There were only about three of the seven men still conscious as they finished off the second bottle. Dutch watched as Annabelle would lift her glass to her lips, mimic like she had taken a small sip and then switch glasses carefully so it wouldn't be obvious she hadn't actually ingested anything. He almost admired her slight of hand, she was so adept at being able to keep the men's attention focused on her while making sure to keep grabbing emptier glasses each time. He smirked as she acted foolish, giggling and leaning on Charlie who was leaning on his elbows swaying from side to side.
"Mr!" Annabelle put her hand over her mouth quickly as she shouted at the top of her lungs and giggled. Her soft eyes caught Dutch's and he gritted his teeth and gripped at the iron bars separating them. "You know, you'd look real devilish with facial hair. As though Satan himself were standing in front of me."
"Is that so? I think we both know that Satan is incarnate on this earth and wears the guise of a woman." He snarled back. He hoped she would come close enough to the bars so he could strangle her in front of her police friends. She had come to gloat, probably, he thought. He snickered as he thought of Susan showing up any minute now with a shotgun in hand to free him, before she pulled the trigger at the bitch in the blue dress.
"Hey! Yooou!" Charlie tried to wag his finger but quickly dropped onto his desk, passed out. Annabelle and the remaining two officers chuckled, before they too slowly lost consciousness.
"Right," Annabelle stood up, dumping the contents of the glass she had been holding on the floor and setting it down, rubbing her hand over the wooden desk, "still as ornery as ever. Your woman would've come but I sort of sent her on a bit of a goose chase. I wouldn't want you to have to watch your sweet little whore get bent over this desk in a pathetic attempt to free you. This isn't wild country, Mr. Van der Linde. Seduction only goes so far…"
"I would rather swing than allow you to rescue me." Dutch snarled, pushing away from the bars as Annabelle retrieved the keys and slowly stepped towards him, waving them in her hand.
"I'm a romantic, Mr. Van der Linde. Go to your girl." She tossed the ring of keys on the floor, but Dutch would have to get creative if he wanted to retrieve them and free himself. She turned and retrieved her gloves from Charlie's desk.
"That night…" He leaned down and began to claw at the floor for the keys that were just barely out of reach, "when we went to the saloon…"
"Yes, I'm afraid I pulled that same slight of hand trick as I did with Charlie and his fellows. Not that you, Mr. Matthews, or Mr. Morgan noticed. Your concern for me that this 'rough and rumble' lifestyle was going to break me was…sweet." She began to replace her gloves and stepped on top of the keys, her white laced black tipped boots dragged it towards her and he glowered up at her angrily.
"Annabelle, I thought you were a romantic?"
"I am." She kicked them towards him and he snatched them from the floor and immediately went to test each one. He would choke her, drag her into this cell and smother her to death with that ratty pillow. But by the time he figured out which key belonged to his cell, she was already gone. He needed to find his companions and quickly, it was obvious the woman he detested lived somewhere in the city. He was going to find her and he was going to take back everything she stole from him and more. He could get revenge for the silly tricks she had played on him when she was a girl.
—-
"Oh thank goodness!" Susan ran to Dutch who emerged from the brush and wrapped herself around him, squeezing him tightly as Arthur and Mary sat by the campfire. But there was another man that Dutch did not recognize, he patted his woman and scowled at the stranger in the top hat.
"Josiah Trelawny at your service, sir." He removed his hat and bowed to Dutch who sneered in response.
"The street performer from this afternoon, you don't look much like an outlaw, sir." He rested his hand on his revolver, wary of the well dressed man who replaced his hat and sat back down next to Arthur.
"Oh no, I am a broker of sorts. Information, mostly. You'll be needing someone to guide you through Saint Denis if you want to take in all of her rewards." Josiah chuckled as he watched Dutch slowly remove the revolver.
"I don't need your help, Mr. Trelawny."
"Well…actually Dutch, he helped me make quite a haul today." Arthur gestured to a couple small boxes on the table.
"Is that why that little snake came to break me out of jail? You couldn't be bothered to come check up on me?" Dutch laughed but Arthur could see that Dutch was pissed, the youngster rolled his eyes and shrugged.
"I didn't even know you was in trouble til we got back and Miss Grimshaw was beside herself here. We were gonna come spring you out, Dutch. I don't know how, but we were."
"Annabelle? ANNABELLE RESCUED YOU!" Susan snarled, shoving Dutch away from her and stormed off towards the tent.
"GOD DAMN IT!" Dutch fired his revolver into the air and everyone except Trelawny seemed to tense up. "That little bitch has vexed me for the last GOD DAMN TIME!"
