Deadly Lode (Trace Brandon Book 1)

by Randall Reneau

  Cyrus was not subject to a standstill agreement. He hit speed dial and called Malcolm.

  “Malcolm, Cyrus here.”

  “Yes, Cyrus, how are you, and what can I do for you?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve taken care of Thorny’s family, and now I’m ready to take care of that miserable son of a bitch, Rosenburg.”

  “What’ve you got in mind?”

  “Getting his Montana Creek Mining shares, is what I’ve got in mind. I’m out eight hundred grand I paid the Pantellis, Thorny’s dead, and I want some payback.”

  “Well, he still owes the million-dollar debt Pantelli assigned to you. I can make contact with him and tell him we’re taking legal action to collect. I’ll make it plain we’d like his Montana Creek Mining shares as payment in full.”

  “Okay, but the gloves are off. You let that SOB know if he doesn’t cooperate, it’ll go hard on him.”

  “I’ll get the message across, sir.”

  “You do that, and get back to me.”

  Rosenburg was working the phones too, calling the best stock promoters in Vancouver. He was looking for a home for his half million shares of Montana Creek Mining, and he really didn’t give a shit who bought them.

  He’d just hung up from pitching his deal to a notorious pump and dump promoter when he got an incoming call.

  “Rosy, it’s Al Pantelli. I wanna throw something out to you.”

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “My family wants to buy your shares of Montana Creek Mining.”

  “I’m still listening.”

  “We’ll pay you two dollars a share, and I’ll work out something with the Carib people. You’ll be in the clear and have a million bucks in your pocket.”

  “What kind of deal with Carib?”

  “You let me worry about that.”

  “How about two-fifty a share? I think this company’s mine is the real deal.”

  “How about we break your freakin’ legs and buy your note back from Carib? You get my drift, Rosy?”

  “You make a very convincing proposal, Al. How could I refuse?”

  “Smart move, Rosy. Catch a plane and be down here tomorrow with the stock cert’s and signature-guaranteed stock powers. Capisce?”

  *****

  Will and I flew to Vancouver to meet James Lee at Wally’s law office. We took a cab from the airport to Wally’s office in the Hastings Building in downtown Vancouver. Wally’s office was on the twentieth floor.

  “Trace, Will, good to see you fellows,” Wally said, shaking our hands. “Jim’s already here. He’s in the conference room.”

  The three of us went into Wally’s conference room. The view of the harbor and the mountains above North Vancouver was spectacular. Wally had done quite well for himself in Vancouver.

  “Gentlemen, Jim sent me a copy of IUC’s proposal, and I’ve drafted an agreement I believe covers all the terms and conditions,” Wally said, handing each of us a copy of the twenty-page document.

  It took a couple of hours to work through the agreement. With just a couple of minor changes, we affixed our signatures.

  “Really good job on the agreement, Wally,” I said, pushing the signed agreement across the table.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Jim said, putting his gold pen back in his shirt pocket. “It’s going to be a pleasure working with you fellows.”

  “Now that we’re partners, I think a little celebration is in order,” I said. “How about supper at the Blue Whale Café?”

  “Is it a good place?” Jim asked. “I would love some fresh Pacific Northwest seafood.”

  “Yeah, it’s the best in town,” Wally replied. “Everybody, bring plenty of money.”

  “Expensive?” Jim asked.

  “Yep, but worth every penny,” Wally replied.

  “Well, since Jim just ponied up three mil,” I said, with a laugh, “I guess Montana Creek will buy.”

  Wally was right. The food was incredible, the setting perfect. As we got up to leave, Bart Yancey, the two-time Academy Award-winning actor, and some friends were just passing our table. Yancey kindly waved us by. I put my hand out, and we shook hands. I told him I really liked his movies.

  Will also extended his hand and blurted out, . . . “Food’s good.”

  Yancey grinned. “Glad to hear it.”

  Outside, I started laughing. “Jesus, Will, that’s probably the only time you’ll ever meet Bart Yancey, and all you could say was, ‘the food’s good’.”

  “Sorry, fellows. He’s my hero, and I sort of froze up.”

