'Wrong,' Bolan said. 'You're staying to help out. Don't worry, you're getting paid. Grab the other guys when they come in and break the work. When you get everything cleared out and turned over to these ladies back here, go enjoy yourself on the house.'
The controller then hesitantly ventured to observe that it was customary and perfectly acceptable to open new books on the records obtained from the routine counts.
The 'new boss' informed the controller, in no uncertain terms, that he did not give a good shit what was customary and that everyone would be wise to do precisely as they were told.
There were no more objections, and no questions. Bolan herded the pit bosses back to the casino floor and turned them loose. Their attitudes were now entirely jovial. It was all smiles and smirks, and Bolan's parting shot to them was, 'It's gonna be a lot better around here from now on!'
Not a man present doubted the truth of that.
Vito had been a hard taskmaster.
Mr. Vinton was tough, sure, but an okay guy. Not once in sixteen years had anything, either crumb or sip, been served up 'on the house' at the Duster.
The place was emptying, over the loud objections of several 'hot' patrons.
Bolan climbed half of the stairs and yelled, 'If they don't wanta leave, throw 'em out!'
He caught Max Keno's eye, down on the floor, and motioned him to front and center.
'You're on me now, Max,' he told the tagman.
'You bet I am, boss,' the little guy told him with a smile.
Instant loyalty. It was the name of the Mafia game. Off with the old and in with the new.
Max dropped into his chair and 'Mr. Vinton' went into his new joint — which, briefly, he Would be sharing with a certain sleeping beauty.
The time was 8:20 and Joe Stanno was still asleep. Bolan had been quietly going through the desk and pocketing various useful items of intelligence.
He selected an entry from a list of telephone numbers, leaned against the front of the desk to keep an eye on his unconscious companion, and made a call.
'Hello, this is Vinton, who's this?' he announced as coon as the receiver was lifted on the other end.
The quietly jubilant tones of Red Evans crowded the line. 'We found it, Mr. Vinton, we got the stuff.'
'That's great,' Bolan said, his manner entirely businesslike now. 'Is it all there?'
'Yessir we think so. Two cases, we found both oi 'em. The button-collars are counting it right now. But it looks all there.'
'Here's what you do, Red. You get the stuff counted, and you get two witnesses to the tally. I mean, other than the jerks. Two of your own boys, right?'
'Right, I gotcha.'
'Then you tell the — who's the head jerk?'
'Oh that's Lemke, L-E-M-K-E, Lemke.'
'That guy. Okay, here's what I want Lemke to do. He sets up a whole new route, I mean everything right down to the final stop. He tells nobody, but nobody, what that route is, not even the pilot. Then he puts that stuff in the chopper, and just hisself and the pilot. You got all that?'
'I got it, Mr. Vinton.'
'He leaves the other jerks right there, 'cause we're going to need that room in the chopper.'
'Oh yeah, I gotcha.'
'He keeps that route a national secret, now. Our you-know-who's will drop out whenever they feel like it. But he keeps it quiet, you hear?'
'Oh sure, I understand that.'
'What time you got now, Red?'
'I got, let's see, it's eight-twenty-one.'
'Okay. You get Lemke's clock to ticking right with yours, and you shove that chopper off out there in exactly twenty minutes. That would make that eight-forty-one. Right?'
'Uh, right Mr. Vinton.'
'You tell that jerk — who's that pilot?'
'That's Jack Grimaldi, Mr. Vinton. He's an okay guy.'
'Okay, you tell Jack I want that chopper settling down on this roof here at exactly nine o'clock. I don't mean a minute before or a minute after, I mean exactly nine o'clock. You got that?'
'On the top of the hotel, boss?'
'No hell no, not the hotel, the casino.'
'Oh yeah, I gotcha.'
'He comes down on top of the joint.'
'Yessir, I got that.'
'That don't give you much time, so you better get busy.'
'Oh yeah, sure. Uh, you coming out tonight?'
'I might. I might not. Depends how things go. I guess it's in good hands out there, eh Red?'
'Oh, yes sir, you can count on that.'
'Right. Now you get busy.'
Bolan hung up and massaged his fist against his neck and stared glumly at his sleeping beauty.
Damn! The numbers were getting brutall.
The brothers had finished a six-course repast elegantly prepared by the self-proclaimed best chef on the Strip. It was their first meal of a long and hard day, and now they were relaxing and unwinding taut nerves on the penthouse terrace with brandy and handrolled cigars.
'How long can this go on?' Pat wondered aloud.
'It'll break. Any minute it will break,' Mike assured his brother.
'I wish I could be that sure. I keep wondering if he's halfway to the border by now.'
'No, the guy's an ego-freak. He knows we're in town.
He knows he missed us at the airport. He'll be showing.'
'I wish Joe could get something out of the funny man.'
'I don't believe the funny man knows anything,' Mike said. 'If I did, I'd be talking to him myself — or I'd have him torn in half by now and gagging on his own cock.'
The other brother made a face and said, 'Not on a full stomach, my brother.'
A bodyguard at the roof railing chuckled and commented, 'Not on any stomach. Yuck.'
The brothers laughed and sipped their brandies.
Presently, Pat observed, 'Bolan doesn't leave many tracks.'
'Just all over our backs,' the other said, smiling.
'It's a hell of a way to fight a war. You wait until the guy rears up and pops you. Then you try to pop him back before he disappears again.'
'Go tell it in Vietnam.'
They laughed again. 'You want to call it off?' Mike asked.
Pat Talifero snorted and got to his feet. 'Not until I take a bath in his blood,' he said.
They laughed again.
Pat went to the railing and stood beside the bodyguard to gaze down upon the neon jungle spreading in both directions away from their position. 'That's some battlefield,' he said. 'You know something? I hate this goddamned town. Always have. Don't they have an atom bomb testing place somewhere around here?'
The bodyguard said, 'Yessir.'
'They oughta have a mis-fire.'
Mike Talifero laughed. 'What you need is a fresh lay. There's lots of talent around.'
'As long as that guy is alive,' Pat replied, 'it would be like playing with myself.'
'You swearing off for the duration?'
'Not hardly.'
Mike laughed some more, then told his brother, 'Well, tonight will be the night.'
'I wish I could be that sure,' the other said glumly. 'I just can't see the guy hanging around after what he
