The Spoilers (8 page)
Authors: Matt Braun
Starbuck listened with only one ear. His attention
was fixed on the platform. Several men had stepped forward to probe and fondle a girl who looked to be no more than fourteen. She stood dull-eyed and submissive, abject in her nakedness. The auctioneer began the bidding at $200, and within minutes she was sold for $375. The man who bought her paid the auctioneer, and a bill of sale, with the girl's mark, was quickly produced. The document was legal and binding in American courts. There were quotas restricting Chinese immigration, but there were no laws forbidding the sale of Chinese girls into bondage. The young girl, now a legally bound slave, was swiftly dressed and hustled away by her new master.
was fixed on the platform. Several men had stepped forward to probe and fondle a girl who looked to be no more than fourteen. She stood dull-eyed and submissive, abject in her nakedness. The auctioneer began the bidding at $200, and within minutes she was sold for $375. The man who bought her paid the auctioneer, and a bill of sale, with the girl's mark, was quickly produced. The document was legal and binding in American courts. There were quotas restricting Chinese immigration, but there were no laws forbidding the sale of Chinese girls into bondage. The young girl, now a legally bound slave, was swiftly dressed and hustled away by her new master.
“A fortunate girl,” May Ling observed, noting his interest. “Had she not attracted a buyer, she might have joined those who work in the cribs.”
“So young?” Starbuck said without thinking. “A girl that age in the cribs?”
“Oh, yes,” May Ling replied, studying him with a half-smile. “But she would be much older tomorrow. The cribs age a girl quickly.”
“How long do they last?”
“Four years, perhaps less,” May Ling said in a low voice. “The work is hard, and men use them in cruel ways. Their minds go wrong, or they become diseased, and then they are no longer of value to their master.”
Starbuck felt a sudden revulsion. “You mean they go crazy?”
“Some do.” May Ling kept her tone casual. “For
most, it is the sailor's diseaseâthe poxâthat claims them.”
most, it is the sailor's diseaseâthe poxâthat claims them.”
“What happens then?”
“They are sent to the hospital.”
“Hospital?” Starbuck said, looking at her. “To be cured?”
“No, to die.” Her appraisal of him was deliberate, oddly watchful. “The crib masters have a secret place they call the hospital. When a girl outlives her usefulness, she is taken there and given a pallet. An attendant places beside her a cup of water and a cup of rice, and a small oil lamp. He informs her that she must die by the time the oil burns out. Later, when he returns, the girl is almost always deadâsometimes by starvation, usually by her own hand.”
“Jesus Christ!” Starbuck scowled, shook his head. “Some hospital.”
“Yes.” An indirection came into May Ling's eyes. “The people of Little China call it âthe place of no return.'”
Too late, Starbuck sensed the trap. He wiped away the frown and quickly plastered a dopey smile across his face. Yet he wasn't at all sure he'd fooled May Ling. She'd brought him here, and purposely suckered him into a conversation about crib girls, all to get a reaction. That much was now abundantly clear, and he realized she was swifter than she appeared. No questions, no need to interrogate him. A night's lovemaking, and her innocent manner had effectively lowered his guard. Then she laid the bait and waited to see his reaction. A goddamned Oriental
mousetrap! And he'd gone for the cheese.
mousetrap! And he'd gone for the cheese.
“Well, now!” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Let's hope none of my little virgins ever needs a trip to the hospital.”
“Would that bother you?”
“At a thousand bucks a head!” he roared. “You bet your sweet ass that'd bother me!”
She giggled softly. “Do you truly find it sweet?”
“Sweeter than sugar, and twice as nice!”
May Ling took his arm and they turned to leave the warehouse. On the street, Starbuck gave her a squeeze and made himself a promise. One more dip of the wick, then he'd ditch her fast
And get the hell out of Chinatown.
The miners came in forty-nine
The whores in fifty-one.
And when they got together
They produced the Native Son.
The whores in fifty-one.
And when they got together
They produced the Native Son.
Nell Kimball scarcely heard the lyrics. She was seated in a curtained loge with Starbuck, whose attention was directed to the stage. Covertly, out of the corner of her eye, she was watching him with a bemused look. She thought him a most unlikely whoremaster.
Onstage, a buxom songbird was belting out the tune in a loud, brassy voice. A ballad of sorts, it traced the ancestory of Nob Hill swells to the mating of whores and miners who had settled San Francisco during the Gold Rush. There was an element of truth to the ditty, and it was a favorite with audiences on the Barbary Coast. Tonight, the crowd in the Bella Union was clapping and stamping their feet, and
roaring approval as the lyrics became progressively vulgar.
roaring approval as the lyrics became progressively vulgar.