  Cyrus got the call early Saturday morning. He was enjoying a cup of coffee and watching his girlfriend, Sally Friesen, scramble some eggs while wearing nothing but a pair of black silk panties.

  “Cyrus, Malcolm. Sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but this can’t wait.”

  “No problem, Mal. I’m in a very good mood this morning. What can I do for you?”

  “It’s Rosenburg.”

  Cyrus put his coffee cup on the table, his hand trembling just bit.

  “What’s that bastard done now?”

  “Well, I called him, as we discussed, but before I could finish my pitch, he told me he no longer owned the shares.”

  “What! What in the hell did he do with them?”

  “He sold them to the Pantelli family.”

  Cyrus took a deep breath. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe it.”

  “Do you have a relationship with the Pantellis?”

  “I thought I did.”

  “Rosenburg also told me the Pantellis said they would take care of his debt to Carib International.”

  “He did, did he?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s what he said.”

  “Well, I’m still holding the paper on Rosenburg. I’ll call the Pantellis and find out what in the hell is going on.”

  I met Will for lunch at the First Inn. He said he had some good news.

  “Trace have you seen our share price?”

  “Yep, it’s been climbing steadily since we announced the final core assay results.”

  “Yeah, the deal with IUC didn’t hurt either. Wally says he’s getting calls from all the major uranium and gold companies. They all want a piece.”

  “Laissez les bons temps rouler,” I said. “Let the good times roll.”

  “Okay, Mr. Good Times, how about buying me a burger and a beer?”

  “You’re on,” I said, catching the waitress’s eye.

  “Have you seen the latest charts on the projected price of uranium?”

  “It’s around sixteen dollars a pound, up from around ten. Looks like it may hit twenty early next year.”

  “Man, the numbers just keep looking better and better,” I replied, taking a swig of cold beer.

  “Trace, as you know, the metals markets are cyclical. We damn sure want to be selling the property into a rising metals market.”

  “Couldn’t agree more, Will. But, I think we’ve got a three or four-year window. The problem is, once the price gets up, more mines start coming on stream. Uranium production goes up, and the price backs off.”

  Will nodded between bites of his burger. “The other thing I worry about, is another Three Mile Island. That little cluster-fuck killed the uranium market for damn near twenty years.”

  “I agree. It’s a potential fly in the buttermilk. I’ve been talking with Jim, and now that Montana Creek is cashed up, we may want to initiate at least a limited winter-drilling program. Cut enough core to keep building reserves and keep investor interest up. And thereby our share price.”

  “I think it would be a wise decision. If we can get the share price up in the four-dollar range, we could apply for a Toronto Stock Exchange listing. Move up to the big board.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty sporty trading in Vancouver. Let’s kick it around with Wally and our new partner, and come up with a game plan.”

  “Sporty. Hell, it’s the god-damned Wild West,” Will said, with a chuckle.

  Cyrus
called Al Pantelli and set up a meeting at the Comstock Casino in Vegas. When he landed at McCarron International Airport, a Comstock limo was waiting.

  Al Pantelli waited for Cyrus in the conference room of his casino office. He was seated in one of the overstuffed chairs, his feet propped on the $20,000 dollar reclaimed teak conference table. A glass of Jack Daniels rested on a coaster. He rose as Cyrus entered the room.

  “Cyrus, good to see you. No hard feelings on the freakin’ stock, I hope? As they say in the movies, it wasn’t personal, just business.”

  Cyrus, shook Al’s massive hand and looked him hard in the eye. “No, Al, no hard feelings. It was a smart move.” Cyrus walked over to the conference room bar and poured two inches of Crown into a glass of ice. “But I do have a business proposition for you.”

  Al sipped his bourbon and motioned for Cyrus to sit down. “I’m all ears, my friend.”

  “Well, Al, as you probably guessed, I’m a player in Montana Creek Mining. I’ve been buying shares in the open market and took down a chunk of their private placement.”

  “I see,” Al replied, absent-mindedly rotating his three-carat- diamond pinky ring with his thumb.