"I take it you have a score to settle with the lady? Perhaps I could assist you after all. You see, she's quite burdensome to other men as well. You could get in good with the underworld around here if you took her out of the picture." Trelawny twirled his mustache, curling it slightly at the ends as Dutch huffed and puffed.
"Talk." He pointed the gun at the strange man who raised his hands to either side of his head and nodded his head.
"She's partnered with a man named Macguire, a Scottish fellow who supplies opium poppy and other exotic delights to men of culture. I hear he's been looking for someone trustworthy to help cut his mistress out of the competition. You see, recently she's been demanding more of a cut of his profits and Mr. Macguire isn't too keen on sharing."
"You know how to get in touch with this, Macguire fellow?" Dutch sniffed and the strange man nodded quietly, prompting Dutch to put his gun back into the holster.
—-
Macguire was a bigger asshole than Annabelle ever could have been. He had Dutch and Arthur working as delivery men for weeks, but Dutch had a plan to try to rise the ranks. As he and Arthur finished up their rounds to the various back alleys, brothels, and saloons he caught sight of the big burly redhead watching the river as though he was waiting for something.
"Mr. Macguire, I was hoping we might have an opportunity to chat." Dutch called out to the man who turned with a grunt and scratched his long braided beard.
"Oh? An' what is it ya want, ya wee maggot."
"It seems we have a common enemy, Mr. Macguire," Dutch chuckled as he pulled the bandana away from his face, "I heard that a certain vile woman has been cutting into profit lately. A vicious bitch who ought to be taken care of."
"Do we? An' who might tha be, eh?" He raised a red eyebrow as Dutch cautiously came closer, holding his hands up in sort of a half surrender.
"Annabelle McLean."
"I heard ya really gave it to the lassie when ye had 'er hostage. Tell me, lad, is tha' wenches coin purse as cold and dry as 'er heart. Ya had a taste of 'er, right?" Macguire chuckled as Dutch put his hands into his pockets and swung on his heels, biting his cheek a moment.
"I'm surprised it didn't have teeth. I know the little wench spouted horrible rumors about me and the time we spent together, but I assure you, Mr. Macquire–I did not force myself on that girl. She took it from me willingly. Begged me for it." Dutch smirked, and the burly Scotsman laughed, clapping his back aggressively.
"Sure, lad." He winked and Dutch tried to hide his soured expression as best he could. It irked him, the idea that he would be such a low life bastard to forcibly use a young woman for what she had between her legs when he could just as easily afford a whore. He cursed the girl under his breath, her little rumors about their tryst were working against him time and time again.
"I have a plan. She comes down here every Tuesday to take her share from you, right? Let me handle the next transaction."
"An' do wha? Stick a gun ta 'er head? Beggin' and pleadin' that cold hearted bitch to quit skimming off my business?" Macguire laughed, squeezing Dutch's shoulder tightly and digging his cold fingers into his shirt.
"If that's what you want, sir." Dutch chuckled and Macguire let go of him. The man folded his arms and nervously plucked at his beard for a while, turning his cold blue eyes to the river again.
"I'd like ta see ya try."
—-
Tuesday came and right on cue, Annabelle appeared in the warehouse on time, sitting at the table she usually met Macguire at. There was a small porcelain teapot, two tea cups, and the lady pulled out her pocket watch to check the time before snapping it shut again. Macguire appeared out of the shadows, flanked by Dutch and another associate named Graves who stood behind his chair as Annabelle's two men stood attentively behind hers.
"You're late, Mr. Macguire. I have dinner to get to and I'd hate to be late on account of your schedule." She reached for the teapot and paused, glancing up at the man behind him to his right. "Mr. Van der Linde."
"Miss McLean." He purred back and she curled her lip, mimicking like she was going to vomit before scowling and pouring herself a cup of tea.
"McLean was my father, Mr. Van der Linde. Just 'Annabelle' in that cute little whine you make is fine. We are after all, intimately acquainted with one another." She smirked and tossed one leg over the other as Macguire helped himself to the tea.
"Y'know 'e told me tha' other day tha' you 'begged' for it." The boss snorted, pointing at Dutch who tried his best to smile and not scowl.
"Mr. Van der Linde, a gentleman, never kisses and tells." She feigned shock for a moment before the two of them busted up laughing. Annabelle stirred a bit of cream into her tea, biting her lower lip a moment before speaking again, "Maguire, you've been light on your deposits lately. I don't think the orphans of Saint Denis are too pleased with their meager rations. Is your poppy scheme killing more customers than you'd initially thought or what?"
