Vegas Vengeance Read Online Free PDF

of shit left Vegas when Bugsy Siegel’s partners from the Flamingo Hotel blew his brains out back in 1946. That crazy Jew liked to have his enemies cut up. Liked to send their families pieces of the body in the mail. Sure, I was going to hit you hard, buddy. My rep is built on successful contracts. But I was going to make it fast and clean. Hell, you wouldn’t have felt a thing—if we’d caught you.”
    â€œI’m touched,” said Hawker. “You’re a real human being.”
    â€œI got my principles. I’m no geek. With me, it’s a business.” The man squirmed uncomfortably beneath the twisted steering wheel. “How about it, huh? I talked. Now get me the hell out of here.”
    Hawker nodded. “I’ll get a crowbar from my car and see what I can do. I’d hate to see Las Vegas lose one of its most enterprising businessmen. But first, reach into the backseat and throw that rifle out the window.”
    Vendelli turned painfully and tossed the rifle away. “There. Now get me the hell out!”
    Hawker went back to the Jaguar and opened the trunk. It took him a few minutes to find what he was looking for. The Jag had the complicated English jacking system, and the “crowbar” was little more than an L-shaped steel rod.
    It would have to do.
    Hawker shut the trunk and turned.
    Facing him was Frank Vendelli.
    The story about being trapped beneath the steering wheel had been a tale contrived to extend his life, to give him time. And James Hawker had fallen for it.
    Hawker swore softly. While he was getting the jack, he had holstered the Walther.
    Now he stood unarmed before the man who had been hired to kill him.
    Vendelli leaned heavily against the wreckage of the Datsun. At least one of his legs was broken. Hawker wondered how he had gotten out of the wreck so quietly. Crawled through the window, he guessed.
    In Vendelli’s right hand was a .45-caliber ACP. Slowly he raised it toward Hawker.
    As he did, Vendelli gave him a look of contempt. “You got no reason to sneer at me, buddy. Sure, I’m a hired killer. But what are you? A cop, that’s my guess. Maybe a federal cop. No, my connection on the phone didn’t say anything about it. But you got that look about you. You handle yourself too well; you touch all the bases. A fed cop with a lot of experience, that’s my guess. I’ve seen your kind before. CIA, maybe. One of those internal dudes who run deep cover. That’s so you can kill and not have the heat come back on the feds if you get caught.” He slung away more blood and sneered. “We both kill for dough, buddy. The only difference is, the organization you work for has more weight to toss around. But this time, my team wins.”
    Hawker had gauged the distance between them. Fifty feet, maybe. Less than the distance between home plate and the pitcher’s mound. Even so, he needed to get closer if he was to have a chance. He knew he had to get Vendelli to keep talking if he was to succeed. But Vendelli was a pro. Killing people was his business.
    It wouldn’t be easy.
    Hawker could only hope that the shock of the accident and the loss of blood had made him sloppy.
    â€œYou’re wrong about my being a cop, Vendelli,” Hawker said, walking forward as he spoke. “The people who own the Five-Cs complex brought me in. Someone is trying to force them out, and they want to find out why. That’s why I’m here.”
    Vendelli shrugged. “Private investigator, cop—all the same thing. It makes no difference to me, buddy. I get paid the same no matter what you do.”
    â€œHow much are they paying you, Vendelli? Whatever it is, the guys at the Five-Cs will pay you more. They want to nail the bastards who are strongarming them.”
    The killer shook his head. “No deal. I’ve got a reputation, remember. That means I don’t change horses. If I accept a job, I complete the