Zenith

By Ray Speckman

The novel traces a period in the life of Mark Oldham who returns to his native Utah to manage a proposed huge real estate development, a resort in the Wasatch Mountains.
Twisting and turning like a high-mountain-road, the novel examines the historic roots of the Mormon Church and the teachings of its first prophet Joseph Smith.
The narrative exposes the power of the church and the greedy and sinister men who influence the church and State of Utah decisions.
Filled with murder, debauchery, thievery, decadence, infidelity and intrigue, the novel takes the reader through suspenseful pervasives created by baleful-even sadist-men and women of varying extreme influence.
Lives, hearts, businesses and societies are shattered by corruptive influences without heed.
But for being a novel, it could be true.
It is the novel of Zenith, suspenseful, fast-moving, captivating and shocking.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ray Speckman
• Release date: Nov 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301466092

Ray Speckman

Ray Speckman has spent the largest part of his entire life traveling the roads less traveled, smelling each rose (and yes an occasional dandelion) he passes.He admits to being nosey and his brain is like a sponge always wanting more information.He is a widower. He has two children.Ray lived at Missouri's Lake of the Ozarks for many years where he was involved in the newspaper and radio business, taught at Columbia College at the lake, owned a restaurant and was involved in many philantrophic and community activities.Ray also produced and hosted a decade long television program, Ozark Daze on the Columbia, Missouri NBC affilliate, KOMU-TV. Ray also produced historically based documentaries for regional and national distribution.Today he resides near the Lake with a widow, Joyce Mitchell who he smiles and refers to as "my sugar momma." He also says they live "comfortably in sin as mature grandparents."Together they have a boutique shop that also sells antiques and wines in Versailles, Missouri.Ray and Joyce travel extensively and together enjoy the backroads and new people, places and opportunities together.Ray is compiling, updating and discovering new adventures for his continuing work of Ebooks that has published now on Amazon/Kindle and Smashwords.He also has published Ebooks "Stranger in the Mirror" detailing the strength of his wife Marti as she struggled with cancer.

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Go to 1980.

There was no social media; the internet was in infancy, Mount St. Helens exploded and John Lennon was murdered.

AIDS was becoming a problem and smoking had not yet been considered taboo.

There was still an ongoing economic recession; high interest rates prevailed and IBM was yet to unveil the first personal computer. Cell phones were nonexistent and phone booths were still used for making calls.

The time of the Kennedy ‘s Camelot and the Nixon scandals were past. Jimmy Carter was trying best as he could to stay in the White House despite the inept handling of the Iranian hostage situation and a full-fledged-frontal-attack by his rival, actor Ronald Reagan.

It is against this background that the novel Zenith emerges where all characters are fictitious except for the casual mention of certain historical personages.

It is a work of fiction. While set in the State of Utah, surrounded by the Mormon Church, the events, in different venues could have occurred anywhere.

Of course there is the usual disclaimer that any resemblance of characters in the book to any person is purely coincidental.

PREFACE

The novel traces a period in the life of Mark Oldham who returns to his native Utah to manage a proposed huge real estate development, a resort in the Wasatch Mountains.

Twisting and turning like a high-mountain-road, the novel examines the historic roots of the Mormon Church and the teachings of its first prophet Joseph Smith.

The narrative exposes the power of the church and the greedy and sinister men who influence the church and State of Utah decisions.

Filled with murder, debauchery, thievery, decadence, infidelity and intrigue, the novel takes the reader through suspenseful pervasive created by baleful-even sadist-men and women of varying extreme influence.

Lives, hearts, businesses and societies are shattered by corruptive influences without heed.

But for being a novel, it could be true.

It is the novel of Zenith, suspenseful, fast-moving, captivating and shocking.

The Principal Characters

Set in the picturesque Wasatch Mountains of Utah, Zenith brings together a cast of improbable characters as twisting, turning events weave them together in a tale of  a spellbinding labyrinth of events converge.

