"Davey, if I hadn't seen it myself, I'd never have believed it—you've changed so much."
"It's unbelievable. I heard back at the oil fields that everyone's been buying bootleg liquor, so I got curious and bought a bottle too."
"That young bootleg seller actually told me that if ten people bought together, the $2 bottles would only cost $1.80 each."
"Oh, what a brilliant idea! I was so curious about whoever came up with it that I asked where the liquor was mainly being sold."
"Of course, I got the answer I wanted—Valentine. So, I came back here again."
"I searched all over for information about it, and even at the Saloon, they were selling it openly. Every table, every customer—everyone had one of those bottles in hand."
"I ran into Mac and asked him about it. He was drunk, but clearly in good spirits, especially with two lovely ladies sitting beside him."
"He's the one who told me, Davey—oh, Davey, that all of this was your doing. You can't imagine how shocked I was when I heard that. I nearly spat my drink right in Micah's face."
Inside Donal's cabin, Trelawny went on and on, gesturing wildly as he laughed in that dramatic way of his.
Davey could only sit there in silence—he'd been listening to the man talk for almost twenty minutes straight.
Josiah Trelawny was a natural talker, the kind who couldn't help but command a room.
As the Van der Linde Gang's information broker, he rarely stayed at camp and was always appearing and disappearing like smoke.
He might not have looked important, but his role in the gang was undeniable.
"Alright, Mr. Trelawny, maybe you should take a sip of that coffee on the table first," Davey said, rubbing his temples.
"All this talking of yours is starting to give me a headache."
"Alright, Davey, as you wish." Trelawny knew when to stop. He obediently lifted the cup and took a sip.
"So, you came all the way here today just to reminisce about the old days?" Davey asked with a faint smile.
He knew full well that Trelawny hadn't come just for small talk.
"As far as I know, Davey, you haven't left the gang, have you? I haven't heard anything about that from anyone else," Trelawny said.
Davey nodded. "That's right, Trelawny. I haven't left the gang yet."
"Sure, I've been disappointed with some of the gang's choices lately, but after eight years, it's hard to just walk away. Besides, I'm not planning to start a new gang—I just want to focus on running my business properly."
"Perhaps, Mr. Trelawny, you can start calling me by my new name—Davey Land."
At that, Trelawny immediately understood: Davey had obtained legal papers.
It didn't surprise him. He knew just how profitable the moonshine trade was, and how Davey's operation had come to dominate Valentine and the surrounding towns.
Without having to pay the steep alcohol taxes, Davey must have been making a fortune.
"Congratulations, Mr. Land. I never imagined that in just a few short weeks, you'd achieve all this. It's truly beyond my expectations."
"If you could, I'd like to ask a small favor—just a little something for an old acquaintance like me." Trelawny's smile turned disarmingly polite.
Davey turned, opened a cabinet, and took out a cigar, though he didn't smoke himself.
After handing it to Trelawny, he asked, "So, Mr. Trelawny, what exactly is it that you want from me?"
Trelawny's tone brightened with excitement. "The sales rights to your moonshine, Davey. If possible, I'd like to secure the distribution rights for your product in other regions."
"I've tasted your moonshine—it's absolutely intoxicating. No real drinker could ever refuse it. In my opinion, not even whiskey or brandy can compare."
"It's a brand-new flavor, something that will soon sweep across the entire United States."
Trelawny had a sharp instinct for business. His work gathering intelligence had taken him to many places and exposed him to all sorts of cultures and customs.
He enjoyed drinking, though never excessively—he always preferred keeping his mind clear.
After all, his best information often came from those who weren't sober.
The secret behind Davey's sudden success was the unique "sweet" flavor of his moonshine.
That distinct taste, paired with a low price, had allowed him to seize the market and make a fortune.
Naturally, Trelawny wanted in on that profit. Why else would he be working so tirelessly?
If he could secure the distribution rights to Davey's moonshine, he knew exactly what that would mean—
a flood of money heading straight his way.