The elevators were off-limits to non-guests, and a security guard checked to see that people approaching the banks of lifts had room keys. Mercer noticed that the paunchy guard had an automatic pistol belted around his ample waist. Just beyond the velvet rope was the casino floor, a dazzling display of lights and sounds unlike anything else in the world. Hundreds of people were clustered around the green baize tables or seated behind ranks of gleaming slot machines, their expressions rarely changing no matter how well or poorly they were doing. Waitresses in skimpy black outfits danced between the patrons, their trays laden with complimentary drinks while dealers and pit bosses watched the action with inscrutable eyes.
The atmosphere was designed to pump up the players and keep them gambling long after they should quit. For Mercer it was just a distraction. He scanned the crowds, watching for anyone not enthralled by the experience.
“See anything?” he asked.
Cali shook her head. “Not unless Poli’s guys are disguised as a bunch of widows bent on blowing their late husbands’ life insurance.”
Mercer glanced back at the elevators just as they reached the guard’s desk. One set of doors were opening.
“Shit!”
Poli raced from the car followed by his two henchmen. All of them carried their pistols in plain view. They shoved aside a couple waiting for the elevator, and the man shouted angrily, drawing attention. A woman saw the guns and screamed. The security guard tried to twist in his seat to see the commotion, but years of inactivity had tightened his muscles.
Mercer reached for the guard’s gun, snapped the thumb lock off the holster, and pulled the weapon free. The guard hadn’t even realized he’d been disarmed. Mercer racked the slide, noting that Cali had pushed Harry behind an ornate column.
Poli got the first shot off, and Mercer counterfired. Neither had aimed. Poli’s round blew the strobe light from a slot machine while Mercer’s embedded itself in an elevator door.
Before either could fire again, someone began shooting at Poli and his men from across the casino. They dove for cover. Mercer took the seconds-long distraction to grab Harry and Cali and begin running for the exit. He assumed the gunfire had come from casino guards, but as they raced toward the big steam locomotive near the Bar Americain he saw a pair of armed men dressed in dark suits, not uniforms. Their attention was focused solely on Poli and they barely gave Mercer a passing glance.
The crowds had quickly turned into a panicked mob. Shouts and screams had replaced the bells and the clanging of coins falling in hoppers. It was all Mercer could do to keep his grip on Harry and Cali. He bulled his way through the throng until they could flatten themselves against one of the locomotive’s massive drive wheels. Dry ice provided the faux steam that leaked from around the pistons and rocker arms.
“How are we doing?” he asked, his throat suddenly tight and dry. Cali nodded sharply. “Harry?”
“Fine,” the octogenarian wheezed. “Just get us the hell out of here.”
“Working on it,” Mercer replied.
Keeping their backs to the train and their eyes out for more assassins, they maneuvered their way down the length of the locomotive to the first car, a dining car that had been restored to its full glory. Normally a hostess stood at the bottom of the stairs to take reservations for what the Deco Palace Hotel touted as one of its most unique dining experiences. Mercer had read in the hotel brochure that the rail car was equipped with flat panel displays that were lowered over the windows, and hydraulics made the train feel like it was in motion. Each night a computer controlled what scenic trip the diners experienced as they ate. One night they traveled through the Rocky Mountains and on another they crossed the California desert and on yet another the passengers were made to feel they were crossing the Florida Keys on Henry Flagler’s famous Overseas Railway.
“Get aboard,” Mercer said, pushing Harry and then Cali up the steep steps. He was just about to follow her when a gunman broke out of the crowd. He cradled a silenced machine pistol, and as soon as he spotted Mercer he sprayed a deadly stream of rounds. Mercer dove up the stairs, feeling the searing heat of a bullet passing through the loose folds of his pants.
“Go!”
Harry slid open a beveled glass door and Cali and he began hobbling down the length of the dining car. Mercer fired two rounds to keep the gunman from charging and went off after his friends. The dining car’s leather booths were set with elegant crystal and special Deco Palace Railways china. The silverware was sterling.
Outside the train, the gunman saw the figures through the windows and hosed the car with the remainder of his magazine.
Cali had glimpsed the assassin a moment before he fired, and she’d shouted a warning. They hunched down but didn’t slow as glass exploded all around them and the air came alive with ricochets and copper-jacket rounds. The hand-carved paneling was splintered and the sophisticated electronics that controlled the liquid crystal screens began to spark. The car filled with the smell of burned plastic, ozone, and smoke.
As soon as the firing stopped, Mercer shoved aside one of the tables, sending the dinner service to the floor in an expensive cascade. The gunman had a fresh magazine in his weapon and was in the process of ratcheting the bolt when Mercer double tapped him in the chest. Out on the casino floor a pitched battle was under way, with at least a dozen men firing at one another. While one group seemed intent on minimizing civilian casualties, Poli’s men fired indiscriminately. With just a quick scan Mercer saw a half dozen hotel guests either wounded or dead.
Harry and Cali waited for him at the end of the railcar and together they raced through the next. It was the restaurant’s gleaming kitchen, disguised in a Deco-era Pullman car. A few waiters and cooks cowered behind the stainless steel appliances. One door at the end of the car opened out onto the lobby but there was a second door in the side of the train for bulky food deliveries.
Mercer led Cali and Harry through this second door and across a commercial loading dock. Unfortunately there were no trucks unloading goods for the hotel. One of the dock doors was open and the smell of the nearby Atlantic mingled with diesel fumes and the stench of old garbage.
“Why not hide around here?” Cali suggested, swiping blood from her cheek where she’d been hit by flying glass.
“Because it will take them about thirty seconds to realize where we’ve gone.”
“Hate to admit,” Harry panted, “but I’m about done in. One of the straps on my peg leg has shifted so my stump’s killing me.”
Though Mercer had known Harry had lost his leg decades earlier, he rarely walked with a limp and usually used his cane for ornamentation, so Mercer had forgotten the pain his old friend was going through. Mercer slowly turned in place, tapping into the mental map he’d created of the casino in the twenty-four hours he’d been there. It was an unconscious skill honed over his years working in the labyrinthine world of hard rock mines. He could discern the layout of almost any building after a brief tour and knew intuitively where he was at any time.
“Don’t worry,” he said once he had his plan. “The main entrance is outside the loading dock and around the corner. It’s no more than seventy-five feet. At this time of the evening there’s got to be a lot of people checking in.”
Cali picked up on his idea. “Which means a lot of cars waiting for the valets to park them.”
“Precisely.” Mercer handed Cali his gun and caught Harry’s eye. “Firemen’s or piggyback?”
“Aw shit, Mercer, I can make it.”
Mercer didn’t ask him again. He bent low and flipped Harry over his shoulder. He was already running even as he settled the weight, Cali at his side. “If you fart, Harry, I’m going to drop you.”
“I’d worry more about my occasional incontinence.” Harry cackled.
Outside the loading dock was a dark parking lot, but once they rounded the corner they saw the neon glow of the Deco Palace’s porte cochere. Liveried valets bustled between the ranks of cars. Most of the automobiles were ordinary sedans and SUVs, but there were a number of stretch limos and a Ferrari parked so that people driving to the casino would be sure to see it. It didn’t appear that the pandemonium on the casino floor had spilled outside, but it was only a matter of time.
They hustled up the access road. Because the entrance was so congested, they needed to reach the head of the line of automobiles if they were to make their escape. Few paid them any attention as they danced through the throng.