The result is a surprising finale that will leave readers with a renewed awareness of the complexity of individual lives, politics, business and the Mormon Church.

The principal cast:

Mark Oldham, successful businessman who returns to his native Utah and Mormon roots to oversee a huge recreational development in the mountains.

Beverly Cross, a wife in a dead end marriage who seeks love and happiness.

Mervin Stonum, the billionaire patriarch of the mountain mining town of Zenith with influence beyond belief within the Mormon church and Utah politics.

Jerome Ramsey, a loner, and yet always seemingly involved in the events that occur in Zenith. His background is a mystery.

Joe Scott, a young attorney associated with cantankerous, curmudgeon, longtime Zenith attorney, Martin McMillian. Scott is bright, ambitious and charismatic.

Carl Cooper, developer with excellent history of huge resort developments. Married but has constant companion, Annie Carlson, a beautiful flight attendant.

Bertram C. Hannah MD,  Doctor in the town of Zenith, confidant of many and sage physician.

Ron Williams, owner of the Copper State Bank in Zenith, the town's only bank and he wants to keep it that way.

Maxine Merrigan, owner of a Zenith boutique, lovely, classy and crafty.

Henry Dent, reporter for the local weekly Zenith newspaper, The Zenith Miner. Transplanted from the Arizona Republic, Dent is thrust into a tale of murder, adultery, deceit and love.

With an incongruous supporting cast of interesting people these principles are in the mainstream of a river of intrigue and mystery.

Zenith

PART ONE

Chapter One

The plane shuddered as the landing gear folded after takeoff as it made its ascent from O’Hare.

Mark Oldham looked at the rooftops of warehouses and eventually the creative geometric rows of houses as the plane banked and made its way into the clouds, passing through the thin layer of smog that laid like a pall over the Chicago suburbs.

Mark felt exhilaration on takeoffs. He wondered if other people had the same feelings. To him it was a feeling of trusting in an uncontrolled power, like being in a rock propelled by a firecracker, chauffeured by an unknown reliant on an unrevealed course to a known destination.

He wished he could smoke.

He repressed the thought, leaned the seat back and closed his eyes as the plane leveled out and came to a steady position above the scattered white billowy clouds. The checkered farmland below went unseen as the plane headed west, destination Utah.

***

Annie Carlson reached across the nude body of Carl Cooper and flicked an ash into the tray balanced on his stomach. The aroma of fresh sex permeated the room.

What’s wrong, honey? the slender Annie asked, you seem uptight today, a million miles away. His eyes were closed, sweat beads had become rivulets along his forehead.

Carl closed his eyes and settled his head deeper into the pillow that had served as a hip support for the black-eyed beauty minutes before. Instead of remembering how she had engulfed him with her passion, straining and thrusting her body in a symphony of pleasure with his own, his thoughts strayed.

Nestled in the foothills of the Wasatch Mountains as they rose from the valley below and beyond the putrid Great Salt Lake, her apartment afforded a spectacular view of the city below, the great lake and the mountains beyond. Behind, up the foothills and into the mountains was the the craggy mountain town that consumed his thoughts.

His body was in her bed, his mind in the mountain town, Zenith.

Hey, she said, I asked you a question? What’s going through that head of yours? You make love like a man possessed with his last earthly act and then pass into another world.

You don’t like the way I make love to you? he said sharply. He was not ready to discuss his pensive mood.

Of course I like the way you make love and you darn well know I do. I also know, my energetic entrepreneur, when your mind is moving miles away from us.

For two years they had shared one another’s passion. She had shared willingly. Any other way would not have worked.

She had always been able to do that, intuitive though half of his 52 years. Her beauty and mysticism belied her true age. She was much more than that horny stew he had thought of her when they first met.

***

She thought she would soon be there as she accelerated, creating more power to the foreign-make Toyota as it climbed the winding interstate to the mountain’s crest.

Soon, she thought, she would reach the top and be on the other side of the mountain. To reach that top, going east away from the basin of the Great Salt Lake and the excitement there to the miseries on the eastern slope in Zenith had been an escape.

