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Guns and Dreamers
Chapter One: New Beginnings
Scott A. Gese

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Guns and Dreamers picks up where Bitter is the Dust left off.

Jason McKinney feels the need to explore and decides to head out on his own to see the country beyond Kansas. Upon his return from a eye opening, but short lived venture into Texas, he finds his father, Mac Shepard is a wanted man. Soon Mac is on the run and Jason reluctantly takes charge of the ranch while his nearest neighbor schemes to take full possession.

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Guns and Dreamers

Copyright © Scott A. Gese 20118

All rights reserved

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the authors imagination. Any similarity to real persons living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, downloaded, distributed, reverse engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without express written permission by the author.

First published in Great Britain in 2018 by The Crowood Press

Scott A. Gese regained the rights to Guns and Dreamers in 2022

Cover photo by Louis Hinojosa / Unsplash

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Chapter 1

New Beginnings

Miles Hanley was about as furious as a man could be and still maintain some control. After what had occurred, he considered Sheriff Mason to be no more than a lazy son-of-a-bitch and his deputies inept. They had all ridden off without checking anything beyond Mac Shepard's empty corrals. Why on God's green earth would any man in his right mind put stolen cattle in his own corral? He wouldn't, thought Miles; and that's why the corrals were empty. Mason should have known that. Maybe he did. In any case, the lawman and his men had left Miles to pursue Mac Shepard on his own.

The earlier confrontation with Shepard may not have produced a live cow, but he had heard the train, and the smell of fresh cow shit still hung heavy in the air. Besides, he had known for certain there had been close to two hundred head in the area shortly before he arrived. His men had seen them with their own eyes; and there was still plenty of sign. Hell, a blind man could have seen the milling tracks of cloven hooves, and certainly would have sensed the fresh droppings that littered the otherwise flat ground.

Mac Shepard may not have rustled the cows himself, but that sure in hell didn’t mean he hadn’t hired someone to do it for him. As far as Miles was concerned, that was the same as Mac stealing them himself. And even though the cattle didn't belong to Miles, nor were they on his property, in his own way of thinking he considered what had taken place that evening a hanging offense just the same.

Complicating matters, to all those living in the area, Miles Hanley was viewed as one of Mac Shepard’s closet friends. But secretly, Miles wanted nothing more than to see Mac Shepard – one way or another –lose his ranch.

It seemed, however, as far as the law was concerned, Mac Shepard had gotten away clean with the theft of the cattle. The injustice of the situation infuriated Miles, and he was going to make it his personal mission to make the cattle thief pay for his sins. It was bad enough that the sorry son-of-a-bitch stole cattle from honest men, but what upset Miles more was that the money Mac gained through the thefts allowed him to hang onto his ranch.

Miles had been lusting over that patch of fertile land for years and had done whatever he could to insure Mac would lose it. Now it looked like that wasn't going to happen any time soon and Miles was growing impatient. From now on he would keep a close eye on Mac and do whatever he could to insure Shepard lost everything he owned.

The following day, intent on his mission, Miles went into town early and sent off a telegram to the railroad's stationmaster trying to get information on the movement of trains the night before. No freight cars were scheduled to be in the area and all were accounted for, so that proved a frustrating dead end.

Miles had just finished tending to a couple of errands and was heading for his horse. As he stepped into the dusty street he met Sheriff Mason coming from the opposite direction. “Good morning, Miles,” greeted the sheriff. “What brings you into town so bright and early?”

“I'm doing your work,” Miles replied tersely.

The sheriff was a bit confused at the statement and at Miles' disposition. Keeping his tone civil, he addressed the man. “I'm not sure I understand what you're talking about, Miles.”

Miles was in no mood for idle chatter. “You know as well as I do Mac Shepard is dealing in stolen cattle. If you had bothered to ride out past his place last night you would have seen Mac and his son, Jason, paying off two other men. You would have smelled the cow shit, and you would have heard the damned train.”

