Prologue
Sunset was the time of day Donnie Cartwright loved best. And when he had the chance to walk away into the scrubland and enjoy it… Well, his day was damn near perfect.
This one classed right up there with the rest of his perfect days, the sun dipping low toward the distant mountains and the air soft with the promise of a slight chill to come with the darkness. He turned around and looked at the tall building that was starting to glow in the rays of the dying sun.
It was his. All his. And wasn’t that just a freakin’ miracle? An ordinary guy with nothing special in his resume had turned an almost abandoned stretch of land into a humming, vibrant place where other ordinary people could come and have a good time.
Donnie knew he’d been damn lucky. Dropping out of college to join the military had taught him discipline and patience along with a number of other abilities for which he had little use these days. Field stripping an AK-47 didn’t count for much on a resume. But taking his honorable discharge along with his accumulated marine pay and leaping onto the dot-com bandwagon—well that had been the result of youthful stupidity, enthusiasm and intuition, but it had paid off handsomely, putting a hefty six figures into his bank account within an amazingly short space of time. And he’d sold out before the whole thing went bust, unlike some of his contemporaries.
It had been that simple civilian act of folly that had enabled him to get into his car one day, wave goodbye to Richmond, Virginia, and head west with no particular destination in mind. He was free to follow his nose and he did—until he stumbled into this serenely majestic little corner of Nevada and found himself looking at a tumbledown collection of buildings masquerading as a casino and with a “For Sale” sign prominently displayed.
He’d made a wrong turn onto Route 50, but wondered now if the hand of fate hadn’t steered him that way. Once again, Donnie got that tickle at the back of his neck that told him here was something he should take a closer look at. And, being the kind of man he was, Donnie followed his instincts.
Fifteen years later, here he was, sitting amidst the sagebrush, breathing in the dusky air and watching the sky paint itself with colors that he couldn’t even begin to describe. It had been a long fifteen years in some ways, a blink of the eye in others. But it was fifteen years he’d never regretted. And in front of him was his lifetime achievement—The Last Resort.
The casino portion thrust skyward, its native stonework picking up the sunlight yet blending with the mountains in the distance. Beside it were the sparkling glass skylights of the convention center, starting to glow as the shadows increased and darkness crept across the land. All around were smaller buildings, and a little further away was the development that had grown around the heart of his project. His workers needed a place to call home—and so did he. Donnie had tapped an old friend, an architect who was only too happy to mastermind the design and had ended up buying one of the smaller homes for himself. He came out with his family a couple of times a year just to get away.
The result? A glowing jewel tucked off the main highway, a place where gamblers could gamble, conventions could afford to occupy all the rooms without blowing their budget and—well, there were other pleasures to be had as well. More discreetly, of course.
Known to insiders as Beaver Canyon, a low-roofed building nestled on its own little corner of his land. The address was, appropriately, 69 Beaver Canyon Road. Donnie grinned. It was a natural adjunct to any kind of Nevada complex and he was extremely proud of it. And the girls who lived there.
But tonight his focus was on the casino. It would be starting to buzz with excited customers and soon filling with eager clients whose headlights were even now making trails down the access road into the rapidly filling parking lot.
Tonight was one of the biggest events for the Last Resort casino. The grand Poker Championship, offering a half-million dollar prize to one lucky winner. It wasn’t on the scale of some of the big bad boys in Las Vegas, of course. But to the locals and the regular clients of the Last Resort—well, it was something pretty special and definitely worth the trip down a dusty highway into the foothills.
A half a million bucks wasn’t to be dismissed lightly and neither were the players who were about to go head-to-head in an attempt to win it. The tournament was exciting, pushing up the adrenaline level and electrifying the atmosphere, even for those who came only to watch or shove a few coins into a slot machine.
Donnie’s fingers itched and he flexed them, knowing he was about to go back inside to mingle and maybe deal a hand or two at some of the tables. He enjoyed the camaraderie of blackjack every bit as much as the intensity of the poker games. He’d reserved the right to deal the final hands himself. Owning the place came with perks and that was one of them.
Yeah, it was gonna be a great weekend, with throngs of gamblers, fascinated onlookers and all the fun and excitement anyone could ask for. Let alone the owner.
With a sigh of contentment, Donnie Cartwright retraced his steps back toward his pride and joy.
Life, he mused as the stars began to shine above him, was pretty fucking good.