"Yeah. Uh, who'd you want?"
"Shit, he didn't say who I should call, he just said call."
"Who said? Joe?"
"Yeh. I guess I oughta talk to the head cock-in-charge, eh?"
The guy laughed again and said, "I guess you're talking to 'im. This's Red Evans."
"That don't sound kosher to me," Bolan said lightly.
"I guess it's about as kosher as Vinton, eh?" The guy was obviously enjoying the conversation. "I could give you about a dozen different calling cards, if you wanted 'em all that bad."
"Listen, I gotta come out there, I guess."
"Yeah sure, you're welcome. Bring about a dozen broads too, huh?"
Bolan laughed and said, "I'm looking at a six foot Swede right now. Legs about four feet long, squeeze you until you scream for mercy. I think I'll lay her 'fore I come out."
"What's her name?"
"Shit, who cares?" Bolan snickered. "All ass and tits. Dumbest looking broad I ever saw."
"Stop it, you're talking to a fuckin' monk. I been up here six days straight. Supposed to get rotated back to town today, then this son of a bitch comes roaring into town. Why're you coming out?"
"That's what I called about. You're supposed to go down and find that shipment." ' "What?"
"That heist that wasn't a heist. It's still out there."
"Bullshit," the guy said calmly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm talking about the shipment this guy was supposed to've lifted. He didn't."
"He didn't what?"
"He didn't get it."
"Bullshit, who says so. Is Joe..."
"Sure, what the hell you think? We got a turkey that ain't shut up for an hour now."
"No shit!"
"Yeah. The stuff's out there, somewhere, on the side of that hill."
"No shit!"
"Yeh. Joe says to send those guys down lookin' for it."
"You mean these… ?"
"Yeh, the figure boys. They didn't up and leave, did they?"
"Course not. When Joe says stay, they stay. Well look…"
"How many boys you got left out there, Red?"
"Well not many. I don't like sorting the joint. I mean, if that guy comes back…"
"Nah, he's holing up somewheres. Hell, we got this town so heavy a guy can't hardly breathe." Bolan chuckled. "Everything's stopped dead 'cept the roll of the dice and slap slap slap of the cardboards."
"When that stops, I'm getting off," the guy replied, laughing.
"Me too."
"Well where are we supposed to look?"
"Straight down the hill from where the hit was. This guy says they just got tossed overboard, so look straight down the hill."
"I guess that turkey's name ain't Bolan, huh?"
"I wish it was."
"Me too," the guy said glumly. "Listen, there's only four of us. I mean, except for the button-down collars."
"They don't count," Bolan agreed.
"They sure don't."
"They try to jump up each other's asses at the first snap of a trigger."
The hardman laughed. "That's right."
"It won't hurt 'em to do a little midnight mountain climbing Right?"
The suggestion broke the guy up. Some seconds later he gasped, "I wish I could go out and watch 'em."
"Don't," Bolan cautioned, "You stay in the joint."
"Yeah I will, but I wish I could."
"I wish I could bring you a couple dozen broads, Red. You sound like an okay guy."
"Yeah, you too. Listen, when you coming out?"
"Soon as I can take care of a few things here first. You know. Listen, this is what Joe says, not me. Keep this quiet."
"Oh sure."
"As of this minute right now, you talk to nobody."
"Oh sure, right."
"You got my name? Vinton. Remember it. You talk to nobody else."
"I got it, Vinton, yeah. Don't worry."
The guy definitely was beginning to sound worried, though.
"Get that chopper warmed up," Bolan commanded. "And keep it ready. Things are getting hot down here. You-know-who just might need a quick way out."
"Oh… you mean… a couple of you-know-whos."
"That's it."
"Oh yeah, say. Do you know them personal?"
"What the hell?"
"Oh sure, I'm sorry."
"That's okay. You're okay, Red."
"Thanks. I'm sorry if I sounded…"
"Oh hell no, that's okay. Listen. Maybe I should…"
"Huh? What was you gonna say?"
"You sound like an okay guy."
"Oh, well thanks."
"Listen."
"Yeah?"
"Your boss is… well, how do I put this?"
The voice from Hard Mountain was becoming more troubled by the moment. "You mean the carpet, yeah, we all been wondering about that."
"Well, you-know-who didn't 'predate that stuff down at McCarran this morning."
"Oh God, I guess not. God that was terrible."
"Listen. Just a word, eh? Cool it with Joe."
"Oh God yeah, thanks Mr. Vinton."
"Don't uh, don't say anymore to him than you have to. You know? Just yes and no and that's all. You know?"
"God yes, I know. Don't worry. I won't."
"Okay. Talk to me, and that's all."
"Pardon me, but Joe didn't tell you to call, did he."
"You got me, Red. He didn't."
"God, we were all wondering about that."
"You'll be okay, Red, don't worry."
"Hell I appreciate..."
"Don't mention it. Send those jerks down the hill. If they find the stuff, just cool it. Sit tight. I'll be along soon as I can."
"Oh sure. Are you, uh, bringing a force out?"
"I'm thinking about it." Bolan chuckled. "Who'd you gay is the head cock out there?"
"Hey, uh, if you mean what I think you mean…"
"Yeah, you know what I mean," Bolan assured him.
"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.