The cooperation between the two parties was thus successfully, spectacularly concluded, and Mr. Brown returned to his opulent manor, practically brimming with self-satisfaction. He could barely contain his eagerness to immediately pen a triumphant letter to his revered Miss Camille, detailing his glorious achievements.
Meanwhile, Dutch, lounging contentedly back at Shady Belle, was even more jubilant than his esteemed new partner.
However, Arthur, who had been gnawing on his lip, itching to unleash his questions, was decidedly not pleased. "Dutch," he began, his voice a hesitant, almost strangled whisper, "what exactly are you thinking? Are we just… just going to hand them a million dollars for nothing?! Ah… I-I'm not questioning you, Dutch, I just… I just… well, I don't understand!" He wrung his hands, his brow furrowed in genuine distress, his attitude a carbon copy of his anxious self back in the snowy mountains. He even felt the absurd need to explain that he wasn't questioning Dutch, merely expressing his utter confusion.
Watching Arthur squirm, wanting so desperately to understand but not daring to openly challenge him, Dutch threw his head back and let out a booming, unrestrained laugh. "Hahaha, Arthur, oh Arthur! My dear, sweet boy!" Dutch reached out, a gentle hand clasping Arthur's shoulder. "I know precisely what troubles your little mind. But it's still the same lesson, child: we, the Van der Linde Gang, have always just been a gang of outlaws! Have you forgotten your roots, my son? Have you forgotten who we are?!" He paused, his eyes gleaming. "As outlaws, we only rob banks, Arthur! There's no such ridiculous concept as 'repayment' in our lexicon! Do you truly, genuinely, in your wildest dreams, believe I'm going to repay the million dollars demanded by that capitalist?" Dutch clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment.
"Oh, Arthur," he continued, a dramatic sigh escaping him, "I feel like you've changed a bit now, child. You're actually starting to set rules for yourself, just like those stuffy, insipid noblemen in Saint Denis! This simply won't do, Arthur. I recall telling you before that harboring such thoughts is the insidious beginning of assimilation, the first step towards becoming one of them. Well, I think you might need to reflect on this for a while, perhaps meditate on this profound principle until it truly sinks into that thick skull of yours." He clapped Arthur's shoulder once more, a firm, decisive gesture. "And now, I need you to immediately inform Hosea to start gathering our gunmen and prepare to advance on Guarma! I think Mac, John, and the others should have already made significant progress by now!"
"But, Dutch," Arthur persisted, his voice laced with desperation, his face pale with worry. He wrung his hands again, almost pleading. "If we don't repay this million dollars, won't that put us in direct, open conflict with the mighty Morgan Family? Based on what you've said about their sheer, terrifying size, I don't believe we possess any means to contend with them! And if they widely publicize our breach of trust, I'm afraid our factory workers will deem us utterly untrustworthy, and even those loyal old veterans… they won't believe in us anymore!" This, Arthur knew, was his deepest, most gnawing concern. Dutch was right; he was indeed starting to worry about the entire Van der Linde organization, not just the handful of familiar faces within the gang.
Dutch threw his head back and laughed heartily, a sound that grated on Arthur's frayed nerves. "Arthur, you're thinking far too much, child! Far too much!" He waved a dismissive hand. "Firstly, in three years, our economic strength might not be able to contend with the Morgan Family's bottomless coffers, but our armed forces and controlled territories will certainly make the entire United States hesitate, tremble even, before acting against us. Secondly, and most importantly, our workers cannot possibly distrust us because of what we do, because we have always, always provided them with a good, secure living environment! I'm sure that even if they knew about this little maneuver now, they would only praise Mr. Dutch Van der Linde for his masterful tactics, for his sheer, audacious brilliance! And they would have no other thoughts except to admire me even more, if that's even possible!" Dutch beamed, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "Arthur, I hope you remember one crucial thing: for everyone, only profit is the absolute best, most enduring way to maintain relationships!"
"Alright, Dutch," Arthur conceded, nodding slowly, a heavy, defeated sigh escaping his lips. The worry etched on his face never faded; in fact, it seemed to deepen, settling permanently around his eyes. "I might really be overthinking it. But you know, I'm just a little… worried, I… I truly don't want our gang to go back to that old life of being hunted, of constantly being wanted and endlessly wandering… At the very least, the women and children shouldn't have to live like that again," he finished, his voice raw with a profound fear.
Indeed, compared to Hosea, Arthur was inherently more conservative, more grounded in grim reality. His ideal solution in the game was always to simply hit and run, to disappear to Tahiti and finally settle the gang down. In stark contrast, Hosea and Dutch, those two old, incorrigible brothers, leaned heavily towards a grand, often dangerous idealism, while Arthur clung desperately to a harsh, brutal realism. Arthur's worry persisted, a cold knot in his stomach.
