The Gamble

Author: Western

Move along,” a voice yelled behind him. He slid out of the way, reveling in the noise and confusion. It was like stepping into a different country. Representatives of most of earth’s countries were represented in the crowd.

Chinese workers were rolling barrels off the aft gangplank. A large wheeled cart, pulled by a matching pair of bay geldings, was loaded and driven the short distance to the train station. The barrels and crates were also riding the rails as far as Salt Lake City. Salted fish, wine, whale oil, linens, and kegs of nails.

Dillion jumped up on a large box and watched the crowd pass. He sat his bag on the crate beside him and hummed happily, kicking his feet against the side of the crate. Dillion craned his neck to see everything. His eyes bugged out when he saw a nicely dressed man and a shabbily dressed woman, hidden between several stacked crates, not ten feet from where he sat. The man had his hands pressed against an upper crate, standing as stiff as a board. The woman was kneeling before him. She had his cock in her mouth, bobbing on it while working her hand along it’s shaft. The man shuddered and looked down at the top of the woman’s head. She wasn’t a pretty woman, and with her cheeks sucked in she looked even worse. But for the job she was doing she didn’t need to be beautiful.

Dillion was torn between sliding down off the crate, or watching. He was very excited. His cock was hard and throbbing in his pants. He could almost feel those lips on his own cock. He might employ her himself, when she was done with the man. He appeared to be a carriage driver.
“Paper!” a boy shouted as he passed. Dillion dug a nickel from his pocket and tossed it to the boy. The boy rolled up the paper and tossed it to Dillion with uncanny accuracy. Dillion opened the paper, as if he were reading it, while watching the man and whore from the corner of his eye. The man was jerking and shuddering, obviously close to an orgasm. Dillion squirmed on the crate, wishing they would get done with it. He was dying from restrained passion. He looked down to make sure his cock was not leaking in the front of his black pants. He needed to use the public outhouse, but not before the couple was done. He heard the man’s gurgling cry as he came in shuddering abandon. He wilted above the woman’s head, as she continued sucking. Finally she pulled her mouth off the head of the man’s cock, cleaned it lightly with her tongue, and pushed it back into his pants. The man buttoned his pants before he edged through the crack between the crates, and disappeared among the crowd.

The woman wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and looked up. She looked straight into Dillion’s eyes. She smiled and nodded. He nodded with a like smile.
“Busy day?” he asked conversationally.

“Fair to middling,” she nodded. “Can I do anything for you?”
He thought for a moment, then reluctantly shook his head. “Maybe next time. Thanks for the show,” he dug a dollar from his pocket and tossed it to the woman. She caught it deafly, waved, and disappeared inside the crack. Dillion sighed and slid off the crate.

The roar of the crowd, sound of assorted steam engines, and yelled greetings, created a horrendous noise which assaulted Dillion’s ears. He smiled, looking around himself at the teaming mass of humanity. It looked like a dead cow, kicked to reveal a mass of crawling maggots. To Dillion, a crowd meant riches. Poor as they may look, the combined wealth of everyone in front of him could make a hundred men wealthy. The gold rush had petered out months before, but there were still miners pulling gold out of the mountains. The Transcontinental Railroad opened an avenue for the wealthy to visit the west coast for business or pleasure. The California ranchers rubbed elbows with the recently unemployed railroad workers. But even they had money which jingled in their pockets. Money could be had in California, either legally or illegally. It was a rich territory.

Dillion was ready for this new challenge, especially since he was told to leave the San Francisco waterfront dives, or be jailed. News of the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad was just too good to pass up. He booked passage with a sleeping berth, for the noon train. It was now, according to his gold watch, 10:47 AM. He made his way to the row of public toilets. He locked the outhouse door and raised the seat. The stench of the outhouse told him the honey dippers were long overdue. The reservoir below the outhouses badly needed emptying. He pissed into the dark stinking void, buttoned his pants and lowered the lid. He stepped out and hurried across the tracks in front of a black team of horses, pulling a beautiful black and gold carriage. It was just one of many.

“Sir, can you help me with my baggage?” a young female voice asked. He turned and faced the beautiful young woman clad in a simple white dress. She smelled strongly of roses. She seemed to be from one of the southern states, possibly Georgia by her accent. Of course you couldn’t tell a person by their looks. This woman was exceptionally beautiful, and seemingly very aware of her effect on men. She flutter her eyes unnecessarily, which detracted from her beauty. He immediately grew cold, and a little angry. He had seen such nonsense before.

“Where is your luggage?” he asked. There were several paddle wheelers docked at the piers, and several wagons standing by across the tracks. She could have come from any one of them.
“I rode your boat, the Chrysopolis.”

“Did you?” he asked. A warning went off in his head. Some women found him attractive. He had black hair, a fair complexion, and the goatee and mustache which were popular for the day. But he felt his face was too narrow and his eyes to piercing. He tended to frighten people with his stare, especially when his hazel eyes turned green. This was the first time that a woman had gone out of her way to notice him. Why?

“You see that fat gentleman swearing at the Chinamen?” he pointed toward the pier.
“Yes.”
“Tell him. He will help you, it’s his job.”
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes going cold.

“You’re welcome,” he tipped his hat and turned, making his way toward the station. Dillion didn’t particularly like women, especially the women who used their sex to lure men, for one reason of another. As far as he was concerned, that was most of them. He had run into a few of those types of women, when he was young and naive. At 35 his naivety was a thing of the past. He tried hard to live up to his reputation as a cold- hearted gambler.
“Are you taking the train?” an old man in a railroad uniform asked.
“The noon train,” Dillion nodded.
“Can you give this to the conductor?” he asked, handing Dillion an envelope.
“Certainly. Is it valuable?”
“Only if you value information,” the man joked. “I’ve been on the telegraph for twelve hours waiting for that message. I’m going home, it’s been a long night.”
“Take care,” Dillion said, looking down at the yellow envelope. What information could be contained therein? Who was it for? The envelope only said “urgent”. Dillion slid the envelope into his pocket and waited, with his black bag in his hands.

Dillion noticed many soldiers appearing one by one, milling around the area in full dress uniforms. All were heavily armed. Dillion wondered if the envelope had anything to do with them. There were rumors that a war was coming. Had something happened, something he was not aware of? He did not want to be caught up in the war, wars were not profitable.

Dillion heard a train whistle far down the tracks. He pulled his watch and checked the time. It was three minutes before noon. He smelled rose-scented body lotion. He was familiar with the brand. One of his past loves preferred it to bathing. He had smelled it so often that it sickened him. It was made from whale oil mixed with the essential oils of rose petals. He turned and looked at the woman who had asked about her luggage.

“I found my luggage,” she said, trying to be cordial.
“Good,” he said, hefting his black bag. Most doctors used it as their emergency bag. He found it handy for his needs.

“I travel light,” he said, smiling to take the edge off his words. She looked off down the tracks, bending in his direction. He took the opportunity to gaze at her full, lovely breasts. She switched her gaze quickly, in an effort to catch him looking. She was too late.
“Something must be going on,” she finally said in the uncomfortable silence. They both looked at the soldiers lining up near the front of the dock.

“So it seems,” he agreed. He was growing annoyed at her chatter and wished she would bother somebody else. She took a handkerchief and fluttered it against her ample breasts. Dillion looked down for a moment, briefly admiring her open cleavage, then looked away. She lifted her hand and dropped the handkerchief at his feet. A passing man walked on it. It stuck to his manure-covered boot. He drug it along behind him. She gasped and held up a hand, then grunted in disappointment.