Inside the café.
In the end, Davey agreed to Ross's plan.
The plan itself was simple—stage Hosea's execution in front of Dutch and the others.
Dutch believed the Pinkertons didn't know much about them. That assumption was completely wrong.
Milton understood them better than the Van der Linde Gang understood themselves.
Within the Pinkerton Detective Agency, every member of the Van der Linde Gang had a highly detailed file. The records even traced back to the gang's founding.
So Milton knew exactly what Hosea meant to the gang.
Davey found himself tempted. If Hosea didn't die, Dutch would inevitably become more rational. He would look for an opportunity to rescue Hosea directly.
That would push events off the path Davey foresaw, breaking the original trajectory. And that was not in Davey's interests.
Still, agreeing too easily wasn't his style.
"Mr. Milton, once this is over, I want Mr. Matthews handed over to me."
Milton hesitated briefly.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mr. Land. Mr. Matthews is a robbery suspect facing multiple murder charges. We cannot release him directly."
"We will follow proper procedure and transfer him to federal law enforcement."
Davey smiled.
"Of course. I trust, when the time comes, Mr. Milton will cooperate with the police."
Turning him over to the police was practically the same as handing him to Davey.
The current police chief was still Benjamin, but soon it would be Trappett. Even now, Trappett effectively controlled the entire department.
Ross grew impatient. "Mr. Land, we should be going."
Davey nodded. "Of course."
After Milton and Ross left, Davey turned his gaze back toward Lemoyne National Bank.
By now, the crowd had cleared out. Even the bank manager had fled. Only Dutch and his men remained inside, preparing to escape.
Pinkerton agents had already gathered at the entrance, sealing off every exit.
Milton dragged Hosea forward and shouted, "Come out. It's over."
"Dutch, get out here."
"Come out now."
...
Inside the bank.
Dutch's face was dark. "Someone tipped them off."
From the start of the robbery to now, barely fifteen minutes had passed. Yet the Pinkertons were already here.
So fast that they hadn't even stepped out the door before being surrounded.
Arthur said quietly, "We shouldn't have killed Bronte, Dutch."
He had already realized that the Pinkertons were here because of Bronte's death.
If it were only the Saint Denis police, they wouldn't have moved this quickly.
Dutch ignored him and shouted outside, "Mr. Milton, let my friend go. Otherwise, there'll be unnecessary bloodshed."
Milton laughed loudly. "Your friend? Why would I do that?"
Dutch looked at Hosea, his voice lowering. "Please, Milton."
"It's over," Milton replied coldly. "No more bargaining. No more deals."
Dutch shouted, "Mr. Milton, this is the United States. Everything can be negotiated."
...
In the café upstairs, Davey shook his head slightly.
A robber standing in the street trying to negotiate with Pinkertons who held temporary law enforcement authority—even if Milton wanted to, he wouldn't dare.
If he did, he'd risk accusations of collusion and immediate dismissal.
For Dutch to say that out loud made one thing clear—he was panicking.
The United States might be corrupt, but appearances still had to be maintained.
Milton's voice turned cold. "Dutch, I've given you too many chances."
Ross stepped forward, pulled a black hood over Hosea's head, and two agents dragged him away—out of Dutch's direct line of sight.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
A rapid series of gunshots.
"No!!!"
Dutch watched the distant figure collapse and let out a grief-stricken roar.
Arthur's eyes turned bloodshot. He couldn't believe Hosea was just gone.
"That's the only deal you're getting, Dutch," Milton said flatly.
Then he ordered the body carried away.
"Hosea…"
Dutch stood there, lost, whispering his name.
Arthur didn't hesitate. He smashed his elbow through the glass and opened fire.
Milton had anticipated it. Arthur was a sharpshooter.
The moment Milton finished speaking, he and Ross had already withdrawn.
Pinkerton agents were well-trained—but against Arthur, especially an enraged Arthur, they weren't enough.
In an instant—
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Six Pinkerton agents dropped, each shot clean through the head.
To Davey's eyes, however, it was something entirely different.
"Sixfold speed… A breakthrough triggered by extreme emotional shock?"
It wasn't just speed. It was precision.
Dutch moved fast as well. Even past his peak, he was still operating at fivefold speed—a true sharpshooter.
Micah was a fourfold quick-draw.
Bill, Javier, Charles, and Lenny were another matter entirely—firing wildly, making plenty of noise, hitting nothing.
More than a dozen Pinkerton agents fell.
But it changed nothing.
More agents opened fire immediately.
Gunfire poured into the bank, forcing Dutch and Arthur to keep their heads down. They barely had a chance to return fire.
No matter how skilled a sharpshooter was, a single bullet could still kill. Under a storm of gunfire, even the sharpest instincts meant little. They had no choice but to stay behind cover.
"What do we do, Dutch?" Arthur shouted.
"Keep firing!" Dutch snapped. "I need time to think."
Hosea's death had left his mind blank.
But soon he came up with a plan—blow open a wall and escape from the other side.
Boom.
At Dutch's order, Arthur set explosives and blasted through the wall.
They fled the bank and scrambled across the rooftops.
Next came the Pinkertons' Gatling gun.
The weapon was powerful—but only as effective as its operator. Against a sharpshooter, it wasn't enough.
The moment it opened fire, Arthur shot the gunner dead with a single bullet.
Davey stood up from his seat in the café.
By this point, the Saint Denis bank robbery was effectively over.
Milton knew the Gatling gun wouldn't be decisive against sharpshooters. He brought it anyway.
Not to kill them.
But to create a bigger spectacle—to justify extending the Pinkertons' law enforcement authority.
For the Pinkertons, the longer that authority lasted, the greater their profits would be.
...
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