Romance in a Ghost Town Page 4

  Bob winced as he answered, “Uh, no, not really. There’s no electricity.”

  “Oh,” answered his friend as he folded his arms across his chest, “Well, that answers my question: you are completely crazy! Tell me who was the smart-talking landlord who rented you this sun-baked, un-gated paradise?”

  “The owner’s name is Robert P. McKillop and he has a room for you when you come and visit.”

  Now Tommy’s face fell and he took a long sip of his coffee before asking, “Bob, do you really own this-this, Rattle place?”

  “Rattlesnake Haven and yes, Tommy, I really do.”

  Tommy shrugged his shoulders and went on, “But-But how? I mean I know I said working for the City of New York is great, but that’s after you retire and get the steady pension. Unless you inherited the place or something.”

  “Or something!” Bob mimicked.

  “Or something?” his friend asked with raised eyebrows.

  “Yes, ‘or something’, Tommy. You see I won a settlement for my accident.”

  Tommy looked away and said, “Want another coffee?”

  Bob shook his head no and said, “Listen, Tommy. I know you never asked about my leg, and I appreciate it. But it hasn’t always been like this: a taxicab hit me when I was seventeen years old. And,” he said pointing to his right leg, “this is the result of a driver coming down a one-way street, the wrong way.”

  “And you won a settlement?”

  “Tommy, the funny thing is that I never even knew there was a case going on. My mother did it all without me knowing, because…well, because I had so many other issues to handle that she didn’t want me counting on this. When the court case came up the taxi company settled immediately. She sent me the details in a letter because she didn’t want my stepfather to know about it. I don’t think she trusts him entirely. Anyway, I had a meeting with the New York lawyer she used and he made sure the money was transferred into my account.”

  He grinned and went on, “Tommy, I was tickled pink when the teller said that the bank manager wanted to meet with me when I came in. Boy, I’ve been going there for years and suddenly he wanted to light a cigar for me and sell me everything the bank offered.” He laughed and went on. “Anyway, I saw this real estate advertisement in an online Nevada newspaper, The Bransville Speaker, saying that their company, Bensen Reality, bought and sold homes and ranches in the Nevada area so I gave them a call. It was late but I caught the owner as he was leaving and I asked if he knew of any old ghost towns for sale? I felt foolish asking such a silly question but he suddenly became interested in what I was asking. He asked if this was a prank call and when I said of course not, he asked me for my telephone number so he could call me back. I gave it to him and thought that would be the end of hearing from him but as soon as I hung up, he called me back. He asked if I was really interested in purchasing a ghost town and I told him I was interested but didn’t know too much about them.”

  Tommy sat back and grinned, “You said that you didn’t know too much about ghost towns? Tell me, who knows more about them than you?”

  “Well,” answered Bob, “I might know a lot but you have to figure that these guys out west have to know a lot more than me and why let them know how much I do know?”

  “Makes sense, my friend.”

  “Anyway, he said he’d get back to me in a few days and although it was closer to two weeks, he did. The video you just saw was part of the package he sent me.”

  “Well,” said his friend as he scratched his chin whiskers, “I don’t wish to know how much money you got, but hope you got enough to be able to come back home if it doesn’t work out for you.”

  “Tommy, I never had money and this was a windfall. I bought the entire town which includes a played-out silver mine for just half of what I got in the settlement, so coming back to New York will never be a problem.”

  His friend’s eyes opened wide. “A silver mine? Wow! You can prospect and make millions.”

  “A played-out silver mine, Tommy, a played-out mine.”

  Tommy shrugged his shoulders, “Aw, you never can tell, my friend.”

  “The town closed down after the mine played out.”

  “When?”

  “He said in 1893. It seems that his great grandfather bought it back then for a bunch of bucks and if you look close at the video, it looks like he took good care of it.”

  “But, how come it’s not run down like all those other towns you see on TV?”

  “Don’t know,” said Bob shrugging his shoulders, “He said because it was lost all these years that nobody vandalized it. I’m not sure, but I’ll check it out.”

  “Don’t tell me that you signed the papers without seeing the place?”

