Nevada Run

by David Robbins

  Geronimo and Helen were coming around the passenger side, shooting on the run.

  Blade stood, providing covering fire.

  “Get them!” someone was bellowing. “Nail those sons of bitches!”

  Helen took cover in back of a slot machine.

  Geronimo blasted the Browning one more time, then dived for shelter.

  Shots were thudding into the slot machines.

  Giorgio’s trigger men were assembling for a mass charge.

  “Grenades!” Blade yelled, reaching into his right front pocket. He extracted one of his grenades and crouched close to the floor.

  Geronimo and Helen did likewise.

  Blade peeked around the edge of the slot machine. The mobsters were just starting forward, about 30 of them. “On the count of three!” he directed.

  The slot machines were being struck again and again.

  “Two.”

  There was a loud, defiant whoop from the hit men as they charged the slots.

  “Three.”

  As one, the Warriors pulled the pins on their grenades and rose, their arms already sweeping back, then arcing around. The grenades sailed over the Buick, perfectly thrown, landing on the carpet in front of the onrushing mobsters and rolling under their pumping legs.

  Blade, Geronimo, and Helen flattened.

  The three concussions combined to produce an awesome shock wave, and the floor seemed to heave upward and settle down again.

  Bits of flesh and chunks of bodies were blown across the room. Several legs rained to the carpet.

  “Oh me!” Blade commanded, heaving erect and racing for the rear of the casino. He wanted to draw Giorgio’s men away from the front entrance. Two hit men appeared and he killed them both.

  Geronimo and Helen were pouring a lethal hail of lead into any and all targets.

  Blade noticed a door to his left. He sprinted toward it.

  A mobster popped up from behind a table ten feet to the right, a shotgun in his hands, aiming at the giant.

  Blade started to whirl, knowing he would be too late, expecting to feel the buckshot tearing through his body.

  Helen saved him. Her carbine boomed, and the mobster, hit in the face, was flung backwards.

  Blade dashed to the door. He wrenched on the knob and pulled it wide, intending to seek temporary sanctuary in the corridor beyond.

  A dozen or so trigger men were rushing down the hall toward the door, coming to the aid of their colleagues.

  “Hey! Look!” one of them shouted. “Who’s he?”

  Blade spun, desperately seeking somewhere they could defend against the mobsters.

  Another group of soldiers was storming across the casino.

  They were trapped!

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Hickok glanced to the right, in the direction of the scream. Was that Mindy? He raced along the corridor, hoping the scream would be repeated so he could pinpoint the room.

  It was.

  A second, subdued shriek punctuated the hall, emanating from a room to the right.

  Hickok reached the door in two bounds. He tried to twist the knob, but the door was locked.

  So what!

  Hickok took a step back, then kicked, planting his right foot next to the doorknob.

  The door held firm.

  Frowning, Hickok struck with his foot twice more, and on the second kick there was a splintering crunch and the door frame split from the base to the top. He tensed his left shoulder and slammed into the center of the door. He was elated when it swiveled inward, the lock dangling from only one screw.

  Dear Spirit!

  Hickok’s elation turned to dismay at the sight he beheld: Kenney was straddling Mindy on a bed, striving to choke the life from her with a ragged strip of yellow bedspread.

  Mindy was feebly swatting at Kenney’s arms.

  Kenney glanced up in shock at the Warrior. He released his grip and tried to reach a pistol under his left arm.

  Hickok’s reaction was instantaneous. He drew his right Colt and snapped off a shot.

  The slug ripped through Kenney’s right eye and out the rear of his head, the impact twisting his body to the right and knocking him to the floor.

  “Mindy!” Hickok exclaimed, running to the bed and holstering his Colt.

  Mindy stared at the Warrior in transparent relief. She clawed at the strip of bedspread, gasping for air.

  Hickok swiftly removed the crude garrote.

  “Hickok!” Mindy exclaimed, her voice raspy and hoarse. She was up and hugging him in the twinkling of an eye.

  Hickok embraced her awkwardly for a moment. “There, there,” he consoled her, feeling her tremble in his arms. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Everything is hunky-dory.”