Starbuck looked like a peacock in full plumage. He was tricked out in diamonds and a powder-blue suit, with a paisley four-in-hand tie and a gaudy lavender shirt. The getup fitted the image of a whoremonger with grand ideas, but Nell Kimball was having second thoughts. Even the gold tooth left her unconvinced. Her whore's intuition told her Harry Lovett was something more than he appeared.
Earlier, Denny O'Brien had ordered her to entertain him royally. At first, she'd been a bit miffed, her vanity wounded. Harry Lovett had spent the last two days in Chinatownâdoubtless getting himself screwed silly by Fung's prized hussyâand that put her in the position of playing second fiddle. Around the Bella Union she got top billing, acting as O'Brien's strong right arm. She supervised all the show girls, occasionally wooing a high roller personally, and she wasn't accustomed to standing in line behind a sloe-eyed Chinese slut. Yet orders were orders, and she'd learned the hard way never to provoke O'Brien's temper. He considered Lovett topdrawer business, and it wouldn't do to let Fung outshine them in the entertainment department. However she managed it, Lovett was to be given ace-high treatment, and made to forget the China girl's bedroom artistry. All of which meant a long night in the saddle.
For Starbuck's part, he felt like he'd come home. Nell Kimball was his kind of woman. Unlike May
Ling's charade, there was no pretense about Nell, nothing phony. She was a saloon girl who had fought and clawed her way to the top of her profession. A tough cookie, honed by experience, she could handle a wise-ass chump or a mean-eyed drunk with equal ease. She looked to her own interests, always a step ahead of the competition, and God pity anybody who got in her way. Her counterpart was found in mining camps and cowtowns throughout the West, and she was the only kind of woman Starbuck fully understood. Moreover, he admired her for perhaps the best of reasons. Except that she wore bloomers, there wasn't a nickel's worth of difference between them. In all the things that counted, they were very much birds of a feather. Hard-headed realists, blooded but never whipped, survivors.
Ling's charade, there was no pretense about Nell, nothing phony. She was a saloon girl who had fought and clawed her way to the top of her profession. A tough cookie, honed by experience, she could handle a wise-ass chump or a mean-eyed drunk with equal ease. She looked to her own interests, always a step ahead of the competition, and God pity anybody who got in her way. Her counterpart was found in mining camps and cowtowns throughout the West, and she was the only kind of woman Starbuck fully understood. Moreover, he admired her for perhaps the best of reasons. Except that she wore bloomers, there wasn't a nickel's worth of difference between them. In all the things that counted, they were very much birds of a feather. Hard-headed realists, blooded but never whipped, survivors.
Then, too, Starbuck had to admit she was nothing shy in the looks department. She was compellingly attractive, tall and statuesque, with enormous hazel eyes and sumptuous figure. Her tawny hair was piled in coils and puffs atop her head, and she carried herself with assured poise. Her gaze was direct, filled with a certain bawdy wisdom, and she seemed to view the world with good-humored irony. He thought that was perhaps the one essential difference between them. He saw the world through the eyes of a confirmed cynic. She saw it through a prism that was still slightly rose-tinted, and he considered that a weakness.
By and by, perhaps later tonight, he fully intended to exploit that weakness. His visit to the slave-girl
auction that morning, coupled with May Ling's boastful remarks about Fung, had merely strengthened his original assessment. Without an overlord to keep the peace, Chinatown and the Barbary Coast could not coexist. Denny O'Brien, given the scope of his ambition, could never resist a takeover attempt in Chinatown. Someone restrained him from doing so, and that someone was the man who cracked the whip in San Francisco. Unless he missed his guess, Starbuck thought it entirely likely that Nell Kimball knew the someone's name. A gentle touch, and his softsoap routine, might very well persuade her to talk. Contrary to what people thought, the way to a whore's heart was not between her legs. Affection and kindness were what turned the trick.
auction that morning, coupled with May Ling's boastful remarks about Fung, had merely strengthened his original assessment. Without an overlord to keep the peace, Chinatown and the Barbary Coast could not coexist. Denny O'Brien, given the scope of his ambition, could never resist a takeover attempt in Chinatown. Someone restrained him from doing so, and that someone was the man who cracked the whip in San Francisco. Unless he missed his guess, Starbuck thought it entirely likely that Nell Kimball knew the someone's name. A gentle touch, and his softsoap routine, might very well persuade her to talk. Contrary to what people thought, the way to a whore's heart was not between her legs. Affection and kindness were what turned the trick.
