Eventually, though, the Englishman, who was actually a South African, turned out to be a bad guy who ran afoul of the United States government, and all his assets were seized by the FBI and the IRS. The seized assets were then sold off at auction. A man named Teddy Young purchased the former Silver Dollar City estate, lock, stock, and barrel, for the low, low price of a quarter-million dollars. With all the improvements the Englishman had made, the estate was actually worth up to three million dollars.
Teddy Young was a relatively wealthy man to begin with, and he’d always wanted his own town, a place where he was in charge, beholden to no one, and that gave him the idea to turn Silver Dollar City into an off-the-grid hideaway for like-minded people. Throughout the first decade of the 2000s, after buying Silver Dollar City, Teddy had worked to ensure that his private town would not be beholden to the county or state governments for its water, power, or sewage. All five of the estate’s main buildings, the Bank, the Saloon, the Hotel, the General Store, and the Livery, were set up with extensive solar arrays to provide power, their own wells to provide water, and sufficient septic tanks and composting and recycling technologies to handle waste. As a backup to the solar, Teddy had installed massive diesel generators in the Bank that provided power to the main buildings as well as many of the surrounding homes. Silver Dollar City was, more or less, sufficient unto itself.
Then, Teddy started inviting like minds to join him. He quickly realized that their new community would need a store, so he built the General Store to handle that need. He also established a gas station and convenience store at the foot of the narrow road that led up to Silver Dollar City. Supplies for the businesses in his town could be ordered through the gas station and convenience store and brought up to Silver Dollar City.
Though his infrastructure was off-the-grid, Teddy knew that his estate/resort had to be connected to telephone and internet at the very least. So, he paid for a very powerful cell phone tower to be built on a ridge above Silver Dollar City, capable of handling both cell phone and high-speed internet traffic from far more users than would ever live there at any one time.
Silver Dollar City quickly grew under the leadership of “Mayor” Teddy Young. The de facto town wasn’t advertised, didn’t exist on any maps, wasn’t even listed among Colorado’s numerous ghost towns. Instead, word of mouth, both literal and digital, spread the word about the “Libertarian compound” hidden in Denver’s Lake County. The full-time population numbered between thirty and forty people during any particular season. Most of the full-timers worked for Teddy Young through one of Silver Dollar City’s four business operations. Others were artists or adventurers in residence or simply people who wanted to lay low out of the government’s sight. Teddy himself was a devout fundamentalist Mormon with two wives and eight children. On the other hand, he didn’t bat an eye at the various romantic groupings that had formed in his town.
If anybody gave it any thought at all, they had probably assumed that Mack, KC, Liam, and Pilar were some kind of romantic foursome. They had no way of knowing that the four of them had gravitated to one another out of the simple expedient of being the only four paranormals in Silver Dollar City, probably the whole of Lake County.
KC and Pilar were childhood friends, and Pilar had spent the last four years living with KC’s parents while going to school at the University of Missouri Kansas City, which was where KC’s parents both taught. Mack and Liam were more recent friends, squad-mates in the Marine Corps. Mack and KC had met up with Pilar in Kansas City back in early November as they were passing through on their way to Colorado. Then, once they’d arrived in Silver Dollar City, Mack had found Liam working as a barback in the Saloon.
“So, what’s up with the ‘Sissy Gundam’ thing?” Pilar asked as Mack maneuvered Little Boy Blue along a dirt track that barely even qualified as a trail.
“That would be this asshole’s corruption of ‘Sasal Gunung’,” Liam explained, pointing at Mack.
“That explains, like, zero percent of what’s up,” Pilar snorted.
“In Korea they have Gununshin, ‘war deities’,” Liam said. “My birth mother came from a family of Gununshin, specifically a family of Sasal Gunung. I guess you’d call that the ‘sect’ of Gununshin they belong to.”
“He’s talking about Celestial humans,” KC clarified. “Like Olympians or Aesir.”
“Exactly,” Liam agreed.
“So, what’s so special about your, uh, sect, the Sassy Gundams?”
“Oh, I like that!” Mack chortled. “It’s even better than Sissy Gundams!”
“Sasal Gunung,” Liam corrected with a deep sigh. “I’m Korean. Gundams are effing Japanese.”