  Mindy placed her face in the crook of his neck. Moist tears touched his skin. “Oh, Hickok!” she gasped.

  “That’s my handle. Don’t wear it out,” he said light-heartedly.

  “Hickok!” Mindy stated again, as if his name was a tonic to her tortured emotions.

  “We can’t stay here,” Hickok advised her.

  “I’m scared,” Mindy blurted. “That man almost killed me!”

  “His killin’ days are over,” Hickok assured her.

  Mindy stepped back, courageously composing herself. “Who else is with you?”

  “Blade, some ornery Injun with a penchant for bull-slingin’, and your mom,” Hickok disclosed.

  Mindy brightened. “My mom is here!”

  “In the Golden Crown, across the street,” Hickok said.

  “We’ve got to find them.”

  Mindy rubbed her tender neck, taking deep breaths. “Give me a minute. I feel weak.”

  “That’s to be expected,” Hickok remarked, glancing at the doorway.

  “We really must skedaddle.”

  “In a second,” she said. “You know, it’s funny. I used to occasionally view being a Weaver at the Home as a dull vocation. But no more! I’ll never gripe about my lot in life again! From now on, I—”

  “Save it,” Hickok said, cutting her off. He took hold of her right hand and walked toward the corridor. “I’m tickled pink that you’ve found your niche in life. I truly am. But this isn’t the time or place for yakkin’ about it.

  We’ve got to make tracks.”

  “Sorry,” Mindy mumbled. “I’m just so happy! I feel like I could walk on air.”

  “I wish we could walk on air,” Hickok commented. “It’d make gettin’ out of here a lot easier.” He stopped in the center of the hallway and gazed in both directions.

  No mobsters were in sight.

  “Maybe we lucked out,” Hickok observed. “Maybe no one heard my shot.”

  “Which way?” Mindy inquired.

  “The stairwell,” Hickok suggested, retracing his steps. Once they were in the stairwell, he increased his pace.

  “Where does this lead?” Mindy questioned.

  “Whisper,” he whispered.

  “Where does this lead?” Mindy repeated in a hushed voice.

  “Down,” Hickok stated the obvious. “There might be an exit door at the bottom.”

  “I can’t wait to see my mother again,” Mindy mentioned.

  Hickok abruptly halted.

  “What is it?” Mindy asked apprehensively.

  Hickok stared at the steps in perplexity. “The polecat is gone!” He peered over the railing.

  “What polecat?” Mindy inquired.

  “Later,” Hickok said. They descended to the eighth floor. He told her to wait, entered the hall, and returned in ten seconds with a rifle slung across his back. “My Henry,” he explained, taking her hand once more. Down they went.

  From far below came the muffled, yet unmistakable, report of an explosion. They heard the faint sound of gunfire.

  “What’s going on?” Mindy questioned.

  “I wish I knew,” Hickok muttered. He hastened ever lower, pondering the ramifications of the conflict being waged. From the sound of things, a full-
fledged war had erupted. But who would be attacking Don Giorgio? And why? His friends must have come looking for him, and somehow managed to get into hot water. Leave it to those dummies to get into trouble when he had everything under control!

  The noise of the shooting, intermixed with shouting and screams, grew louder and louder.

  They passed landing after landing until they were between the fourth floor and the third, not ten feet from the landing door, which abruptly opened.

  Hickok drew Mindy back against the stairwell wall. Her fingernails bit into the palm of his hand.

  Six mobsters appeared and promptly descended the stairs. None of them bothered to look upward.

  “Whew!” Mindy exclaimed. “That was close!”

  “Come on.” Hickok stepped down to the landing. He released Mindy’s hand and cautiously approached the door. Don Giorgio’s suite was on this floor. He looked through the window, verifying the hallway was vacant.

  “Don Giorgio was responsible for kidnapping you, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Mindy said.

  “No one else?” Hickok asked.

  “Just Giorgio’s goons,” Mindy replied. “Why?”

  “Did you ever hear of a Don Pucci?” Hickok inquired.

