"Listen, don't you worry about a thing. I'm in charge of this joint until you say otherwise."
"I'll see you, Red."
"Sure thing, Mr. Vinton. Sure thing."
Bolan hung up and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke in a dense cloud toward the center of the lobby.
Nothing, he would have enjoyed telling Red-the-head-cock, is ever a sure thing. Nothing. But that was no reason to quit trying.
Bolan never quit trying.
He got up and went into the lounge and ran full-body into Toby Ranger and her Canuck side-kick, the body-lover.
"Pardon me, honey," he apologized nastily. "You should look out where I'm going."
He went on to the bar without looking back.
He knew, though, that the two girls were still standing in the doorway, watching him.
He threw a five spot on the bar and loudly demanded service.
For double-dam sure, there was no such thing as a sure thing.
It looked as though his dice had come up acey-deucey. It was a crap-out.
Chapter Thirteen
Natural
Bolan had not set the stage in Vegas. Others had. And the man from blood was a superb opportunist who would grab any handle, twist any combination, and push on any door which might tend to equalize the staggering odds in his game of war and survival.
The situation in Vegas at that moment was heavily weighted against mere survival for Bolan. Any suggestion that he could lot only survive but also score some degree of victory seemed unthinkable. But he would snatch at those handles, massage the combinations, and lunge against those doors until something worked… or until he suddenly dropped dead.
His greatest hope lay in the stage set for him by the forces intent on destroying him. The confusion and tension in the town was monumental, and he meant to play that angle for all it was worth.
But now here was Toby Ranger approaching him, in the enemy's heartland. One wrong word, a single suspicious gesture, anything at all which could seem out of place could mean his unmasking… and his total undoing.
She sidled up beside him at the bar and said, "Buy a girl a drink, honey?"
Without turning his head, Bolan loudly replied, "I already been laid twice today. Beat it!!"
He felt her stiffen. The other girl moved in on his other side and placed everything she had against him.
He said, "Whatsa matter? Business all that bad?"
The Canadian laughed softly and said, "You're a riot, did anybody ever tell you that?"
No one seemed to be giving any attention to the little comedy at the bar, but Bolan figured that couldn't last forever. He tasted his drink, set it down, and hissed, "Thanks, kids. You're all I needed."
"Just keep it up, you're doing fine," the blonde told him. "We may even take you into our act."
He growled, "Yeah, Little Leddo, the lead-stuffed dummy. Bug off, eh?"
"We're looking for Tommy," the body-bumper told! him.
"I don't have him," Bolan assured her.
"Somebody has," the blonde said.
Bolan picked up his drink and yelled, "A hundred bucks? What is it, gold-plated or something!"
Toby's face turned fiery red.
Bolan laughed loudly and said, "Awright, let's talk it over."
He took the blonde's elbow and steered her away from the crowd at the bar and to a booth at the rear. The other girl followed close behind. Bolan slid into the booth and left the girls standing there. "Siddown, siddown," he said grandly.
Toby flounced in and angrily whispered, "I should blow the whistle on you, you smart..."
"Shut up!" Bolan snapped. He told the Canadian, "Siddown!"
She did.
He told them, "This is no show biz stand, kids. When this curtain falls, it's a shroud. Now what's this about Anders?"
The Canuck was rubbing his arm. Toby Ranger's face was still set into angry tines. She said, "He's been missing since five o'clock. We tracked him here. And suddenly the trail ends."
"Did he come alone?" Bolan wanted to know.
"No. Two other men were with him."
Bolan said, "Okay, I'll find him."
"Gee thanks."
"Isn't that what you want me to do?"
"Well, sure," the Canadian put in.
Bolan was staring at the blonde. Her eyes fell. "I'm sorry," she said. "I guess it is a pretty dry stand, isn't it."
He said, "You know it."
"Well, you look great," she assured him.
"Didn't fool you," he said.
"I'm special," she replied, smiling.