“You mean, it’s not all the same?” Mack mock-gasped.
“I’d beat the fool out of you if it wasn’t an all-day job,” Liam snarked.
“Or even possible,” KC teased.
“Who’s side are you on?” Mack whimpered.
“Whichever side is funnier to me at that moment,” KC grinned back at him. “Love ya, babe!”
“Getting back to your question, Pilar, Sasal Gunung are the war deities who battle evil spirits and protect the unclaimed spirits of unknown soldiers slain in battle. At least, that’s what the literature says,” Liam shrugged.
“In practice, though, Sassy Gundams are like a cross between Hawkeye and Captain America,” Mack said. He paused for a second and held up a finger. “Maybe, like, a little Bullseye and Daredevil thrown in for good measure. Basically, super acrobatic archers.”
“Like Legolas,” Pilar said with a grin.
Mack snorted. “You almost ran us off the road!”
Liam turned slightly in his seat. “Yeah, about that, um, my adoptive parents are Aes Sidhe, so...”
“So, you were raised by Legolas?”
“Pretty much.”
“That may be the best thing I’ve heard all day!”
“Not any stranger than two werewolves and a dhamphir hanging out together with Asian Hawkeye,” Mack pointed out.
“I’ll give you that one,” Pilar agreed.
A light snow began to fall.
“Getting home just in time,” Mack sighed as he pulled Little Boy Blue to a stop next to The Big Blue Busster, their converted school bus motorhome.
Silver Dollar City had a simple layout. The road that led down the mountain to the gas station started in what had been the original ghost town’s main street. Main street ran along an east/west line. North of Main Street, starting from the west, sat the Bank, the Hotel, and the Livery Stable. The General Store sat opposite the Livery, and the Saloon sat opposite the Bank. The building between the Saloon and the General Store had been completely demolished at some point in the past and turned into a parking lot. At the end of Main Street, where the road ended, was a circular turn around that everyone called “the cul-de-sac.”
The cul-de-sac actually lived up to its name in a way because that was where most of the permanent residents had placed their own homes. The majority of those homes were trailers, either RVs or tiny homes. A few were actual Class A or B motorhomes, either purpose-built recreational vehicles or converted buses and trucks like Busster.
Off Main Street were a few remnants of the in-town homes of the residents of the original Silver Dollar City. The Englishman had torn down most of those houses and outbuildings. Teddy Young had replaced those buildings with some pre-fab sheds and barns. Being a good Mormon meant following the Church’s prescription toward being prepared with a year’s supply of food and goods in case of an emergency. Teddy’s sheds and barns were mainly used to house the goods that would stock the General Store and the Saloon. Others were rented out by the artists who’d flocked to Silver Dollar City for the freedom to be as creative as they wanted, something the Mayor encouraged.
With everything within easy walking distance, nobody really bothered to drive to the General Store or the Saloon, so the parking lot mostly went unused. Mack had gotten permission to park Busster in the back of
the lot when he, KC, and Pilar had secured jobs at the Saloon. The Saloon’s general manager, Don Hernandez, had even allowed them to hook up their freshwater tanks to his well. They had to dump the gray water and their compost, but nobody complained because everyone else did the same.
A red Ford F250 with a slide-in Arctic Fox camper mounted in the bed was parked next to Busster. “Ah, home, sweet home,” Liam sighed at the sight of his rig.
“I’ve been wondering, ever since we came here, why did you spend your life savings on a camper?” Pilar asked.
“Freedom, and it’s cheaper than an actual RV,” Liam shrugged. “Mostly, it was listening to this guy talk about living out of an Airstream. What happened to that Airstream you restored?”
Mack pointed at Busster. “Sold it to a rich collector for enough to buy Busster and fully convert it with enough left over to buy this truck new.”
“And we’ve been working constantly ever since to pay for this lifestyle,” KC added.
“Not that we’re complaining,” Mack chuckled.
“I love living like this.” KC paused in thought. “You know, this is the longest we’ve stayed in one spot since we started living in Busster.”
“Well, we haven’t had much choice in the matter,” Mack grunted. “The road won’t be passable until maybe April, and this new snow won’t make clearing the way come any sooner.”
“This is what we get for coming to a hidden valley on the top of a mountain,” Pilar snarked.
