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Caleb took in the scene as he approached. The mercenaries watched him closely, eyes assessing, measuring. He let them. McLaughlin had nothing to prove. "I hear Ross's death has stirred up a hornet's nest," Caleb said lightly. "Seems the Pinkertons didn't take it as… gracefully as hoped."
Bronte snorted, taking a drink. "Pazzi. All of them. Crazy men with badges who believe the world bends because they say it should." His expression darkened. "If I had known they would not simply slink away, I might not have agreed so easily when you came to me with the request to slip away. I should have make you hunt them all down that day. But, water under the bridge, no?"
Caleb's smile remained calm. "Of course, Mr. Bronte. We can't change what's already happened. But, I'm here now."
Bronte's eyes gleamed. "Yes. You are." He laughed, the sound sharp. "And that makes all the difference. I am in dire need of capable men."
"I'm at your disposal," Caleb said smoothly. "Whatever you need done."
Bronte clapped his hands together once. "Bene! Bene! Oh, but where are my manners?" He turned back toward the two men. "Allow me to make introductions."
The mercenaries rose from their seats. Up close, they radiated a quiet, coiled lethality.
"These are the leaders of the men I have brought in," Bronte said. "Professionals. Like you. They will be helping to… clean house. Allow me to introduce Mr. Silas Rourke," he indicated the older, scarred man, "and his lieutenant, Mr. Jeb Harlan."
Both men stood. Caleb extended his hand first to Rourke. The handshake was firm, dry, and brief, a gauge of strength, nothing more. "McLaughlin. A pleasure."
"Rourke. Likewise. I have heard your name, the bounty hunter." His voice was gravel, his accent a flat, mid western drawl.
"Among other things," Caleb replied evenly.
He turned to Harlan, whose grip was crushing, a deliberate test. Caleb matched the pressure, his own strength honed by labor and combat, until Harlan's eyes showed a flicker of surprise before he released. "Harlan."
"Pleasure," Harlan grunted, though his tone suggested it was anything but.
Caleb inclined his head. "I hope we can work together."
"So do we," Harlan replied. "Dont want any trouble between us."
Bronte laughed delightedly. "Magnifico! Look at this, already we are a family. The hunting family, yes? A knife and a sledgehammer."
The men sat again, and Bronte motioned for Caleb to join them. As he did, Caleb's mind raced. Being this close to Bronte's inner circle, this deep, confirmed how desperate the situation had become. Bronte was bleeding influence, bleeding men, and bleeding patience.
Which meant he would lean heavily on anyone he believed could end the problem.
Bronte turned his full attention back to Caleb. "Now, Signor McLaughlin. I have a job waiting for you. One I will pay very handsomely for."
Caleb met his gaze. "I assumed as much."
Bronte leaned forward slightly, voice dropping. "The sledgehammers," he nodded to Rourke and Harlan, "will deal with the nests. You, McLaughlin, asmy knife will find the queen bee and cut off her head, I want you to find Agent Milton."
Caleb kept his expression neutral, though inwardly he smiled. The symmetry of it was almost elegant.
"Milton. He is a ghost since he left the government building. My men are fools. They lose him in the streets. But you… you are a hunter of men. I want you to find where he is hiding." Bronte continued, he hissed while his pleasant facade slipping to reveal the venom beneath. "I want you to find where he is hiding. And when you do, you kill him."
A brief pause.
"And if you can," Bronte added with a thin evil smirk, "bring his body to me. I wish to feed him to the alligators piece by piece, so they may shit out what remains of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency."
Caleb felt a cold satisfaction. The assignment aligned perfectly with his own objective. He didn't have to steer the conversation, Bronte was handing him the mission on a silver platter. "Understood."
Bronte studied him, searching for hesitation. Finding none, his smile returned, broader now. "I knew it. You see? This is why I trust you. You understand problems like this. You solve them."
Caleb inclined his head. "I'll need information. Whatever you have. Any leads from the boys below Mr. Bronte? Anything from the… government connection?"
Bronte's lip curled as he wave his hand dismissively. "Cowards and bureaucrats. They take his money, give him a meeting, but will not dirty their hands. He is being sheltered, but not by them directly. A private arrangement. He has resources. New men, not Pinkertons. Expensive."
He glared at Rourke and Harlan. "This is why I have brought in my own new men. To match force with better force. But Milton… he is a snake. You find the hole, you drive him out, or you bury him in it."
Rourke spoke, his voice cutting through the garden's tranquility like a saw. "Our operation moves tonight. We've identified what should be a Pinkerton safe house near the textile mill. They're using it to coordinate strikes on the docks. We'll burn it out. Might shake something loose for your hunt, bounty hunter."
Caleb met Rourke's gaze. The man was not offering a help, but a challenge. See what real soldiers do. "A distraction could be useful. If Milton feels the net tightening, he might choose to move to hide himself. A running fox leaves more trail."
Harlan smirked. "Or we might just kill all his friends and leave him for you trussed up and ready for the gators."
"I'd prefer to earn my pay," Caleb said, his tone mild but leaving no doubt that he considered their blunt force approach secondary to his own precision.
Bronte laughed, a sharp, barking sound. "Good! This is the spirit! Rourke, Harlan, you have your preparations. McLaughlin," he stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly, "you have my full resources. Talk to Enzo at the docks, he has the eyes there. Use what you need. I want Milton dead before the week is out. The price for his head is 15,000 dollars in bills and gold ingots. Alive for questioning first, 10,000 dollars. I know it's big but he have become a headache for me, so dead is simpler, yes?"