The sheriff wasn't about to let Miles Hanley or anyone else tell him how to do his job. “Miles, did you see any cattle?” he asked.

“No,” Miles snapped.

The lawman continued his questioning. “Did you see a train?”

“No, but I heard it,” Miles retorted, his tone still combative.

“Hearing it doesn't mean a thing,” the sheriff countered. “You know as well as I do the sound of a train can carry for miles on a cold night with no wind. And that's exactly the way it was last night.”

Miles was like a dog sucking the marrow from a dry bone. “Well, what about me seeing Mac and his son paying off the two strangers?" When he saw the look of disbelief on the lawman's face, he continued. "He told me he was paying off a ransom for Jason, but I know better than that." He threw up his hands in frustration. "Dammit, Mason, you and your deputies should have been there with me! The whole situation stinks like the shit I found them standing in, and you know it.”

Sheriff Mason had no desire to continue the conversation, so he shut Miles down. “Miles, you have nothing. You didn't see one cow, you didn't see one train. Mac gave you a reason for the exchange of money. If Mac wants to report the incident, he's welcome to do so. If not, there's nothing I can do. You have no proof and that's what I need to go with, proof. Without it, we have nothing. So unless you have some solid evidence, I don't want to hear another word about it.”

Miles was clearly upset. His railroad inquiries yielded nothing and now his conversation with Sheriff Mason had gone nowhere. He clenched his jaws and pushed passed the sheriff, only to change his mind and turn back to confront the man again. Face red with anger; the big blue veins around the temples of his weather beaten face were beginning to bulge. He sharply jabbed his finger in the air toward the sheriff as he resumed his rant. “You know as well as I do Mac Shepard is rustling cattle. I smelled the shit, I heard the train and I caught him paying off the men who delivered them. I don't need any more evidence than that. If you're not going to do anything about it; I will, and that's a fact.” With that, Miles swiftly turned his back on the lawman and stalked away.

Sheriff Mason quickly called out. “Miles Hanley, if you do anything illegal, you'll be the one behind bars. You keep that in mind!”

Ignoring the sheriff’s warning, Miles kept on walking.

The last thing Sheriff Mason needed was to have Miles Hanley on the warpath. He knew Miles to be an honest man; but he also knew Miles could be ruthless when it came to business. As a lawman, he had heard stories of how Hanley had ended up with the XO. Stealing cattle might not set well with the man, but acquiring land in a less than upright fashion was apparently a different story. So now did he not only need to keep an eye on Mac Shepard – who was certainly no innocent – he also needed to make sure Miles didn't go and do something stupid on him.

****

Andrew Crocker was a man of the cloth. His bones were old and frail, but his mind was still clear and his hearing was still as sharp as the pocketknife he used for whittling. He was sitting in a chair on the boardwalk, knife in hand, as he did most days. Neither Miles nor Sheriff Mason paid attention to Andrew as they argued. But Andrew took in every word. He had lived in Fort Scott longer than Miles, Mac or Sheriff Joe Mason.

There was a time not too long ago when he preached the Sunday sermon, but he had given that position up to a younger man. His preaching days were over and his Bible had gone unopened for quite a spell. The townsfolk, including Mac, Miles and Joe had given their “confessions” to Andrew on numerous occasions.

He not only knew dark things about most of the people who lived in Fort Scott, he knew dark things about each of these three men. Things that would put their mothers to shame. Thieves each one of them; in their own right.

Andrew could have easily ignored what he had just heard, but that wasn't his way. He didn't think much of Miles. His sin of choice was power, and he acquired it through the ownership of land. He bought it when he had to. He took it if he could. It didn't matter to Miles how much sweat the owner had poured into the land. If he could add it to his already vast holdings, he wanted it.

As for Mac, he was a thief and a man who had a blatant disregard for the rules and regulations that had been set in place by others. He played by his own, and didn't concern himself with how it affected those he was close to. Mac thought the world revolved around him. In a way, Andrew admired Mac’s independence, but he loathed his lack of concern for others. He was surprised when his sister and son came to stay with him. He thought just maybe Mac had matured, maybe even changed his ways, but what he heard this morning proved him wrong.