“Technically, this is just the shoulder of a bigger mountain, but you make a fair point,” Mack agreed. “I say we blame KC.”
“I don’t control the visions, guys. I just go where they lead,” she sighed. “What do you say we unpack our gear before we’re too deeply buried in snow, and get dinner in the Saloon?”
“Sounds like a plan ‘cause I don’t really feel like cooking,” Mack said.
Chapter Two
Twin Lakes, Colorado
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
THE SALOON WAS NOT the bar and gambling establishment it was named after. Instead, it was more of a family-style bar and grill with some entertainment such as a couple of pool tables, a skee ball lane, and a basketball free-throw game. Additionally, along the back wall of the main room near the bathrooms were a fully restored Ms. Pac-Man, Galaga, and Centipede game consoles. The bar and kitchen were on the right-hand side as one entered the front door, with a pass-through window from the kitchen behind the bar counter, which seemed more like the set-up in a diner than a Wild West saloon. Opposite the bar and kitchen on the left-hand side of the room were the pool tables and the skee ball and basketball games. In between were the customer tables. Each of the five tables was big enough for five chairs but only had four. Between the stools at the counter-like bar and the tables, the Saloon could comfortably seat twenty-five people, thirty if an extra chair was put at each table. The maximum occupancy for the building was listed as fifty persons. The only time that even close to that many people were crammed into the Saloon was if Teddy Young had called a meeting of his town’s permanent residents.
Under normal circumstances, during the winter when access to the outside world was limited, the Saloon was rarely busy, even at rush hours like lunch and supper. The Saloon didn’t serve breakfast. The Hotel across the street had what amounted to a Starbucks clone where the original restaurant had been, and that was where most residents who didn’t cook for themselves got their breakfasts. Don Hernandez and Abja Elango, the Hotel’s General Manager, had worked out a deal where “room service” was provided by the Saloon during regular business hours, and the Hotel’s Coffee Shoppe stopped cooking breakfast after 10 am. They still served pastries, but anything more filling or nutritious had to be acquired at the Saloon. Likewise, the Saloon didn’t sell deserts, which meant anybody wishing to satisfy their sweet cravings had to visit the Coffee Shoppe.
This evening it seemed that the Saloon was extra busy. Every table was filled, and four of the five stools at the bar were occupied when the foursome entered. Don was behind the bar filling drink orders because it looked like Viola Cobb, the full-time bartender, was helping Chloe Hofler, one of three waitresses, wait tables. Elwood Stokes, the lead cook, could be seen in the kitchen busily trying to catch up.
“I know you’re all off, but I could use the help!” Don shouted.
Mack peeled off to help Elwood in the kitchen. KC and Pilar grabbed the aprons that comprised the waitress’s uniform in the Saloon and went to help Chloe and relieve Viola so that she could help Don at the bar. Liam immediately began bussing tables and washing dishes.
“Did the Mayor call a town meeting?” Mack asked as he started preparing the food on the next ticket in Elwood’s queue.
“Not that I’m aware,” Elwood grumbled as he flipped hamburgers on the flattop.
“Teddy had TJ plow the drive, and we got a bunch of kids on Spring Break come up,” Don explained. “When I was that age, I wanted to go to the beach.”
“Maybe they go to school near a beach and decided that skiing or snowboarding would be a nice change of pace,” Mack shrugged.
“At least it’s fresh green coming in, ya know?” Elwood philosophized.
“Yeah, the Hotel’s full now,” Don sighed, “which means we’re gonna be busy until these adventurous boys and girls head back down to Mommy and Daddy.”
“Can you imagine how busy we’d be if the Mayor used real advertising instead of word of mouth?” Mack chuckled. “Order up!”
“I got it,” Don announced.
He was a big man if judged by mass alone, tipping the scales at a good 300 pounds while only standing five-foot-eight. His obesity belied his grace and stamina, though. Once upon a time, Don Hernandez had been an Olympic hopeful in Greco-Roman Wrestling until his ACL disintegrated. He wore a brace on that knee, and he still ate like he was in training, but he moved with relative ease, able to work long hours every day.
“Order up!” Elwood called out.
