Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7) Anthony Strong (popular romance novels .TXT) 📖

“No. The current owner of the ghost town only recently reopened the mine entrance. No one had stepped foot inside for generations until those three geologists entered. I suspect that renewed human activity awakened whatever is in there, with tragic results.”

“Now for the million-dollar question,” Fowler said as they crested a rise and drove toward a cluster of lights that Decker assumed was their destination. “Do you know how to deal with it?”

“Not yet,” Decker admitted. He watched the lights grow brighter and soon he could make out the shapes of ramshackle buildings sitting at the base of a mountain pass. One structure stood out, in better condition than the rest. This, he assumed, was the hotel where he would bed down for the foreseeable future. He lifted his gaze to the mountains beyond the town, now nothing more than dark silhouettes against the night sky, and wondered what horrors awaited him in that long-abandoned mine.

Chapter Twenty-One

The confrontation with Oscar Rossi left Harlan Biggs shaken. He’d known on an intellectual level that this day was coming, especially after he failed to make the latest loan payment, but until Rossi walked through his door, Harlan had convinced himself that it would all work itself out in the end. It was now clear that it would not.

In an effort to instill some kind of normality to his day, and possibly to kid himself the world was not collapsing around him, Harlan hurried from the hotel shortly after Rossi departed, and drove out to Henderson where the vendor supplying his new slot machines was located. He spent the next three hours going over the casino floor plan with his account manager, selecting machines. Since Prospectors Paradise wasn’t a top-tier casino, he wouldn’t be receiving the newest slots. Many of the machines, while an upgrade to his old ones, would still be a year or two old. Worse, only a small percentage of the machines would be owned by the casino. He simply didn’t have the money to purchase all the slots he needed outright. His gaming floor was small compared to many of the big boys. A strip casino might have fifteen-hundred slots or more, but Harlan was only looking at a paltry three hundred. Even so, that would add up fast at a minimum of ten grand for each machine. Even with the amount he’d made selling off the old machines, his budget only allowed him to purchase a third of them outright. He would have to lease the rest for a cut of the proceeds. The thought of giving a third of his slot profits to the gaming supplier made him feel physically sick, especially after his conversation with Rossi, but it was that or have a half empty casino floor.

By the time he returned to the Prospectors Paradise his mood was even darker than before. He parked his black metallic Porsche Cayman on the employee level of the parking garage and made his way back into the casino. He couldn’t really afford the flashy sports car, which was also leased, any more than he could afford the gold Rolex on his wrist, but he needed to project the right image to be taken seriously in a town where money was king.

When he entered the hotel on the mezzanine overlooking the lobby, he ran straight into Wagner Mitchell, his GM, who was standing at the railing watching the new lobby floor being installed.

“How did it go?” Wagner asked, turning toward his boss.

“Fine, I guess,” Harlan grumbled in reply. “A month from now we’ll have three hundred slightly used slot machines in our casino, and the supplier will be skimming thirty percent on two-thirds of them.”

“No, not that.” Wagner shook his head. “Rossi. How did it go with Oscar Rossi?”

“How do you think it went? He’s given me two weeks and if I can’t make the interest payment, I’ll have the dubious pleasure of having my legs broken by his enforcers.”

“Hey, sorry I asked.” Wagner turned his attention back to the work going on below. “The new floor is looking good. We should be able to put the check-in desk back in by the end of the month. That should cheer you up, huh?”

“Yeah. Great.” Harlan sighed. “I’m sure Rossi will enjoy his new lobby.”

“Don’t be like that, boss. You’ll think of something.”

“You’d better pray that I do,” Harlan replied. “Or Oscar Rossi will be cutting your paychecks, and I’m pretty sure he’s not as much fun to work for as I am. He’ll probably have you dumping bodies out in the desert within a month.”

“Not going to happen. We’ve weathered hard times before.”

“Not like this, my friend.” Harlan turned toward the elevators and pressed the call button. A door slid open immediately. “I fear I may have overplayed my hand this time.”

“I hope you’re wrong.”

“Me too.” Harlan stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the sixth floor. He saw Wagner throw his arms up in the air and shout something at the installers on the floor below. Then the doors slid closed, cutting off his view of the mezzanine.

When he reached his destination, Harlan stepped out and made his way to the penthouse. He stepped inside and closed the door, then proceeded to the living room. He turned on the TV and went to the bar that occupied one entire wall of the space. He poured himself a drink, making sure that it was substantially larger than anything he would ever allow one of his bartenders to serve in the casino. He looked down into the amber liquid, lost in thought, at least until the television drew his attention.

He turned around. The TV was tuned to a local news station. Something big was going down. They were playing footage shot from a helicopter hovering over the desert. There were police cars, an ambulance, and even a SWAT team. The news ticker, a band of scrolling text at the bottom of the screen, identified the location as the