And Sheriff Joe Mason. He was law abiding all right, but he was slothful and inefficient in the way he handled situations that were more involved and took some legwork. He would rather handle the simple tasks of his job like throwing drunks in jail. It took much less effort than trying to solve a cattle-rustling crime. Joe would have been better off if he had stayed a deputy, but pride and ego both have a way of creeping up on a man, and the offer of being the town's sheriff fed both.

Andrew was keenly observant of the goings on around him. His mind was filled with the dark secrets and inside information of the people of Fort Scott. It was a heavy weight and an unwanted burden he now carried from his past profession. Just the same, if he ever needed to use it for good or for God, he most surely would.

Several days after the discussion between Miles and Sheriff Mason, a blank white envelope mysteriously showed up on Mac's doorstep. He unfolded it to find a note.

It read... “And they covet fields, and houses, and cattle and take them away: so they oppress a man and his house, even a man and his heritage. Therefore thus saith the Lord; Behold, against this family do I devise an evil, from which ye shall not remove your neck.”

It was signed, Micah

The note took Mac by surprise. Who would have put this note at his door? He thought. Who knew of his past dealings? And just who the hell was Micah?

There were only a few people involved with the deal he had made for the cattle. Someone could have slipped and said something to someone, or maybe Miles had left the note? If that was the case, what was he after? Did he want to see him swing or was this some sort of blackmail? At this point, Mac was sure about one thing only, he knew he didn't want to go to prison, or hang. He kept the note to himself. Jason and Sarah didn't need to be concerned with it.

Mac kept a low profile through the winter months. His mind worked overtime trying to figure it all out. He thought on how best to handle any accusations that might surface. If he was found out, he would be locked up or swinging from the end of a rope for sure. It was that last line of the note that played in his head the most. “...I devise an evil, from which ye shall not remove your neck.” The thought of swinging from a rope was beginning to unnerve him.

The business of the spring calving season helped to remove the burden of a guilty conscience from his mind. That didn't change the fact that elsewhere and ever so slowly, the wheels of almighty justice were in motion.

****

Calving season had ended and the cows had been turned out. Now with a little breathing room, Mac's son, Jason, began to grow restless. It was time to move on. He let Mac know of his intentions over breakfast one morning. Mac tried to talk him out of it, but as was his nature, Jason was having nothing of it. He was beginning to understand his true nature and it was not one that allowed him to sit still for any length of time.

Anxious to see more of the world, he headed west out of Fort Scott with all of his worldly possessions, which included little more than a good horse, a change of clothes, a bedroll and three hundred dollars in his front pocket. He was off to see what he might find beyond the horizon, beyond the town of Fort Scott.

Jason was truly the adventurous type and had no intention of heading straight out of Kansas without making a stop in Wichita and possibly Dodge City. Even though he was raised near Wichita, he was never allowed to go into town. Too dangerous, not for young boys and you’re needed here at home, were the usual excuses given by the couple who had raised him. Now that he was on his own, he had every intention of experiencing the places he had only heard about. From there he would make his decision to either head further west, or follow the Chisholm down into Texas.

****

As Jason approached Wichita he considered taking a slight detour and ride out to the place where he was raised, but a second thought showed better judgment and he decided against it. No sense in reliving a bitter past that was better left dead and buried along with the man that created the bitterness to begin with. Sarah, Jason's stepmother, had put the place up for sale after the death of her husband. It now had new owners and a new lease on life, just as he did. His decision to head straight for town seemed to be the better choice.

Along the trail between Fort Scott and Wichita, Jason had seen few riders and fewer wagons, but the closer he got to town, the more camps he passed at its outskirts. An old, hastily painted sign hung from a short pole that had been planted along the road. The sign read “Everything Goes in Wichita”. To the south, a thick cloud of dust billowed high in the afternoon sky. It hung over the holding pens where many of the longhorns coming up from Texas could be seen. Out of curiosity, Jason headed toward the dust where the smell of cow dung and dirt hung heavy in the air. Jason was amazed at the sights and sounds of so much activity, but this was nothing more than a prelude to the human activity he would soon find when he headed deeper into the heart of Wichita.