"Yeah, you are at that," he told her.
She colored again and glanced at the darkhaired girl. "We'd better leave him alone, I guess."
The Canuck said, "You swim divinely."
He told her, "I bleed the same way. Where are the other girls?"
The blonde replied. "We're supposed to go on in an. hour. They're getting the costumes ready."
Bolan said, "Well, I'll nose around and find our man. But you girls beat it out of this joint. It's full of poison."
"Okay," the blonde replied meekly.
Bolan left them there and went into the casino. The section there was light and listless. The help seemed uptight and jittery. Less than a hundred people were at the tables. Another twenty or so were feeding slots at the back wall.
Bolan's quick visual sweep disclosed maybe a dozen hoods, all locals if his instincts were still operative. He wondered about that and decided that the casino had been placed off-limits to the visiting torpedoes.
Somewhere in that crowd, also — Bolan was sure — would be a goodly representation from various police branches.
Across the partition, in the dining room, a show was getting underway with a fanfare from the band — muffled, in the casino, so as not to distract the more important business at the tables.
Bolan stopped at a craps table which was enjoying a small flurry of action. He threw a twenty at the croupier. The guy pushed him a stack of chips and announced, "The cubes are hot."
"I'll bet," Bolan growled.
He watched the up-man bounce the dice across the table for a pair of threes.
"The point is six," the house man announced.
Bolan pushed his stack of chips into play and proclaimed, "He makes it."
"House covers."
The guy rolled a seven and cried, "Aw shit!"
"Craps," announced the croupier.
"It figures," Bolan sneered, and walked away.
The stairway to Vito's joint was blocked by a couple of hardmen. Bolan went straight to them and said, "Is he there?"
The gunners looked him over and one of them replied, "Yeh, he's there."
"Run up and tell 'im I wanta see 'im."
A muscle popped in the guy's jaw. He said, "Fuck you, and run up yourself."
Bolan sniggered. "You boys out here don't take no shit, do you?" he commented.
"Not jsually," the guy said.
Bolan grinned and went on up the stairs.
A little guy in shirtsleeves occupied a chair at the landing. He looked at the visitor and asked, "Where ya going, stud?"
"Run in there and tell the man I want 'im," Bolan demanded, recognizing Max Keno.
"Who wants him?"
"Vinton."
"I don't know ya, Vinton."
"You will, Max. You will."
"Oh, well… you wanta see him?"
"I didn't walk all the way up here to see you, dumdum."
The little guy smiled and said, "Ain't it a hell of a day? You hurt much?"
Bolan rubbed his jaw and said, "Nah, I still got my swinger, I guess that's all that counts."
Keno laughed and told Bolan, "Just push the button on the door there. They'll let you in."
"Who's in there besides him?"
"Aw, that wop, the comic. They're still sweating him."
"That's really why I came," Bolan confided. "They think he should've broken down long ago."
"Well,
Joe figures it's better to last it longer and get it better, he ain't getting too rough. Vito got carried away yesterday on the other guy."
"And now Vito gets carried away," Bolan said, his voice dropping low.
"Yeh, I hate that. I was with Vito three years. He was okay to me. I hated that."
Bolan sighed. "Don't worry, we all did, even you-know-who. Well…" He shrugged and smiled philosophically. "That's the way it goes sometimes. We I ever know, do we, Max? I just push the button eh?"
"Yeh. Just a minute, I'll…" The little tagman heaved out of the chair and went over to work the local dockworks for the out-of-towner.
What the hell. The guy could turn out to be his next boss, who could know?
He pressed the intercom signal and said, "It's Vinton, He wants in."
"Who?" came the reply.
"You know. Vinton He's with… you know."
The buzzer sounded and the door popped open. Bolan strolled in, noting that Vito's elaborate security jazz had been abandoned. The tower was not manned, there were no spotlights.
Joe Stanno was stretched out on a couch, asleep.