  “I heard the name mentioned,” Mindy answered. “But I never met him. I was under the impression that Giorgio and Pucci are not on the best of terms.”

  Hickok nodded. “Everything is fallin’ into place. I want you to stick close to me.”

  “I’m not about to wander off,” Mindy promised.

  “Walk directly behind me,” Hickok instructed her. “If one of us is going to take a slug, I’d rather it be me.”

  “What do you mean by take a slug?” Mindy responded nervously.

  Hickok didn’t reply. He yanked the door wide and boldly proceeded along the corridor.

  Mindy was about to inquire about the reason for leaving the stairwell, when a door ahead opened and two hit men emerged. They both toted machine guns, and their eyes widened as they saw the Warrior. She quickly stepped behind Hickok, but peeked around his right shoulder.

  “Who are you?” one of the button men demanded.

  “Where is Giorgio?” Hickok rejoined, his arms draped at his sides.

  “Who the hell wants to know?” snapped the mobster.

  “His executioner,” Hickok replied.

  The button men tried to bring their machine guns into play.

  Mindy was opening her mouth to screech in mortal terror, momentarily forgetting who she was with and overlooking his reputation, certain they were both about to be shot.

  But it was the other way around.

  She glimpsed a blurred streak as Hickok pulled his revolvers and fired, the twin shots deafening in the corridor.

  Each mobster was hit in the face just above the nose. Each one stumbled backwards and toppled over. Hickok suddenly began walking quite rapidly toward the door at the end of the hall.

  Mindy dogged him like a shadow.

  A burly mobster stepped from a room on the left, a pistol in his right hand.

  Hickok plugged him between the eyes, then walked even faster then before.

  Mindy detected an urgency in his movements. She marveled at the shootings she had witnessed. He had slain four men in twice as many minutes, and she wondered if she would see him kill more.

  She did.

  They were eight feet from the door at the end of the hall when it swung inward, framing a trigger man with a shotgun in the doorway.

  Hickok shot him in the forehead.

  Mindy was within an inch of the Warrior’s back, craning her neck to look over his right shoulder. She intuitively sensed she was about to witness an exploit few Family members had been privileged to observe at close quarters: Hickok in action. She had heard stories of his deeds during the war against the Doktor and elsewhere, but she had never personally been an eyewitness to his prowess.

  Now she was.

  Hickok went through the doorway at a brisk clip, striding over the corpse blocking the door.

  Mindy found herself in a large room containing a lot of chairs. On the other side of the room was a closed door, and the Warrior stalked up to it and flung it open.

  A pair of trigger men were running toward them. One was armed with a machine gun, the other a pistol.

  Hickok went for the most dangerous adversary first, the man with the machine gun. His right Colt cracked, and the trigger man reacted like he had been pounded in the head by an invisible sledge hammer; the mobster flipped backward onto a desk.

  But even as Hickok had fired, so had the trigger man with the pistol.

  Mindy saw Hickok’s left shoulder jerk, and something tugged at her red hair. With a start, she realized the Warrior had been hit!

  Hickok’s left Python boomed, and the second mobster sprouted an extra nostril and pitched forward.

  Mindy went to touch Hickok, to ask if he was okay, but he was pressing toward yet another door in their path. He was reaching for the doorknob when he did a very strange thing; he unexpectedly swept his left arm around, forcing her away from the shut door.

  Not a second too soon.

  The door was rocked by a machine-gun burst, the slugs bursting the wood outwards and crashing into the walls and furniture surrounding them.

  Mindy flinched, covering her face with her right arm.

  As abruptly as it began, the firing ceased.

  And Hickok moved. He reached the door in a leaping stride and rammed his right foot into the lower half. The ravaged door swiveled inward.

  Mindy, remembering his instructions to stay near him always, darted behind him in time to see a heavyset man fumbling with a mechanism on the large machine gun he was holding. He looked up, staring calmly at the Warrior, and he actually grinned.

  “Wouldn’t you know it,” he commented pensively. “The damn thing jammed.”