After spending a couple of hours soaking in all the commotion of the stockyards, Jason decided he needed to do another type of soaking to rid himself of the layer of trail dust he had picked up over the past few days. A hot bath and something to eat was heavy on his mind and he planned to make it his next order of business, so he rode on across the railroad tracks and toward the town square. He was surprised by the sheer number of people that were busying themselves along the boardwalk and the street. There doesn’t seem to be enough buildings to hold so many people, which explains the large number of camps outside of town, he thought to himself.

****

As he worked his way through the bustle he kept an eye out for a place to stable his horse. He soon found what he was looking for and made the necessary arrangements. With his saddlebags draped over his shoulder, he wandered the town, eagerly taking in all the sights he had heard so much about as he looked for a place to take a bath. Several new buildings were in various stages of completion. A half dozen saloons and almost as many brothels lined the main street. Horses and wagons were coming and going busily involved in the commerce of the day. The sounds of hammers, horses and pianos filled the air. This was indeed a boomtown and Jason had never seen the likes of it before now.

As he meandered about, he spied a small painted sign hastily nailed to the side of a building, “Hot Bath 25￠”. Under that was an arrow pointing to the left. Jason made the turn and headed straight for the door. He stepped into the building and up to the front counter where he was met by the proprietor, an older, portly man, clean-shaven and smartly dressed. He wore a bowler hat and smelled of an unknown fragrance that overpowered the room.

“How do you do young man! Welcome to the Wichita Bath and Brothel. Step lively, girls,” summoned the man behind the counter as he clapped his hands and called for several young ladies to move to the front of the room.

The girls stepped out from behind a curtain at the back of the room and moved closer to Jason. The portly man removed his hat and waved it about as he began his well-rehearsed speech “We offer the cleanest ladies in all of Wichita, young man. A hot bath is only twenty-five cents, but for a mere two dollars more, one of these fine young ladies will not only wash your hair and scrub your back, they will most certainly bedazzle and entertain you after you’re clean and dry. What do you say to that, young man? Are you looking for nothing more than a plain and simple bath, or would you rather enjoy a most fulfilling and entertaining bathing experience?”

The women were seductive and scantily dressed, to the point of showing their legs well above the knee. Jason had just wanted a bath, but now he didn’t know what to think. It was indeed a temptation of the kind he had only dreamed about, but never before encountered.

“Well, what will it be young man?” asked the proprietor. “Speak up or I’ll have to charge you for looking.”

Jason was spellbound and a bit hesitant about making such a major decision, but he finally got the words out of his mouth. “I, I guess, what the heck. I’ll take the two dollar bath.”

“Excellent choice young man,” the proprietor quickly replied. “Your hot bath is being drawn as we speak. You may choose the woman of your dreams, but first, that will be two dollars and twenty five cents.”

Jason paid the man and picked for himself a lovely young woman with long black hair and big breasts. The proprietor hadn't lied. He was given the bathing experience of his life and then some. He walked out of the building leaving behind a tub full of dirty water and his virginity. It would certainly be the one bath he would never forget.

*****

It was late in the day. The noonday sun had given way to the twilight sky. Jason rented a room at one of several boarding houses in town and stowed his gear. As he stepped out for the evening, there was a definite newfound vigor to his step and a gleam in his eye that had never been there before. He felt charmed, as if ‘Lady Luck’ was on his side and all he touched would turn to gold. There was a saloon not far down the street called the Customs House; Jason decided to see if he could sit in on a game of cards for the evening.