The lead cook was an even six feet tall, but he was skinny to the point of looking emaciated, weighing in around 150 pounds. He was clean-shaven, but his gray hair was quite long, braided into a tail that hung down nearly to his belt. A bandana was tied around his head to keep his hair out of people’s food. Intricate tattoos filled both his arms and encircled his neck. Although he looked like he’d stepped out of a Food Network competition, Elwood was not a culinary school-trained chef. He was a short-order cook who’d been working in restaurants like the Saloon for his entire adult life. Mack still called him “Chef” as a sign of respect, which amused Elwood no end.
“Got it,” Chloe Hofler declared, coming to the window. “Thanks for showing up when you did, Mack.”
“No worries.”
Chloe fell between KC and Pilar in height at five-foot-three. She was a green-eyed blonde with a curvy figure, full lips, and adorable dimples. She was also one of the world’s top-rated snowboarders. Well, she had been one of the top-rated snowboarders until she’d taken a spill attempting a nearly impossible trick that had landed her in the hospital for three months. Between the embarrassment caused by a viral video of her wipeout and recovering from her injuries, Chloe had dropped off the circuit and out of the public eye. Silver Dollar City gave her a private place to live and train while she worked on her comeback.
“How you doing, Viola?” Mack asked.
“I’m good,” the bartender replied.
Viola was the tallest woman on the staff at five-foot-nine. She was a dark-skinned African-American woman who liked to wear different colored contacts to cover up what she thought of as “boring brown eyes.” Everybody who worked in the Saloon liked having Viola behind the counter tending bar because she was fast, efficient, and tall enough to reach the higher shelves by herself. Viola was also mentally and emotionally tough. She didn’t take any kind of guff or disrespect from the Saloon’s customers, not even regulars. When she cut somebody off, she was ready to throw them out herself if she was able and smart
enough to get Mack to do it when she knew she couldn’t.
Eventually, all the meals ordered were cooked and served, and the customers were reminded that desserts could be purchased in the Coffee Shoppe when they returned to the Hotel for the night. The Saloon emptied out as the skiers and snowboarders headed to bed down for an early start in the morning. Silver Dollar City didn’t have any developed slopes, but for the adventurous cross-country types, the surrounding wilderness was a treasure.
Mack cooked and served a meal to the rest of the Saloon staff. “Don’t worry, Don, while you weren’t looking, I grabbed meat from my own larder, so this isn’t coming out of the company’s wallet.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Don chuckled as Mack set a plate of steak, potatoes, and asparagus spears down in front of the manager.
“I managed to bag a couple of Bighorn Sheep during the December season, and these bison steaks were taking up too much room and needed to be eaten soon anyway,” Mack shrugged.
The front door flung open to allow a trio of people to stroll in. They were all dressed in matching black tactical fatigues underneath matching parkas. Holstered sidearms rode on their belts at their hips, the only necessary symbol of their authority as Silver Dollar City Security. Even so, their parkas and uniform blouses bore the word “Security” emblazoned on them. They were in no way, shape, or form legitimate law enforcement, but since Silver Dollar City was patterned on a Wild West frontier town, their leader, Jack Samuels, was unofficially titled “Town Marshal” and his two henchmen, Iva Planche and David Bryce, were referred to as his “deputies.” In practice, though, Samuels and the Security crew were Terry Young’s bodyguards.
“Look who it is! The Scooby Gang has returned from their adventure!” Samuels chortled. “Tell me, Steroid Fred, was it Old Man Smithers or Mr. Johnson the bank manager who was behind the Creeper?”
Samuels was a big, imposing man standing six-foot-two and weighing a good 200 pounds. He wasn’t particularly athletic-looking, nor was he a weightlifter, but he was strong and fairly agile for a man in his early to mid-fifties. Samuels had been a police officer once upon a time, rumored to have been a detective in the narcotics or vice squads, depending on who was telling the story, and the rumor further went that he’d been canned from the Denver Police for either excessive force or taking bribes. None of that really mattered, though, because he was actually contentious about his duties as head of Silver Dollar City Security. In that role, he functioned as chief enforcer of the Mayor’s decrees, head of the volunteer fire department, which amounted to little more than everybody with a fire extinguisher or a bucket of water/sand showing up to help put out a fire, and the occupational safety inspector.
Cassandra Case Files Page 9