"It's those damn dogs!" He pounded the table angrily, Annabelle had lifted her tea cup and saucer just in time it seemed before he did so, staring at him coldly.
"There wouldn't be any dogs if you weren't getting sloppy. You've lost sixteen shipments now in the last three months. Hiding opium in fucking cookie tins. Or would you prefer to hang a sign on the warehouse that reads 'The drugs are here'? I told you to change the strategy, but here we are, Mr. Macguire. Do I need to find a different partner? Put the fucking opium in dead gators and send those reptiles to the butcher. I already worked out a deal with those hillbillies in the bayou and a gentleman in Rhodes to get you a more suitable alternative to god damn biscuit tins." Dutch noted she actually seemed to drink the tea, despite the fact that he had drugged it earlier before it had been brought out prior to their meeting. Her eyes shifted to Dutch as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin before going back to Macguire who had thrown himself back in his chair and was rubbing his face.
"Ach! The damn lizard's ain't worth shit. More interlopers in my business. More of YOUR men watching me like a fuckin' hawk." His accent seemed to drop and he looked into his tea cup before knocking it back before Dutch could say a word but Annabelle caught the sudden panicked look that flashed in his eyes. She set her cup down and folded her hands, resting her elbows on the table.
"I wouldn't need to get involved at all…" She paused, feeling suddenly nauseated and held her hands to her mouth as she felt her saliva boil in her mouth, she inhaled sharply and shot her attention back to Dutch who smirked. Poison, she thought, realizing the tea had been spiked with oleander as her stomach cramped painfully and she squeezed her eyes shut. It had to be a lot of it too, she realized, as her symptoms wouldn't have come on so severely. She groaned and looked at the golden slightly greenish tea in her cup.
"Feeling alright, Annabelle?" Dutch sneered as Macguire poured himself another cup of tea and drank it.
"We're leaving." She grunted, latching onto one of her body guards as she felt her mouth water again. She needed to vomit but she wasn't going to do it in front of them, she clutched her stomach and gritted her teeth as she and her men stepped out of the warehouse. Dutch followed behind them, grinning from ear to ear as she limped along towards her carriage.
"I thought we could catch up." He sneered and she turned her head, biting her lip as she swallowed down the heave of her stomach and her men opened the carriage doors.
"Oleander. You fuckin' asshole. Did Macguire put you–" She covered her mouth, as she heaved again, still managing to keep it down.
"I thought it was only fitting. Desire and destiny is what that pretty little flower represents." He pulled a small cluster of pink flowers from his pocket and sniffed it.
"Dutch–" She tried to speak again but ended up vomiting, propping herself up with an elbow as she hurled onto the cobblestone street.
"Miss?" One of her body guards asked, gently trying to place a hand towards her but she held her other hand up to keep him at bay and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, coughing and gagging. She spat a couple times and groaned.
"I'm fine. Get me the charcoal water," she gestured and the man ran off to the back to look for the canteen, "you know, Van der Linde, poison is a woman's weapon. Your little yappy bitch couldn't afford arsenic?"
"I may have gotten the idea while reading a botany book to her, actually. Grows all over the city." He tossed the flowers onto the ground as the guard came back and handed her the canteen. She greedily took it and chugged it, little thin black wet lines dripping down her face. She gasped and put her head against the door frame of her carriage.
"Unfortunately, honey…" she panted while waving the canteen, "I came prepared. Oleander also represents 'caution in romance'."
He went to reach for his gun but both of Annabelle's guard's immediately had theirs trained on him and he lifted his hands, backing away slowly. He still grinned as she vomited again before gesturing to the inside of her carriage, spitting again.
"Get in, Mr. Van der Linde. I suspect your–" She barfed again, the black liquid staining the bottom of her dress. She coughed and continued, "new associates are gonna be kicked up worse than a hornets nest when Macguire kicks the bucket."
A single gunshot rang out and Annabelle turned to see a few of Macguire's men rushing for them, guns drawn.
"Fuck." She wiped her mouth and pulled a revolver that she had strapped to her inner thigh, turning it towards the men as they went to fire another round. She let a bullet fly and her body guard's did the same, picking off three immediately before they could even get a shot off. Dutch pulled his own revolver out and shot back, hopping behind the carriage to use it as cover.