  “I tried to get one of my people on their board, but didn’t have the votes to force the issue. But I’m getting close.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “With your five hundred thousand shares, I would be in a strong position to force the issue.”

  “Cyrus, I’m not interested in selling my shares, at least not yet.”

  “I don’t really need your shares, Al. All I need is your proxy to vote your shares. In return for which I would pay you two hundred thousand dollars from the money Rosenburg owes me. With the eight hundred grand I’ve already paid you, you’d have the million Rosenburg originally owed you. Plus you’d still have the shares, which at today’s price is another mil plus.”

  “How long do you need the voting proxy?”

  “I’d like five years.”

  Al took a deep pull on his bourbon. “Three years.”

  “Agreed, provided your crew collects my mil from Rosenburg. You know, Al, that son of a bitch killed one of my oldest friends.”

  “You’ve got a deal, Cyrus, and don’t worry about the dough. They say you can’t get blood out of a turnip. Well, my people can. As for Rosy, well, after we get the dough, we probably won’t see Rosy no more.”

  After discussing a winter campaign with Jim Lee and Wally, Will and I drove up to Oroville to discuss the project with Red Blackstone.

  “What do you think, Red?” I asked, after laying out our drilling proposal.

  “It’ll cost more,” Red replied. “You’ve got to have heated areas. Resupplying is tougher. Things break when it gets real cold. And it gets colder than a defrocked cardinal’s heart in those mountains.”

  I laughed. “That cold, huh?”

  “Want to take a crack at it?” Will asked, smiling at the cardinal comment.

  “Sure, it beats sitting around waiting for spring,” Red replied. “We’ll still have to run two shifts. We can’t let the equipment sit out there at night and freeze up.”

  “We’ll leave it to you, Red,” I said. “Come up with a cost estimate. In the meantime, we’ll start the permitting process. Shouldn’t be too tough. The Forest Service prefers winter work. Less risk of forest fires.”

  “I’ll have something for you in a day or two, fellows,” Red replied.

  “Sounds good,” I said. “We’ll swing through Winthrop on our way back to Ellensburg and give Bob Malott a heads-up. He’ll have to build a few more locations and open up the roads. I think he’ll be glad for the work. His business gets pretty slow in the winter months.”

  My assumption was correct. Bob was very happy to get the work. He’d been carrying most of his crew out of his hip pocket just to help them through the winter. In a couple of weeks we’d be turning to the right.

  Al Pantelli summoned his deadliest assassin, Peter Manetti, aka, the Chemist. Manetti stood five feet eight and weighed about one hundred fifty pounds. He had graying hair, cut short, a pallid complexion, and rather unexpressive pale-blue eyes. Dr. Manetti looked more like the frumpy college professor he’d once been, than a stone-cold killer. His weapon of choice was any of a number of chemical compounds, all of which killed in rather unpleasant fashions.

  “Peter, I’ve got a job for you,” Al said. “Take a seat, and I’ll fill you in.”

  It took about fifteen minutes for Al to brief his assassin.

  “I’ll call Rosenburg and tell him he has to come up with the mil. He’s to deliver the money to you, in cash. After you get the money, take a few days and plan a hit on this SOB. And Peter, this prick killed a friend of a friend. No quick exit for him. Capisce?”

  A couple of hours after his meeting with the Chemist, Al Pantelli picked up the phone in his penthouse suite, and dialed Richard Rosenburg’s number.

  “Rosy, it’s Al Pantelli. I need to speak with you for a sec.”

  “Sure, Mr. Pantelli. What’s on your mind?”

  “As you know, my casino assigned your IOU to Carib International. And they want their money.”

  “What? Wait a fucking minute. You said you’d take care of Carib.”

  “You’d better watch your mouth when you’re talking to me, you out-of-shape piece of shit.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Pantelli, but I thought we had a deal.”

  “I tried to negotiate a deal with Carib, but they’re mixed up with a goddamned Colombian cartel. I couldn’t make a deal,” Pantelli replied, the lie coming as easily as a Hail Mary. “Listen, Rosy, these are some very rough bottom dwellers. Even the Outfit doesn’t mess with these bastards. They’re crazy. You can’t do business with them.”