The twin ribbons of concrete, stretching up the mountain, detract from the natural beauty, she thought. The road only made an area of immense beauty a function of an engineering challenge, facilitating rapid movement from one place to the other. The valleys of the still snow clad mountain tops were greening, small flowers peeking from the uplifted granite peaks above.

She thought again as she moved to the other side of the mountain, leaving the crest, of her problems in the home village at Zenith. She shook her head and thought, How silly, how silly I can think that a silly mountain top can separate me from the problems I have there.

Beverly Cross was born in Wyoming, in the high plateaus surrounded by the Uinta Mountains. She migrated to Utah and Salt Lake City for work, marriage, conception and children.

She had always thought a drive over the mountain pass, toward her native Wyoming, was an escape from the realities in Zenith. Life there was like being fenced in, the mountains forming a beautiful scene but containing a truth of despair. The other side of the mountain removed the depressions of Zenith for her.

Why, Beverly asked herself, did I always use the mountains as an escape? I continue to return to unhappiness. It is me, It is not the mountains at all.

Earlier in the day she had said, Where do I meet you? when a daytime lover in Salt Lake City had called. She spent the afternoon sex making (she knew it couldn’t be love making). She scolded herself for being unfaithful and as hypocritical as her bed mate. She had shuddered when she left the bed of sex and saw the Mormon Elder’s garment crumpled on the floor.

Afterwards Beverly began the drive to the other side of the mountain to retrieve the kids from school and then to the mines in Zenith to pick up her husband. She felt no guilt. It had just been sex, not close to love.

While she felt some relief after reaching the mountain-pass top and began her descent into the mountain hamlet of Zenith, her anxiety did not wane.

***

Mervin Stonum adjourned the annual meeting of the Trustees of the Stonum Museum and Gallery in Zenith. A few of the obviously opulent board members lingered in the meeting room while others hurried to their cars.

The 3 p.m. April sun warmed the area around the city of Zenith, 7,500 feet above sea level; but, rising above the town to the west, 3,000 feet higher there were still snow caps in the Wasatch Mountains.

The sun, the emerging flowers and green grass signified the end of the winter ski season. Winter’s play was over.

Looks like it will be summer before we know it Mervin, said Maxwell Hart as the two men walked toward the massive oak outer doors of the museum.

Sure does, Max, said the elderly but athletic Stonum, I always hate to see the ski season end. But on the other hand, it’s during the summer months when we can get things ready for winter, and frankly, I enjoy the golf.

How are things going in the mine? inquired Hart. I understand there are problems there, getting drifts sealed off, I hear.

Not completely sure, Max. The thing has been kicking up problems for the last couple of years. Seems like when I sold out and took back the mortgage on the thing it hasn’t produced as well. Those new guys tell me everything is okay, but the payments are behind. I’m going to have to sit down and have a fatherly chat sometime soon.

Too bad, Mervin, said the distinguished double breasted Hart those mines made this community since your grandfather discovered there was more copper than gold there almost a hundred years ago. I can’t see why those new guys can’t make money.

I can't either, said Stonum as the two men stepped through the double doors and onto the sheltered entrance way, the elegant landscaping a foreground to the village of Zenith below on the mountain crease.

But I sure hope they get their act together before long. I’m too old to get into the mining business again. His hand was on the elbow of Hart as the Seville bearing license number 2, signifying the vehicle of the Lieutenant Governor of the State of Utah, was ferried to the circle drive.

Take care, Mervin, said the state’s number two executive as he entered the car. Stonum closed his door, saying, Come back anytime, and the ex mine owner, now museum owner, watched the car leave the grounds of the Museum.

Stonum walked into the museum. His museum. A chime sounded. It was HIS phone. His private phone. It rang rarely. He hurried to his office.

The conversation was short.

Tell Cooper he knows what he has to do if we are going to loan him the money. No bargaining. I’ll call that hypocrite Young and tell the son-of-a-bitch to make the transfer wherever you want. And tell Cooper not to spend so much time screwing that stew. He grinned as he replaced the phone to the cradle.

