Trade

After that small, bloody interlude, a stark demonstration of their brutal efficiency, no one else in Van Horn Trading Post dared to provoke Dutch and his two companions. Dutch, John, and Arthur galloped directly to the bustling port on the sea.

As for the five lifeless bodies they left strewn in the street, others, the opportunistic vultures of Van Horn, would naturally handle the swift looting and disposal. Dutch and his men didn't need to concern themselves with such petty details.

Van Horn Trading Post was, after all, a notorious smuggling port, a festering wound on the coast. Various small, dilapidated boats were docked haphazardly on the murky sea around the port, their hulls scarred by years of illicit trade.

Many grim-faced men were busily unloading suspicious goods from the ship containers, their movements furtive, their eyes constantly scanning the horizon. In the game, this place appeared almost comically small, a mere sketch of a town, but in reality, its overall area was about twice as large, sprawling with the messy energy of illicit commerce.

Especially the port warehouses, there were several of them, though small and ramshackle, they were still far more substantial than the single row of houses depicted in the game. The most prominent feature, the true heart of this murky enterprise, was a sprawling two-story wooden house located in the very middle of the port, its weathered timbers hinting at years of clandestine dealings.

This wooden house was designed to be unusually large, almost the size of a small warehouse, and its doors opened outwards, styled like various selling windows, showcasing its true purpose as a hub of illicit transactions.

Dutch, Arthur, and John slowly approached, their horses' hooves clattering softly on the rough planks of the dock. Outside the wooden house already stood a man with a somewhat cunning, calculating look in his middle-aged eyes, who seemed to be specifically waiting for the three of them, his presence an almost theatrical invitation.

Seeing Dutch and the others arrive, the middle-aged man's face instantly broke into a wide, ingratiating smile as he stepped forward to greet them.

"Oh ho ho, gentlemen, welcome to Van Horn Trading Post, to this paradise of sin!" the man gushed, extending his hand, his eyes subtly scrutinizing Dutch's face. "I am Charlie Bahn, whom you are looking for. Oh, sir, may I ask, are you Mr. Dutch Van der Linde?" Charlie spoke with a certain degree of certainty, his voice a practiced purr.

"Hahaha, I didn't expect to be so famous now." Dutch chuckled, a genuine, delighted sound escaping him as he extended his hand to shake Charlie's, a firm, confident grip. "That's right, Mr. Bahn, I am Dutch Van der Linde. You've heard my name, have you?"

"Of course, Mr. Van der Linde!" Charlie's flattery intensified, his smile widening, becoming almost obsequious. "Your name has been ringing like thunder recently! First, Mr. Colm of the O'Driscoll Gang had a leg broken by you – a truly legendary feat, sir! – and then Signor Bronte of Saint Denis was severely weakened, almost brought to his knees, by your relentless pressure! These rumors have long spread throughout the surrounding states, sir, how could we not know of your fearsome reputation?"

Charlie leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Ho ho ho, actually, I wasn't sure at first, but when you said you were going to bring a hundred men to wipe out Van Horn Trading Post," he paused, a dramatic flair in his voice, "that's when I became certain, by God! Besides you, sir, having such boundless courage, no one else in this whole damned country would dare to utter such harsh, such audacious words! Ho ho, Mr. Van der Linde, it's a profound pleasure to meet you, please, come right this way!"

Hearing Dutch confirm his identity, Charlie became even more complimentary, almost fawning. He gestured upstairs with a flourish, then, with an exaggerated bow, led the way, his posture humbly deferential.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Bahn. I didn't expect to be so famous now, d*mn it, that's not a good thing."

Dutch smiled, a faint shadow of concern crossing his face as he replied to Charlie's words, following him up the creaking stairs. His burgeoning fame was indeed not a good thing, at least not now. Because it would inevitably shift the attention of the cunning Saint Denis upper-class society from the beleaguered Signor Bronte directly to him, making him the new, shining target. However, it wasn't a major problem, not yet.

