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It figured that they would. Official people had a way of popping in and out at irregular intervals along Bolan 'st wipe-out trail. It was a small combat world.
And now… where was he headed? Where did the trail lead from here?
He inspected the uneasy face of the accountant, huddled in the rear seat with his bags of bucks. "San Juan?" Bolan yelled at him.
The guy blinked his eyes and gave Bolan a scared nod.
"That's great," Bolan yelled, "because I'm riding shotgun all the way!"
The guy nodded again and looked away.
Bolan relaxed and settled into his seat.
Vegas was nothing now but a glow across the horizon. They were ru
And he was looking forward to that ride. Bolan had never grabbed a brass ring… the Caribbean carousel sounded like a good place to try.
No brass rings at Vegas, but… if nothing else, he'd done something that probably a million guys had dreamed of doing all their lives. He'd gone to Vegas, beat the house at their own game, and cleaned out the bank. Ashes to ashes and dust to…
He gri
Destiny's Dice had turned out to be loaded…against the house, for a change. And the wipe-out trail was growing longer by the moment, wasn't it? There just might be a hot reception awaiting him at the end of this particular segment.
He lit a cigarette, and slowly blew out the smoke, examined his soul, and found it intact. "San Juan," he murmured, "here we come."