Mervin Stonum, patriarch of a town, church leader, benevolent and gentle, leaned back in his massive blue leather chair, surveyed the mahogany from Belize on the expansive walls covered with priceless art and winked at the portrait of Joseph Smith hung prominently over the fireplace.

***

It's fifteen minutes until we land in Salt Lake City, said the flight attendant, her hand gently on Mark Oldham’s shoulder. He awoke easily.

He looked out the window, past the empty seat on his right and fixed his gaze on the snow-topped mountains, the stark valley below. He looked, without success, for familiar signs

He guessed the plane to be somewhere south of Provo, landing into the gentle northerly breezes that bring crisp coolness to April days. Provo, the home of Brigham Young University, the Mormon vestige of religion and education where his parents had demanded he attend.

He was not well suited, returning to his home town and the University of Utah in Salt Lake City.

He would soon be home.

***

Beverly Cross hardly heard the protests of her two children who were unhappy that she was late picking them up at school. She drove through the old part of Zenith, lined with restaurants, bars and tourist traps, up the hill land to the mine at the top of the town’s old Main Street, where the hard surface turned to gravel.

The battery had been down on Jim Cross’ truck for three days and he had been riding to work with friends but insisted that his wife, Beverly, pick him up daily.

He was waiting near the mine entrance. He got in without a word, slumped down in the passenger seat, changed radio stations and gazed out the window.

The side of Beverly’s mouth began to twitch and except for the chattering of the children, the short driver to their home was quiet.

She wondered if she smelled like sex.

***

Mervin Stonum picked up his phone and pushed the auto-dial.

Sam, what’s the price today? What can you tell me about the new discovery, Rhodesia and the one in Canada?

He listened with attention and without responding to answers to his questions, hung up.

He walked across his office, winked at the portrait of Joseph Smith and out the front door of the Museum into the bright sun that blessed the town of his grandfather’s founding, Zenith.

***

Dick Armstrong ordered another Stoli-rocks with an onion. The waitress had served him may times before in the airport lounge. Always the same, straight vodka, poured over ice. The vodka was poured from mini-bottles, adhering to law in Utah.

He never talked to her. He was dapper but reserved she thought. An odd fellow he was. He came in about three times a week, downed five drinks, kept looking at his watch, left a five buck tip and left.

Armstrong checked his watch as the waitress brought the drink, then gazed through the bank of windows revealing the airport runway, the skyline of Salt Lake City and then, in the background, the climbing foothills of the Wasatch Range.

He looked to the topmost building on the foothills, almost obscured by the closer Mormon house of worship, rising high. World Headquarters they called it. It was the condominium complex where his boss was shacked up with that damn Annie Carlson.

He drank half of the drink and wondered what they were doing at this particular minute. He imagined those long slender legs wrapped around the waist (or even the neck for that matter) of Carl Cooper. Envy and jealousy built a fever in his mind.

Before Annie it had been Armstrong and Cooper, drinking together, fucking one another’s gals and running. Now all of Cooper’s playtime is devoted to Annie. Well, thats all right he thought, just as long as she doesn’t get in the way.

He even allowed himself a smile as he gestured for the fourth drink and sipped the remainder of the one in his hand. He thought of the first time he and his boss Cooper had seen the startling Annie.

As he watched the coming and going of planes he recalled that he was the first one attracted to the tall, slender beauty as she had served him and Cooper drinks on a plane from Kansas City to Los Angeles.

She had been a bit aloof, seemingly oblivious to the innuendos made by Cooper about his business interests. Until, that is, he mentioned his race horses.

The three of them spent the next three days together. The nights were reserved to Cooper and his new-found energizer. They went to the track, to baseball games, and sightseeing along the ocean. Funny thing; since those three days, Cooper and Annie haven’t been near a track together. That was reserved to Cooper and his wife. Reservations were always made by Mrs. Cooper.