After all, he currently had no legitimate business in Saint Denis apart from a single clothing store, which wouldn't directly conflict with those damned council members and powerful families, not yet. As for Colm, that fellow, Dutch thought with a dark, satisfied chuckle, he actually didn't die!

Hahaha, Dutch was now truly looking forward to the day he could see him again, a one-legged Colm O'Driscoll, a true spectacle! Peg Leg Colm, that's simply a genius of a title!

"Alright, Mr. Van der Linde," Charlie began, settling into a chair and quickly pouring them some coffee, his movements efficient, practiced.

"What are your requirements for this visit? I personally greatly admire successful people like you, sir, so I think I can help you with things that aren't too difficult to handle." As a seasoned businessman, Charlie deeply understood the principle of "harmony bringing wealth," but his generosity was, of course, purely conditional. Ultimately, his sudden eagerness stemmed from Dutch's rising reputation, making him feel that there was profit to be made, and a great deal of it.

And Dutch, ever the master of expectations, did not disappoint him. Looking at Charlie's expectant, almost greedy gaze, Dutch smiled, a knowing glint in his eye, and nodded.

"Ha, you hit the nail on the head, Mr. Bahn. In fact, I do have some issues that require your considerable help. I know you traffic in arms here, so I'm looking for channel information or perhaps even equipment molds related to that particular trade."

"Arms?"

Hearing this, the practiced composure on Charlie's face instantly vanished, replaced by a look of profound shock. He even gasped softly, a faint, almost involuntary sound of surprise. Then he quickly covered his mouth, his eyes wide with surprise as he looked at Dutch, his voice a hissed whisper.

"Sh*t, Mr. Van der Linde, do you want to get into the arms business? D*mn it, that's not a good choice, sir. I heard your current clothing store is already making enough money, even better than the profits from the arms business. You'd be better off just continuing that and straightening your identity. If you get into the arms business now, I think you'll still be a wanted man, and it'll be much harder to become a free man then!"

Charlie, this guy, looked a bit cunning, a bit shifty, but unexpectedly, what he said was genuinely for Dutch's benefit, or rather, he was attempting to curry favor with Dutch, a crude but common method to gain trust.

 A few good words to gain goodwill, this was the most basic method, far inferior to Dutch's sophisticated emotional manipulation. Moreover, Charlie's sudden concern was also a test, a subtle probe, testing Dutch's true thoughts, seeing if there was an opportunity for him to take the next lucrative step.

Smart people, Dutch knew, never revealed their true thoughts to outsiders, because there would always be some clever, opportunistic bastard who would deduce your plans from your words and directly hijack your path to wealth.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile appeared on Dutch's face, a sign of his amusement at Charlie's transparency. He looked at Charlie, his voice calm, confident.

"Thank you for your advice, Mr. Bahn. But in reality, considering our past crimes, our indelible stains, even continuing the clothing business wouldn't completely whitewash our identities. Even if it could, we would certainly face many restrictions, many obstacles. Rather than that, it's better to continue as we are, embracing our nature.

Anyway, the West is still turbulent, a land of chaos and opportunity, and we can earn enough money during this time to directly go to other countries to enjoy ourselves, to live like kings. So the top priority is still making money; only money can guarantee our future lives, our freedom!"

Dutch used the plausible excuse of money and the universally appealing idea of escaping the chaos of America to deal with Mr. Charlie, to soothe his concerns. His reason was flawless because it was completely the current brutal reality of the West, and indeed, it had been Dutch's original intention in the game, his initial dream of Tahiti.

And this idea, this dream of making a fortune and escaping, was also the thought of many current gang leaders, including Charlie himself. So Mr. Charlie easily, enthusiastically, agreed with his point of view.

"Alright, Mr. Van der Linde," Charlie sighed, a touch of genuine regret in his voice. "It seems your thoughts are completely consistent with mine. This d*mn civilization, it truly destroys countless people's dreams and pursuits!"

It was clear that Charlie, too, was a man of thwarted ambition; he sighed with considerable, almost philosophical regret, hating the relentless, encroaching arrival of civilization.