The Customs House wasn’t as big as he anticipated, and it was crowded. Jason searched the room for an opening at one of several card games in progress, but none were available. There was also no room at the bar other than an open spot where he could order a drink. After buying a beer he sat down at a small round table with an empty chair. Two men were sharing a bottle of whiskey. Jason took a friendly tone and struck up a conversation with them. One of the men, a middle age fellow with salt and pepper hair and a mustache to match, seemed friendly enough. He introduced himself as Cal Collins. The other, an older man whose sun baked leathered face was cut deep with the wrinkles of a hard life and tempered with age was less than enthusiastic about conversing with Jason and let him know it. ”If you don’t mind, son, we’re having a private conversation here.”

Jason didn't have to be told twice. “Didn't mean to intrude,” he replied. As he got up to leave the table, Cal motioned for him to sit back down, then turned to his partner.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, Hap. A private conversation ain’t gonna happen in here. We’ll talk about this later.”

Hap replied with an urgent tone. “I can’t wait for later, Cal. I need an answer now. The longer we wait, the further away he gets.”

“I don’t have an answer for you right now, Hap,” replied Cal.

Hap was obviously unhappy with the shortness of Cal's reply. “Then I’ll take that as a no. I’ll do this on my own.”

“He’s deadly, Hap,” replied Cal. The tone of his voice showed a real sense of concern. “It’ll be a fool’s errand if you do.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Hap replied angrily as he downed his whiskey and slammed the glass on the table. “Thanks for the drink.”

He got up and headed in the general direction of the faro table before disappearing into the crowd.

Jason was apologetic. “I didn’t mean to interrupt a business meeting.”

“Don’t worry about it,” replied Cal. “That man has no patience. He could get us both killed.”

“How’s that?” asked Jason.

“He wants my help in catching a man by the name of Stewart Clayton. Ever heard of him?”

“No, can’t say that I have.”

Cal leaned in toward Jason. “Stewart Clayton is an outlaw of the worst kind. A cold-blooded killer. Wears his hair long, usually braided, like a woman...or maybe an Indian. He’s called the 'Chisholm Bandit' cuz’ he likes to rob cattle drovers as they head back home from a long cattle drive. They got money in their pocket and he knows it. Not that long ago a couple of Texas boys took offense to him tryin’ to rob em’. They got into a shootin' match over it. One of the boys died, and the other took a bullet in the arm and as for Stewart Clayton, he got away with all their money and not much more than a scratch. He may not know it yet, but he had the door slammed shut on his outlaw career last week when he shot himself a woman. He was in the process of robbing the noon stage just outside of town. I guess she had something he wanted and she wasn’t about to give it up. Her big mistake was to sass him. He called her a bitch and I guess it must have been a natural reaction on her part, but nonetheless, she slapped him for it. Stewart didn't take kindly to it. Without so much as a second’s hesitation, he shot her dead and took it off her body. Rumor has it she was the wife of some rich banker type with political connections. That was enough to put a nice bounty on his head.”

“What was he after?” asked Jason inquisitively.

“Some piece of jewelry, I hear; A brooch or a locket maybe. Whatever it was, it caught his eye and he wanted it.” replied Cal.

“Anyhow, Hap’s been trailing him. Say’s he knows where he’s heading, but he needs my help to flush him out once he catches up to him. I ain’t that excited about working with the man. I did a couple years back and ended up with a bullet in my arm because he couldn’t sit tight long enough to do the job right. It’s like I said, the man has no patience.”

“How much is the bounty?” inquired Jason.

“Well, that depends on the day.” replied Cal. “The woman’s husband opened an account at the bank. I guess you could call it a 'Bounty Account' of sorts, and he put a thousand dollars into it. Wealthy friends and a few sympathetic town folk have been adding to it almost daily. Last I heard it was close to two thousand dollars. But there’s a catch. The husband wants Stewart Clayton brought back alive so he can have the pleasure of watching him hang.”

Jason's interest was growing by the minute. “Two thousand dollars is a lot of money. If you don’t want any of it, maybe I’ll go find Hap and see if I can talk my way into helping him out.”

Cal's demeanor quickly changed from casual to serious. His kindly smile left his face as he once again leaned in close and looked Jason square in the eye. “Have you ever tracked a man with a bounty on his head?” he questioned.

