The South Fork Showdown

by J. R. Roberts

  He opened the door and entered, carrying the robe and towels. The room was filled with steam, as she had asked for the water to be extra hot. The air was also filled with the smell of the scented soap the hotel supplied.

  Lizzie was immersed in the water up to her neck, except for one leg, which she had extended, the heel resting on the edge of the tub. He wondered if that was for his benefit. If it was, he appreciated it. It was a lovely, well-muscled leg.

  There was a chair in the corner. He walked to it and set down the robe and towels.

  “Do you have enough soap?” he asked.

  “I do, thank you.”

  “Is the water still hot?”

  “Quite hot. Why do you keep averting your eyes?”

  “I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he said. “And let me tell you, it’s not easy.”

  “Then stop it,” she said. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  He turned his head and looked at her. She had raised herself up a bit, and dropped her leg into the water. In that position, a good portion of her breasts showed, with just a hint of nipples. That was a lot of supple, shiny-wet flesh.

  “Thank you for the towels and robe,” she said. “I should be out soon.”

  “Take your time,” he told her. “Would you like some food?”

  “I have nothing to wear to the dining room,” she told him.

  “I’ll go downstairs and bring something up for you.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Sure,” he said. “A steak?”

  “You know,” she said, shifting so that most of her brown nipples now showed, “a bowl of beef stew would really hit the spot right now.”

  “And what would the lady like to drink with it?”

  “Do they have any brandy?”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  “That would be great.”

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll go down now and be back as soon as I can. You just continue to soak.”

  “Thank you, Adams.”

  “Clint,” he said. “Just call me Clint.”

  “All right,” she said. “Clint.”

  “See you soon.”

  He left the water closet and the room, and went downstairs to the lobby.

  * * *

  The dining room was about to close, but the waiter was happy to get Clint a bowl of stew and a bottle of brandy to take to his room.

  “How about some biscuits?” the waiter offered.

  “That’d be great. Thanks.”

  “We like to see to all our guests’ needs if we can, sir.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “so far you’re doing a great job of it.”

  EIGHT

  When he got back to the room with the food, Lizzie was still in the water closet. He pulled a table and chair to the center of the room, and set the food on it, then went to the water closet door and knocked.

  “I’m back.”

  “I’ll be right out.”

  As an afterthought, he set a second chair at the table. He hadn’t gotten any food for himself, but he could have a glass of brandy with her.

  The water closet door opened and she came out, wearing the robe and drying her hair with one of the towels. The robe revealed a good portion of her legs, and some cleavage.

  “That smells wonderful,” she said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Madam,” he said, pulling out her chair, “your table.”

  She set the towel aside and said, “Thank you, sir.”

  With the face paint washed off, she was pretty, and looked much younger.

  “Are you eating?” she asked when she was seated.

  “I’ve eaten enough today,” he said, “but I’ll have a glass of brandy with you. If you don’t mind talking while you eat.”

  “I don’t mind at all. Oh, biscuits!” She grabbed the basket.

  Clint poured the brandy and watched the woman eat. She had a healthy appetite, and attacked the food with gusto, cleaning the bowl with the biscuits.

  She sat back and noticed him watching her.

  “Hey,” she said, “I’m a big girl, and I eat like one.”

  “I wasn’t being critical,” he said. “I like a girl with an appetite.”

  She reached for her brandy glass.

  “You know,” he said, “you look a lot better without all that face paint.”

  She touched her face and said, “I know. It makes me look older and harder, though. That’s how I need to look.”

  “How long are you supposed to be working this disguise?” he asked.

  “I was supposed to be back in Washington a week ago,” she said. “Pike’s message caught me before I could leave.”

  “Well, then,” Clint said, “I guess neither one of us knows how long we’ll be here.”

  “I don’t like being in the dark,” she said, hunching her shoulders.

  The soft woman seated in front of him was quite different from the brassy whore who had appeared at his door. This was also the first time he felt she might be frightened.

  “Where are you staying?” he asked.

  “In a cheap hotel down by the water,” she said. “My budget for this assignment didn’t allow me much more than that.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “since I’m feeling like we’re partners in this, you can spend the night here, if you want.”

  She looked over at the one bed in the room.

  “You can have the bed,” he assured her. “In fact, I can go and get myself another room.”

  “No,” she said, “that would look too suspicious, if anyone’s watching. I mean, if I stayed, it would have to look like I’m doing my job, you know?”

  “Well, all right,” he said. “I can sleep in a chair, or on the floor. You can have the bed. Nobody outside this room will know.”

  She hunched her shoulders again and said, “It’s very tempting.”

  “I get the feeling you’ve worked hard and deserve a night in a big, comfortable bed.”

  “You have no idea,” she said, rolling her eyes. “The mattress I’ve been sleeping on is paper thin.”

