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.