“No, I haven't,” replied Jason cautiously.

“Well let me tell you a thing or two, young man, I’ve seen my share of em’, and they’re as ruthless as can be. Ain’t nothin’ meaner than a wanted man backed into a corner. Hap, he’s got some experience behind him, no doubt about it. If he’d just learn to have a bit of patience, he’d be just fine. Thing is, I can’t see him hookin’ up with an inexperienced kid. Why, he might as well sign his own death warrant. No offense, son, but you’re still wet behind the ears. You need to get yourself some life experience behind the business end of a gun before you take on huntin’ outlaws for a livin’. Hap and I were both deputies for a spell. In fact, I was a sheriff for a couple of years. It’s a good way to learn how to handle men like Stewart Clayton. Believe me, it ain’t like huntin’ jack rabbits.”

Cal picked up his bottle of whiskey and poured himself another shot. “Care for a drink, young man?”

“No thanks,” replied Jason as he grabbed his beer and got up from the table. “I think I'll see if I can find Hap.”

Cal downed his drink and slammed the palm of his hand down onto the table. The look he gave Jason firmly revealed his displeasure of the comment. “Boy, you ain't heard a single word I said, now have you? I'm tellin' you, Hap would be a fool to have anything to do with you.”

“I think I'll find that out for myself if you don't mind,” replied Jason.

Cal poured another drink as Jason walked off. “You're a stubborn little bastard,” he called out as he downed the shot.

Jason headed toward the Faro table as he scouted the crowded room looking for Hap. He soon found him standing by the bar waiting for an opening at one of several poker tables. Jason stepped up beside him. Hap, who was a head taller, kept his eye on the table he wanted to sit at, but had noticed Jason step up beside him. “You following me boy?”

“The name is Jason, and that would be a yes. I hear you're after Stewart Clayton?”

Hap was surprised to hear that, and gave up his focus on the table. He turned toward Jason with a sense of curiosity. “How the hell do you know that?”

“Cal told me,” he replied.

“Cal needs to learn to keep his trap shut and why the hell is Stewart Clayton any concern to you? Do you even know the man?”

“No,” replied Jason. “But I'd like to help you catch him.”

“Help me catch him?” Hap let out a laugh. “You've got to be joking. I'll bet you're not more than a year or two off your mammy's pap. Why in hell would I even consider taking you up on that. It's a sure way to get myself killed. I know that for a fact.”

“Well I'm not going to press it,” answered Jason.

“That would be a damn good decision,” replied Hap.

Jason went on. “I just figured since Cal wasn't interested, you might be looking for someone to give you a hand. I've got more under my hat than you give me credit for, and I know that for a fact.”

“Well then you should want to keep it there, kid. You go chasing after bad men like Stewart Clayton, you'd most likely get your brains blown out. I have to admit, I like your spunk, but the fact is, Cal and I have worked together in the past and we've found ourselves in some pretty tight situations. I know I can trust him to have my back. Can't say that about you.” Hap turned his attention back to the poker table.

Jason stood next to Hap and concentrated on the same table. “Do you see what I'm seeing?” asked Jason.

“What's that? replied Hap.

“If you're planning on sitting in on that table there,” he motioned to the one close to the window. “Be sure the dandy in the bowler is the one to leave the opening.”

“And why should I do that,” replied Hap inquisitively.

“Because he's cheating.”

Hap focused his attention on the dandy. “How do you know that?”

“Keep an eye on him the next time he shuffles. He's stacking the deck, I'm sure of it.”

Hap watched as the dandy shuffled the deck, then remarked, “I think you're seeing things kid. It looked legit to me.”

Hap no sooner got the words out of his mouth when the young man sitting across from the dandy stood up in a huff and pointed an accusing finger straight at him. “You're cheatin'. You're stackin' the deck, I saw it.”

Before the dandy had a chance to rebut the accusation, one of the two deputies assigned to the floor stepped forward. “What's the problem here mister?”

