"Davey, my boy, gallop your horse to the Veteran Club in Valentine," Dutch declared, his voice resonating with theatrical authority. "See if there are any usable gunslingers lurking there, any desperadoes who can hit a barn door, preferably not their own feet. I fear our current armed forces are still... how shall I say... pathetically understaffed for the empire we're building."
He turned, his gaze sharpening. "Mac, Bill, guard that factory like it's your first-born child and your last bottle of whiskey. Especially beware of those grimy O'Driscoll cretins and, more importantly, the Pinkerton Detectives. Now, listen closely: if the Pinkertons show their grim faces, as long as they don't dare to draw steel or unleash lead, then you don't shoot first. Our lives have just, just begun to stabilize, and I refuse to have our glorious efforts end before they've even truly begun to blossom!"
Then, with a flourish, he pointed. "Sean, Charles, Sadie, and Kieran, you four will become our esteemed couriers. Transport these glorious threads to the clothing stores in Rhodes and Strawberry. Those two towns, unfortunately, currently lack the benefit of our... cooperating law enforcement, so you must remain there, like lambs to the slaughter, but with very expensive clothes, until our dedicated staff arrives. Now, gentlemen and ladies, off you go! Go forth and multiply... our profits!"
Dutch and his meticulously dressed crew glided into Valentine by carriage, a veritable parade of opulence and very expensive, ill-gotten gains. The moment their wheels kissed the dusty main street, a police officer, sporting a suspiciously sleek and handsome new uniform, practically launched himself forward, trotting over with the frantic enthusiasm of a pampered poodle.
"Good day, Mr. Arthur!" the officer simpered, his smile a blinding display of obsequious flattery directed squarely at Dutch. He then pivoted, becoming an instant traffic controller, barking at bewildered pedestrians and wagons to clear a path for Dutch's majestic conveyance. "Those in front, move quickly! You're blocking progress! Damn! You three drunkards, get out of my sight before I mistake you for manure!" The officer, having successfully terrorized the populace, didn't forget to offer another sickly sweet grin to Dutch and his amused entourage.
"You too, officer!" Dutch replied smoothly, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, as Arthur expertly guided the carriage down the newly cleared path towards their burgeoning clothing store.
Inside, Dutch began issuing commands like a general orchestrating a meticulously planned invasion. "Mary, Karen, Jenny, Mary-Beth, Tilly, ladies, please descend upon the shop and display ten sets of these divine garments with appropriate reverence!" He then turned to Hosea. "Hosea, take the carriage directly to the train station. Once the iron beast arrives, begin the delicate process of transporting the remaining garments onto the train—"
"OH, MR. ARTHUR! MR. ARTHUR!" Before Dutch could finish his sentence, Sheriff Malloy, the walking embodiment of sycophancy, came barreling over, his face so unnaturally beaming it threatened to split. "Jack! Go! Quickly! Rally every available officer to assist Mr. Hosea with this monumental task of loading clothes! Oh, Mr. Arthur, just allow us, to handle these… delicate matters!"
Malloy's complexion was a radiant, unnervingly rosy hue. His physique, once merely portly, had now achieved a magnificent, almost spherical, roundness. And his uniform? It wasn't just new; it shimmered with an almost ethereal crispness, a far cry from the dingy, yellowish rags he'd once worn. These, it was clear, were the fruits of Dutch's arrival.
Dutch, in Valentine, was like a benevolent god of commerce, raining down gold upon his loyal, easily bribed apostles. The transformation of the entire Valentine Police Station was a clear, hilarious testament to his beneficence.
These officers had not only exchanged their dingy, bullet-ridden rags for crisp, tailor-made uniforms, but they could now afford to drown their sorrows,or celebrate their newfound affluence, at the Veteran Club whenever the urge struck. And when Dutch and his gang graced them with their presence, tips would mysteriously appear, causing their quality of life to skyrocket. Once, their daily wages barely covered stale bread and watered-down beer; now, they were saving for rainy days, or perhaps for bigger, shinier hats.
This newfound prosperity was most gloriously reflected in Sheriff Malloy. Dutch, with a wink and a nod, had issued a procurement slip for nine hundred dollars for the police station's new uniforms. In reality, the clothes were supplied free of charge, so those nine hundred dollars simply… vanished into Malloy's increasingly plump pockets. This was the gravy Dutch brought, thoroughly enriching every single one of them.