  Bob’s eyebrows came to a furrow, as he answered with a shake of his head, “No way! I sent him a holder’s fee so he can’t sell it out from under me. I go there Wednesday.”

  “Boy, I gotta hand it to you, Bob, when you want something, you go get it.”

  “Well, this really feels right, Tom. I mean all my life I dreamed of going into a ghost town and now I have not only the opportunity to go into one, but to own one!

  “Okay. So tell me, where is it?”

  “Southwest Nevada.”

  Tommy shook his head. “Doesn’t mean a tinkers damn to me. I mean, like is it in the mountains, the plains, the desert?”

  “Well, actually it’s located in the northwest area of Death Valley in the desert.”

  ”Death Valley? Not for nothing, Bob, but isn’t that sort of rough country to get around in?”

  Bob nodded his head. “Yeah, I know where you’re going, but,“

  “Hey, man. I’m not going anywhere with this,” Tommy said emphatically. “I just wonder if you gave it a lot of thought, that’s all? I mean, don’t those guys out there ride horses and stuff? Can you ride?”

  “I figure that if I need to ride a horse I’ll learn from them.”

  “So,” quipped Tommy as he sat back and folded his arms, “you have thought about that kind of cowboy stuff.”

  “Listen buddy,” said a smiling Bob, “from what I read, they all drive SUVs out there these days and that’s what I’ll be driving too.”

  “Okay,” said Tommy swirling the small amount of coffee left in his cup, “the last question I have is: What are you gonna do there? Just walk around during the daylight and then make like Abe Lincoln and at night read by candlelight?”

  “Nope! I’m going to bring her back to life and then get her signed up with tour groups that visit ghost towns.”

  “And do what, charge admission?”

  Bob shrugged his shoulders and said, “Not sure. I might and I might not. I can afford to just let them come through and see Rattlesnake Haven as it was back in the 1800s.”

  Tommy finished his coffee and said, “Well, I’ll give you a call and you can tell me all about it.” He looked at his friend and seeing him cringe asked, “You do have cell-phone service there, don’t you?”

  “Not really,” came Bob’s answer. “No towers close enough. But, I’m looking into a satellite cell-phone system.”

  “And what about electricity to charge the batteries?”

  “I checked online and can buy a generator at the local hardware store in Bransville where the reality office is located.”

  Tommy looked hard at his friend and said, “You’re really going to do this then?”

  Bob sat forward. “I have to, Tommy. All I’ve ever been able to do is dream about something like this and now suddenly, thanks to my leg, I can afford my dream. I hope you understand.”

  “Hey, man,” his friend, said with a smile, “of course I do. It’s just that, well you are a city-boy and I don’t know how long it’ll take for Starbucks to open a coffee shop in Rattle Town.”

  Bob matched his smile, “Rattlesnake Haven, Tommy, Rattlesnake Haven.”

  4

  Rattlesnake Haven

  Wednesday morning Bob boarded the 7:15 flight to Nevada
from New York’s JFK airport. As soon as he boarded the big aircraft, he saw that there was a problem. The ticket he held was an aisle seat, as he had requested, but his seat was located on the right aisle, not the left. He went to a flight attendant and explained his need but she was too busy loading the passengers and asked that he wait. A minute later a young woman tapped him on his shoulder and said, “Sir, I couldn’t help overhearing your problem. I’ll gladly switch seats with you if you wish.”

  Bob was embarrassed and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t make much of a fuss about my problem, but there’s no way that I can sit in my assigned seat, so yes, I will make a switch with you. Is there anything I can do to thank you?”

  She smiled and answered as she collected her bag, “No, thank you anyway.”

  The rest of the flight was uneventful.

  They landed and Bob grabbed his overhead bag. As he exited the line he spotted a man holding up a sign with his name on it.

  “Excuse me,” he asked, “are you from Bensen Reality?”

  “Yessir! The man answered as he tried to grab his bag. Bob let it go reluctantly as he wasn’t used to this. In New York you got into a cab and the cabby left as soon as the door was closed, so you better have your bags with you.

