Revelation

"Then what in tarnation do we do, Dutch?" Hosea asked, rubbing his temples with a weary sigh, his earlier revolutionary fire having fizzled out under Dutch's stern lecture. He shook his head, still slightly dazed by the veterans' intoxicating fervor. Damn it all, he thought, for a moment there, it truly felt like we could conquer the world with a well-aimed glare and a patriotic speech!

As an outlaw who'd rarely ventured beyond the dusty trails of the West, Hosea had no inkling of the behemoth the East had become. He'd simply figured if the Van der Linde Gang could cause enough glorious ruckus out here, they'd surely storm the Eastern seaboard with the same swagger. It was this blissful ignorance that had birthed his radical, utterly suicidal idea.

"It's simple, Hosea." Dutch's smile, which had been plastered on moments before, slowly, chillingly, melted from his face, replaced by an expression of cold, predatory calculation. His eyes, usually warm with charm, now held a glint like polished steel. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a silken, dangerous whisper. "We lure a powerful enemy to suppress them. We bait a fierce tiger, and we watch it pounce and kill!"

Arthur, leaning against a post nearby, straightened up, a flicker of uneasy amusement dancing in his eyes. He snorted softly. "Sh*t, Dutch," he drawled, adjusting his hat. "You're starting to sound artistic now."

Dutch whipped his head around, his gaze piercing Arthur like a well-aimed bullet. "Sht, Arthur!" he hissed, a muscle twitching in his jaw, before turning back to Hosea, his voice resuming its chilling calm.

"Hosea, our power in New Hanover has completely transcended mere issues of identity. Their Lemoyne government? They have no damn right to interfere with New Hanover's political autonomy, so his 'threat' is as useless as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest! As for those Pinkerton Detectives… pathetic! They have no law enforcement authority in New Hanover, none! Even if the Saint Denis Government granted them authority in Lemoyne, they couldn't touch us.

Why? Because we have committed no crime!" Dutch paused, a slow, contemptuous smile spreading on his lips. "Besides, I imagine they're quite at a loss by now, scratching their heads like baboons at a calculus exam. So, Mr. Lemieux's bluster? Simply ridiculous!" He leaned back, crossing his arms. "But, returning good for evil, Hosea? That's hardly our style. Mr. Lemieux wishes to tango, so he must be prepared for our rather… forceful counter-dance!"

"How will we retaliate? Assassinate them?" Arthur asked, scratching his chin, still trying to keep pace with Dutch's rapidly evolving, dangerously brilliant mind. Beyond a well-placed bullet, he couldn't fathom how to hit those Saint Denis families without sparking a full-blown war with the entire U.S. Federal Government.

"No, Arthur, assassination is merely the lowest form of trickery, my boy." Dutch waved a dismissive hand, as if swatting away a bothersome fly. "I just said it: lure a powerful enemy to suppress them! We might not be able to outplay Mr. Lemieux or the Saint Denis families in terms of identity, but there are plenty of others who can make them look like children in a schoolyard brawl. For example, Mr. Rhodes Brown of Saint Denis. Or, more accurately, the Morgan Family!" Dutch's eyes gleamed with a calculating light.

"Our arms business is about to explode, but our resource problem remains a minor inconvenience. We've found several ore veins, yes, but we simply lack the… industrial capacity to mine them properly." He gave a theatrical shrug. "So, we can completely cooperate with Mr. Rhodes Brown, or rather, the Morgan Family, on this resource issue. We'll share the profits, a rather substantial share, and let them support us in building new factories, faster than a hog can grunt! I don't think anyone can refuse profits delivered directly to their doorstep, especially when those profits are practically gushing! And the so-called 'major families' of Saint Denis? They're but fleas compared to the Morgan Family, Arthur, fleas!"

Dutch's voice grew bolder, more confident, a predator savoring its prey. "In this way, we can completely suppress the 'major families' of Saint Denis in terms of identity! They will no longer have any means to act against us using their own paltry rules! And Signor Bronte…" Dutch savored the name, a slow, chilling smile spreading across his face, "he is perfectly suited to serve as our pouncing tiger! With identity suppression and targeted assassinations carried out simultaneously, and the hearts of the people and the military in Saint Denis still under our firm, gentle control… what means do these damned families of Saint Denis have left to resist? None!"