He felt that Dutch seemed to be spiraling, becoming even more unsettlingly insane now. Before, Dutch had only targeted robbing banks or wealthy individuals, a simple, dangerous life. But now, he was not only aiming for the powerful elite of Saint Denis but also planning to brazenly embezzle the Morgan Family's colossal loan, and even harbored the terrifying ambition of confronting the United States Government head-on! This radical shift was vastly different from his previous, albeit flawed, cautious approach, making Arthur feel profoundly, utterly insecure. Because if this elaborate plan went awry, it wouldn't just be a simple loss; the entire United States would then launch a full-scale, devastating assault on them, and the Van der Linde Gang would have no place left to hide, no corner of America left unburnt.
"Alright, child." Seeing the deep, unsettling worry etched on Arthur's face, Dutch reached out, his hand settling warmly on Arthur's shoulder. "We won't go back to that old life, I promise you. Because I've already seen our bright future, Arthur. I've already seen it! It's glorious!"
Dutch's words were grand, sweeping, and utterly, magnificently false, just like his countless, empty pronouncements before. But Arthur, despite the gnawing fear, still chose to believe him this time, just as he would, perhaps tragically, never truly leave Dutch.
Of course, it's always hard to say. For example, Colm O'Driscoll never thought his leg would leave him. And now, well, it's long gone.
At this time, out in the desolate expanse of Ewing Basij.
A low, ominous "Creak…" echoed as the weathered wooden door swung open, revealing a gaunt figure leaning heavily on a crutch. His right leg was chillingly severed from the hip, a grotesque, gaping absence. Yet, the missing limb didn't seem to impede his movement; in fact, he navigated the rough ground with a surprising, almost disturbing, flexibility, his crutch tapping a rhythmic, sinister beat.
The dim, cramped wooden house was a suffocating tableau of neglect, permeated by the thick, cloying smell of mildew, underscored by a faint, sickening hint of decaying human flesh. The sounds within the room were even more chaotic, a raucous symphony of drunken revelry. Seven or eight brutish men, their faces flushed with cheap liquor, were crammed around a rickety table, slamming cards down, their drunken laughter and shouts a constant, grating racket.
"ENOUGH!" Colm O'Driscoll, the one-legged phantom who had just entered from outside, roared, his voice a gravelly, furious thunderclap that instantly silenced the room. Losing a leg had not diminished his fearsome prestige; instead, it had twisted him, making him even more tyrannical, more sinister, more utterly merciless.
Because his gang had been completely shattered, scattered to the winds after their utterly botched attempt to rob a sewing machine factory, he had arrived at the desolate Ewing in West Elizabeth four months earlier than other, lesser gangs. This colossal failure had, in a twisted turn of fate, proven to be a grotesque blessing in disguise. It had allowed him to miraculously escape the Van der Linde Gang's recent, devastating encirclement operation in New Hanover. And, by sheer luck, it had granted his gang's pathetic remnants four precious months of early development, allowing their status to, against all odds, somewhat recover.
West Elizabeth, generally, boasted a somewhat calmer history. Previously, due to the imposing presence of Blackwater Town and its formidable security forces, West Elizabeth's overall security had been robust. The various gangs were either reduced to the polite, 'gentlemen's black gloves' of wealthy patrons or were ruthlessly driven to remote, forgotten areas, ensuring that the general populace lived in relative peace and prosperity.
But then, over five months ago, the Dutch Van der Linde Gang, in their audacious assault on Blackwater, had completely dismantled the security forces that had operated there for over twenty years. This devastating blow had severely damaged Blackwater's security system and crippled its local economy, causing the town's development to grind to a sudden, screeching halt and severely weakening West Elizabeth's overall security forces.
This, predictably, led to the previously suppressed gangs bursting forth, now utterly uncontrollable. The Skinners Brothers Gang and the Howling Wolf Gang, two larger, more fearsome gangs, now roamed freely, burning, killing, and plundering everywhere with impunity. Various smaller, vicious groups also began to emerge like festering sores in the towns, leading to widespread displacement and terror among the populace.
(The Laramie Gang does not exist yet, as Ewing currently belongs to the O'Driscoll Gang)
And in an environment plagued by internal oppression and external threats from a multitude of rampaging gangs, most young people, desperate to survive, found themselves with no choice but to join the various gangs, clinging to them for some semblance of safety. Colm, ever the opportunist, seized upon this chaos like a starving wolf. He leveraged this desperate momentum, and his O'Driscoll Gang swelled to over two hundred hardened members. They now occupied a brutal, contested half of West Elizabeth, the territory north of Ewing Ranch, sharing it uneasily with the equally vicious Skinners Brothers Gang.
The Howling Wolf Gang's main body remained entrenched in New Austin, sending only continuous, small, raiding detachments to terrorize West Elizabeth.
However, even this hard-won half of the territory was now becoming increasingly, perilously unstable.