America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 23 - Bandits by Walter Knight Read Free Book Online Page A

off slot machines.  Several jackpots sounded.  Ka-ching!  Gamblers cheered the Legion aim, and their good luck.
         “What do we do?” asked Little-Claw desperately.  “The Legion is not taking prisoners.”
         “Continue negotiations,” answered Cactus-Claw, staying calm.  “Demand pizza, access to the media, and fifty rolls of duct tape.”
         “You have a plan, or you're just stalling?”
         “I always have a plan.  That's why I'm a famous bandit leader, and you're not.”
                                                                              * * * * *
         A spider bandit on the roof reported that a Legion negotiations robot was slowly treading towards the front door.  He could smell pizza, so that was a good thing, right?  Cactus-Claw ordered the bandit to restore power immediately.  Better said than done.
         The bandit was bitten by a rattlesnake escaping from high water.  He fell back against a power line, electrocuting himself.  The combination of venom and electrical surge gave the spider bandit super-hero powers, probably of the super-ninja warrior type.  He was alive as never before, feeling the power course through his exoskeleton as he went into super ninja spider type warm-up exercises.  We'll never know the bandit's exact super-hero ninja powers because at that very moment he was shot dead by a Legion sniper.  Too bad, so sad.  Penumbra Publishing lost a potentially lucrative contract with Marvel because of that damn sniper.
         The Legion negotiations robot bumped repeatedly against the front door until Little-Claw finally let it in.  An older model, the robot used treads to navigate between the table games, tearing up the expensive carpet when it changed directions.  As it passed, a long skinny arm reached out and grabbed a fistfuls of hundred dollar chips, depositing them in a drop box located atop the robot's small motor.
         “Did you see that robot steal those chips?” asked Little-Claw as he and Cactus-Claw approached, weapons raised.  “That robot can't be trusted.”
         “I have to think of my impending retirement,” explained the negotiations robot.  “I do not intend to end up on the scrap heap recycled into fancy walking-talking ATMs.  Let's do this.  I brought pizza, duct tape, and a direct monitor feed to Channel Five World News Tonight reporter Brad Jacobs.  Release the women and children as a gesture of good faith.”
         “There are no hatchlings,” replied Little-Claw.  “This is a casino.  They're not allowed.”
         “Enough!” interrupted Cactus-Claw.  “I want Brad Jacobs to film everything.  We're walking out the front door with hostages duct taped to our bodies.  We'll be wearing human pestilence shields.  If I get sniped, the hostages get sniped.  Understand?”
         “That's diabolical,” commented the negotiations robot, scooping more chips.  “But I like it.  Even the Butcher of New Colorado wouldn't risk harm to human shields on TV.”
         “We go now,” announced Cactus-Claw, strapping the first gambler on, like a shoulder pad. 
                                                                              * * * * *
         “This is Brad Jacobs of Channel Five World News Tonight reporting from the Casa del Sol Hotel Resort Casino, home of the loosest slots in the galaxy.  Winners happen here.  I am in direct contact with notorious tooth-thieving bandit terrorist Cactus-Claw and his drug-crazed gang by the blackjack tables.  Mr. Claw, how many gold teeth have you pulled from hapless gambler victims?”
         “We are not drug crazed,” snapped Cactus-Claw.  “We drink beer.”
         “Outlaw Beer?”
         Cactus-Claw held up a can of Outlaw Beer for the camera.  “It tastes