Production Line

Upon hearing Mr. Randy's utterly astounding words, Dutch's face, usually a mask of calm composure, contorted with a mixture of profound delight and incredulous surprise. He leaned forward, his voice a barely contained whisper of excitement. "Mr. Randy, is what you just said true? Or rather, what would be the... consequences... if we were to perhaps, ah, rob or steal this arms factory?"

"It's true, Mr. Van der Linde!" Mr. Randy stammered, his eyes wide with surprise at Dutch's bluntness.

He immediately stood up, a blush creeping up his neck, a little embarrassed by Dutch's outright mention of theft. Shit!, he thought, a flicker of bewildered amusement in his eyes. Mr. Van der Linde is truly a gang member; his first thought was actually to steal or rob! This is... so honest and straightforward!

Mr. Randy looked down at the fifty-dollar bonus clutched in his hand, a warm feeling spreading through him. He felt that Mr. Dutch was truly adorable in his frankness. Such a straightforward, honest person was a rare gem; Randy liked honest people above all else.

Listening to Mr. Randy's words, Dutch's furrowed brow relaxed slightly, a wave of relief washing over him. "If it's not stealing, then it must be an internal operation, right, Mr. Randy?"

Dutch visibly relaxed. Mr. Randy's initial words, "creating an opportunity," had been truly misleading! What did he mean by that, if not an insinuation to steal? Dutch had just been mentally preparing himself to abandon this golden opportunity if it meant engaging in an outright raid.

After all, the Van der Linde Gang was currently in the delicate process of bleaching their stained reputation, painstakingly scrubbing away the grime of their past. It was absolutely not the time to provoke the colossal beast that was the military-industrial complex.

If they meddled with that, it was highly likely that it wouldn't be the Pinkerton Detective showing up at their doorstep, but the full, unyielding might of the United States Army. Fortunately, Mr. Randy, it seemed, didn't mean that at all.

"Yes, Mr. Van der Linde," Randy confirmed, his voice regaining its earnestness. "My cousin is the deputy factory manager at a subsidiary factory of the Winchester Company. He was the one who got me in there in the first place.

Every year, the Winchester Company has a quota for scrapped machinery, and this quota is an... 'operable' one. If you want machines to produce related parts, I think my cousin will be able to provide you with some help, sir."

Mr. Randy spoke with sincere conviction, eager to prove his worth. Among the ten major military industries in America at this time, only one, General Electric Company, had just been established. And in this era, the colossal Winchester Company, or indeed Colt Company, would eventually be merged into larger entities, but for now, Winchester was already a solid, undeniable American major arms company.

What Dutch truly yearned for was not just a gun-making machine, but, more crucially, a bullet-making machine. Compared to guns themselves, bullet manufacturing was the most troublesome, most intricate part of the process.

To prevent Dutch from disbelieving him, Randy even candidly explained the circumstances of his own ignominious firing.

"Mr. Dutch, the reason I was fired from the Winchester Company was because I took the fall for my cousin at the time. I was imprisoned for a year and two months. However, my cousin's position was retained, which is also why he pulled me into the factory – to take the blame for him when necessary."

Randy explained their complex, symbiotic relationship and the true reason he was dismissed from the company. However, he didn't really need to explain any of it, because Dutch, frankly, didn't care if his subordinates had committed murder or theft. After all, the entire gang consisted of murderers, robbers, and thieves, and there was even a prostitute amongst them. So, he truly cared little whether his subordinates' backgrounds were clean or tainted.

Listening to Mr. Randy's earnest, somewhat self-deprecating explanation, Dutch's face lit up with absolute delight.

"Excellent, Mr. Randy, excellent!" Dutch clapped Randy heartily on the shoulder, his pleasure radiating from him.

"This information is very important, sir, very important! I think I might need to meet your cousin, Mr. Randy. For this, I will give you twenty dollars for the channel fee!" Dutch, overflowing with joy, pulled out a wad of dollars from his pocket, counted out twenty on the spot, and then, with a flourish, stuffed them into Mr. Randy's trembling hand.

At this, Mr. Randy, filled with overwhelming trepidation, recoiled. "No, no, no, Mr. Van der Linde, no!" he cried, pushing the money back. "I cannot take this money from you! You are truly too generous, sir! It is my duty to work for you, esteemed sir. You no longer need to pay me extra! Oh, sir, Mr. Van der Linde, you truly astound me! You are as generous as God! But I really don't want it, sir; it is my honor to relieve your worries!"

Mr. Randy anxiously pushed the money back towards Dutch's hand, his face a mask of earnest refusal. He had revealed this valuable information purely out of profound gratitude for Dutch's generosity, a small repayment. But now, after revealing it, he was once again met with Dutch's overwhelming generosity, which only deepened his guilt and intensified his sense of indebtedness. Therefore, he absolutely, resolutely, would not accept this unbelievably generous reward!

"No, no, no, Mr. Randy," Dutch insisted, his voice gentle but firm. "Rewarding merit is my principle! Your actions deserve your income, so this is still what you are due, Mr. Randy. Moreover, to make your lives harder for a mere twenty dollars is not a scene I wish to see. Everyone has the right to enjoy happiness, Mr. Randy. Everyone has the right to enjoy their lives, and everyone should be happy!"

Dutch's words were always so effortlessly inspiring; every word he spoke, every carefully crafted phrase, could deeply shock the working people of this brutal era, even making them feel as if they were literally bathed in warm sunlight. Oh goodness, Mr. Van der Linde's words were almost too much for Mr. Randy.

He had never, in his entire life, heard such warm, such profoundly human words. Nor had he ever encountered such a warm, such a truly radiant person! It was as if looking up at Dutch would cause third-degree burns from his sheer benevolence; he was simply the only sun in America!

Mr. Randy, his face flushed scarlet, clutched the twenty dollars Dutch had firmly pushed back into his hand, too moved, too overwhelmed to speak a single word. He had completely, utterly, submitted! Submitted to Mr. Van der Linde's boundless generosity, submitted to Mr. Van der Linde's irresistible charm!

"Oh, Mr. Van der Linde, oh, sir, I don't know what to say, sir!" Mr. Randy cried, tears streaming down his face once more. "Please allow me to follow you, sir! I am willing to be your most loyal employee!" Mr. Randy was incredibly, profoundly moved; he felt that Dutch was simply God, descended to earth, in his heart.

"Alright, Mr. Randy, this is what you deserve, sir." Dutch said with a warm smile, gently pulling Mr. Randy up as the scientist was about to fall to his knees in a spontaneous gesture of fealty. "But I think you can perhaps start writing to your cousin now."

"Yes, Mr. Van der Linde, yes!" Listening to Dutch's words, Randy nodded repeatedly, eagerly, then hastily sat down at his table and, with trembling hands, began writing a letter to his cousin.

Arthur and the others nearby felt their eyelids getting a little sore from watching this astonishing display of charisma and conversion.

"Sh*t!, is this Dutch's magic?" Arthur muttered, pulling out his battered diary and beginning to furiously scribble and sketch in it.

'Oh, we met a gentleman at Shady Belle, Randy Clark. Dutch completely subdued him with just a few words, making me feel he's getting a bit terrifying… Wait, shit!, weren't we the first ones to be subdued? Oh, shit!' Arthur's eyes widened, a sudden, horrifying realization dawning on him. He continued writing in his diary, his pen scratching furiously. 'Shit!, I understand now, Dutch is 'family.'