Tommy Anders occupied a swivel chair in the center of the room. Two guys sat facing him, another was perched atop the desk, just behind the comic. It was this one who challenged Bolan.
"Whattaya want in here?" he growled.
Bolan ignored him.
Anders looked like hell. His hair was in his face and his head was lying back on his shoulders as though his neck couldn't hold it up any longer. He was tied to the chair. There was no visible evidence of acts of violence suffered, but Bolan knew.
He went over to stand beside the couch and glare down at Stanno. "What the hell is he doin' sleeping?" he snarled.
"Oh, did he forget to get a chit?" the guy at the desk said, with a voice heavy with sarcasm.
There were bad feelings here, very bad feelings, between the locals and the nationals.
Bolan caressed the band-aid at his nose and rubbed a bit of salt. "Did he have a chit at the airport this morning?"
The guy lunged forward and slapped the back of Anders' head, taking it out on him.
The comic's head snapped to the other side and he quickly picked it up. He stared dully at Bolan and said, very distinctly, "Fuck you."
Bolan snickered and said, "Shit, I didn't pop you, guy."
"It still goes," Anders muttered.
"He don't like anybody," Bolan said, grinning.
"He's a smart ass!" the guy at the desk growled, and slapped the helpless man again. "Plays cute games with cops and a certain bastard."
Bolan again looked toward Stanno. "That guy will sleep through anything," he said "Wake 'im up."
"You don't wake 'im up!" the headslapper growled. "He was up all night and all day. Now leave 'im alone."
"Sure, I'll leave 'im alone," Bolan said quietly.
"So whattaya want in here?"
"They sent me." He went over and rubbed Anders' scalp with his knuckles. "They say you've had the guy long enough. They wanta talk to 'im awhile. This guy is our only handle."
"We ain't sure about that!"
"Well when do you figure on getting sure? He was right there when two of your own boys got it, wasn't he!"
"We're working 'im the right way," the guy stubbornly maintained.
"You was," Bolan corrected him in a soft voice.
The two guys in the chairs stood up abruptly. The one at the desk slid off and walked around the chair to show Bolan a fjerce scowl. "I've seen you somewheres, Vinton," he declared.
"You're going to be seeing me a lot," Bolan promised, •cowling back.
"Yeah?"
"On second thought, maybe not. You're so cozy with sleeping beauty there, maybe I'll just let you stay with 'im."
The guy sent a suddenly worried glance to his two companions. He said, "Well now wait. Just what the hell… ?" His gaze slid to Stanno and back to Bolan. His face tightened and he said, "Yeah?"
Quietly, Bolan said, "That's the way it goes."
The two other inquisitors were shuffling their feet about and giving each other significant looks. The spokesman for the trio dropped his voice to a quiet murmur and said, "Well, that's a hell of a note."
In the language of the mob, Joe Stanno's death had just been announced as imminent.
"That's the way it goes," Bolan said again. "You can't do nothing for a leper, you know that, so don't go getting all busted up. Go on downstairs and find something to do. Better than that, get lost for a couple of hours."
"Oh Christ no," the guy groaned, the message just now fully reaching home. "Has it actually got to that?"
"You in love with the guy or something?"
"Well no… but… we been together a long time."
"So you won't want to be around for the next couple of hours," Bolan suggested.
"How the hell can they just decide something like that with the snap of a finger?" the loyal crewchief whispered loudly.
"You wanta go up there and ask them?" Bolan said, the voice now hard and cold.
The guy backed off. His face moved into composed lines and he said, "Forget I said that, huh?"
Bolan shrugged and replied, "I didn't even hear it. Go on, cut out. I'll take care of your pigeon here, too."
The guy squared his shoulders, took a long look at the sleeping man on the couch, then marched quickly from the room. The other two followed close behind. The door closed and Bolan went to work at the sashcord on Anders' wrist.
The comic said, "I'm not no ethnician, but you Wops live lousy lives."
