An Unexpected Clue

Another man, Hispanic, as equally bulky as Hammer and intimidating like a nightclub bouncer followed Hammer inside. Always wearing a suit and tie, he could have fit into any Mexican Mafia crowd, especially with the scar extending from the right side of his top lip, across his cheekbone to his right ear, which was missing a significant portion of the lobe. “Think he did us a favor and croaked?”

“I don’t know, Manny, why don’t you ask him.” Hammer didn’t wait for Manny, but nudged Ben’s thigh with his foot.

Careful not to show any signs of life, Ben lay still, allowing his eyelids to open only enough to ascertain the positions of the two men.

“Looks like he passed out,” Hammer brilliantly deduced.

“I hope he’s not dead.” Manny pulled a shiny Sig Sauer nine millimeter pistol from his shoulder holster. “Takes all the fun out of killing him.”

“Guess the boss wouldn’t care how he expires, so long as he’s dead. Nicky said he was done with him.”

“I’m gonna miss the guy. Torture ain’t never been so much fun.” Manny snickered.

“Come on, Mr. Wayne wanted this room cleaned out by the end of the day.” Hammer tapped the club in his hand. “You want to do the job or me?”

“I’ll do it.” Manny squatted next to Ben and pressed the gun to Ben’s temple. “Bye, bye Benny Boy.”

Ben flipped over, grabbed Manny’s hand and jerked it up to Hammer.

The gun went off, the sound deafening in the closet-sized room.

At such close range, the bullet slammed into Hammer with the force of a semitruck, knocking him against the wall. His eyes widened in surprise as he dropped the club and slid down the white walls, leaving a smear of bright red blood.

Before Manny could react, Ben leaped to his feet, still gripping the hand holding the gun. Though weak from hunger, he channeled all his hatred and desperation into swinging the broken metal post down on Manny’s arm.

The arm snapped, Manny screamed and the Sig Sauer dropped to the floor. Before Manny could react, Ben jerked his arm, sending the bouncer crashing into the concrete brick walls of his prison.

Instead of dropping unconscious to the floor, Manny swung around and roared like a raging bull. He dropped his undamaged shoulder into a football lineman stance and charged at Ben.

Ben waited until the last possible moment, then smashed Manny across the nose with the post.

Blood spurted, blinding Manny. He stumbled and fell, hitting his head for the second time against the wall and finally slid to the floor.

Now.

Ben spun for the door. Hammer would most likely be dead, but Manny might recover enough to sound the alarm. Ben could stay and finish the guy off, but he didn’t know how long it would take for others to come looking for the two. He leaped over Manny, grabbed the Sig Sauer and dove for the open doorway. With only seconds to spare, he had to find his way out of his prison before Nicky Wayne called down his entire arsenal of thugs to finish the job Hammer and Manny failed to complete.

Trouble was, Ben had no idea where he was. From eavesdropping on the guards he’d figured he was in one of Wayne’s Las Vegas casinos. But the way casinos were built, he could be lost in the maze longer than he had to get clear.

Ben spotted a security camera in the corner of the hallway. If Wayne’s security was worth anything, a contingent of armed goons would be on their way by now.

He had to make it out of the basement. Once he reached the casino level, he could lose himself in the crowd. Ben snorted and almost smiled at the thought. The torn jeans he’d been captured in weeks ago hung on him, a testament to the amount of weight he’d lost in captivity. After his shoulder wound healed, he’d exercised several times a day to keep up his strength. Mixing in with the crowd in the jeans and a faded, ripped black T-shirt, barefoot, he’d draw attention like a homeless man trying to panhandle in a public place. Yeah, he wouldn’t last long.

First things first.

Get the hell out of the fortress-like basement.

A red-lettered exit sign shone like a beacon at the end of the hallway. Ben passed the service elevator and ran for the door. Written in bold letters across the door were the words Opening This Door Will Set Off Alarms. Use Only in Case of Fire.

Ben paused. If he used the elevator, security would surely see him and radio the armed guards hovering near the elevators. They’d wait for him to step out, and either kill him on the spot or return him to his cell and dispose of him there. If he took the stairs, he might make it to the next floor before they came after him.

With a deep breath, he shoved the door open.

Alarms blared, ringing in his ears as he took the stairs two at a time to the next level. A window in the door displayed a parking garage. When he pushed the door, it opened three inches and stopped. A chain had been strung across the exit from the outside.

Abandoning the chained door, he raced up the stairs to the next level. Another garage level, another chain across the door. Desperation spurred him up yet another level.

A door slammed open two floors below and footsteps echoed in the stairwell.

After a quick glance through the small square window into an empty hallway, Ben pushed hard on the door, half expecting it to be locked as well. Instead of meeting resistance, he fell through.

He ran down the deserted hallway, passing another corridor to the right and skidding to a halt at a T-junction.

Male voices carried around to him. “He just came out of the south stairwell to this floor. Come on.” Running footsteps pounded toward Ben.

Backtracking, he turned and raced back to another hallway and turned left. As he passed the corner, he reached up and slammed the metal post he still carried into the camera perched near the ceiling. Plastic shattered and the little red light on top blinked out.

Sounds of music, voices and laughter filled his ears. The marking on one of the doors read Backstage.

Ben tested the door handle. Locked.

The next door was marked Stage Closet and it opened. Great. He’d be cornered in a tiny closet, destined to be captured amid brooms, mops and disinfectant cleaners.

The pounding footsteps drove him through the door into a larger closet than he’d imagined, filled with the usual supplies. As he worked his way through the obstacle course of supplies, the closet opened into a larger room filled with stage props, curtains, stepladders, cans of paint and tools. At the opposite end, light filtered around the edges of yet another door.

Ben raced for the door and had his hand on the knob when the original door he’d entered through jerked open.

With no idea what was on the other side of the door, Ben opened it and slipped through, hoping it took the security guards a few minutes to find their way across.

The door led to another hallway, this one filled with women in tight, skimpy costumes, hurrying away from him.

“Do you mind? We’re on in two.” A heavily made-up woman in a bright blue bustier, sporting a feathery blue hat and equally feathery tail, squeezed by him and ran after others dressed in a similar fashion.

The muffled sound of applause and music made Ben follow. A door stood open halfway down the hallway. Inside were racks and racks of costumes. From more of the skimpy corsets to evening gowns and men’s suits.

Ben hid the bloody bedpost behind a box of wigs and rifled through the costumes until he found a conservative black tuxedo in roughly his size. Not until he slipped it on did he realize it was a stripper tux, complete with Velcro seams. Too late to change his mind now.

The security guards had made their way through the prop closet into the hallway and were asking performers if they’d seen a man running through.

Ben jerked his clothes off and slipped into a snowy white shirt and the tuxedo jacket, hoping the women who’d seen him remained occupied on stage until he could figure a way out.

The guards opened doors and slammed them shut in their search down the hallway.

They’d be at the costumes room next.

After grabbing shoes off a shelf and a top hat, Ben ran for the door.

“Move, jerk!” Another wave of performers filled the hall, this time a mix of women in flowing ballroom dresses, interspersed with men in, wouldn’t you know it, black tuxedoes.