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Chinaman's Chance

Date: 1/16/2015, Categories: Science-Fiction, Interracial, Murder, Non-Erotic, Romance, Violence, Author: sourdough, Rating: 89.7, Source: sexstories.com

when I called him husband. "I will worry about you every moment we are apart," he said. "And I for you," I responded. "Be safe. I love you." It didn't take me long to feel unwelcome. Wherever I went, I was greeted with shouts of "No Chinese!" before I got a word out of my mouth. Others just shook their heads when I approached. I knew enough not to push things. Still, I was determined to be persistent. A person has to get used to constant rejection in the film industry real fast or he'll get discouraged in no time at all. I decided I had to be persistent here, too. The more doors I knocked on, the closer I'd be getting to my first job offer. I found myself wandering into an area filled with numerous saloons. I also saw numerous signs touting various types of entertainment. I realized I was getting into the Barbary Coast district, notorious for being a haven for the lowest elements of San Francisco society: thieves, murderers and other criminal types. This wasn't where I wanted to be. It really wasn't any worse than some of Chinatown, but at least I had Chen to rely on. I made an about face. That was when I saw a policeman walking in my direction. He wasn't one of the rapists, but I was kind of shy of the police just then so I ducked just inside an alleyway door that was ajar. "Can I help you?" a woman's voice said from behind me. "Uh, no ma'am," I responded without seeing her. It was dim inside and took a few seconds to get used to the gloom. I was inside a saloon. "But ... perhaps I can help you," I added. "It looks like your cleanup crew forgot to show up." The place looked like the aftermath of a frat party. "My swamper didn't show up," the woman said, "if that's what you mean by my cleanup crew. He's either dead drunk or dead. I guess it doesn't matter which it is." "I'll be your swamper." The woman looked at me for a moment. "I guess beggars can't be choosers," she said. "I'll pay you two bits if you can have this place looking presentable when we open." Hmm! That didn't seem like very much. "Make it four bits." "Two bits," the woman insisted. "I'd like to see if you're worth even that." "Fine," I said. "Where's the cleaning gear?" I spent the morning wiping tables, washing glassware, sweeping and mopping floors. The place reeked of stale beer and smoke. Nothing could be done there. The worst of it was mopping up spills of unknown origin. I found myself wishing I had access to a hazmat suit. If there was a health department in the city in this era, they certainly weren't doing their jobs. Chen told me stories of having worked sixteen straight hours and then being stiffed on his pay. I hoped that didn't happen to me. "What do people call you?" the saloon owner Mrs. Crabtree asked. She had begun to relax as the room started to look decent. The woman told me she was a widow and had inherited the saloon from her late husband. They were childless. I thought for a moment and raised my cap, exposing my bald pate. "The name is Curly, ma'am, if you ...