The fourth drink was empty.

Armstrong looked at his watch, mentally calculating the necessary but subjectively wasted time. He decided he had time for one more. It was quickly prepared and served. He paid his bill, leaving a five buck tip.

He could finish the drink before Oldham’s plane arrived.

If I hurry, he thought.

***

Nancy Oldham drove into the circular driveway of her-she always called it her-home in fashionable Evanston, north of Chicago. She grimaced at the Mayflower van in the driveway and made a mental note to call the manager. It must be loaded from the rear of the home, she had told him.

She pulled the ebony Jaguar to the steps, opening the trunk. Her children-they were always her children-came to the door. My, what beautiful kids they are, she thought and I am very proud of the job I have done with them.

What did you get us Mom? asked Albert, 11 years old. Did you get the dirt bike for me?

Albert, you know I told you there would be no use to buy a dirt bike here and pay those people to move it to Utah. That's a little silly. I did get you some hiking boots though. And Peggy, looking at the mature 13-year- old as she walked down the three steps of the porch that protruded like a gateway between the cluster of four pillars either side of the massive front door, I bought you several shorts and halter tops. They had a lot of new stuff at Fields and Saks. You should see the new outfits and shoes I bought for myself.

Mother, what in the world do you think you are going to do with all those clothes up in those darned mountains, came the bitter-quick return from Peggy, flashing her mascaraed brown eyes and a flip of her hair.

Peggy, you might as well quite your complaining about going to Utah. Your father is there and we will be leaving in a week. A week, that is, if the damn movers your father hired ever get finished. Her contempt was undisguised.

No, mother, Peggy responded as her mother began to give Albert packages from the trunk, scowling as some accumulated dust on the car’s bumper left a mark on her fashionably long and pleated brown skirt, It’s if you will stay around long enough to tell them what you want instead of going off to all your club meetings, bridge games and shopping every day.

Peggy, retorted her mother, I will NOT argue with you. Why can’t you be nice instead of having such an acid mouth. You sound just like your father.

It wasn’t my choice, said Peggy as she turned and went into the house, slamming the huge door behind her.

***

The Salt Lake City airport is not unlike other airports. Mark Oldham walked down the runway to the baggage claim. He had traveled in and out of the airport all his adult life and could not recall when construction wasn’t present. He wondered who the contractor was. It certainly was a Mormon group, he thought.

Mark’s mind flashed back. He remembered his first time at the airport sixteen years ago when he was 19. He was leaving on a mission for his church. Two years he would spend in the jungles and dusty streets of Costa Rica, trying to convert the people to his religion while learning the art of swatting mosquitos.

His parents had been tearful but firm. It was his duty. The church must be served, even if he couldn’t handle BYU down the highway.

At the baggage claim area he saw Dick Armstrong. As he walked to meet Armstrong, clad in bright yellow jacket, brown slacks, light brown shirt and green tie Mark wondered who bought Arm’s clothes. Jeez, he must buy them when he is drunk, he thought.

Hello Hotshot, came Armstrong’s greeting. "How ya' doin’? Welcome to the land of the intemperate and home of the Winter Olympics.

Thanks, said Mark. Glad to see you Dick. They shook hands.

Hey, since I saw you last it still is harder then hell to get a drink here in Mormon country. I still have to think like a criminal to get a drink.

Dick, you never change, smiled Mark. How are things going for you?

Gettin’ laid often enough, gettin' older and still takin’ care of our boss.

How is Carl? Mark wondered if Dick was drunk or not slurring his words. One could never tell about Dick Armstrong.

I’ll go get the car and by the time the luggage gets here, I’ll be parked in front, said Armstrong.

Fine, said Mark but Armstrong didn’t hear him. He was already walking toward the exit.

More quickly than anticipated, the bags, both of them arrived. He picked them up and walked through the automatic doors with many others to the walkway.

