Drama

The brutal, public killing of the Saint Denis Police Chief sent a shockwave, a massive, destabilizing earthquake, through the city's opulent, yet fragile, upper echelons.

"Fuck! How dare that damned Bronte?!" Mr. Henry Lemieux roared, his voice a guttural explosion of pure rage, pacing his opulent study like a caged, furious bear. "Damn it, damn it! Is he truly that brazen? Does he genuinely not put us in his eyes? Damn it, I must kill him! I'll carve him myself!"

He was not alone in his study. Mr. Pierce Heidi of the powerful Heidi Family, and Jessica Wicklow of the equally influential Wicklow Family, were also present, their faces impassive, observing Henry's tantrum. It's worth noting that while Jessica is typically a feminine name, Jessica Wicklow of the Wicklow Family was, in fact, a man – and a rather scruffy, fat middle-aged man at that.

There was a specific, rather embarrassing reason for this name: during the brutal American Civil War, to avoid the inevitable conscription, Rosen Wicklow had no choice but to change his name and identity to Jessica Wicklow and, quite remarkably, his gender to female.

Later, although his legal gender was changed back to male, the name, a permanent political stain, the mark of a deserter, could not be altered without dire consequences. So, he had no choice but to bear this rather unfortunate name. However, despite his feminine moniker, he was, ironically, the most insidious and cunning of the three, a master manipulator. Otherwise, the Wicklow Family, a relatively new force, would never have developed into its current formidable state in just forty short years.

"So, what exactly are we going to do, Henry?" Jessica asked calmly, reaching for a fresh cigar on the table, his face betraying no hint of emotion. He looked down on Henry's histrionics; as a family head, such an angry, uncontrolled reaction only showcased profound incompetence. Fury without any discernible effect, he believed, was the most undesirable, most wasted reaction of all. However, he conceded, this incident was indeed too significant to ignore.

Although the Saint Denis Chief of Police was merely a pawn, a disposable tool in the hands of these powerful figures, being gunned down so publicly, so brutally, in the street was truly an undeniable, humiliating slap in their collective faces.

Signor Bronte's operation this time had been clean, swift, and almost surgically precise. He had expertly orchestrated a plausible, public conflict, making it appear as a simple, passionate crime of the moment, thereby clearing himself of any suspicion for a pre-meditated contract killing. Simultaneously, the gunman, conveniently, was immediately killed by the tavern's security, preventing them from prying open the gunman's mouth, from extracting any inconvenient truths.

Signor Bronte, for all his theatricality, had left no discernible trace in this matter, making it utterly impossible for them to legally convict him. This was the most common tactic used by these cunning gangsters, but also the most convenient, and its very execution signaled a dangerous escalation: they had begun to employ every means, legitimate or illicit. The death of the Saint Denis Chief of Police was, therefore, not just a murder; it was a chilling, undeniable threat, indicating that Signor Bronte possessed both the strength and the ruthless determination to use these illicit, brutal means.

This, more than anything, was what infuriated Mr. Henry the most. They had, unwittingly, been dragged back to the old, bloody way of life, the lawless chaos they had believed was long past. Bronte, that insidious viper, was now brazenly baring his fangs in the darkness, making those standing at the very mouth of the cave afraid to either reach out or retreat, paralyzed by uncertainty.

Anger aside, Mr. Henry's inherent rationality was, thankfully, still largely intact. "Then let Van der Linde do it again," he muttered, taking a deep, ragged breath and sinking back onto the sofa, his voice heavy with reluctant calculation. "Given his considerable, and frankly, infuriating reputation recently, I think using him against Bronte is still a remarkably sharp weapon! A blunt instrument, perhaps, but effective!"

"At the same time," Henry continued, a cold glint entering his eyes, "put some pressure on Fusal, make him work with Bronte, force them to struggle together. Make Van der Linde struggle to cope, to deal with both of them. And then, at the opportune moment, we'll step in, exert our influence, and pressure him to close that damned Veteran Club!" Damn it, Mr. Henry cursed fiercely, the thought of the Veteran Club making him even angrier. The more he thought about it, the more his blood boiled.

The Veteran Club's power, its insidious influence, was already beginning to show its true colors. Now, a continuous stream of weary, hopeful veterans was heading directly towards Saint Denis, then, with surprising efficiency, bypassing the city entirely and heading towards Valentine. They, the 'powers that be,' had witnessed the terrifying rallying power demonstrated by this seemingly innocuous club, its burgeoning reputation. It must be said, despite his fury, that the Veteran Club was, objectively, an excellent idea, a brilliant stroke of genius.

