Swimming in Cash

With the grand opening of the Valentine clothing store, the Van der Linde Gang's coffers began to swell with a veritable golden tide. Based on current projections, those four damned clothing stores were pumping nearly three thousand dollars a day into Dutch's pockets. Imagine that, three thousand greenbacks, every single sun-blasted day! Currently, almost fifty dazzling styles had been birthed, ready to be unleashed in a continuous wave of fashion trends. It was a foregone conclusion: these four shops alone would rake in a mind-boggling ninety thousand dollars a month. That was a damn sight more than Dutch's initial, modest estimate of sixty thousand!(It's almost as if these shops have divine providence or plot armor, Hallelujah!)Currently, the Van der Linde Gang employed a legion of one hundred and fifty clothing workers, twenty burly loaders, forty hardened gunmen (for other ventures, naturally), and a dozen charming clothing store employees. Their combined monthly wages amounted to a mere ten thousand dollars. That ninety thousand? That was pure, unadulterated income, with a net profit margin hovering around seventy percent. So, after all the fiddling and figuring, the gang was looking at a fat sixty thousand dollars in net monthly income. Deducting the ten thousand for gang wages, they were left with a cool fifty thousand dollars to play with. This wasn't just a tidy sum; it was top-tier wealth in the West, enough to make any cattle baron green with envy.And money, as Dutch always preached, had to be spent. Gold sitting idle in a strongbox was no better than waste paper. For the truly astute, money was a tool to forge more money – the King's Way. Hoarding it, fearing to part with a single coin, was simply a fool's errand.So, after ensuring Ms. Dorothea and her high-society companions were comfortably settled, Dutch immediately began to plot his next grand expenditure."Creak!" The wooden door swung inward, revealing Hosea, two steaming cups of coffee in hand. He placed one, almost ceremoniously, in front of Dutch.

"Hey, Dutch," Hosea began, pulling up a stool and settling opposite his friend, a faint, pained grimace on his face. "Ain't it better if we... well, if we save some of this money? I mean, if these upper-class types start breathing down our necks, a decent stash would give us some cushioning, some resistance, wouldn't it? At the very least, we need to ensure these kids—" he gestured vaguely to the rest of the gang—ot enough coin to make a swift departure, should matters take a turn for the worse."

Hosea looked genuinely conflicted. It pricked his very soul to think of spending all that money. Before, stolen money was easy come, easy go. But this? This was earned money. And spending it felt… different.Dutch threw his head back and let out a hearty, booming laugh, the sound echoing through the room. "Oh, Hosea! My dear, old friend!" He clapped a hand on Hosea's shoulder, his eyes twinkling with unshakeable conviction. "No more talk of 'running away' if we're targeted! No one can target us now, and no one, I say, no one can make us run!" His voice dropped, conspiratorial. "Whether it's those damned Pinkertons or that pompous Bronte in Saint Denis, they are no longer a threat because a delicate balance has been forged! Within this balanced zone, we can seize the damn opportunity to develop and grow, moving from them being unable to touch us to eventually not daring to touch us! That, Hosea, is our true way out! And besides, if these dollars aren't spent, they're just glorified waste paper. The more money saved, the more bullets received, my friend! Only by spending this coin can we forge our true strength!"Dutch picked up a cigar from the table, lit it with a flourish, and took a long, satisfying puff, his gaze returning to the worn notebook on his desk."So what do we do now, Dutch?" Hosea nodded, a look of resigned acceptance replacing his earlier discomfort. He trusted Dutch's planning more than his own. The problem was, Dutch had dispatched almost every able-bodied gang member to various corners of the map. Any new grand scheme would be tough to implement.Dutch shook his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. "We can slow our pace a bit, Hosea. Things have stabilized completely now. Only two pressing matters remain: First, we must find a way to recruit Mr. Rains Fall and his tribe. Our manpower, Hosea, is woefully insufficient! You know, in this cutthroat Western society, my gunmen haven't even reached a hundred! It makes me feel... vulnerable," he admitted with a dramatic shiver. "The other thing is to urge Mr. Trelawny to accelerate the spread of his Veteran Club."Dutch stood, slicing the tip off his cigar. "Just like women's rights, Hosea, veterans are a resource! The alignment and current living conditions of these poor souls are ripe for exploitation. I believe our Veterans Mutual Aid Association can finally be established. Come, Hosea, we should go speak with Mr. Trelawny now."As they walked out, Dutch expounded on his vision. America, for years, had been a nation of ceaseless expansion and bloody wars. While the standing army was only around one hundred and fifty thousand, the annual trickle of retired soldiers, accumulated over time, was a substantial, forgotten legion. These veterans, promised a life of peace and comfort, returned home with missing limbs and shattered spirits, only to find no jobs, no welfare, just hollow promises. The able-bodied shoveled cow dung on ranches, while the disabled begged in the dirt. Their resentment, Dutch knew, simmered deep beneath the surface.Providing help in their desperate hour was far more potent than showering favors on the already privileged. If he funneled these fifty thousand dollars into the pockets of the wealthy elite, he'd gain nothing. Those hypocritical scoundrels wouldn't care one whit for his paltry sum. But if he spent it on these struggling veterans and their families, Dutch would become nothing short of a divine figure in their hearts.Of course, the principle was one thing, reality another. People were selfish, many even ungrateful. Dutch needed to reap both tangible benefits and an unblemished reputation. That was the ultimate goal.Dutch and Hosea mounted their horses, setting off towards the heart of Valentine. Mr. Trelawny, with his silver tongue and flamboyant charm, had spent most of his time in Valentine lately.Trelawny Veteran SaloonHe possessed an uncanny knack for dealing with the common folk, and his Veteran Club had garnered excellent feedback, even establishing a growing reputation in Rhodes.As Dutch pushed open the creaking door of the Veteran Club, a boisterous symphony of men and women laughing and shouting, punctuated by the occasional ribald joke, assaulted his ears. Inside, two dozen or so veterans were gathered, swilling drinks, their voices thick with whiskey and rough camaraderie. Two prostitutes, their dresses a little too tight, flitted amongst them. It seemed Trelawny's clientele had been living rather comfortably."Dutch!" Mr. Trelawny, perched behind the counter, tidying bottles with a flourish, looked up at the sound. His face split into a wide, genuinely surprised grin."Hello, Mr. Trelawny. It seems you've been doing well lately," Dutch said with a warm smile, then, with Hosea, pulled up two chairs in front of the polished bar.Trelawny poured two generous glasses of whiskey, sliding them across the counter. "Indeed, Dutch! I naturally enjoy interacting with these fine gentlemen." He winked. "By the by, Dutch, I've found two very capable gunmen for you recently. Spanish-American War veterans, excellent shots. I think our gang could certainly use such good men right now!" As he spoke, he slid two official-looking identification documents across the counter."Excellent, Mr. Trelawny! We certainly need these experts now!" Dutch glanced at the documents, then set them aside, his gaze fixed on Trelawny. "However, I didn't come here just for these matters."