Blade walked up to Franky’s corpse. “I hope we don’t run into more idiots like this one.”
There was a commotion in the crowd on the sidewalk.
Blade faced the pedestrians, ready to cut loose if they displayed any hostility. To his amazement, none of the people crowding the sidewalk showed any hint of anger or resentment. The commotion was being caused by several men striving to reach the liquor store parking lot.
Were these newcomers associates of Franky’s?
The three men finally pressed through the throng and stopped. All three wore dark-colored suits; each one was armed with a machine gun. One of them, a burly man with a black mustache and a hooked nose, walked toward the Warriors, his dark eyes surveying the five corpses gravely.
“Damn!” he exclaimed when he spied Franky’s body.
Hickok, Geronimo, and Helen were keeping the three men covered.
The man with the mustache looked up at Blade. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
“They started it,” Blade said.
The man twisted toward the sidewalk. “How about it? Who saw this? Who started it?”
“Franky did,” a man called out.
“Yeah,” declared a woman in a red skirt. “We saw the whole thing. They told Franky they didn’t want no trouble. Franky wouldn’t listen.”
“He finally bit off more than he could chew!” someone quipped.
“Then it was a fair and square?” the man with the mustache questioned them.
A half dozen or so nodded. A few yelled out, “Yes!”
“My name is DePetrillo,” the man with the mustache stated. “I head one of the Enforcer squads. It’s my job to report every killing. If it’s a fair and square, there’s no problem. But if it’s done dirty, if unarmed civilians are shot, then a dozen Enforcers go after the guilty party.” He paused and gazed at Franky, then sighed. “This is trouble, mister. What’s your name?”
“George Smith,” Blade lied.
“Why are you in Vegas?” DePetrillo inquired.
“We came to see the sights,” Blade replied.
DePetrillo frowned. “Is this your first time in Vegas?”
“Yes,” Blade admitted.
“Then let me set you straight,” DePetrillo said. “Ordinarily, there’s no beef over a fair and square. But one of the men you killed was Franky Giorgio. I never liked Franky much myself. He was all mouth. But he was also the son of Johnny Giorgio, and Johnny is one of the most powerful men in Vegas. I’ll report this as a fair and square to Don Pucci, but even Don Pucci might not be able to keep Giorgio in line over the killing of his son. Giorgio may ask for a sanction to whack you. Do you understand me?”
“I think so,” Blade said. “You’re warning me that Giorgio may come after us.”
DePetrillo nodded. “If I were you, I’d haul ass out of Vegas right now.”
“We can’t,” Blade said.
“Suit yourself,” DePetrillo stated. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Now get out of here before some of Giorgio’s boys show up.”
Blade motioned for his three fellow Warriors to follow. “Thanks,” he said as he passed DePetrillo.
The Enforcer scrutinized the giant. “Don’t thank me, mister. I’m just doing my job.”
The crowd parted to permit the Warriors access to the sidewalk.
Blade resumed their trek into the heart of the city. He replaced the clip in his Commando.
Hickok, busily reloading his Colts, reached Blade’s right side. “George Smith, huh? Now there’s an original name!”
“I couldn’t very well give my real name,” Blade said. “Pucci is expecting the Warriors to try and rescue Mindy. But he doesn’t know when. He gave us a month, remember? If I gave my real name to that Enforcer, Don Pucci would know we’re in Vegas now. I want to surprise him.”
“I’m partial to the direct approach,” Hickok mentioned.
“I know,” Blade agreed.
“So why don’t we find Don Pucci, shove a gun down his throat, and give him five seconds to turn Mindy over or else?” Hickok suggested.
“Be serious,” Blade said. “Don Pucci will be guarded by his button men, as Ma called them. I doubt anyone can get close to Pucci without an appointment. And I can’t see him giving me an appointment.”
“I still don’t understand why Pucci took Mindy,” Hickok remarked.
“Why lure us all the way to Vegas? And why did Pucci ask for you by name?”
“I wish I knew,” Blade responded.
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.