  He looked around at the low buildings as they drove and thought, Nice looking town. No high-rise buildings to block the sunlight…unlike the gray canyons of New York City. I can get used to this.

  The driver pulled into a small parking lot adjacent to a street-front business that was larger than most of the other nearby businesses. The lettering on the windows read: BENSEN REALITY. EST. 1893.

  He was about to open the car door when the driver did it for him. The man held the door as Bob took his bag and cane. Before he was out of the limo, the driver had his bag and was trying to help him out.

  “Uh, thanks anyway, pal. I’m okay.”

  The man just smiled and closed the door behind him then casually led the way. The short walk from the parking lot to the real estate office was like walking on a squishy marshmallow as the heat from the sun softened the macadam. The driver opened the door to the reality office and Bob elected to use the three steps up, rather than the incline for wheelchairs. The sudden blast of cold air was like walking into a refrigerator.

  The office was a typical real estate office with six desks manned by three men and one woman all working away at their laptops or on their telephones and the light blue walls were covered with pictures of various properties they had an interest in. The door to an office at the rear opened and a well-dressed man walked quickly towards him with his hand outstretched.

  “You must be Robert! I’m Jim Bensen. How was your trip, Robert?”

  “Fine, Jim, and please call me Bob,” he said admiring the tan western style suit he wore. He could be a model for Western GQ magazine, if there is one.

  Jim turned to the driver and said as he took Bob’s bag, “Thanks Fred. I don’t think we have any more trips to the airport today. See Maggie on the way out.”

  The man did a slight nod and went to a clerk sitting by the office at the rear where Jim had come from.

  “Bob,” he said glancing at his expensive-looking watch, “you must be starving. I took the liberty of making reservations at Mortimer’s Steak House, two blocks from here. You on for that, partner?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure, Jim. I’m on for that.”

  “Then wait one sec and I’ll be right back.” He went back to his office and came out wearing a tall, tan Stetson hat that matched his tan Western style clothing. Before he reached Bob, he adjusted his black string tie in a mirror strategically placed on the wall near his office. “Follow me,” he said putting on dark glasses. Bob felt self-conscious as he heard the man’s boots resonate on the wood floor as he walked and his sounded like a heavy thud followed by a light one and the tap of his cane.

  Jim opened the door, stepped to the curb and opened the passenger door to a big SUV. “Hop on in, Bob,” he said as he went around to the driver’s door.

  “I thought you said it was just a few blocks away?” said Bob getting the feeling that Jim was treating him like an invalid.

  Jim looked across the top of the car and lowered his glasses, his eyes wide in disbelief, “It is, partner. But man it’s so hot; nobody walks if they can help it. I suggest we ride.”

  Feeling embarrassed with himself, Bob got into the car. Jim no sooner started it than he threw the air conditioner on full force. As the car had been sitting there for half a day it took a few moments for it to cool down.

  “Phew!” said Jim, “I should have had Fred start her up and turn the air on while we waited inside for her to cool off.”

  “Is it always this hot here, Jim?”

  “Naw,” said Jim with a grin at being able to tell one of his old jokes, “sometimes it gets hotter! Ha! Get it?”

  Bob broke into a smile, “Got it.”

  “Anyway,” said Jim, “we’re going through a sort of heat wave right now, so, no it’s not always this hot here. How’s the weather in New York?”

  “Cold and overcast. I think it’s going to snow there.”

  Jim looked to his left and pulled out into the light traffic. He drove the two blocks and pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot. He no sooner stopped than a young man ran over and took his keys to park it.

  “Thanks, Joseph. Back in a few hours, take care of her for me.”

  “Sure will, Mister Bensen.”

  The manager opened the door for them and greeted Jim as though he saw him every day.

  “Good day, Mister Bensen. Your table is ready.”

  “Thank you Alfred,” he said taking off his hat and glasses. He passed the hat to a hatcheck girl who gave him a big smile, which he answered with one of his own.