Mark smelled the fresh high air and looked at the incongruent smelter stacks at the northernmost end of the Quirrah Mountains, omnipresent on the western side of the Salt Lake valley. He saw the putrid smoke of the waste rising from the enormous emitting stacks, a living monument of efforts to control air pollution when restrained by power, money, politics, and here in Utah, the church.

Unseen to the far side of the terminal, to his back was the implementing source, the statehouse and the banks and the highest authority the church and the temple. The mountains rose abruptly behind the towering buildings of the city, like spires ascending to the heavens above.

Armstrong wasn’t there. Mark’s thoughts turned to the reason for his presence, his return to his native Utah.

Chapter Two

He recalled his first contact with Carl Cooper. It had been six months ago.

Mark’s friend at the Zion Bank in Salt Lake City had made the recommendation. I think it would be challenging and profitable for you, he had told Mark.

On that day, six months ago in his Chicago office, overlooking Lake Michigan, Mark’s secretary brought him the business card of Carl Cooper. Carl Cooper, President, Zenith Park Development Company, Zenith Utah, the card said, distinctively raised lettering embossed on a snowcapped mountain.

Inside the card listed several other corporations under the heading other developments.

50-dollar millionaire, Mark thought.

They exchanged pleasantries. No drink, nor was coffee poured. Not because I’m a Mormon, I’m not. I want to get to business, Cooper said.

Oldham, you are very successful. I don’t know what you know about me, but give me a few minutes. I am the principal owner of Zenith Park Development Company, said Cooper. I have developed resort property in Colorado and Wyoming. I got started with a subdivision in Vail, Colorado 25 years ago. I’ve developed ski areas, condos, shopping centers, golf courses, restaurants and high-end subdivisions.

Zenith is a town you know, as Mark nodded and Cooper continued, There is an available tract of land of large proportions in the Zenith area. You know the ski boom is going on. There is even talk about the Olympics coming to Utah, but that could be a pipe-dream. Resorts such as Snowbird, Alta and Park City have prospered greatly in the Wasatch Mountains near Salt Lake. Mark nodded again and Cooper pressed on.

Because of the proximity of Salt Lake to the airport, to heavy populations of the west coast, the Wasatch has become a Mecca for development. We have marketing research showing existing projects and as a result a very profitable pro-forma on a new development in Zenith.

Mark remembered becoming more attentive. Cooper was a salesman.

"Let me give you some salient facts. California is less than hour away and a one day drive. Chicago is under two hours. Texas about the same. Zenith, in a snowstorm, is only thirty minutes from the Salt Lake airport. People are doing well, the economy is good as is the demand, even if very competitive. There is high demand for recreational or second homes. The snow is perfect. The valley is perfect for golf.

But, he paused to look at Mark, you can’t hardly buy any more land or development property in the Wasatch. The figures are here, he said patting his slim briefcase, but I’ll get to that.

Cooper lit a cigarette. Mark joined him.

"I’ll tell you what we have in mind. There is about 11,000 acres that we can obtain in the Wasatch Mountains just next to the town of Zenith. 10,000 of those belong to the federal government and managed by the Bureau of Land Management. The government land can be obtained by a very long term lease arrangement. It is in the high country but can be reached and is contiguous to a 1,000 acre tract that abuts Zenith.

"That 1,000 acres is owned by an undercapitalized California concern. They got an option on it about a year ago and they have three months until it expires. It’s complicated, but suffice it to say, I can acquire the rights to that option and then buy the land. The cost will be minimal compared to the overall investment to be made in the development. Then I obtain a long-term lease of the BLM land.

The 1,000 acres would be the development property. There would be shops, restaurants, a hotel, golf course, homes and condos. The BLM land would be used for ski trails and other golfing venues.

Cooper paused and gazed at Mark for reaction. Mark only said, Sounds like a large undertaking.

You know that in this type of operation, Cooper said, pressing on, that there are a lot of government agencies to deal with. Not only the federal people with things like HUD, EPA and others, but state real estate people, environmental and Securities and Exchange acts of the state. And the feds are in on that too. More important are the local officials. The conservative city-fathers of Zenith don’t want their pretty little town raped by outsiders. He said outsiders as if in italics.

