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.