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.
Don Giorgio and Sacks had arrived!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Grenades!” Blade bellowed, tugging the second grenade from his pocket and pulling the pin as slugs smacked into the walls around him. He heaved the grenade into the corridor and dove for the floor.
Geronimo and Helen were just releasing their grenades at the group charging across the casino. Geronimo grunted and twisted to the right, then flattened. Helen followed suit.
The grenade in the corridor detonated first, and the cries of torment from the maimed and dying arose an instant later.
At the sight of the two grenades arching their way, the group in the casino frantically endeavored to disperse. They bumped into one another in their frenzy to escape the hurtling doom, and they were largely unsuccessful. A mere handful survived. The grenades went off in their midst— Whomp’. Whomp.’— and literally blew them to shredded pieces.
Blade crawled into the corridor, the Commando in front of him. Five or six trigger men were alive and closing. He fired, sweeping the Commando from side to side, stopping the mobsters with a withering wall of lead. As the last one fell, he jumped to his feet. “Oh me!”
Helen darted into the corridor.
Geronimo joined them, his right hand pressed against his side, grimacing. “I’m hit,” he mentioned.