Valentine, Land Farm.
"Arthur, feeling better?"
After three days of recovery, Arthur could finally get out of bed and walk around. The only part he still couldn't move was his left shoulder.
Even so, he couldn't engage in any strenuous activity yet. Any sudden movement might pull at the wound, easily tearing it open and causing a secondary injury.
Arthur was lucky. The bullet hadn't lodged in the bone, only in the muscle. With a few weeks of rest, he should make a full recovery.
"Feeling pretty good, Davey. Looks like luck's on my side."
"Damn that Colm. If I ever catch him, I'll beat the hell out of him."
"Oh, Dutch… Davey, did you tell him what happened to me?"
Arthur took the coffee handed to him by the maid and looked at Davey.
"Not yet. Yesterday, my ranch in Rhodes Town was attacked. Luckily, we got the intel in advance, so there were no casualties."
"That guy Mac actually came through when it mattered. Today they'll be bringing a captured big shot from Saint Denis here. If you're interested, you can come take a look with me."
"I'll send word to Dutch."
Arthur's resistance to civilization came from unfamiliarity, insecurity, and even fear.
Industrialized cities gave him no sense of familiarity at all. At its core, it was a lack of security.
After this injury, Davey planned to keep Arthur close and let him experience civilization firsthand. Once someone became familiar with it and understood it, no one truly rejected civilization.
"Fine. What could I even do right now? I can't even use a gun."
"A big shot from Saint Denis, now your prisoner. That's pretty interesting, isn't it?"
Arthur laughed as he replied.
He had been lying in bed for days and hadn't even walked around the farm. Having something lively to watch was a welcome change.
Davey explained, "Angelo Bronte, an Italian. They're a city-based gang—running illegal businesses, along with some legitimate ones. They're very rich. On the surface, they look like businessmen and tycoons."
"The Braithwaite family used to work for him, handling moonshine. The Lemoyne Raiders were also cooperating with him."
"Of course, the Lemoyne Raiders are finished now, and the moonshine business in Rhodes Town belongs to me. That's why they tried to hit one of my moonshine operations—a ranch in Rhodes Town."
"Obviously, they failed. Mr. Martelli—Bronte's top enforcer and the liaison for his illegal dealings—is now my prisoner."
"Take a guess, Arthur. How much do you think Bronte would be willing to pay to ransom his right-hand man?"
Arthur said, "That really is a big shot. Even the Braithwaite family works for this Mr. Bronte."
"He must have a lot of money. I'd say at least a thousand dollars."
Davey shook his head slightly. "Oh, Arthur, you're underestimating Mr. Martelli. In their organization, he's the second-in-command—just like Hosea, or your position in the gang."
"If you were captured, how much do you think Dutch would pay?"
Arthur sighed helplessly. "Oh, Dutch? He probably wouldn't pay ransom at all. He'd bring people to rescue me instead."
Davey replied, "Fair enough. You're right—Dutch doesn't have a habit of paying ransoms."
"Mr. Martelli probably won't arrive until around sunset. It's a long trip from Rhodes Town."
"So I'll show you around my business—this farm, my café, and the Veterans' Club."
Arthur was clearly interested in seeing how Davey was doing these days.
Davey first took Arthur to the shooting range behind the farm, where gunfire echoed constantly.
Watching the employees train nonstop made Arthur's fingers itch. He wanted nothing more than to fire off a few shots himself, but unfortunately, he couldn't.
The person "in charge" of the range was Uncle. Though officially responsible, he mostly spent his days drinking there.
"Arthur, not bad, huh? These young fellows—every one of them full of energy."
"Watching them makes me feel like I'm young again."
Seeing Davey and Arthur approach, Uncle took a swig of moonshine and grinned.
Arthur replied, "So this is your job, Uncle? Looks like it suits you perfectly. Only Davey would give you a job like this."
"Unlimited moonshine and watching other people shoot… that's probably a parasite's ideal lifestyle."
Uncle chuckled. "Of course it is. It's great. I like it here."
While chatting with Uncle, Arthur's eyes never left the range. Men were firing rifles, some shooting while riding at full gallop.
There were more than a dozen men training, every one of them skilled with a gun—movements smooth, aim precise.
Arthur knew Davey had dozens more like them, with more being recruited all the time.
That level of firepower already surpassed the Van der Linde Gang.