Vegas Vendetta (te-9) by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton [Pendleton, Don]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: det_action

Chapter Eight

Combat brief

A Negro beauty in a nurse's uniform opened the door to Bolan's third buzz. Her eyes recoiled somewhat as the black-clad figure stepped inside the private clinic, then she giggled and told him, "I didn't know you in your soul underwear."

"How's the patient?" Bolan asked her.

"Doing fine," the nurse reported, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Doctor looked in on him at four o'clock. He's going to be all right."

"Is he sedated?"

She shook her head. "No, he's resting easily."

"It's very important that I talk to him, Mrs. Thomas."

The woman pursed her lips as she studied Bolan's face, then she smiled and told him, "Just a sec. I'll ask Doctor."

Bolan watched her disappear through a doorway off the lobby, and again he reflected upon Lyons' determination to remain in his role. The clinic was situated in the city's Westside, in the Negro district. There was a personal relationship of some sort between Lyons and the doctor, and the cop had insisted upon being brought here. The setup seemed ideal to Bolan, and apparently Lyons was in the best of hands. Still… Bolan had an uneasiness about the thing.

A tired looking black man appeared in the doorway, wearing pajamas and a cotton robe. He looked Bolan up and down, then wryly commented, "I see you're dressed for destruction. Why do you want to talk to Carl?"

"It's urgent," Bolan assured him.

"He's resting good. Can't it wait at least until daylight?"

"It can. But maybe I can't."

The doctor understood. He stared at the visitor through a brief silence, then he jerked his head and said, "Okay. Don't take too long."

Bolan said, "Sure," and went on along the corridor and into Lyons' room. The doctor's wife had gotten there ahead of him and she was quietly rousing the ailing cop.

"You have a visitor, Carl," he heard her say.

A dim lamp on a side table had the room in soft shadows. The cop was flat on his back, no pillows. His left arm was tied to the bed and he was getting an intraveinous drip-injection from a bottle of clear fluid in a bedside stand.

Bolan moved in on the other side. Lyons looked him over and said, "You're blitzing."

"Softly," Bolan replied.

The nurse cautioned, "Don't get him too excited," and she made a quiet exit.

"What's up?" the cop asked.

"Maybe a hell of a lot. First, though, I brought you a gift."

Bolan produced Vito Apostinni's black book and placed it in Lyons' free hand. "Don't try to look at it now. It's the black money ledger on the Gold Duster operation."

"How the hell did you get that?" Lyons asked with a grin.

"I traded Vito his life for it."

The cop's grin faded. "Some trade."

"Yeah. Uh, your funny man is okay. For now. He told me about ASA and the show biz muscle."

Lyons smiled and commented, "It's hard to keep a secret in this town."

"But that's not the all of it, is it? It goes a lot bigger than Anders, doesn't it?"

Lyons gave him an odd look and replied, "I can't talk about that, Mack.

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