  “Better luck next time,” Hickok said, and his left Colt blasted.

  The heavyset mobster stiffened as his left eye vanished and the rear of his cranium exploded, showering hair and flesh all over the thick carpet.

  He sagged to his knees, then fell forward.

  Hickok strode into the huge chamber, glancing from left to right.

  “Blast!” he fumed. “Giorgio isn’t here.”

  “But I am,” said a mocking voice behind them.

  Mindy, horrified, recognizing the voice, whirled.

  There he was, covered with blood from his eyebrows to his waist, his nose twisted to the left, his lips split and several teeth broken, his chin and cheeks puffy and marked by welts, a machine gun in his hands, a furious gleam in his eyes.

  “Ozzi!” Mindy cried.

  Ozzi swept the machine-gun barrel to within a hairs-breadth of her nose. “Yes! Ozzi!”

  Hickok had turned at the sound of Ozzi’s voice, but his line of fire had been obstructed by Mindy. He shifted to the right.

  “Don’t even think it!” Ozzi growled, his finger quivering on the trigger.

  “You do, and she’s worm meat!”

  Hickok frowned and tilted the Python barrels up at the ceiling.

  “That’s real smart,” Ozzi said. “Now drop the revolvers!”

  Hickok never hesitated. He knew he could drill Ozzi before the hit man squeezed the machine gun’s trigger, and he also knew Ozzi’s finger might tighten on the trigger in a reflexive death spasm. Either way, Mindy would die. Ozzi was holding a fully automatic Bushmaster.

  The Colts fell to the carpet.

  Ozzi beamed maliciously. “Now the Detonics and the rifle.”

  Hickok had forgotten about the pistol tucked under his belt. He slowly eased it loose and let go, then placed the Henry on the floor.

  Ozzi glared at the Warrior, then Mindy. “Did you really think you’d get away from me?”

  Mindy didn’t answer.

  Ozzi’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not so clever, bitch! I finally figured out why you turned down my marriage proposal.”

>   Despite her revulsion and fear, Mindy responded. “Why?”

  “Because you’ve got the hots for him,” Ozzi said, leering.

  “I do not!” Mindy declared, insulted at the insinuation.

  Ozzi’s lips curled away from his teeth. He resembled a rabid dog about to bite. “Don’t lie to me! I know better!”

  “You wouldn’t know the truth if you tripped over it,” Hickok said, hoping to draw some of the heat from Mindy.

  Ozzi made a snarling noise and motioned to the right with the machine gun. “Get over there!” he barked at Mindy. “Move!”

  Mindy shuffled several feet to the right.

  Ozzi sneered at the Warrior. “Turn around!”

  Hickok balked.

  “Do it, or I’ll shoot the bitch!” Ozzi roared.

  Reluctantly, Hickok turned completely around.

  Ozzi stepped over to the gunman and savagely rammed the barrel of his weapon into the Warrior’s lower back.

  Hickok gasped and clutched at the spot, lanced with agony.

  Cackling, Ozzi pounded the Bushmaster across the gunfighter’s head.

  Hickok lurched forward, trying to pivot to protect himself.

  With a cruel, primal, delight, Ozzi struck the Warrior on the left temple twice in succession.

  Blood sprayed from Hickok’s temple and he dropped onto his right knee, still struggling, striving to reach the mobster.

  Ozzi slammed the Bushmaster’s stock into the side of the Warrior’s head, and Hickok finally went down. Laughing, Ozzi rotated toward Mindy. “Now it’s your turn, bitch! You’re going to suffer for what I’ve been through!”

  Mindy retreated a step, panic welling within her.

  “I owe you!” Ozzi declared. He gestured menacingly with the machine gun. “You’ll be groveling at my feet before I’m through.”

  “Let us go!” Mindy pleaded. “Please!”

  “Please!” Ozzi said, imitating the whine in her tone. “Kiss the world good-bye, scuzz!” He aimed at her chest.

  “Wait!” commanded a new voice.

  Mindy glanced at the doorway and nearly fainted. Just when she thought the situation couldn’t possibly become any worse, it did.