But whoever dared to implement this idea would inevitably die! It was simply that the Veteran Club's fame was not yet too high, not yet universally acknowledged. Otherwise, the true power brokers in the East, the Federal Government itself, would come forward to target Dutch Van der Linde directly, and, with chilling efficiency, even target their respective states of Lemoyne and New Hanover for allowing such an affront.

Establishing a Veteran Club was indeed an excellent way for an individual to win the hearts and minds of the masses, to gain popular support. But this, in the eyes of the established order, could not, must not, be run by an individual. People's hearts, their collective loyalty, could not be allowed to gather around a single individual. Otherwise, where did that leave the authority of the United States Government?

Ah, the United States Government didn't care about the lives of veterans, they let them rot. But you, an individual, stand out and say you do care. What are your intentions? What is the United States Government supposed to do, caught in such a damning light? If the United States Government were to miraculously improve veterans' treatment because of this matter, they would not receive gratitude, for it would be seen as merely doing what they should have done all along. But now they are not doing what they should do, and you are doing it, effectively exposing their hypocrisy, their filth, for all the world to see, hanging it up for public display!

And from a purely financial perspective, those in the United States Government would certainly not spend a huge, unimaginable amount of money to resettle veterans, as this involved millions of dollars at every turn, with continuous, unending payments thereafter. This was, by their cold calculation, extremely unprofitable! Therefore, Van der Linde's Veteran Club, no matter how benevolent it appeared, must be closed! It was an economic and political imperative.

"Mr. Lemieux is indeed worthy of being the head of a great family; this strategy is truly astonishing, a masterpiece of cunning, but I think it's not quite enough," Mr. Jessica said calmly, his gaze fixed on the glowing tip of his cigar, a plume of smoke curling lazily upwards. "We should also bring in the other families, the lesser ones. Otherwise, once Signor Bronte loses power, once he's utterly broken, there will be no one left to help us withstand the pressure from those other families, those hungry hyenas who will surely seek to devour his carcass."

"I think Jessica is right," Pierce, who had been silent until now, a thoughtful frown on his face, finally spoke, his voice low but firm. "We cannot disregard the other families. If we can drag them all into this, then Saint Denis will surely be utterly dominated by our three families alone. This is an excellent opportunity, too good to waste."

"Then how can we put pressure on these families?" Mr. Henry said, a frustrated edge to his voice. "Van der Linde and Fusal still have leverage in our hands, a hook we can use, but we have nothing on these other families!"

"Then entice them with benefits!" Mr. Pierce said in a deep, resonant voice, his eyes gleaming with cold calculation. "Van der Linde's booming clothing store business and his control of Rhodes, plus Mr. Fusal's lucrative customs taxes, can all be used as enticing, irresistible benefits!" His eyes and Mr. Henry's eyes met for a fleeting moment, a silent, predatory understanding passing between them, then silently turned away.

Once these three powerful forces – Bronte, Fusal, and Van der Linde – were all caught in one fell swoop, then it would simply be their three families' turn to fight amongst themselves, a glorious, bloody free-for-all. And he, Pierce Heidi, had already secretly, shrewdly allied himself with the Lemieux Family, ensuring a powerful, initial advantage. Pierce slightly shifted his seat, picked up the cigar on the table, and his eyes met Jessica's, who was calmly smoking a cigar nearby. A situation of one superpower and two strong powers certainly could not have the superpower and one strong power unite, otherwise, after confronting the other strong power, wouldn't the remaining one become a lamb to the slaughter? So he had actually, cunningly, allied himself with the Wicklow Family, the two 'strong powers' uniting to confront the largest, most dominant family, the Lemieux Family.

"Excellent! Mr. Pierce, your idea is very good, indeed. In that case, let's prepare to begin," Mr. Henry finally nodded, a dangerous light in his eyes, his earlier fury replaced by cold resolve. The other two gentlemen agreed with his words, their own expressions grimly satisfied. "Damn Van der Linde," Henry muttered, almost to himself. "Now our people are finding it difficult to even cross Rhodes to gather information! If we don't deal with this guy in advance, he might become even more troublesome than Bronte in the future! A real thorn in our side!"

These cunning men played on time differences, on the delays in information. They had sent many scouts during this period to try and ascertain the Van der Linde Gang's true situation, their capabilities, their weaknesses. But these scouts couldn't even leave the Rhodes area; they were either caught and sent back prematurely, their mission failures echoing the new, tight control, or they simply disappeared without a trace once they left, never returning, which caused them deep, gnawing unease.

How could they confront them effectively without even knowing anything about the other side? The only thing they weren't too anxious about, the only thing that kept their panic at bay, was that Van der Linde's official identity as an outlaw still, crucially, allowed them to use the Lemoyne state army to confront him. That was their ultimate insurance, their final confidence, and also the underlying reason they had been able to tolerate his audacity until now.