His hands clenched into fists, his little mustache trembling ever so slightly as his voice became a manic, seductive whisper. "I want to pen them up in Saint Denis like pigs, Hosea. Let them watch their families wither and decline, bit by agonizing bit. Let them live in the constant, gnawing fear of assassination and the soul-crushing helplessness of being utterly caged! Let them finally understand that they are nothing more than sheep, penned up by a patient hunter, waiting for the slaughter!"

A palpable chill snaked its way down the spines of the Van der Linde Gang members seated around the table. They exchanged uneasy glances, a collective shiver rippling through the room.

"Oh!" Arthur straightened his back, giving a little shudder and rubbing his arms vigorously. He looked at Dutch, his eyes wide with genuine shock, a faint pallor replacing his usual ruddy complexion. "I feel a bit cold down my spine, Dutch," he mumbled, "you said the exact same thing when you wanted to target Signor Bronte!"

At Arthur's blunt words, Hosea and John snapped their heads towards Dutch, a dawning horror creeping onto their faces.

Yes! That was it! No wonder Dutch's mad, vicious appearance felt so eerily familiar! Because he had spoken with the same chilling intensity when he'd set his sights on poor Signor Bronte! Compared to that, this plan simply added a grand collaboration with the Morgan Family!

And what had become of Signor Bronte now?

The clown of Saint Denis, the star attraction of his own pathetic circus, forced to grin obsequiously when he so much as spotted a member of the Van der Linde Gang. He even had to smile and wipe the spit from his face when Dutch cursed him to high heaven! The self-proclaimed Saint Denis underground king, the public philanthropist who once held the Saint Denis Police Department in his pocket, the mayor's main supporter, a Saint Denis tycoon who once made all the major families grovel – Dutch had broken him.

Reduced him to a ruffian, a rat cowering in the gutter, a pathetic street thug who would never, ever rise again in this wretched life. Most importantly, Dutch had clipped his wings. Bronte and his men couldn't take a single step outside Saint Denis; they were utterly penned up, a true lamb awaiting its fate!

"Yes, Arthur, yes!" Dutch purred, his eyes half-closed in satisfaction. "I am genuinely surprised by the sheer ignorance of these Saint Denis nobles! Using their own outdated rules to play these incompetent little games, when we clearly hold all the cards! Public opinion, military morale, identity, and even raw force—they possess not a single one, yet they still dare to brazenly scribble threatening letters to us! Who, pray tell, granted them such courage?"

Dutch scoffed, a sneer twisting his lips. "This group of pig-headed imbeciles has luxuriated in their comfort zone for far too long. So long, in fact, that the very rules they crafted have become the shackles binding them! And Mr. Fusal of Guarma…"

Dutch's grin widened, a wolfish, delighted expression. "I can only say, it just so happens we are preparing to move to Guarma, and he, bless his naive heart, delivered himself straight to our doorstep! We still hold the legal agreement for Lemoyne, and I think Mr. Fusal and his rather… pliable Spanish army can begin exercising quite vigorously, preparing for the upcoming mining work, don't you think?" He paused, tilting his head. "Oh, by the way, how has Mac been taming that damned group of gang members lately? I wouldn't want their minor injuries to delay their upcoming, essential mining work!"

Dutch was completely, utterly, disdainfully indifferent to Mr. Norton's pathetic threatening letter. If these Saint Denis dignitaries had simply stayed in their gilded cages and kept their mouths shut, they could have lived out their privileged, pointless lives. But now that they had dared to provoke him, it was no different than deliberately crushing an ant. Signor Bronte, at least, had possessed over a hundred thuggish men.

This new batch of Saint Denis nobles? They only knew how to hide within their rule-bound little circles and play word games—the most useless method imaginable. If the Van der Linde Gang hadn't shifted into the arms trade, if they'd remained a simple urban gang, perhaps they might have felt a flicker of concern. But now? The Van der Linde Gang possessed substantial, undeniable military might. Handling these pampered fools was completely effortless!