Eleven
The same sounds that helped build the Breedlove empire worked Adam Breedlove’s nerves, especially after putting in a twelve-hour day. Spinning wheels. Jangly music. Bells. Beeps. Chimes. Sounds that could be heard in any casino everywhere, even the virtual ones now online and accessible by almost anybody with a computer and an internet connection. Yet he took his time as he strolled through the loud, spacious area, two floors down and away from the CANN Casino Hotel and Spa’s opulent, upscale and quiet main lobby. He was “keeping his feet in the grass,” as his father would tell him. Staying close to the source of their great wealth was to always be reminded of who was really important—the CANN customer.
Before leaving the executive offices where Adam served as vice president of research and development for CANN International, he’d removed his suit jacket and tie and had rolled up the sleeves of his stark white shirt. It was a move to leave the position behind and appear casual, blending in with the patrons. He took in the vast Friday-night crowd, noted with satisfaction that a majority of the machines were occupied. He smiled and offered discreet waves to employees who recognized him. Eyes all across the room charted his progress. Some women offered flirty smiles. Others just stared. Men, too. Adam took it all in stride.
“Yo, Adam!”
Adam stopped and turned in the direction of the yell. A stocky man of average height waved as he walked toward him. The face looked familiar but...
“It’s Dennis, man. Dennis Washington.”
“Washboard?” Adam laughed and shook the hand Dennis extended.
Dennis patted his beer gut. “Not anymore.”
“That’s why I didn’t recognize you! What’s going on, man? I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“Since high school, no doubt.”
“Where have you been? Still living here, in Las Vegas?” Adam began walking toward an exit leading from the casino into a quieter hallway, a small seating area and a bank of elevators. Dennis fell into step beside him.
He shook his head. “Bakersfield. The family moved there shortly after I graduated, and just before I left for the military. When I came back, I settled there. Felt it was as good a place as any.”
“You were in the service?” Adam asked, his look one of teasing surprise. “I can’t imagine anyone telling you what to do.”
Dennis smiled. “It was an adjustment.”
“How long were you in?”
“Four years.” A pained expression flickered across his face. “That was enough.”
“That’s awesome, Dennis. Thank you for your service.”
Dennis’s response fit somewhere between a grunt and a snort. Adam didn’t know what the sound meant, but he knew to leave it alone.
“Are you staying here, at the hotel?”
“No, this place is too rich for my blood.” He took a long admiring glance around. “It’s something else, though. You Breedloves always were a cut above the competition. But this place is cuts, plural.”
Adam couldn’t disagree. His family had made history when their company, CANN International, had built the first seven-star hotel in North America. It had become the hotel of choice for anyone who had money or clout. But he’d been at the hotel since early that morning. Right now he couldn’t wait to get away from the place.
“An army buddy of mine has a place in Henderson. I’m crashing there,” Dennis said.
They reached the elevators. Adam went to the one on the end, slid open a panel discreetly tucked next to the doors and placed his thumb on the scanner. “How long are you going to be here? It would be cool to catch up.”
“I’d love that, bro, and would especially like to talk about your other business, Breedlove Ranch. I read that you breed cattle and are building your own processing plant.”
Adam nodded. “You read correctly. It’s almost completed.”
“That’s the industry I’m in.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yep. I manage a slaughterhouse in Bakersfield, one of the largest in the state.”
The elevator arrived. Its doors opened without a sound. Adam waved a hand over the door panel. The elevator doors remained open.
“No kidding. How long have you been doing that?” Adam asked.
“Been working at the plant since returning from the military eight years ago, managing it for the last four years.”
“We should definitely talk. How long will you be here?”
“I’m flying back tomorrow night.”
Adam
