Chapter 4

Mr. Hull’s casino, which named The Money Casino was the grandest building in Old Mesa, its gleaming façade a stark contrast to the dusty, worn-down structures that surrounded it. The air was thick with the scent of money, desperation, and hope—a heady cocktail that seemed to intoxicate the men and women who passed through its doors. The three of them dismounted their horses and walked up the steps, the heavy oak door swinging open to reveal a world of glitz and glamour.

Inside, the casino buzzed with the sounds of slot machines, rolling dice, and hushed conversations. The chandeliers cast a warm, flickering light over the sea of faces, each one a story of dreams and despair. The walls were lined with portraits of winners and losers alike, a silent testament to the capricious nature of fortune. The bar was crowded, the bartender mixing drinks with the practiced ease of a man who had seen it all.

Mr. Hull leaned in, his voice low and filled with a hint of pride. “This place, it’s my empire,” he said, his hand sweeping over the room. “But it’s not just about the gold we pull in from these green tables. It’s about power.” He paused, his eyes gleaming in the soft glow of the chandeliers. “You see, kids, in this town, everyone has a vice. And vices are the currency of power.”

Jake and Billy looked around, their eyes wide. They had never seen anything like this before—the opulence, the greed, the naked desire for power that hung in the air like a fine mist. “My wife,” Mr. Hull continued, “she’s got her hands in the local brewery. And let me tell you, she’s got the whole town by the throat with that one.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. “Between us, we control the two most profitable vices in Old Mesa: gambling and liquor.” His voice took on a darker tone, the shadows playing across his face like a silent film of unspoken threats and cunning plans.

“I don’t do brothel bussiness like other—that’s a different kind of beast,” Mr. Hull said, his eyes narrowing at the mere mention of his rivals. “It’s always been a sour taste in my mouth, that business. Sure, it brings in the coin, but it’s a never-ending cycle of suffering for those poor girls. They get used up, discarded, and forgotten, all in the name of pleasure for the men who think they can buy what isn’t theirs to take.”

The anger in his voice was palpable, and it seemed to resonate with a deeper pain that neither Billy nor Jake had ever heard before. “I’ve seen enough of it in my time,” he continued, his gaze drifting off into the distance. “Women treated like cattle, bought and sold without a thought to their feelings or their futures.”

The room grew quiet for a moment, the clanging of slot machines and the murmur of the crowd outside seeming to fade into the background.

“Why no show here, Mr. Hull?” Billy finally asked, curiosity burning in his eyes. “Back in Dusty Creek, The Golden Garter saloon, where my mom’s placed to earn money is always packed, folks come from miles around for the entertainment.”

Mr. Hull took a puff of his cigar, the tip burning bright in the dim light. “A show, you say?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Well, the casino’s a place for games of chance, not the kind of ... entertainment Rachel provides. But...” A sly smile crept across his face, “that doesn’t mean we can’t mix things up a bit.”

He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. “You see, Billy, I’ve been thinking. People come here looking for excitement, a way to forget their troubles. If we can give them a taste of the forbidden along with their cards and dice, we’d have them eating out of our hands.” His eyes gleamed with a newfound enthusiasm. “Imagine, a show where the outcome is as unpredictable as a poker hand. A dance of temptation and fortune, where the stakes are high and the rewards ... even higher.”

Jake leaned in, curiosity piqued. “What kind of show do you have in mind, Mr. Hull?”

Mr. Hull’s smile grew wider, revealing a hint of the shrewd businessman beneath the veneer of the charming host.

“Think about it,” he said, his voice a low purr of excitement. “A show that combines the thrill of the stage with the rush of the roulette wheel. We could have dancers, acrobats, even a bit of the ol’ burlesque. But here’s the twist—each performance could be linked to a game. Maybe a high-stakes poker match where the winner gets a private dance. Or a spin on the roulette wheel determines the next act. We’d call it ‘The Wheel of Fortune Follies’—everyone’s a winner, but some win more than others.”

The idea grew like wildfire in Billy’s mind. He could see it all—his mother, Mrs. Flynn, commanding the stage with her fiery passion, turning the heads of every man in the room. But it wouldn’t just be about her anymore. It would be about all of them, about the power of sexuality as a tool for autonomy. And in the heart of Mr. Hull’s empire, they could bring a bit of the rebellion they had sparked in Dusty Creek.