  The interior of Mortimer’s was on the dark side even after Bob’s eyes had adjusted to it after coming in from the blazing sunlight. There were paintings of cattle and sheep hanging on the faux-leather walls accompanied by the heads of mounted long-horned bulls. The overhead lighting replicated old-west style chandeliers with electric bulbs made to look like flickering candles and the tables and chairs were made of tree limbs that were highly polished and finished with a coating of high-gloss polyurethane. Of course the air-conditioning was pumping out volumes of cooled air.

  Jim sat and said, “What’s your drink, Bob?”

  “I’m good with a beer, Jim.”

  Jim turned to a waiting waiter and said, “One beer and the usual, Timmy.” The man smiled and shuffled off.

  Jim placed his elbows on the table and intertwined his fingers as he looked across the short distance at Bob. “Business before, after or during lunch? Your call, Bob.”

  Bob smiled and answered, “I like the way you think, Jim: Work in a New York Minute. I’m for before, during and after.”

  “Great!” said Jim as the waiter placed two drinks before them and left. It was obvious to Bob that the man had done this many times before and knew when to leave.

  Jim raised his ice-filled, orange colored drink and said as they touched glasses, “Cheers and here’s to a good deal for all.”

  “Same here,” answered Bob as he took a long pull of his cool beer.

  “Now,” said Jim as he leaned forward, “tell me, did you like the videos I sent you?”

  Wanting to keep his cards close to his vest, Bob nodded and said, “Yes. They were interesting. Tell me, does the land that’s for sale cover the mine as well as the property and buildings?”

  “Yep! Everything you saw in the video is for sale, and then some.”

  Bob cocked his head, “And then some? Like what?”

  “Well, I didn’t shoot the graveyard. I’m sorta funny like that. I don’t want to scare up any real ghosts.”

  “Is it far from town?”

  Having never really seeing the cemetery himself, Jim just ad-libbed as he remembered the notes his grand father had left behind, “About a quarter of a mile away. It’s just a big ol’ plac
e with lots of graves in it and a fence around it. No big deal. Of course I expect you’ll want to see everything before you sign and I want you to. I have a great reputation around here and if you’re gonna be coming to town regularly, I want a happy buyer saying that I’m a fair man.”

  “As you said, Jim, I do want to see it all. I imagine today would be too late to go there?”

  “Sure is, partner. Best thing to do is go there tomorrow morning as the sun breaks so you’ll have a good bunch of hours to really see her.”

  Bob nodded, “Will it be you taking me there?”

  The waiter came over and Jim ordered with a smile, “The usual, Teddy.”

  “What’s the usual?” Bob asked.

  Jim grinned as he said: “Steak with a burnt outside and pink inside, whole potatoes, peas and brown gravy.”

  Bob closed his menu and said with a shrug, “Why not? The same here.” Once again the waiter shuffled away.

  “Smart move, Bob. It’s the best.” He sat forward again and Bob saw that sitting forward was his way of starting a business conversation so he did the same.

  “So, Bob if you agree, I’ll have one of my agents take you out there early tomorrow.”

  “Sure. So, I guess that you won’t be going along?”

  “Boy,” said Jim feigning being upset, “I’d love to but I have a meeting with Town Hall that’s been on the calendar for months now. Just can’t make it. But,” he said with a big smile, “Edward Pushkin is gonna be the guy taking you there and believe me, he’s the guy you want by your side when you go out to the desert. I’ll have him pick you up at 6 tomorrow morning. Sound good?”

  Bob shrugged his shoulders, “Sounds good to me.”

  “Do you have a room for the next few days, Bob?”

  “Yes. At the Nevada Hotel.”

  “Check in yet?”

  “Nope,” said Bob shaking his head, “Came straight to you.”

  “Wait one,” said Jim taking out his cell phone. He hit speed-dial and after a moment said into the mouthpiece: “Gerry? Jim Bensen here. I need a room for a good ol’ friend of mine. Can do?” He nodded to Bob and went on, “Sure. For the next few nights and it’s Mister Robert McKillop. Put it on my expense sheet, okay buddy? Say hi to the misses for me, oh and Gerry, would you do me a favor and call up the Nevada and cancel Mister McKillop’s reservations for me? Thanks again.” He closed his phone and said, “The Nevada’s not for you, Bob. You’ll love the Clayton, believe me.”