  “Then it’s settled,” he said. “You’ll take the bed.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll make sure I get up early enough to send that message to Pike for you.”

  “Thanks,” Clint said. “I’d like to get a little guidance about what I’m supposed to do here.”

  She stood up and said, “It’s amazing that you’d even come here without knowing what’s expected of you.”

  “I have a habit,” he said, moving the table and chair away from the center of the room, “of responding to telegrams and messages from friends—or from my country. Some might say it’s a bad habit.”

  “Well,” she said, “I know I’m getting paid for my part. I can’t imagine doing this for free.”

  “I’m sure the money isn’t all of it for you,” he said. “I know what civil servants get paid.”

  She walked to the bed, turned it down, and sat on it.

  “Wow,” she said, “this is going to be like sleeping on a cloud.” She looked over at him and said, “I feel bad putting you out of your bed.”

  “Don’t feel bad,” he said. “I’m used to sleeping on hard surfaces.”

  “Well,” she said, “it’ll only be for one night.”

  Suddenly, as he looked at her, he noticed her eyelids getting very heavy.

  “You might as well turn in now, before you fall over,” he said.

  She slid between the sheets and said, “Don’t worry about the light. It won’t . . .” Her voice trailed off and then Clint heard a faint snore.

  NINE

  Clint was uncomfortable on the chair, and on the floor, but he tried not to move around very much. Lizzie was sleeping soundly a
nd he didn’t want to wake her. That’s why he was surprised when he heard her voice.

  “You can’t be comfortable over there,” she said from beneath the covers.

  “I’m fine,” he assured her.

  “No, you’re not,” she said. “Come on. There’s plenty of room in this bed.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, “I won’t attack your lily-white body.”

  He stood up from the chair and stretched.

  “Yeah, okay,” he said, approaching the bed.

  She tossed back the sheets on the other side of the bed and said, “Hey, you’re not getting into bed with your clothes on. You don’t have to be naked, but for Chrissake, get comfortable.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  It was dark in the room, but they both had pretty good night vision. He could see her lying in the bed, but not if her eyes were open or closed.

  He removed his shirt, and then his trousers. Clad only in his underwear, he got into the bed and covered himself with the sheets. Before he was done, she was already snoring again.

  * * *

  In a saloon near the docks, two men sat at a back table, as far away from the door and windows as they could get. Only one of them wore a gun, but the second had an armed bodyguard standing at the bar.

  “This is not exactly the kind of place I meant when I said we had to meet secretly.”

  “We ain’t gonna be seen here.”

  “Yes, all right,” the well-dressed man said. He looked around, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “What did you find out?”

  “I took a look at the dam,” the other man said. “It’s springing leaks. Lots of them.”

  “Can it be fixed?”

  “Well, yeah—”

  “Cheaply?”

  “Now that might be a problem.”

  “Look,” the well-dressed man said, “you’re supposed to be an engineer.”

  “I am an engineer,” the man said. “I built most of the Union’s dams and bridges during the war.”

  “Yes, well, that was a long time ago,” the other man said. “These days you wear a gun and you use it. But that’s not what I hired you for.”

  “What did you hire me for exactly?”

  The well-dressed man leaned forward and said, “I want the holes in that dam plugged.”

  “Cheaply.”

  “Correct,” the man said. “I’m not going to drain the club’s coffers—or my own—to fix that dam. Get it?”

  “I get it,” the engineer said. “I’ll do the best I can.”

  The other man stood up and said, “Do better than that. Do what I’m paying you to do.”

  He walked to the bar to fetch his bodyguard, and they left the saloon together.

  * * *

  After the well-dressed man left, two other men joined the engineer at his table, carrying beers of their own and a fresh one for him.

  “How’d that go?” Kevin Dale asked, taking the vacated seat.

  “Not well.”

  “Ain’t we gettin’ paid?” Frank Conlin asked.

  “Oh, we’ll get paid,” the engineer said. “I just have to find a way to plug that dam.”

  “With the money they have to throw around, that should be pretty easy,” Dale said.

  “Yeah,” the engineer said, “but they don’t exactly want to throw that money around.”

  “Then how do they expect you to fix it?” Kevin Dale inquired.

  “Maybe like the little boy.”

  “What little boy?” Conlin asked.

  “The one who put his finger in the dike.”

  Conlin looked confused.

  “I’ll explain it to you later,” Dale said to him. He looked at his boss. “So what do we do now?”

  “We take another look at that dam,” the engineer said. “See what we can see.”

  “And then what?” Conlin asked.

  “And then we see just how cheaply it can be fixed.”

  “Boy,” Conlin said, “why are such rich men so cheap?”

  “I guess,” the engineer said, “that’s how rich men stay rich.”

  TEN

  Clint woke to a hand on his chest. For a moment he thought it might be an accident, that Lizzie had rolled over and draped her arm over him. But when the hand started to rub his chest, and he felt those big breasts against his back, the nipples poking at him, he knew it wasn’t.