He leaned in, his voice steady and sure. “Mr. Hull, I’ve got an idea for a show that’s going to blow the roof off this place,” he said, his eyes glinting with excitement.

Mr. Hull’s gaze sharpened, his interest piqued. “Go on,” he urged.

Billy took a deep breath, the words spilling out of him like water from a burst dam. “We could take what we did in the mansion—the women sex combat show—and bring it here,” he said, his voice steady with excitement. “But instead of just fighting, we’d mix it with gambling, with betting. We’d show the town that we’re not use the fabulous bodies to tell entertain but gambling too.”

Jake nodded eagerly, catching the fever of the idea. “Yeah,” he said, his voice filled with the same excitement that was bubbling in Billy’s chest. “We could have the gamblers bet on which woman can make the other cum first. That way, they don’t need to think too hard about playing cards—they just need to watch and enjoy the show.”

Mr. Hull leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. He tapped his cigar against an ashtray, sending a shower of red embers to the floor. “It’s risky,” he said, his eyes never leaving Billy’s. “But if it works, it could be just the thing to put us over the top.” He took a long drag, the cherry tip glowing bright. “But it’s not just about sex show, is it?”

“No, sir,” Billy said, his voice steady. “It’s about giving people what they want while showing them something new. It’s about the thrill of the fight, the allure of the unknown, and the power of sexuality to transcend the ordinary.”

Mr. Hull’s eyes lit up like the neon signs outside his casino. “And what better way to bring in the crowds than to have the gamblers from the other casinos come and see for themselves?” Billy suggested. “They’ll bring their coin, their friends, and before you know it, the whole town will be talking about The Money Casino.”

“But remember,” he emphasized, looking at both Mr. Hull and Jake, “it’s not about degrading the women. It’s about showcasing their power, their control over their own bodies.” He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in. “No blood, no bruises, just naked beauty and the art of pleasure. The show will be about the release, not the pain.”

Mr. Hull took another puff of his cigar, considering Billy’s words. “You’ve convinced me, I like it,” he said finally, his eyes gleaming. “But there’s one condition—it’s gotta be a fair fight. We’re going to find the finest, most willing performers Old Mesa has to offer. Ladies who know how to handle themselves in a tough world, women who aren’t afraid to get down and dirty for a chance at a better life.”

The air in the room grew tense as Mr. Hull stood up, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards. “I’ll announce it tomorrow,” he said, his voice booming over the din of the casino. “A grand prize, 200 $, for any woman who can outperform Mrs. Flynn or Mrs. Puckett in the most erotic battle royale this town has ever seen.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, a declaration of war against their fate. Billy felt his heart race at the thought of his mother, her fiery spirit and fierce determination to regain her freedom. He knew she would accept the challenge with open arms, eager to show the town that she was more than just a piece of meat to be ogled and used.

Mr. Hull stood, slapping his hands together. “Alright, boys,” he said, a gleam in his eye. “First things first, we need to get the word out. You two will start spreading pamphlets around town tomorrow morning. Make sure every saloon, every hotel, every nook and cranny knows about ‘The Wheel of Fortune Follies.’ But tonight,” he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you’re coming with me.”

He led them through the bustling casino floor, the sound of chips clinking and dice rolling melding into a symphony of greed and anticipation. The walls were lined with velvet, the air thick with the scent of money and the sweet aroma of victory. They reached a hidden door behind the roulette table, and Mr. Hull produced a key, the metal jingling against his belt.

“You see, Billy, Jake,” he said, his voice low and serious, “the true power in this town isn’t in the gold that flows through these walls—it’s in the information we hold. And what we’re about to do is going to shake things up like nothing else.”

He led them into a back room, where sacks of gold coins sat piled high, the weight of their value almost tangible. “This,” Mr. Hull said, gesturing to the sacks, “is what we’re fighting for. This is our ticket to freedom, our way out of from any troubles.”

The two young men didn’t need to be told twice. They each grabbed a sack, the weight surprisingly heavy, and followed Mr. Hull out of the casino. The cool night air hit them like a slap in the face, jolting them back to reality. They walked quickly to the horse hitch, the jingle of coins accompanying their footsteps. The horses whinnied in the darkness, sensing the excitement in the air.