The town, he continued, is run by the old mining type generally with a sprinkling of new people. For the most part, they want to keep the town the way it is now. There are two resort areas, or better said, primitive ski lifts and a condo development and one small new housing development. Of course what we will do is much, much more.

Mark began to wonder where he fit into the whole scheme of things. Cooper had him mesmerized and his ducks in a row. He started to speak but Cooper talked first.

"Here is the hitch. On the privately owned 1,000 acre tract that provides access to the BLM land and the site of the development there are more than 500 mining claims. As you remember or know, being raised in the area, there were several years that a fella could establish a mining claim in the mountains. The claims were traded back and forth, swapped for food, lost in poker games, given aways or just plain abandoned.

"Of course it is possible to build over those mineral rights, as the lawyers call them but someone owns them and could kick us off if they wanted. And what happens if that happens to be under number three tee or the basement of a $1,000,000 house? The likelihood is small but there is a possibility. And, the bankers won’t loan money nor will people buy any of the property if those mining rights remain.

There is no right of Eminent Domain to clear the title to establish private enterprises in the State of Utah. That is the only way to do it quickly, but there is no such law, YET! My lawyers tell me that a quiet title action would eventually do away with the claims but that could go on for years. We don’t have years. One damned obstinate soul could hold the whole case up. We need to clear the title now.

Cooper never hesitated. "There are several reasons why I need you. First we need a native son who has particular expertise in land and land titles. We need someone who is not afraid of high dollars. We need a person who can lobby the legislature. We need an Eminent Domain law in Utah for just this type of development.

"We need a Mormon. But, he has to be a practical Mormon, one that is not blinded by the church but has credibility. Like you, a respected Jack Mormon. We need someone who can work with local politicians on a day to day practical basis.

Mark had recalled during Cooper’s rapid fire outline his work in all of the areas Cooper had mentioned.

The meeting ended with a review of the dollars involved. Cooper’s company would net more than $100 million per year. The cost of development was enormous. Mark was offered a salary of $1.5 million per year for five years plus a four-room condo for the family, cars and full coverage insurance.

They walked to the door of Mark’s office together. Cooper did not ask for Mark’s acceptance. A mark of a good closer, Mark had thought.

As they continued out through the secretary’s office Mark noticed the stare of Cooper toward his attractive but demure secretary and registered a note of mental weakness.

A week later he accepted the job.

Hey, said a voice as a horn blared, are you asleep on your feet? I’m going to catch a ticket if you don’t hurry up and get in this goddamn car. Common, let’s go. The voice was Armstrong as he awoke Mark to the reality of his presence and the presence of the right hand man of his new associate driving the flashy Cadillac.

Chapter Three

The muddy water accumulated from the melting snow splashed from the tires of the bicycle Bertram G. Hannah, M.D peddled along the sloppy streets of Zenith from his clinic to his home.

Usually the genial practitioner would have been looking on the first bursting of a spring day, lusting at the golf course to either side of the road. Today his thoughts were centered on his last daily patient.

The doctor’s tweed coat was open and paisley tie slipped from the discomfort of his previously tightly buttoned green shirt. The mountains to the west were already casting a slight shadow across the valley as the greening grass of the links absorbed their last sunlight of the day before the chill of the evening air descended into the nestled lowland below the mountain peaks.

Besides thinking of the anticipated pleasures on the golf course, the doctor would normally have been calculating gross receipts. Usually the number of people (about 100) times 30 bucks equals a $3,000 day. After overhead, a net of about $2,000.

Not bad, he had thought every time he ran the numbers in his head, for being basically a country doctor in a mining town who had been a poor boy from Pennsylvania, stopping by Lawrence, Kansas to pick up a medical degree, a wife and settle in Zenith.

All that was 35 years ago, three kids, one wife, financial independence, four cats and eight dogs ago.

