Diamond

"Sir, if you please, could you take out these two dazzling rings for me to… inspect?" Arthur leaned his hands, calloused and scarred from a lifetime of less-than-legal endeavors, on the polished counter.

His heart, usually a steady drum of cynicism, thumped a little faster as he gazed at the glittering pile of ornaments within the glass display. Damn it, he thought, a familiar itch in his fingers, the habits of my profession are truly harder to shake than a tick on a hound dog's ear.

He was absolutely certain that if he had stepped foot in this opulent shop just three short months ago, he would have, without a flicker of hesitation, stripped the entire place cleaner than a plucked chicken! Now, he understood, with a grimace, why John had been so eager to 'rob' the place earlier.

"One moment, esteemed sir," the impeccably dressed male clerk murmured, his smile a study in practiced deference. With a soft click, he opened the glass cabinet and carefully extracted the two rings Arthur had pointed at. At this stage of 'civilization,' there were no fancy velvet boxes or exquisite paper coffins for jewelry yet. Instead, the rings were nestled in specially carved, weighty wooden boxes, feeling quite substantial and important in Arthur's hands.

"Both of these rings are simply exquisite, sir," the clerk purred, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. "They feature magnificent, large European carat diamonds, making them both beautiful and profoundly elegant. However, I must forewarn you, the price is… a touch high. Thirty-five dollars each."

Arthur picked up the two diamond rings, turning them over in his hands, squinting at the facets. Diamonds in this era hadn't yet suffered the indignity of their upcoming market crash, so their prices were still scandalously expensive.

Thirty-five dollars was by no means cheap; after all, a simple silver ornament in the game cost a mere three dollars, and something with a hint of gold would set you back only fifteen. This was serious coin.

"Oh, John," Arthur grunted, holding one ring up for his friend to see, then gesturing vaguely at the other. He scowled at the sparkling gems, genuinely perplexed. "Which one do you… which one do you like?" He honestly hadn't the faintest idea which one looked 'better'; he just knew the bigger one probably cost more, and therefore, must be 'better.'

"Either one's fine, Arthur," John mumbled, shuffling his feet. Arthur hadn't the foggiest notion which ring possessed superior aesthetic qualities, and John, naturally, was even less equipped to make such a profound decision. He vaguely waved a hand, then picked up one of the rings directly, holding it up to his eye as if inspecting a particularly suspicious rock.

He nodded decisively. "This one. Yeah, this one. I guess there's no real difference, is there?" The carving techniques of this era, while primitive by future standards, were already remarkably advanced, and the intricate designs on both diamond rings were undeniably first-rate in their beauty. So, no, there truly wasn't much difference, aside from the exact angle of the sparkle.

"Alright then," Arthur said with a resigned sigh, handing the chosen ring to the clerk. "I'll take this one. Seventy dollars in total, then?"

"Yes, sir, you two have simply exquisite taste!" the clerk gushed, practically rubbing his hands together. "The carvings on both of these rings are among the most exquisite in our collection, and I'm sure no woman, no matter how discerning, could refuse such beautiful and delicate tokens of affection."

Arthur merely grunted at the manager's effusive praise. He reached into his small satchel, the leather creaking softly, and pulled out seventy dollars in crisp bills, handing it over with a dramatic sigh that spoke volumes of his financial pain. He then carefully placed the ring he held into its wooden box, securing it within his backpack with a decisive click.

"Hey, Arthur, let me get it!" John protested, seeing Arthur effortlessly produce the cash for both of them. He reached out to stop him, a flash of something akin to dignity on his face.

"Come on, John," Arthur waved him off with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "With our thousand-dollar monthly allowance, we don't need to worry about this piddling expense at all. Besides, you'd just lose it. Oh, right," Arthur added, turning back to the clerk, "get me another one. The same kind."

The gang, after all, provided food, lodging, endless cigarettes, and bottomless barrels of alcohol. Their thousand-dollar monthly allowance was simply more money than they knew what to do with, an embarrassing surplus. Even Mac, bless his degenerate heart, who loved to frequent Valentine's 'redemption' houses, spent at most two hundred dollars a month. One could say, without exaggeration, that every single one of them was now a certifiable rich man; at least in Valentine, they were the undisputed kings of coin.

"Alright, esteemed sir!" The manager was practically vibrating with joy, his eyes gleaming like the diamonds themselves. He quickly accepted the thirty-five dollars Arthur handed over, then, with a flourish, produced another identical diamond ring.

"Why are we buying another one?" John stood at the door, his jaw slack, thoroughly bewildered, watching Arthur meticulously place the newly acquired ring into his backpack. He frowned. "Are you planning to keep a mistress now, Arthur? You old dog, you!"

"This is for Dutch, you utter imbecile!" Arthur roared, smacking John hard on the back of his head with an open palm. The crisp thwack! echoed lightly in the quiet shop. "Shit! What in the world is going on in that head of yours, which is even worse than a half-eaten mushroom?!"

John merely chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head, not daring to retort, and followed Arthur out of the jewelry store.

Saint Denis truly lived up to its reputation as a grand city. Even though its population was 'only' a few hundred thousand, the air still buzzed with a distinctly metropolitan energy. As they emerged from the refined, hushed interior of the jewelry store, the clatter of oncoming trams and the endless parade of pedestrians and carriages on both sides of the street seemed to envelop Arthur and John, impacting them with a palpable sense of urban grandeur.