  “Jesus, I’ve lost my shares, and now I’ll lose my money too.”

  “Damn it, Rosy. You owed us a million bucks. The money you got from us will cover your debt. You’re even, off the hook. And you got to pop Thornton as a bonus.”

  “It was self-defense.”

  “I’m sure it was. In any case, my associate, Mr. Manetti, will be in Vancouver day after tomorrow to pick up the money. Have the million ready, in cash. Once he calls me, confirming receipt, I’ll contact Carib and set up a payoff meet. I’ll get your note canceled, and you’ll be clear. Capisce?”

  Cyrus was in his Spokane office, going over Twisp River Resources and Carib’s current ownership position in Montana Creek Mining. With Al’s proxy he controlled about 17 percent of the outstanding shares. More than enough to demand a seat on their board. Smiling, he flipped open his cell phone and made the call.

  “Trace, Cyrus McSweeny. Sorry your Cayman trip got cut short.”

  “No problem, Cyrus. I was very sorry to hear about Mr. Thornton. Did he also go by Thorny?”

  “Yes, it was his nickname. He was a very good man and a good friend to me over the years. He handled my business interests while I was locked up. Didn’t steal a damn dime.”

  “A hard man to replace,” I replied, my suspicions about Thorny and Ike confirmed.

  “Exactly. Listen, Trace, I called to talk to you about getting Malcolm on your board. My companies now control a little over seventeen percent of your shares. More than enough to warrant a seat on your board.”

  “Are you sure about the percentage, Cyrus? I just looked at a shareholders list, and it looks like you should be around fourteen percent. Assuming the buying through Cayman Island Securities is all for Carib International’s account.”

  “Your numbers are correct, as far as they go. But, I also hold a proxy to vote five hundred thousand shares previously issued to Richard Rosenburg.”

  I took a deep breath. “How the hell did you manage that?”

  Cyrus laughed. “Rosenburg owed a mil to a Vegas casino. He settled the debt with his five hundred thousand shares of Montana Creek Mining. I simply made a deal with the casino principals to vote their shares for the next three years.”

  “Damn, Cyrus. You don�
�t miss a trick, do you?”

  “Not many. By the way, I’ve seen your recent filings and noted that you put IUC’s Jim Lee on your board. I believe IUC now owns a twenty percent interest in Montana Creek Mining.”

  “Yes, Jim’s now on the board.”

  “Well, there you go, Trace. My interest is close to theirs, and I expect board representation.”

  “Valid argument, Cyrus. Let me run it by my board, and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Fine, Trace. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  I hung up and got all our directors on a conference call.

  “Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about Rosenburg’s shares any longer,” Wally said. “Cyrus is right, of course. He owns or controls enough shares to seek board representation, and we’ve set a precedent by putting Jim on the board.”

  “I agree, Trace,” Will concurred.

  “Is there some reason why we wouldn’t want to bring Cyrus or his representative on the board?” Jim asked.

  “It won’t be Cyrus,” I replied. “He’s got a federal felony charge for tax evasion. It’ll be Malcolm Trueblood, CEO of Twisp River Resources.”

  “What’s his background?” Jim asked.

  “MBA from Stanford, fifteen years with GoldEx, and last five years with Twisp,” I replied.

  Jim whistled. “Pretty impressive. So what’s the bad news?”

  “His association with Cyrus,” Wally said. “Cyrus is a notorious stock promoter, pump and dumper, and big-time short seller. Hell, he’s been known to short his own deals.”

  “I see,” Jim replied. “Not a group we’d really like on the inside.”

  “Not my first choice,” I replied.

  “Well, if we don’t bring Malcolm on, we’ll likely face a legal action, which we’ll lose, and which could have a negative effect on our share price,” Wally added.

  “Agreed,” I replied. “Well, Malcolm’s only one vote on our board, he’s got a hell of a resume, and he does represent almost twenty percent of our outstanding shares. I vote we bring him on, emphasize his resume to the investment community, and make the best of it. All in favor, say aye.”