The accuser restated his accusation. “He's cheatin'. I saw it.”

Of course the dandy vehemently denied it. At that point the deputy called the game over. All four men had to get up and leave the table while another four sat down for a new game. Hap was one of the four. Hap looked up at Jason. “Kid, you got a good eye, I'll give you that much.”

The accuser was still visibly upset from the whole situation and probably a little bit drunk as well. He began to verbally abuse one of the women working the room. She was standing next to Jason. He minded his own business until the young man slapped the woman with the back of his hand. Jason immediately flashed back to his stepfather, Jim and how he would beat him and his wife, Sarah. Without thinking twice, Jason stepped in between the two of them.

“Get the hell out of my way you little red headed runt or I'll drop you right here and now,” shouted the accuser.

The men standing in the vicinity stopped what they were doing to assess the situation. Jason was on the spot. He knew how to defend himself. He'd had years of practice blocking Jim's blows and the fights he had gotten into at school taught him how to throw a mean punch.

“I said...get the hell out of my way,” bellowed the accuser one more time.

One of the deputies stood near by, but wasn't about to break something up that hadn't really started yet. Jason didn't waste any more time staring the man down. He sucker punched him with a quick right hook to the side of the head and the accuser went down, hitting the floor like a sack of spuds. He was out cold. Jason walked toward the door and since there was no fight to break up, the deputy let him go.

As Jason stepped out into the street a voice called him from behind. “Young man, excuse me, young man.”

Jason turned to see a thin middle-aged man wearing a top hat and tails. A thin mustache covered his upper lip. He held a lit cigar in his left hand as he held out his right in a friendly gesture.

“Good evening, young sir, My name is Melvin, Melvin D. Winkel,” he continued.

“That's one hell of a name,” replied Jason.

“Yes, yes it is, thank you,” replied Melvin. He continued, “I couldn't help but see what just transpired within this establishment. I haven't seen such a powerful right hook in quite some time, and I don't believe I've ever seen one from such a young man as yourself. May I inquire as to your nationality? If my guess is correct, I would venture to say that the redness of your hair marks you as Irish, would I be mistaken?”

“My mother was Irish,” replied Jason hesitantly. “Why do you care?”

Melvin continued. “I care because the Irish are known as being bull headed and good scrappers.”

“Like I said,” replied Jason, “Why do you care?”

“I care, young man, because your Irish background and your red hair can make you a lot of money, if you'll be so kind as to hear me out.”

Jason was interested. “Go on, I'm listening.”

“Here's my card.” Melvin handed Jason his business card. Jason glanced down at the card and read out loud “Melvin D Winkel, Boxing Promoter.”

“That's correct young man. I promote honest and fair boxing exhibitions for the enjoyment of those who care to watch. I have established an arena just outside of town. A large tent in which I charge two bits to each patron who enters. I also take bets on the side. If you win, we split the take fifty-fifty. I believe you can win most any man willing to go up against you.”

“You saw me throw one punch,” replied Jason. “So what makes you think I can win most any man.”

“Because the man you so coldly knocked out was one of my best fighters.”

“I sucker punched him. He wasn't even expecting it,” answered Jason.

“Well then a rematch is in order, would you not agree?” inquired Melvin.

“No, I would not agree,” replied Jason, shortly. “Goodnight.”

Jason walked off leaving Melvin standing in the street.

“You have my card if you should change your mind,” he called out.

Without turning around, Jason dropped the card into the street and kept walking. Melvin walked over and retrieved it. Little bastard, he thought. “I need him.”

Jason continued on to his room. He was tired and decided to call it a day.

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An Unexpected Shark
      By Scott A. Gese

The “regulars” thought it was great fun inviting a new player to the table in what they called a suckers game. Tonight the odds would not be in their favor.<Read The Full Story Here>

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Newest Classic Film

Kansas City Confidential

(1952) John Payne and Coleen Gray.

Four robbers hold up an armored truck getting away with over a million dollars in cash.

<Watch The Full Movie Here>

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