  “You said you wouldn’t attack my lily-white body,” he reminded her.

  She slid her hand down his chest, over his belly, to his crotch, where she gripped him tightly.

  “Oh my,” she said, stroking him. “It looks like I lied.”

  “Lizzie—”

  “Don’t worry, Clint,” she said, pressing her lips to his back, “the whore getup is just a disguise. I haven’t been with a man for a long time . . . and we’re kind of close here.”

  “But you had a bath and I didn’t.”

  She pressed her nose to him and said, “You smell like a man. That’s fine with me.”

  “Well, if that’s the case . . .” he said, and rolled over . . .

  * * *

  The engineer’s name was Dash Charles.

  He had, indeed, been an engineer during the war, even though he’d been only nineteen when called. Actually, he built bridges and dams and walls while in the Army, and got the education afterward. But by the time he was educated as an engineer, those kinds of jobs had mostly dried up. That was when he took to the gun.

  These days, he was trying to combine the two jobs, gunman and engineer. He’d stumbled into Pittsburgh, and this job, where the man who hired him was interested in both of his professions.

  After he left the saloon and his two colleagues, Dale and Conlin, he went back to his hotel, which was nowhere near the docks. He may not have minded drinking there, but he didn’t want to stay in any of the hotels located there. They were bug-infested flophouses.

  He was being paid well for this job, so he was able to stay in a better hotel, like the Colonial, which had three floors, a big lobby, and clean rooms. He’d asked for and received a room on the top floor, where he didn’t have to worry about anyone climbing in a window.

  He let himself in with his key, and the girl on the bed came off and into his arms.

  “I missed you!” she exclaimed. She grabbed his crotch. “I missed this! Come on.”

  “Take it easy,” he said. “I’m an old man, remember.”

  The girl’s name was Bonnie, and she was twenty-three.

  “Not so old,” she said, stroking him through his trousers. “Look, he’s already awake.”

  He removed his gun belt and she hurriedly undid his trousers and dragged them to his ankles. She dropped to her knees before him and gobbled his cock eagerly.

  “Jesus . . .” he breathed, holding the back of her head while she sucked him, wondering if what she really missed was his wallet.

  * * *

  Clint slid his arms around Lizzie and kissed her. She moaned, entwined her legs with his. She smelled sweet of the soap she’d bathed with. He kissed her deeply, ran his hands over her body, down her back to her buttocks, which he clutched as he pulled her to him.

  “Damn, damn,” she breathed into his mouth. “Don’t go slow. Come on.”

  She broke from his arms and rolled onto her back, opening her legs.

  He rolled on top of her, and then was inside her. She was so wet there was no resistance at all.

  “Come on,” she said, “it’s been so long, just plough me!”

  Music to any man’s ears . . .

  * * *

  Charles slapped Bonnie on the ass as he fucked her from behind. He liked making love to a girl face-to-face, but she told him that was old-fashioned. She showed him her bare ass and said, “
This is how they do it now!”

  But before he finished, he flipped her over onto her back and rammed himself into her. Old-fashioned or not, she was going to get fucked on her back and like it . . .

  * * *

  Clint looked down at the top of Lizzie’s head as she sucked him. Once she’d screamed and orgasmed the first time, she’d pushed him onto his back and taken his cock into her mouth. She may not have been with a man for a long while, but she was still good at it. She suckled him, and stroked him, and squeezed his balls, and kept him from finishing until she was good and ready, and when he exploded into her mouth, he roared loudly enough to wake the entire hotel . . .

  ELEVEN

  In the morning, true to her word, Lizzie woke up early and donned her dress. It looked rather incongruous on her, without the face paint.

  Clint started to get up, but she put her hand on his chest and pushed him down.

  “Don’t,” she said. “You need to sleep. I’ll get that message sent off.”

  “Will I see you again?”

  She shrugged.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess that depends on how things go. I might have to go back to Washington.”

  “Right, right.”

  She leaned over again and kissed him.

  “Thanks for everything,” she said. “The bath, the meal, the bed . . . everything . . . you didn’t have to . . .”

  “That’s okay,” he said. “Be careful out there.”

  “I will,” she said. “I’m always careful.”

  He watched her go out the door, then lay back in the bed, which smelled of her. Meeting her had been unexpected but, in the end, pleasurable. But she had been able to tell him little about why he was there. For that, he needed to talk to Jeremy Pike, if and when he showed up.

  He went back to sleep.

  * * *

  A couple of hours later he got himself up and dressed and down to the lobby. Henry Frick was nowhere to be seen. He went to the front desk to address the same clerk who had checked him in.

  “Any messages for me?”

  “Uh, no, sir,” the clerk said. “Let me check again.” He looked in the message box for Clint’s room. “No, sir, I’m afraid not.”