December 11, 1899
By late afternoon, I felt I had made enough sales to where I could call it a day.
It wasn't quite time for the Gem to start filling up, but the whiskey was still calling out to me, so I stopped on in.
Hester was again nowhere in sight. No one was, except for the bartender and a couple of Swearengen's gun hands lazily watching the entrance.
As soon as the bartender put it down I picked up the shot, its once repulsive stinch now sweeter than any flower I've ever had the pleasure of inhaling.
Basking in the devil's breath as I savored the first half, Satan himself called down to me.
“Bookseller.”
I looked up and over to meet the eyes of Swearengen.
“How’s the business of books treatin’ you?”
“Can't complain.”
“Good to hear. Say, I just might pick up a few. Keeps some of the girls entertained, so they can entertain better. You know, grand thoughts of romance and all that bullshit.
“You have a taste of one of my doves, yet, bookseller?”
“Not yet. Got any novices up there?”
“Matter of fact, I do. One came in last month, and another last week. Of course, I had to taste the goods for myself first, and they've had a few go rounds with some patrons since. But not yet spoiled.”
The fury I felt knowing he was talking about Hester drove me to slam back the second half of my whiskey and demand another.
To Swearengen I replied, “Let's see ‘em.”
I don't think Hester noticed me at first, her attention appearing to be glazed over.
This one here's from the prairie. Domestic type. Takes a while to warm up, but then she's all in.”
“And this delicate flower,” the pimp continued with his sales pitch, “was one I had to indeed break in. A bit messy, but tasty nonetheless.
“Both still hold quite a grip, if you know what I mean. So which will it be, bookseller?”
I did a slight tilt of the head towards Hester.
“Fine choice. All woman. Tell you the truth, this other one is like skin and bones. Those tits no more than mosquito bites. Goin’ to take her some time to fill out.”
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