His reflecting thoughts today centered on Felix Young, mayor and postmaster of Zenith who had insisted on talking to Doc personally as the reason for his visit. Actually it was no surprise to the doctor. It had happened before.

Doc, I did it again.

What Felix?

Last night. Down on Second South in Salt Lake again. I just can’t seem to drive out of town without my damned old car crossing over those railroad tracks there.

Felix, how many times have I told you that you don’t know if you have the clap or not for several days and no amount of penicillin can help you from getting it, the crew cut doctor said.

Doc, the last time I screwed one of those whores and you gave me a shot and I didn’t come down with nothing, so maybe you just don’t know all there is to know.

I’ll give you your shot just to make you feel better but I’m telling you that if you have the clap the shot will do you no good and more likely than not you didn’t get a dose. Hell, Felix, I haven’t heard of one of those girls giving somebody the clap since before that congressman got busted down on Second South 10 years ago."

Thanks, Doc. You aren’t going to write this in your little file are you? said the graying postmaster.

No, but I imagine that by this time tomorrow roles around everyone in town will know about it anyway. You know how things seem to get around in this little town.

I haven’t told a soul, Doc, came the painful response as the doctor slapped the buttocks of the shorter man and slipped the needle into the reddened flesh.

Did someone go with you to Salt Lake last night, said the doctor?

"Yeah sorta strange. Shyster McMillian and I went together. The old bastard came by the post office about noon and asked me to drive him to Salt Lake in my pickup; said he had to pick up a new lawnmower. Well, we ended up at some joint on South Main sharing a fifth of Jack and you know me, when I drink I get horny.

"Anyway old Mac didn’t talk about politics or gossip or anything but about the number of people we seem to have come here every year and it is growing.

He talked about long lines, the few number of ski lifts and how we were beginning to be the most popular ski spot in Utah. He was wondering if I thought it was because Zenith was so quaint as compared to the more ritzy, modernistic places or what?

Did he say anything about his young partner, Joe Scott, running for office? asked the doctor. Joe seems to be a real clever individual with a lot on the ball. I don’t see why he settled in with old Martin but I guess that is his business.

No, very little except that Joe had an appointment with some guy about a week ago to talk about that thousand acres that those turkeys got an option on about a year ago. You know the one. The one with all those damn mining claims that no one wants to bother with. Hell, that property must have had 10 different people kick its tires in the past five years. Too bad because it would seem to be a good development property but those mining claims are impossible to get rid of.

Remembering a conversation with his wife a week back, the doctor recalled her bridge table gossip. It had been at the home of Annette Brockelman, wife of the local newspaper publisher, Meyers Brockelman.

One item had stirred his mental reflexes and the mention of a statement made by Nancy Meyers, wife of skirt-chasing real estate guy, King Meyers.

How could you expect me to remember all that talk, she had said. You are never interested when I come home to tell you gossip from those meetings. Anyway, I just caught bits and pieces of her talking with that new lady who just moved up here from Texas, Angie McCune."

Drawing out her observations and recollections the doctor learned that King Meyers had recently been spending a substantial amount of time in Colorado with some big developer and has busied himself preparing a statistical data base of home and condo sales and construction. There was also a recollection of some talk of the 1,000 acres.

As the local doctor peddled alone, he looked up the mountain at the famous, but development-free, 1,000 acres and then alongside the lake. He rode slowly as he took the curving road around the golf course and his own condo came into view.

There was his condo. He loved it there. Situated on the golf course lake, with a serpentine creek meandering through the fairways, all hazards that had consumed more than one of his golf balls over the years.

His wife was on one of the decks that was built over the lake removing rugs she had cleaned and hung outside to absorb the beautiful sun in the valley. She waved. He waved back. Things are good he thought.

He dismounted his bike and smiled at the lake ducks as they quacked their welcome.

***

Nancy Meyers busied herself with final preparations for the impending cocktail party at her home later in the evening. The draperies were rustling from the breeze coming through the glass doors that opened to the expansive patio and swimming pool.

Built into the side of the foothills overlooking