America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 23 - Bandits by Walter Knight

at his throat, then slumped in the saddle, dead from asphyxiation. 
         Not a gang leader to panic, Cactus-Claw duct taped the jockey to his saddle as they pushed the Prickly Pear into the starter gates.  Ha!  Another use for duct tape.  A scorpion gave Prickly Pear a quick sting on the rump as the gates opened.
         Prickly Pear immediately burst into the lead, leaving the field in its his dust from start to finish.  The crowd went wild, cheering and firing rifles into the air.  Prickly Pear slowed to a trot at the winner's circle, then suddenly dropped dead, convulsing from venom poisoning.  Race officials rules the death of a jockey and the horse he rode in on to be not suspicious, to prevent a riot if they refused to pay off on a thirty to one shot.  Good times were had by all at North New Phoenix Downs.
                                                                           * * * * *
         The commotion at the race track attracted Legion attention.  A dead jockey riding a dead horse to victory, paying thirty to one, was the stuff of legends.  A dead-spider-riding statue was already in the works as a tourist attraction.  More interesting, rumors were that Cactus-Claw cashed in big-time on the race using money stolen in an ice cream shop robbery.
         “He had scorpions with him for muscle,” said the spider ice cream clerk.  “I know it was Cactus-Claw.  I saw his photo on America's Most Wanted.”
         “You're sure?” I asked, scooping ice scream.  “All you spiders look alike.”
         “Not to us.”
         “You say he ordered chocolate?”
         “He stole chocolate.,” corrected the ice cream clerk.  “So did his scorpion buddies.  Who knew scorpions ate chocolate?”
         “I didn't know.”
         “Cactus-Claw threatened to come back if Prickly Pear didn't win his race.”
         “How did you know Prickly Pear would win?”
         “I'm connected.”
         “Can you pick me winners, too?” I asked, sliding a racing form across the counter.  “Any idea where Cactus-Claw is now?”
         “Everyone knows Cactus-Claw is holed up at the Hilton Hotel and Casino, partying and recruiting a new gang.  They rented the whole top floor.  He declared himself the mayor of Northeast New Phoenix.”
         “Are you sure about these horses?” I asked, studying the clerk's picks.  “This is a sure thing?”
         “It's in the bag.  All of them.”
         “If not, you'll be joining Cactus-Claw in Chocolate Hell,” I threatened, dropping my scoop on the floor for menacing affect.  “I'll be back.”
         “We're open seven days a week, and weekends,” added the ice cream clerk, unfazed.  “Sir, could you answer a personal question?”
         “No.”
         “Is it true some of you human pestilence have such complete control over your bodies you can suck a milkshake through your genitals?”
         “What?”

     “Inquiring minds in the ice cream industry want to know,” insisted the ice cream clerk, dead serious.  “Can I put your answer on my ice cream blog?”
         “Yes, it's true.  It's the only way to prevent brain freeze.”
         “I knew it!”
         “Only Chi masters can achieve such levels of control and harmony with ice cream.”
         “Are you a Chi master?”
         “No.  I usually need a straw.”
     
     
     
     
     
                                                                             Chapter 17
     
     
     
         Legionnaires surrounded the Hilton Hotel and Casino, establishing a secure perimeter.  I planned a surprise airstrike on the 20 th floor where a pool party was raging on the roof.  A legion shuttle circled, preparing to napalm Cactus-Claw and his new crew in their prickly den of