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gluechugger · 1 month ago

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Low Honor! Arthur Morgan and my OC Louise only meet when they’ve both left this mortal coil.

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Based on the idea for this drawing (I wanted more) and my two favorite comics; Falling in Love on the Path to Hell and Love Everlasting. I like cowboys and romance and time loops a lot.

I ended up writing something for this. Maybe I’ll write more. We’ll see. CW for mention domestic violence, drug use and the implication of cheating. 917 words.

This time Louise and Arthur are really the worst versions of themselves. No redeeming qualities.

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It was late night when he heard her footsteps in the woods. From her unsure step, he assumed she wasn’t a threat, but his palm rested on the firearm on his hip. He stayed quiet. He knew she could already see him. No use opening his mouth. No such thing as too careful.

“Excuse me?” She spoke first, not yet having stepped into the clearing. “Excuse me, mister,” she continued, Arthur shifted his direction from the fire to meet her. She stumbled into the clearing, holding up her skirt and examining the mud on her spats. “Do you think you could help me? I got separated from my husband.”

He furrowed his brow at her, judging her choice of attire and ignoring her question. “Why you wearin that?” She had on an evening gown. Her shoulders were exposed. He noticed damage on her dress, blood stained the front lace, turning the celadon of the garment into a sick brown. It appeared her throat had been slit. The hem of the garment was tattered and dirtied with mud. Arthur knew who she was even if he’d never met her in his waking life.

“I, uh…. I can’t remember.” She muttered, pushing her curly blonde bangs out of her eyes. The curl was wilting from the humidity. “Could I just take a seat for a while?” She sounded exhausted. Arthur could tell why that could be. She didn’t wait for an answer from him before she plopped down next to him. Too close for comfort.

“Well, damn. I guess it’s alright.” He grunted and scooted away from her. The two of them were sitting on the trunk of a downed tree. It made a decent bench by the campfire.

She looked back on him in surprise. “Do I stink?” She had a thick New England accent. Arthur wondered how long she’d been married.

“I may have known of your husband? Can’t say ‘less you tell me who he is.” He kept his voice low, like it was a threat.

She looked rightfully wary. It gave Arthur a jolt of excitement he knew wasn’t healthy. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” She urged, finally looking down to see the blood on her dress. “Oh heavens…”

“Looks like you got in a little scrape.” He joked, trying to keep the atmosphere calm for his own benefit.

“I can’t remember.” Her chest heaved. Arthur didn’t take his eyes off her breasts. He watched her cope with the implosion of her very existence. There had been no question in his case. Louise barely knew what happened to her. From the circles under her eyes, he could only presume her husband had been administering her laudanum, likely leading to her confusion in the events leading up to her death.

“You’re alright.” Arthur urged, as he started to become a little worried she might hyperventilate and pass out into the fire. “Deep breaths, girl.” He knew his voice wasn’t comforting and it made his guts twist when the opposite of the desired effect happened. She stood up and stumbled forward.

Arthur was quick behind her, grabbing her waist and pulling her back into his chest. “Hey.” He mumbled against her hair. “I know it’s scary. But Dutch ain’t here no more.” She spun around and wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest.

“You smell like him.” She whispered. A conflict inside of Arthur started to build. This was something he’d never have considered in his waking life. It was true that Dutch wasn’t the best at keeping women. On occasion, Arthur had refused advances from the likes of Annabelle and Molly just to name a couple. He especially didn’t like being compared to Dutch. He resisted the inherent urge to push her away. She felt too nice in his arms.

Instead of shoving her against the tree trunk, Arthur let out a grunt of displeasure as his response.

She wept against him and he gently drew his fingers along her back. It took her a few moments before she was able to process what he’d said. “Wait, did you say you… you knew him?”

At this point, Arthur had relished in the warmth of another person a bit too long. He was forced to consider her words over the ringing in his ears. “Yes, baby—“ he was slurring his words. They felt like mud in his mouth. “I mean uh, yes ma’am.” He responded, catching himself. She didn’t seem to notice his slip up. Maybe she didn’t care. He felt dizzy.

She looked up at him and he made direct eye contact with her for the first time that night. Her eyes were light, even in the dark forest. They reminded him of uranium glass. “Is he gone?” She still wept, her eyes were wet and full of despair.

“He ain’t here.” Arthur confirmed, trying to keep his jaw tight. He knew it would sound vague, but he couldn’t bring himself to be the bearer of bad news. He had to let her figure it out on her own. The distress on her face didn’t falter. “What uh, what should I call you?” Maybe she was just an apparition. Maybe this really was hell. Either way, Arthur felt like he was taking psychic damage from her.