They had never, in their entire lives, lived in such a city, nor had they even truly seen one. Their previous visits had always been fleeting, clandestine affairs, focused solely on the grim business of missions, robbing, or escaping.

They hadn't had a chance to truly observe the intricate, living tapestry of Saint Denis closely. But now, with a rare pocket of leisure time to simply look around, the true, multifaceted face of Saint Denis completely revealed itself in their minds. Tall, imposing buildings that scraped the sky, bustling, intricate traffic, elegantly dressed ladies with their parasols, and leisurely, composed gentlemen puffing on cigars.

However, just around the corner, on another street, the scene shifted dramatically. The elegant stone buildings became mottled and old, their facades crumbling. Uneven, cracked bricks replaced the smooth, polished concrete paving. The refined gentlemen and noblewomen vanished, replaced by raggedly dressed paupers, their eyes dull, vacant, leaning against grimy walls or sprawled lifelessly on the ground, emaciated, their lives seemingly bleak, utterly devoid of hope. Two streets, clearly demarcated, separated two entirely different, utterly distinct worlds.

Arthur and John walked their horses slowly along the dilapidated street, their gazes sweeping over the listless pedestrians, some sitting, some standing, some huddled together for warmth. A profound touch of emotion, a wave of empathy, washed over them.

"Perhaps, John," Arthur murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper, "this… this is the true meaning of Dutch's philosophy."

Listening to Arthur's words, John nodded unconsciously, a rare moment of silent agreement. He recalled, vividly, the bustling, thriving factory back at Hope Ranch, where the workers now had enough to eat, proper clothes on their backs, their faces no longer gaunt and fearful.

It was a world of difference from their former, miserable selves. So, Dutch, in his own strange, violent way, had truly fulfilled his long-standing promise.

"You know, Arthur," John said, his voice husky with emotion, "after seeing Saint Denis… I finally understand what a truly great plan we are undertaking! Dutch, Dutch's plan this time… it's excellent! I never knew he could have such a… such a good plan!" He shook his head slowly, his face etched with a profound mix of wonder and dawning comprehension.

Recalling the drastic changes, the miraculous turn of fortunes over this period, he increasingly felt how staggeringly successful, how truly grand, Dutch's enigmatic plan was!

"Ah! Yes," Arthur mused, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips, "Dutch's plan this time is truly… unexpected. Even for him." He nodded slowly, a touch of admiration in his eyes.

"Dutch is Dutch," John repeated, almost to himself, as if trying to grasp the sheer, convoluted genius of the man. "Indeed, Dutch is Dutch. Dutch always has a series of plans."

Arthur's gaze, unbidden, drifted towards Saint Denis Port, the distant masts of ships a stark contrast against the clear sky. His footsteps involuntarily slowed, then halted completely. John, following his gaze, also stopped, his eyes widening.

At Saint Denis Port, a grand cruise ship had just docked, its gangplank swarming with disembarking passengers. Among this diverse group, a dozen individuals stood out, particularly striking. They were dressed in crisp American soldier uniforms, each carrying modest luggage, their demeanor brimming with the disciplined seriousness of seasoned soldiers, yet also possessing a vibrant, almost youthful vigor. Having just disembarked, they stood somewhat uncertainly at the bustling port, politely inquiring about information from those around them.

"Hello, sir," one of the young soldiers asked an older, middle-aged man cleaning outside the cruise ship, his voice respectful. "Do you know about the Veteran Club in Valentine?"

"Are you retired soldiers?" the old man replied, looking up from his scrubbing, his face kind.

"Yes," the soldier confirmed, nodding. "We just retired this year, and we… well, we don't have anywhere to go. We heard there's a Veteran Club in Valentine, New Hanover, that specifically helps veterans find a job, and we'd like to… find a job there."

"Oh, I know all about it," the old man chuckled, a warm smile on his face. "A lot of retired soldiers have come through recently, asking the same thing. I heard them say you can go directly to the 'VDL' Clothing Store right here in Saint Denis to sign up. They'll provide you with food, and even arrange a train to transport you all the way to Valentine. Perhaps you kids can check out the 'VDL' Clothing Store."

The old man pointed a gnarled finger towards the bustling street where the 'VDL' Clothing Store was located. The dozen or so retired soldiers, their uniforms crisp, thanked him profusely, their faces alight with a mixture of hope and disbelief. They then chatted excitedly among themselves and headed purposefully towards the 'VDL' Clothing Store.

Watching the group of soldiers gradually disappear into the bustling crowd, Arthur and John finally came back to their senses, their own minds reeling. The two exchanged glances, their expressions a bizarre mixture of disbelief, shock, and dawning comprehension.

Arthur exclaimed, his voice hushed with awe, "Oh, shit! John, I think… I think I finally understand why Dutch wanted to establish that Veteran Club!"

"This is a genius plan! Arthur, a bloody genius plan!" John stammered, his body trembling with an almost uncontrollable excitement. He stared, wide-eyed, at the receding backs of the hopeful veterans heading towards the 'VDL' Clothing Store, a profound understanding finally clicking into place.