That night,
Rue Flavienne in Saint Denis was still brightly lit.
This was the domain of the wealthy. No rich man cared about the small cost of lighting—being stingy about that would only make him look cheap.
Bronte Manor.
Backyard.
A small boat carried Dutch, Arthur, Bill, Lenny, and Sean MacGuire.
They had come from Lagras.
The boatman, Thomas, once owed Dutch a favor. At Dutch's request, he ferried them quietly into the rear of Bronte Manor.
Thomas agreed readily.
Bronte was his enemy as well.
"Good luck," Thomas said as the boat pulled in behind the estate.
"Thanks."
Dutch answered, then led the Van der Linde Gang toward the manor, moving in silently.
Inside the estate,
Bronte was resting in his second-floor bedroom.
He had never imagined the Van der Linde Gang would dare move against him. In his view, they should have been too busy saving themselves by now.
Damn rats. Even that didn't finish you off.
For some reason, he couldn't sleep. He got up and lit a cigar, thinking about how to deal with Davey.
He had heard something recently.
Davey seemed to be getting close to Pinkerton.
Perhaps I should speak with Benjamin tomorrow about the Pinkerton matter.
Pinkerton had already contacted Benjamin and obtained temporary law enforcement authority in Saint Denis. Normally, that process wouldn't move so quickly, but Bronte had used his connections to speed it up.
Still, he had no intention of letting Pinkerton grow too close to Davey.
Once he was done using Pinkerton, it would be time to deal with Davey as well.
Even if Davey was sending him large sums of dollars every single day.
Everything is going perfectly.
Bronte smiled and crushed out his cigar, preparing to return to bed.
At that moment—
Bang!
A gunshot rang out sharply.
"What's going on? What the hell is that?"
Bronte shouted angrily. The shot had come from the backyard.
His men at the door rushed in.
"Mr. Bronte, something's happened. We'll take care of it immediately."
"Then move!" Bronte barked. "Whoever it is, turn him into a sieve!"
There were more than fifty mafia members stationed in the manor—no small security force.
Guards flooded toward the backyard.
Bronte wasn't overly concerned.
What he didn't realize was that he was facing the very men behind the Blackwater heist.
He had numbers—but these were city gangsters.
How could they compare to hardened outlaws from the western plains?
Like farm pigs versus wild boars.
Gunfire erupted in rapid succession.
Dutch and Arthur carried most of the firepower. At that distance, they could raise a gun and land a headshot almost every time.
Sean MacGuire, Bill, and Lenny might not have been master sharpshooters, but they were far deadlier than mobsters who wore guns at their waists yet barely fired them all year.
The manor guards were quickly forced back.
Before long, Dutch and the others had pushed their way to the doors of Bronte's mansion.
"Useless! Useless!"
"I pay you all this money—are you completely useless?!"
Bronte roared, panic creeping into his voice.
He hadn't expected the attackers to break through so quickly and reach his doorstep.
Gunshots soon rang out right outside his room.
Then came a familiar scream.
His butler.
They were already at his door.
Bronte hurried to a drawer and pulled out a pistol. Glancing around the empty room, he decided to hide beneath the bed.
Footsteps approached. Someone entered his bedroom.
Bronte sprang up from beneath the bed, raised the pistol, and pulled the trigger.
Click. Click. Click.
Only then did he realize the gun wasn't loaded.
It had been too long since he'd used one.
In this city—
Or rather, since arriving in Saint Denis—Bronte had never needed to fire a gun himself. Others did that for him.
He usually kept the gun and the ammunition separate in the drawer.
He had forgotten.
Damn it!
Bronte cursed and hurled the pistol.
Arthur instinctively ducked. The gun struck Sean MacGuire squarely in the head.
"Ah!"
Sean cried out.
"It's you!"
The moment Bronte saw Arthur's face, he recognized him. Then he saw the gun in Arthur's hand.
"Alright, alright—sorry, my friend, I…"
Arthur's revolver was already aimed at his head.
"No—name your price. Everyone has a price."
Arthur said nothing, simply raising the gun steadily.
Seeing he wasn't moved, Bronte quickly raised both hands.
"Alright, alright—don't do this, sir."
"I surrender! I surrender! I—"
Sean MacGuire, now recovered and furious, stepped forward and drove a hard punch into Bronte's head.
Bronte collapsed unconscious.
"Should we kill him?" Sean asked.
"No. Take him to Dutch," Arthur replied.
Arthur bent down, hoisted Bronte over his shoulder, and said,
"I think Dutch wants to have a word with you, Mr. Bronte."
But Bronte couldn't hear him. Sean's punch had already knocked him out cold.
At this point, Arthur didn't believe Dutch intended to kill Bronte.
Ransom would probably be the better option.
And to a large extent, that was what Dutch was thinking as well.
Backyard.
Together, they loaded the unconscious Bronte onto the boat.
Thomas immediately began rowing away.
This was Saint Denis's wealthy district.
Gunfire here would inevitably draw a heavy police response.
Officers who usually took their time answering calls would move with remarkable speed when it came from the homes of the rich.
...
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