As they rode back to the mansion, Mr. Hull spoke over the clop-clop of hooves. “Now, I know Old Mesa’s a rough town, but it’s got its rules. You see, the folks here, they know better than to mess with a man’s gold. They’re more civilized than they let on.” His words hung in the air, a warning wrapped in a promise. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t keep an eye out.”

The moon cast long shadows on the cobblestone streets, the town’s usual bustle replaced by a tense anticipation. Billy’s mind raced with the possibilities of their new venture—the thrill of the show, the power it could bring them, and the chance to change their lives forever.

The mansion loomed ahead, its grandeur a stark contrast to the modest homes that surrounded it. As they approached, the lights from within spilled onto the lawn, casting a warm glow over the trio. The door swung open before they even had a chance to knock, and Mr. August ‘Faithful’ Hewitt, the old servant greeted them with a knowing smile.

“Good evening, Mr. Hull,” he said, taking their hats, “I trust you’ve had a productive evening.”

Mr. Hull nodded, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Indeed, August. Take Billy, Jake and the money to my workroom—Give them a room for rest, after.”

They followed the old servant through the grand hallways of the mansion, their boots echoing against the marble floors. The workroom was a stark contrast to the rest of the house—cluttered with maps, ledgers, and a large, iron safe that dominated the space. The room smelled of ink and leather, the scent of power and secrets.

August led them to the safe, its heavy door opening with a metallic groan. The sacks of gold clinked as they were placed inside, the sound a sweet symphony of victory and promise.

“Rest well, boys,” Mr. Hull said, slapping them both on the back. “You’ve done well tonight but we’ve got a big day tomorrow. The future of this town is in our hands.”

With that, Billy and Jake followed August upstairs, the grand staircase leading them to a long corridor with plush carpets that muffled their footsteps. The mansion’s grandeur was overwhelming, each painting and sculpture whispering tales of wealth and power that they had only dreamed of. August opened a door at the end of the hall, revealing a spacious bedroom with two comfortable-looking beds.

“You’ll be staying here for the night,” he said with a kind smile. “Mr. Hull thought you’d need your rest before the big day tomorrow.”

The bedroom was a far cry from the sparse lodgings Billy and Jake were used to in Dusty Creek. The velvet curtains were drawn back, revealing a large moon that cast a silver glow over the plush beds and polished furniture.

“This is it,” August said, placing a hand on the doorknob. “Your accommodations for the night. I’ll wake you early—Mr. Hull’s got a full schedule for the day ahead.”

With a nod, Billy and Jake stepped into the opulent room, the door clicking shut behind them. They stared at each other, the weight of their mission and the gold in their pockets suddenly feeling heavier.

“We’re really doing this,” Jake murmured, a mix of awe and anxiety in his voice.

Billy couldn’t help but grin, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “Yes, we are,” he said, flopping onto one of the beds. “Finally, a job that doesn’t involve swapping spit with Rachel’s goons.”

Jake chuckled, collapsing onto the other bed. “It’s gonna be one hell of a show,” he said, his eyes alight with mischief. “Just think of the look on Rachel’s face when she finds out.”

Billy’s grin grew wider. “Oh, I’ve got no doubt my mom can handle herself,” he said with confidence. “She’s got more fire in her than any of those saloon girls.”

Jake nodded in agreement, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. “And Mrs. Flynn, she’s a force of nature,” he added. “We’ll show these Old Mesa folks that Dusty Creek women have got the toughest, most untamable pussies west of the Mississippi.”

The two men shared a laugh, their camaraderie strengthening with each passing moment. Billy leaned back on the plush pillows, his mind racing with the possibilities. “You know what we should do?” he said, his voice filled with excitement. “We should get a bunch of the toughest, most independent women from Dusty Creek to come here and join us. They’ll show the world that we’re not just a bunch of whores to be used and tossed aside.”

Jake’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, we’ll call it ‘The Unbridled Spirits of Dusty Creek’!” he exclaimed. “The townfolks will come for the gambling, but they’ll stay for the show.”

The two of them lay there in the quiet of the opulent room, the excitement of the upcoming event buzzing between them. They knew it wasn’t just about the money or the power. It was about giving the women a voice, a chance to claim their bodies and their lives back from the town moral decay.