The air was a foul-smelling mix of human waste, trash, swamp, and too many people crammed too close together. In short, it was like most of the bigger cities Fargo had ever been in—no place he’d want to stay for any length of time, and why anyone else would was a mystery to him. The trip down the Mississippi had been filled with good meals, great sex with the voluptuous Louisa, and good conversations with David Parker, who now stood beside Fargo at the rail, watching as they neared the docks. “It’s good to be home,” Parker said. “I enjoy traveling, but my soul belongs to this city.” Sniffing the air with distaste, Fargo said, “That’s hard to imagine, given the smell.” Parker laughed. “I’ll admit that it does assault the olfactory senses, but you’ll get used to it. There are other compensations that more than make up for it not smelling like a bed of roses.” His eyes scanned the docks. “There’s one now,” he added, pointing to a woman descending from a carriage at the far end of the dock.