"Oh, Mr. Arthur, are you gracing Saint Denis with your presence?" Sheriff Malloy practically purred, sidling up to Dutch.
Dutch smiled, pulling out a fine cigar and offering one to the eager Sheriff. He nodded. "Indeed, Mr. Malloy. Our clothing line is complete, and this journey to Saint Denis is to showcase the styles and unparalleled quality to the noble ladies of the city. They, of course, will be performing the all-important task of… promotion. And, naturally, they'll be joining us for the ribbon-cutting ceremony when our glorious store opens."
"Ah!" Malloy gasped, a sound of almost spiritual longing, at the mere mention of noble ladies arriving in Valentine. Then, a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated joy washed over his face. By all that was holy, his chance had come!
"Oh, Mr. Arthur! Please, rest first! We shall transport your precious garments onto the train immediately! And rest assured, when Valentine's 'VDL' Clothing Store opens, our diligent police officers will be on strict twenty-four-hour guard, ensuring absolute, unparalleled safety!"
"Oh ho ho, thank you for your… enthusiastic assistance, Mr. Malloy," Dutch chuckled, bestowing upon the man a verbal stimulant that clearly went straight to his ego. "You are indeed a capable man, a responsible man. I have no doubt you will rise, step by glorious step!" Malloy, practically quivering with excitement, twisted his already fatter body and scurried off, barking orders at his men to load Dutch's clothes.
Not a single officer dared to grumble. After all, this wasn't merely helping Mr. Dutch; it was helping themselves. The more successful Dutch's clothing store became, the higher their own living standards would magically rise. This had become an undisputed, universally accepted truth among every single Valentine police officer.
Sheriff Malloy, trotting alongside his eager constabulary, quickly loaded every last garment into the train car. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Malloy! We shall now depart!" Dutch announced.
With a final nod of thanks, they boarded the train. "Toot toot toot..." Accompanied by the majestic wail of the train whistle, the iron beast once again began its stately journey towards Saint Denis.
The bar car, nestled in the middle of the train, was a haven of mild debauchery, offering not only the sweet relief of smoke and liquor but also small, genteel tunes for the journey. In those days, only the crème de la crème, or at least the aspiring crème de la crème, could afford train travel. A ticket to Saint Denis cost a full two dollars, a sum that could cripple an ordinary family. (An outrage, considering it's ten dollars in the game!)
Dutch, Arthur, John, and Charles settled around the bar, lighting their cigarettes with practiced ease. "Oh, four whiskeys, good sir," Dutch waved, beckoning the service staff over, then laid a crisp five-dollar bill on the polished surface. "And please, provide some delightful snacks and refreshing drinks for the ladies over there."
"Oh, alright, sir!" The train service staff's eyes were practically glued to the Van der Linde Gang women, who sat like exotic birds of paradise, radiating an aura of unprecedented allure. Indeed, the attention of every single passenger in that train car was fixed upon them.
"Oh, my God!" one woman whispered, her voice laced with awe. "These clothes are absolutely exquisite! Why have I never seen this style before?!"
"Oh my," another chimed in, "these garments look utterly fantastic, especially the design! I must, I simply must ask these beautiful ladies where they acquired such treasures!"
"Look at those subtly revealed thighs!" a man guffawed, nudging his companion. "I'm sure if my wife also wore this style, I would definitely be... majestic! Hahahahaha!"
Whispers rippled through the car. Some passengers, with companions, expressed their mutual astonishment. Those without, simply felt it deep within their souls. The men's eyes were wide with a mix of amazement and slightly inappropriate admiration, while the women practically had "I WANT IT" tattooed across their eager faces.
"Hello, ladies, here are your refreshments. Courtesy of the gentleman at the bar." The service staff, with a deferential bow, placed the ordered snacks and drinks before the Van der Linde Gang women.
"Oh, thank you, sir!" Karen smiled, a vision of refined grace, elegantly waving her hand. Her every movement, from the delicate tilt of her head to the gentle sway of her dress, captivated the surrounding passengers even further. The dress she wore, akin to a skirt but designed with an even more stunning and luxurious flair, transformed her entirely. She moved with an inherent nobility and elegance, each rustle of fabric making her appear like a butterfly, a magnificent, graceful creature dancing through the car, agile and breathtakingly beautiful.