The chesty songbird ended her number and the curtain rang down to wild applause. Starbuck poured champagne and lifted his glass in a toast. The evening was far along, but he'd made no overtures, no suggestive remarks. He figured it was a new experience for Nell, and certain to pique her interest. He wasn't far short of the mark.
“So tell me,” she said with a quizzical look. “Have yourself a good time in Chinktown, did you?”
“No complaints,” Starbuck allowed. “Course, I'd have to say those Chinamen take a little getting used to.”
“Yeah, that Fung's a real pistol, isn't he?”
“I suppose he's all right ⦠for a Chinaman.”
“On the Coast, we call him Fung Long Dong.”
“Oh?” Starbuck saw a glint in her eye. “Why's that?”
“Because he's got a permanent hard-on.” Nell laughed at her racy admission. “Screws anything that's not nailed down. Women, girls, even little boys, so I've heard.”
Her laugh was infectious, and Starbuck grinned. “Wouldn't surprise me. After seeing that three-ring circus he runsâthe dogs and his hatchet menâI'd believe anything.”
“Forget the dogs, honeybun! You just stay clear of Wong Yee and Sing Dock.”
“His hatchet men?” Starbuck asked. “What's the story on them?”
“All bad,” Nell said quietly. “When they kill someone, they tidy up the corpse's clothes, comb his hair, and press a smile on his mouth. God knows what they do before they kill him. They're both as queer as a three-dollar bill.”
“No accounting for taste,” Starbuck said with a crooked smile. “I've always preferred the ladies, myself.”
Nell gave him a cool look. “How'd you like May Ling? Not that anybody ever called the little tramp a lady.”
Starbuck mugged, hands outstretched. “A gentleman never tells. You're right about one thing, thoughâshe's no lady!”
Nell warmed to the remark. “Well, it just bears out what I've always said. Those China girls have
got no class. You're lots better off here on the Coast.”
got no class. You're lots better off here on the Coast.”
“Now that you mention it,” Starbuck said casually, “I got pretty much the same story in Chinatown. The way Fung talks, there's no love lost between him and Denny.”
“I guess not!” Nell tossed her head. “Denny would cut that Chink's heart out and dance on his grave.”
“What stops him?”
“I don't follow you.”
“What stops him from walking in there and taking over Chinatown? Hell, Fung and his hatchet men wouldn't stand a chance! If I was Denny, I'd do it in a minute.”
Nell blinked and looked away. “You'd have to ask Denny about that. I keep my nose where it belongs.”
“I'll bet!” Starbuck ribbed her. “Strikes me, you pretty much know what's going on around the Bella Union.”
“Maybe I do,” Nell observed neutrally. “But smart girls learn not to talk out of school, and I sit right up at the head of the class.”
Starbuck let it drop for the moment. “Well, you're the number-one girl around here. No question about that! Wish to hell I had someone like you to run my operation. It'd sure take a load off my mind.”
“Since you brought it up,” Nell said slowly, “I'm curious about something. Have you ever operated a whorehouse before?”
“Nope.” Starbuck's mouth widened in a devil-may-care- grin. “But I'm all set to give 'er one helluva try!”
“You've got brass.” Nell cocked her head in a funny little smile. “A hundred virgins and four whorehouses! How in God's name do you figure to pull it off?”
“I pray a lot,” Starbuck said, deadpan. “Course, I've got a way with the ladies. So that ought to smooth things considerable.”
“Now you're bragging.”
“Think so?” Starbuck gave her a rougish wink. “There's one way to find out.”
Nell laughed a low, throaty laugh. “Sounds like you're getting fresh, Mr. Lovett.”
“The idea crossed my mind.”
“Then I suppose we'll have to find out ⦠won't we?”
Starbuck put his arm around her, and she scooted closer on the divan. The curtain rose and a line of can-can dancers went prancing across the stage. She let her hand slip down over his thigh, and gave him a playful squeeze.
Â
Late that night, Nell suggested they retire to her room. The Bella Union was still going strong, the barroom and the theater packed with a raucous crowd. Onstage a team of acrobats was performing to assorted hoots and jeers. The audience seemed unimpressed by gymnastic feats of daring.