"I'm a Polack," Bolan said, using his own voice.
"I don't care if you're a…" The little man's eyes were opening wider and he was taking his first good look.
Bolan grinned and told him, "Come on, you're going to be late for your first show."
"Hell God, it's you!" the comic whispered.
"I thought the other guy knew it too, for a minute there," Bolan confided. He jerked the ropes away and pulled Anders to his feet. "Can you walk okay?" he asked him.
"Can a jackrabbit jump?" Anders smoothed his hair and straightened his clothing. "I could walk out of this place with two broken legs and a splinted dick."
Bolan chuckled and pushed the comic ahead of him to the door. "Keep it straight until we're clear and running," he cautioned.
"What about Stanno?"
"Let Stanno worry about himself," Bolan said.
They went out and Bolan carefully closed the door.
Max Keno was sitting sideways in his chair. He gave Bolan a scared look and said, "What the hell is going on?"
"Nothing you have to worry about," Bolan told him. "Just don't go opening no doors until I give the word. Not for nobody."
"Hell no, I won't," the little tagman assured him.
"For nobody."
"Right, that's right, boss."
Bolan grinned and touched Keno's chin with his knuckles, then he interlocked arms with Anders and led him down the stairs.
"I've had enough," the comic told him in a low voice. "If you can't keep the ants out of the picnic basket, then you might is well give up the picnic."
"You're throwing in the towel?" Bolan asked, scowling out upon the casino floor.
"I'm getting out. Time to retire, I guess."
"A priest can't retire, Anders."
"What priest? Who said anything..."
"If the mob is the invisible second government in this country, then your business is the invisible second church."
They reached the bottom of the stairs, now unblocked and no sign of the two who'd been there earlier.
Anders was saying, "You wouldn't say that if you'd played the dumps I have."
"It'd be a damn gray world if everybody in your business closed up shop."
They were moving across the casino floor, Bolan looking neither left nor right.
"I guess that's right," the comic said.
"It's true and you know it. That's why the biz captures anybody wh
o brashes it. It's where the soul is, and you know it. It's where your soul is, Anders, and that's why you're straining so hard to keep the ratpacks out."
"Maybe you're right. I never thought of myself as a priest, though. How'd you find me?"
Bolan fiercely stared down a pair of gunners who momentarily blocked his path. The guys gave way and Bolan pushed his man on through.
"How'd you find me?" Anders asked again.
Bolan kept his scowl intact and said, "A couple of unholy sisters showed me the way. I believe they would've gone after you themselves if they'd known exactly where to go."
"What're you talking about?"
But Bolan did not have to answer the question.
The two girls were waiting in the lobby and trying to ignore the ogling attention of the guys in the silk suits.
Bolan gave Anders a hard shove and propelled him into the girls. "Get outta here!" he yelled. "And take your gold-plated sluts with you! I catch you peddling flesh in here again and I'll run you clear outta town!"
The twenty odd people milling around in there froze and interestedly watched the disturbance as the big "torpedo" advanced menacingly on the trio. "I said get out!" he yelled, the voice hard and threatening.
They got out, and the cluster of men near the ioorway hastily parted ranks to let them through.
"That's how it's going to be around here from now on!" Bolan proclaimed to everybody within hailing distance, then he turned around and stalked back into the casino.
That took care of Anders and the girls.
Now all he had to do was complete this mission and get himself out.
For the moment, at least, he was rolling nothing but naturals.
Chapter Fourteen
New blood
Time was of the essence now, and Bolan swept through the casino, loudly collaring the pit bosses and dragging them along with him. He was "high-rolling" with everything of value to his life, plus his life itself, in the stakes on destiny's crap table.
The guyr were murmuring among themselves as they tagged along and snatches of the comments were reaching Bolan'a alert ears.
"I dunno, he just said…"
"… for the new owners I guess… ."
"Hell who knows what to expect next around, this… ?"
"… name's Vinton, I think. I don't…"
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