Vegas Vendetta

"There he is!" Bolan yelled.

The four came to a confused halt, their eyes tracking along Bolan's point.

Joe Sta

The instincts gained by a lif etime of violence were all mirrored there in the big guy, in the street-fight stance, in the way the massive head swayed back to the rear of the shoulders — like a cagey old ostrich laying an eye into the situation.

And the situation he was laying into must have appeared as natural and inevitable to Joe Sta

Except that this time Joe Sta

Death… and eerie silence… where always before there had been action and at least a synthetic gaiety.

The pointing finger of doom.

And the execution party.

Joe Sta

He was not going out bleating and pleading like Vito, hell no.

"Okay, I'll take you all!" he yelled.

Bolan saw him go for his gun, then he swung quickly away in the other direction and Max Keno scampered in close pursuit.

An excited voice screamed, "He's crazy!"

The roar of gunfire and the zinging of bullets in confinement accompanied Bolan and his tagman to the rear of the casino. They were passed quickly through the security network, Bolan marling to the guards, "It's a rumble, don't let aobody in!"

More money than Bolan knew existed was stacked up all over the joint. Heavily braced wooden shelves along the walls were straining under the burden of thousands upon thousands of coin rolls, and the machines were still ticking.

Currency was stacked in foot-high bundles on four large counting tables, and the controller was pacing nervously back and forth and urging the ladies along.

Bolan speared the guy with a hard gaze. "You got it?" he yelled.

"Yes sir, it's all out. Do I hear gunshots?"

"Every damn nickel?"

"Yes sir, every damn nickel."

"What are you ru

"Just over a half-million, Mr. Vinton, but the confirmation count is just going into the..."

"Awright, kill it and get out of here!"

"Sir?"

"There's a rumble, can't you hear? Get your broads outta here, I don't want 'em caught in nothing like this!"

"You mean… just leave? Just leave it?"

"You can't take it with you can you, you jerk?" Bolan yelled. "Get those dames outta here!"

It was apparently the final straw for a business-methods freak already pushed beyond the strain-point. The guy spun about and walked stiffly to the door. "Get them out yourself," he called over his shoulder, and out he went.

Bolan yelled, "Leave them doors open! Out, girls, get the hell out!"

He was grabbing and shoving, and Max was lending a hand to a scene of confusion and pyramiding chaos.

Above the feminine hubbub, Bolan told Max, "Take 'em out, and make sure they get clear."

"Sure boss," said instant loyalty.

And then there was just Bolan and the inside guard. Bolan gave him a hard stare and said, "Well, are you going down with the bucks?"

The guy said, "No sir," and went out.

Bolan went over to the new money, obviously the stuff from the vault, and riffled through the stacks. There were packets of denominations ranging from fifties to thousands. He picked up a packet of the largest denomination and thrust it into his inside coat pocket. Next he found the fire station and disabled the automatic sprinklers.

And then he went to the door, bent down, produced an incendiary stick he'd been carrying in a leg strap, removed the cap, and tossed the firebomb onto the center table.

It spit and popped and began showering the place with white-hot chemicals, and Bolan got out of there.

The mob was so wild about hot money, he'd give them some. Skim that, he muttered.

He banged the door, ran the combination and commanded the hallway guard, "Nobody goes in!"

"No sir."

"Not Christ himself! The joint is sealed!"

"I got you, sir."

He went on through to the casino floor and repeated the command to the two guards there. The guys were nervous and obviously torn up. One of them asked him, "Did someone try a heist, Mr. Vinton?"

Bolan said, "Yeh, but don't you worry about the action out front. Just do your job here."

The guard unholstered his pistol and assured the boss that he would do just that.

Bolan went on around the corner and came out on the main floor. The last of the women were just then disappearing into the dining room.

Max Keno was returning, skirting warily around the scene of the shooting.

Two guys were laid out on the promenade, bleeding and not moving.

It was hard to tell from the angle of vision, but one of them looked like a Talifero.

Keno yelled, "Lookout boss! Joe is..."

A gun roared from somewhere in the tables and the little tagman took a dive.

Bolan did likewise, slapping leather in the process, and he came up against a gaming table with the Beretta up and ready.

A bunch of guys ran in from the lobby. Bolan yelled to them, "Out, get outta here!"

A gun roared again, a bullet splattered into the door moulding, and the guys dodged back to safety.

But Bolan spotted Joe Sta

The monster man went down with a thud and a sigh.

And then the place was being invaded. People were dodging in from both doorways, hard people packing hardware and sprinting for cover wherever cover could be found.

Bolan had but one way to go, and that was toward Joe Sta

Sta

His gun was lying on the floor, under his nose. He raised his head off the floor and asked Bolan, "Hey, tough, which one did I get? Was it Pat or Mike?"

"I think you got them both, Joe," came the reply in Bolan's natural voice.

Joe die Monster smiled and coughed up blood and said, "I knew they wasn't so tough," and then he lay his head back down beneath the crap table and died.

A volley of fire hit the table at that precise moment, and Solan rolled on. From somewhere on his flank he heard Max Keno hissing, "Boss, what's going on?"

"Bets are off, Max," he called back. "You're on yourself."

Such a situation had apparently never arisen for the little tagman. After a lifetime of forever being "on" someone else, there was absolutely no mental concept of being "on himself."

He snaked and rolled to Bolan's outside flank and gasped, "Out the kitchen, boss, that's the best way."

A Taliferi was ru

Bolan snapped a Parabellum toward the staircase and he saw the fabric of the Taliferi's suit pop and recoil, and the guy took a nose-dive down the steps. -

Someone yelled, "He hit the bossl"

Bolan had lost his purple lenses during the scramble, and now Max Keno was staring into his unshuttered eyes with the heady revelation of truth crackling between them. And obviously the truth had no bearing on the matter. The boss was tht boss, whatever else he might be. The little guy gri

There was no immediate alternative, and Bolan's number were ru