Fifteen thousand. It was not just big sum, it was a staggering sum, more than enough to finance the first phase of the Strawberry lodge renovation and still have some left. Even when he killed Ross, he only gets 750 dollars. A she thought so, Caleb gave a single, decisive nod. "You'll have him, Mr. Bronte."
Bronte stood, signaling the meeting's end. "Then it is settled. Go. Do what you do best."
Caleb rose. "I'll keep you informed."
As he turned to leave, Bronte called after him, his tone almost conversational. "Signor McLaughlin."
Caleb paused.
"When this is done," Bronte said, "there will be… big promotion of trust as well. Because if this is finished, you have proven to be up to my trust."
Caleb smiled faintly. "I'll keep that in mind."
He then left the garden, the butler escorting him back out. As he passed through the cool, dark halls, his mind was racing.
The timeline had just been formally set, a week, but Bronte's impatience meant days, not weeks. Rourke's assault tonight would turn the city's covert war into an open battle.
Chaos was definitely coming. And in chaos, opportunities multiplied, for hunting, and for gathering the secrets he sought out.
Instead of returning directly to the Bastille, Caleb rode to the docklands. He found Enzo, a wiry, nervous man who managed Bronte's waterfront smuggling, in a cluttered office overlooking the piers.
Enzo confirmed the intelligence about the textile mill safe house and provided a list of recent "incidents", tavern brawls that were actually kidnappings, suspicious shipments intercepted. It was a map of the Pinkertons' dwindling but still active network.
"They're disciplined, these Pinkertons agents," Enzo muttered, "but they're buying supplies. Medical, canned food, ammunition. In bulk. Not for a small team. Milton is building something, or waiting for reinforcements."
This was new and troubling. Milton wasn't just hiding, he was regrouping. The government meeting might have secured him official backing, or at least a blind eye, for a new offensive. Looks like he have a thirst for revenge.
Caleb spent the afternoon on reconnaissance of his own. He avoided the Granville place directly, if it was Milton's nest, it would be watched. Instead, he canvassed the surrounding trade district.
He played the part of a land assessor, making sketches, chatting with shopkeepers about property values and unusual activity.
From a talkative grocer two blocks over, he learned that "a fancy black carriage" had indeed been seen, but not just at the Granville place. It had also visited a private doctor's residence on the edge of the district, a man known for discreetly treating injuries that weren't asked about.
An injury. Maybe during the ambush he put on both Ross and Milton, which was a bloodbath and caused Ross death, it was possible Milton had been hit, however slightly. A doctor's visit could give him a name, a schedule.
By early evening, he had a plan forming. He would let Rourke's fireworks provide the cover. Tonight, while the mercenaries attacked the mill, he would penetrate the doctor's home.
If Milton was a patient, there would be records. A diagnosis, a treatment plan, perhaps even a follow up appointment. It was a thread, and he would pull it.
As dusk fell, the city seemed to hold its breath. Caleb returned to the Bastille, ate a swift meal, and prepared. He dressed in dark, close fitting clothes, blackened the metal of his revolvers and knife, and packed a small kit of lockpicks and a dark lantern.
He was no master burglar, but his Crafting Skill, now at Level 4, gave him an intuitive understanding of mechanisms, locks were just puzzles made of metal.
He waited in his room, watching the street below. The distant sound of the city's evening revelry continued, but just after ten o'clock, a different sound echoed from the industrial sector, the rapid, staccato pop of gunfire, followed by a deeper whump of an explosion. A orange glow blossomed against the night sky near the mills. Rourke's sledgehammer had swung.
Time to move.
Caleb slipped out the Bastille's rear entrance into a service alley. The streets in the trade district were quieter than usual, the distant conflict drawing attention and police. He moved with fluid certainty, avoiding gaslights, a shadow among shadows.
The doctor's house was a tall, narrow building with a professional plaque by the door. A light burned in a second floor window, a study or a bedroom. The street was deserted.
Caleb ducked into the alley beside the house, found a trellis thick with wisteria, and began to climb. His movements were silent, his enhanced skill making the ascent feel almost effortless.
The window to the lighted room was unlocked, a dangerous complacency in a city at war. He slid it open and stepped inside onto a thick Persian rug. It was a study, lined with medical texts. A desk was piled high with papers. The system in his mind hummed quietly, a reminder of his heightened capabilities as his eyes scanned efficiently.
He worked quickly but meticulously, using the hooded dark lantern to cast a thin beam. He found patient ledgers. Most were mundane, gout, childbirth, influenza. Then, near the back of a drawer, a separate, unlabeled file.
Inside, a single sheet in coded shorthand. But Caleb's eyes, sharpened by his high stats in perception, picked out decipherable fragments. "G.S.W. upper thorax, superficial," "lodged fragment removed," "patient 'M,' requires continued monitoring, daily visits."
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 7/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 4)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 4)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 4)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 4)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 4)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 3)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 2)
- Crafting ((Lvl 4)
- Persuasion (Lvl 4)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 4)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
Money: 3,471 dollars and 10 cents
Inventory: 77,892 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 65 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, & 1 Broken Pirate Sword
Bank: -