"I had intended it just for you, Mr. Macguire was just a bonus!" Dutch yelled from behind the carriage as Annabelle threw herself into it and continued firing out the open door, pounding a hand on the top as the bodyguard urged the horses to take off. Realizing his means of cover was taking off at a rapid pace, he threw himself on the back with her other guard and continued picking off men as they rushed out.
Panic seemed to ensue on the streets as people took cover, when they had gotten far enough away, Annabelle shut the door and touched her shoulder. Blood. There was a hole in her shoulder from the first shot that had been taken at them and she hissed as she squeezed her hand against the hole.
"FUCK!" She screamed, "JOHNSON! DOC, NOW!"
—-
It had been hours since the carriage had gotten to the back alley where the doctor's office was. Her body guards had taken Dutch's guns and forced him to sit in a chair between them, holding a rifle to his head as the young woman hissed like an angry cat in a dental chair. Her associates had absolutely beaten the piss out of him, his face was starting to swell from the butt of the rifle the Irish one had clocked him with. His eyebrow had been split open and had been bleeding profusely, though the blood was beginning to dry from a hit he took from the tall one, Johnson. They had taken his gun belt and dragged him half conscious into the office and threw him into a chair across from her.
She had removed the top half of her dress and was holding the fabric tightly in one hand to keep her breasts covered. Doc had been trying to fish the bullet out for what seemed like an eternity, digging around in her shoulder as the girl's face turned red and she clawed at the soft upholstery. She had a rag in her mouth, to muffle her screams as he finally found the bullet and took hold of it.
"Oleander poisoning and a gunshot wound." The old russian grumbled, ripping his tongs out of her shoulder causing her to scream into the cloth before whimpering, breathing rapidly through her nose and finally relaxing. Her face was covered in a thin veil of sweat and she let the rag fall out of her mouth, breathing loudly and raggedly as her finger tips relaxed and she sighed in relief. Her shoulder was caked in dried blood, but more began to ooze out of the wound and she looked down at it.
"You can thank the little peasant sitting in the corner." She groaned and threw her head back as Dr. Yannick began to pack the hole with gauze and dabbed her head with a cold wet towel with his free hand. "Although I should thank you, Mr. Van der Linde…"
"Oh? Whatever for?" Dutch raised an eyebrow as the doctor made her push the dress down further, prompting her to cover her exposed breast with her hand while he wrapped up her shoulder.
"I've been trying to get rid of that son of a bitch for months. Little rat thought he could buy off the chief behind my back, like I don't have them in my pocket." Annabelle grunted as the doctor finished up and wiped his hands with the cool rag before tossing it off to the side and she glanced at her bodyguards. "Johnson, O'shea, turn around."
"But…" O'shea who had the rifle pointed at Dutch, gestured with the loaded weapon at their prisoner and their boss laughed.
"He's seen it before. Doc here sees the whores all the time. That boy won't bite, Mr. O'shea. Leave him be, he's toothless, you boys made sure of that." She sighed and closed her eyes again. "You look like hell."
"You're one to talk." He murmured as she let the fabric go and sat topless in the chair a moment before she started to slide one side of her dress back over her shoulder while Doc helped her with the other.
"Johnson, pay the man." She moaned as she sat up in the chair and stretched her neck side to side. Her associate stepped out into the alley and to the carriage, returning shortly with a small but familiar cigar box and threw it at Dutch's feet with a scowl.
"How sentimental of you." Dutch leaned down to retrieve it, unsure if he should open or not. It was much heavier than he anticipated and he needed to pick it up with two hands in order to place it in his lap.
"There's six hundred gram gold bars in there. One for each of the Van der Linde Gang." She stood up and leaned against the wall as her stomach rumbled loudly and she grimaced.
"There's only four of us now, so that's mighty generous of you." He opened it and true to her word, there were six ten ounce bars neatly arranged in the box and he pulled one out to inspect it.
"It's pretty late," she pulled out her pocket watch and checked the time, "I've got a guest room you could stay in for the night. Go back to Sherwood Forest in the morning."
"I'd rather walk." He set the bar back into the box and snapped it shut.
"We made a whole lotta noise, Mr. Van der Linde. You wanna try your luck looking like that wandering through the streets with that much money at this hour? I can get you more than that if you're willing to hear me out."
"I have no interest in partnering with you, Annabelle." Dutch chuckled, rising to stand but O'shea put a hand on him and forced him back into the wooden chair with a grunt.
"Nor I. Fucking idiot, poisoning your ex lover and your current–well, former boss.I'm trying to hand you an olive branch here, Mr. Van der Linde."
"Your olive branches have thorns. I learned that a long time ago. Fuck. Off. Annabelle."