Pucci for a sanction to snuff you guys.”

“We don’t want to fight Don Giorgio,” Blade commented.

“I’ll bet you don’t!” Mousy said scornfully.

“Can you tell him that?” Blade queried.

“Sure,” Mousy responded. “But it won’t do no good. You killed his son. Blood talks, you know.”

“And there’s nothing I could say or do to convince Don Giorgio to leave us alone?” Blade questioned.

“Leave you alone? Not on your life!” Mousy declared.

Blade frowned, irritated by the turn of events. As if rescuing Mindy wasn’t enough of a problem, now he had to contend with a vengeful Don!

“You’ve got two choices,” Mousy said. “You can play it smart and get the hell out of Vegas, or you can stay and die. It’s that simple.”

“There’s one more option,” Blade noted.

“What’s that?” Mousy asked.

“I can kill Don Giorgio if he doesn’t leave us alone,” Blade stated.

Despite his wounded left cheek, Mousy laughed, “Kill Don Giorgio? You’re out of your mind!”

Blade slowly stood. “Where is Giorgio’s headquarters?”

“Where else? The Don hangs out at his place,” Mousy divulged. “He has his own casino, just like all the other Dons.”

“What’s the name of Giorgio’s casino?” Blade demanded.

“Johnny’s Palace,” Mousy answered.

Blade’s eyes narrowed. “One more question. Where does Don Pucci hang out?”

“At the Golden Crown Casino, mostly,” Mousy said. “Why?”

“None of your business,” Blade replied. “On your feet.”

Mousy complied.

Blade wagged his right Bowie in front of the mobster’s eyes. “I want you to relay a message to Don Giorgio. Tell him I’m coming after him.”

“You’re what?” Mousy blurted in disbelief.

“Tell Giorgio I’m coming after him since he can’t leave well enough alone,” Blade directed. “Tell him I’ll be at his Palace soon.”

Mousy’s mouth dropped. “You won’t last three seconds.”

“Just tell him,” Blade snapped. “And tell him this. If he’s a man and not a coward, he’ll meet me one on one.”

Mousy made a clucking sound. “What a jerk! I’ll relay your message, and I hope I’m there when the Don creams you.”

“Get out of here,” Blade commanded.

Mousy turned and started from the alley. He paused next to Skinny.

“What about my buddy?”

“Take him with you,” Blade said.

Geronimo looked at Blade. “Awwww, gee! I was hoping I could split his head open. Can I? Huh? Can I? Pretty please?”

Blade barely suppressed a laugh. “No.”

“Darn!” Geronimo exclaimed wistfully.

Mousy gawked at Geronimo. “You’re wacko, Indian! All of you are flat-out crazy!”

Geronimo beamed. “You really think so?”

Mousy and Skinny moved toward the alley entrance.

Hickok suddenly blocked their path, the Henry in his hands. He aimed the barrel at Mousey’s face. “Hold it!”

“What’s the matter?” Mousy queried nervously. “The guy with the knife said we could go.”

“Is that a wart on your nose?” Hickok asked.

“A what?”

“A wart,” Hickok reiterated. “I’m not partial to warts. I plug ’em every chance I get. If that’s a wart on your nose, I’ll have to shoot it off.”

Mousy gazed back at Blade and Geronimo, then stared at Helen for a second. “Lunatics! I’m surrounded by lunatics!”

“Is that a wart?” Hickok repeated.

“There’s no damn wart on my nose!” Mousy said anxiously.

“Oh.” Hickok lowered the Henry. “In that case, have a real nice day.” He bowed and motioned toward the main street.

Mousy grabbed Skinny’s right arm. “Come on! We’re getting the hell out of here!”

The two mobsters ran from the alley and disappeared.

Helen began laughing.

Blade and Geronimo joined their colleagues.

“Were you serious about going after Don Giorgio?” Hickok asked.

Blade replaced the right Bowie in its sheath. “Of course not. I wanted to buy us time to find Mindy. If Giorgio expects us at his Palace, he might drop the tails. We should have a few hours before he gets suspicious.”

Hickok chuckled. “By the time the cow chip realizes we’re not comin’, we’ll be long gone with Mindy.”

“I hope,” Blade said.

Geronimo slid the tomahawk under his belt. “So now we find Mindy,” he remarked with determination.

“About time,” Helen muttered.

Hickok looked up and noticed Blade was thoughtfully chewing on his lower lip. “What’s buggin’ you?”

“Something is not right,” Blade said.

“Like what?” Hickok questioned.

Blade frowned. “I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. There’s something I’m missing.”

“It’ll come to you,” Hickok said. “Give it time.”

“I guess you’re right,” Blade argued. He stared at Helen. “Let’s go rescue your daughter.”

“And keep your eyes peeled,” Hickok told Helen.

Helen gazed at the gunman quizzically. “For what?”

“Mobsters with warts. I can use some target practice,” Hickok commented.

Helen simply rolled her eyes heavenward.