When the Devil Cries (Arthur Morgan X Male OC)

4. A Snake in the Grass

From Arthur's POV

OUTSIDE LEMOYNE NATIONAL BANK

Pacing to the other end of town, Dutch and I slithered our way through the groups of lawmen patrolling around Saint Denis as we hurried to find Hosea at the bank, keeping a low profile and eager to get back to camp.

At this point, the city was entirely awake, and all around us, we could see both men and women calling out to passersby as they advertised their merchandise, campaigns, charities, and more. It was quite the sight. Sure weren't like anythin' I'd ever seen.

We had already come across some rich fool by the side of the road who was hollerin' at people to buy his book that would apparently lead folks to instant success, as well as some waste of space claimin' that the white race was the only "correct" one, and that the blacks and Indians were nothing but animals. It was science, he said.

Well, last time I checked, "science" was the same thing trying to turn cannons and bicycles with balloons into forms of transportation. So that didn't exactly count for much in my book.

On a more pleasant note though, I did also see a woman standing outside City Hall advocating for women's right to vote. It wasn't something I could see happening anytime soon, and her ideas of a female president within the next ten years seemed a bit far off, but there weren't no shame in searching for a better world. I only hoped she had some sort of protection out there in the open. Not everyone was taking her proposals kindly.

As for Dutch -- well, ever since the man found me about an hour ago, he had been chewing my ear off about his plan to pick Saint Denis clean of its money before packin' our bags and heading off to Tahiti or some place.

I wasn't quite sure how that would work exactly, and if I was being perfectly honest, the west sounded like a much better area to lie low, but...I wasn't really thinkin' about any of that anyway.

The only thing on my mind at the moment...was Edward.

I couldn't get that melody he played out of my head, and the man himself wasn't easy to forget either.

I didn't know why, but somethin' about that boy just stuck with me. His words, his personality, his music...it preoccupied me completely. It almost felt like I was still sittin' there by his piano.

Despite my pleasant thoughts about him though, I couldn't deny I was a bit concerned about Dutch's plans to rob the theater. I mean, I knew there was probably hundreds of dollars sittin' in there and Edward and I were barely acquaintances, but it still seemed...I dunno, wrong to go behind his back like that. Especially right after doing a favor for him.

But I supposed that was the life of an outlaw. I could never truly befriend honest folk, or get along with them. I could only lie to 'em.

"Hosea, old man!" Dutch called out suddenly, bringing my attention back to reality.

Hosea was sitting on a bench not too far away from the bank with a newspaper in his hands -- more as a mask than actual reading material -- and waved at us as we approached him, keeping our voices low.

"Ah, Dutch, Arthur," he greeted, folding the newspaper. "There you are. How did you fellas get along?"

Dutch leaned against a nearby street lamp and crossed his arms. "Arthur here thinks he might be onto somethin' about an upcoming gala. Heard some woman in the Bastille rambling on about it...and I've got a few ideas of my own on that theater as well. What about you? How's the bank looking?"

Hosea rose to his feet. "Pretty much what you'd expect. Lots of money, and even more security to protect it. It also happens to be in the middle of the city. So if we're gonna hit it, Dutch, we'll need every gun we have. But if we can pull it off right, I guarantee it'll be worth it. The vault's got thousands of bucks just waitin' in it. Enough to get us out of here."