Denny O'Brien and High Spade McQueen were
standing near the end of the bar. The action was heavy at the gaming tables, and they appeared deep in conversation. Starbuck yelled and waved, attracting their attention as Nell tugged him toward the stairs. McQueen barely glanced around, but O'Brien smiled knowingly and gave him the thumbs-up sign. Starbuck responded with a jack-o'-lantern grin, and rolled his eyes at Nell. He looked like a randy drunk, immensely pleased with his prospects for the night.
standing near the end of the bar. The action was heavy at the gaming tables, and they appeared deep in conversation. Starbuck yelled and waved, attracting their attention as Nell tugged him toward the stairs. McQueen barely glanced around, but O'Brien smiled knowingly and gave him the thumbs-up sign. Starbuck responded with a jack-o'-lantern grin, and rolled his eyes at Nell. He looked like a randy drunk, immensely pleased with his prospects for the night.
There was little need for pretense. His head buzzed from the effects of too much champagne, and he was in a very mellow mood. Several bottles of bubbly had been consumed during the evening, and Nell, who was no slouch herself, had matched him glass for glass. She was bright-eyed and giggly, and led him up the staircase with a slight list to her step. Yet, despite his muzzy look, he was reasonably sober. He kept a grin glued on his face, but reminded himself that the night's work had really just begun. He still had to sound Nell out, gull her into revealing a name. And it had to be accomplished without arousing suspicion. Wondering about the best approach, he waved one last time to O'Brien, then trailed Nell up the stairs. The sway of her hips and the glow of the champagne brought him to what seemed a logical compromise. He thought perhaps their talk might wait until after she'd shown him how it was done on the Barbary Coast.
The rooms on the second floor of the Bella Union were reserved for the showgirls. Most of their tricks, ten dollars for five minutes' rutting, were turned on
the sofas in the theater boxes. A big spender, who wanted the full treatment, was brought upstairs. There, for the right price, he got to take his time. Fifty dollars bought him an hour, and a hundred purchased the whole night. The girls were versatile, willing to satisfy even the most exotic request, and the johns always got their money's worth. No one left the second floor of the Bella Union wanting more.
the sofas in the theater boxes. A big spender, who wanted the full treatment, was brought upstairs. There, for the right price, he got to take his time. Fifty dollars bought him an hour, and a hundred purchased the whole night. The girls were versatile, willing to satisfy even the most exotic request, and the johns always got their money's worth. No one left the second floor of the Bella Union wanting more.
The third floor was occupied exclusively by the house staff. Denny O'Brien's suite consisted of a sitting room, bedroom, and private bath. Across the hall, High Spade McQueen's quarters were comparable, though somewhat smaller. Other staff members, who included the stage manager and the house manager, were assigned somewhat less spacious accommodations. Nell occupied a corner room at the end of the hall. The view overlooked the alley.
Upon entering, Starbuck was pleasantly surprised. The atmosphere was considerably more homey than he'd expected. A tall wardrobe, with a full-length mirror, was flanked by a bureau and washstand. Opposite was a grouping of two chairs and a table, upon which stood a gilt clock and a collection of porcelain figurines. The windows were draped, a hooked rug covered the floor, and a large brass bed occupied the far corner. Quite clearly, Nell had gone to great lengths to create a warm and comfortable refuge for herself. The room seemed somehow out of place in the Bella Union.
After locking the door, she turned to Starbuck.
Her hands went behind his neck, pulling his head down. Her kiss was fierce and passionate, demanding. She pressed herself against him, and he could feel her breasts and the pressure of her thighs on his loins. He stroked her back and fondled the soft curve of her buttocks, and she uttered a low moan. They parted and, in the umber glow of a lamp, hurriedly began undressing.
Her hands went behind his neck, pulling his head down. Her kiss was fierce and passionate, demanding. She pressed herself against him, and he could feel her breasts and the pressure of her thighs on his loins. He stroked her back and fondled the soft curve of her buttocks, and she uttered a low moan. They parted and, in the umber glow of a lamp, hurriedly began undressing.
Her body was sculptured: high, full breasts, a stemlike waist, and long, shapely legs. She stood before him a moment, her clothes heaped at her feet. Then his arms encircled her, and she clung naked to his hard-muscled frame. Her hand went to his manhood, swollen and pulsating, and she grasped it eagerly. He kissed her lips, then the nape of her neck, felt the nipple of her breast grow erect under his touch. They caressed, played a game of tease-and-tantalize-, until they were aroused and aching and the excitement became unbearable. At last, slipping out of his embrace, she pulled him down on the bed.
The hard questing part of him found her. She was ready for him, moist and yielding, and she took him deep within the core of herself. His hands clutched her flanks and they came together in an agonized clash. Her legs spidered around him, and she jolted upward, timing herself to his thrust. She clamped him viselike, her hips moving in a circle, and exhaled a hoarse gasp. He arched his back and drove himself to the molten center, probing deeper and deeper. She screamed and her nails pierced his back like talons.
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