“Louise.” She answered. He hadn’t noticed her hands reaching up from his chest to his shoulders and wrapping around his neck. She was just as crazy as Dutch. No wonder they’d married.

((Omg I debated the choice of “baby” for so long but “darlin’” is way too sweet and comforting. This Arthur is a scumbag.))

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say-hwaet · 2 months ago

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High Sierra: A Red Dead Redemption Story

Chapter 10: Taking a Gamble Author's note: Sorry this took so long! I've been pretty busy with another fic, but I'm back to working on the rewrite of this fanfiction! I will try to post more regularly now and hopefully, it will be finished before too long. It is a shorter fic by nature, so it should be easy peasy. Summary: After Eliza shared her conversation she had with Edith, Arthur tries to dive deeper into all of the clues he has gathered.

A couple of weeks have passed since Eliza shared her findings with Arthur. Upon learning of her discovery, he decided to do some more digging of his own and has successfully recovered pieces over the last few days. Maybe nothing substantial when standing alone, but when put all together, it might mean something.

What used to be drawings in his sketchbook have since been replaced with hypotheses and clues, all of which have begun to form a coherent picture, hinting at a larger conspiracy than either Eliza or Arthur initially suspected. Each scribbled note and hastily drawn line connects back to one person, in ways both direct and unsettlingly tangential. Lying across his wooden desk in his office, the sketchbook seems to hold more questions than answers.

He feels like he’s been reviewing all of the information for hours, but the pieces of the puzzle are finally starting to connect in his mind. Thomas Downes and Leigh Gray, both victims of the mysterious killings, have something in common--they had both taken a loan from the infamous loan shark, Leopold Strauss. The more he thinks about it, the more this revelation sends shivers down Arthur's spine.

“It can’t just be ideas anymore,” he says out loud to himself. “Gotta put in the leg work now.”

Determined to uncover the truth, Arthur knows what he needs to do. Finding evidence against Strauss won’t be easy, as the man seems to operate under the radar.

Arthur isn’t a fan of technology, but when finishing reports and logging the k9 program’s spending and progress, he has had to, regrettably, use his office computer. For the past few days, once he is off duty, he has scoured the internet for any information, but it seems that he keeps coming up on empty. This is one of those nights.

He thought that this time would be different, maybe something would come up that wasn’t uploaded before. But one doesn’t become a good loan shark by letting information slip on the internet. Maybe he’ll have to resort to the old-fashioned way: by word of mouth or paper.

He leans forward on his desk, resting his elbows on the surface. His eyes look away from the glaring bright screen of his computer to a framed picture of his son, holding his first fish he ever caught. Brook trout are pretty measly on the fisherman’s scale, but the pride in his son’s eyes that day, the way his small hands struggled to hold it steady for the camera, seemed to Arthur like he had caught a great whale. It's moments like these that remind him why he fights so hard, why every dark forest and every hidden truth must be illuminated—not just for himself or the potential victims, but for his son and the future he will inherit. If this world could be a little less murky, a little more just, then all the sleepless nights and haunting uncertainties would be worth it.

“Where else can I try…?” he asks himself. He isn’t a detective, not in the typical LA Noire sense. This isn’t an urban crime. Things aren’t documented in the same fashion.

He looks toward the door and a thought occurs to him.

The file room. Any criminal activity that is not logged in the database, it would be in there.

His gaze returns to the computer with renewed determination. Arthur stands up, pulls on his coat, and decides it's time to take the risk.

He steps out of his office, looking down the dimly lit hallway. He hadn't realized how late it is, and is relieved that no one is around.

Even so, silence is key. Stepping out of his office, he closes the door behind him and walks down the narrow hallway.

He feels like a criminal, his steps light and his eyes vigilant. It would be convenient if Charles were with him now, that way someone could stand and watch.

Arthur discreetly enters the file room, hoping to find something that will connect the dots. As he rummages through the records, the door creaks open, and Captain Monroe steps inside, his stern expression fixed on Arthur.

"What are you doing here after hours, Morgan?" Captain Monroe's voice echoes through the room.

Arthur hurriedly turns around, startled. "Oh, Captain Monroe! I was just...erm...organizing some files," he stammers, trying to feign innocence.

Captain Monroe's eyes narrow suspiciously. "Organizing files, huh? Seems a bit late for that, don't you think?"

Arthur knows he has to tread carefully. "I was just trying to be more efficient, sir. Thought I could get ahead on some paperwork," he offers, praying his excuse would be enough.

Captain Monroe walks a steady pace closer to Arthur, eyeing him suspiciously. "Is that so? Well, it seems more like you were searching for something specific. Care to enlighten me?"

"No, Captain. I swear, just routine paperwork. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Captain Monroe leans in closer, his voice low and sincere. "Arthur, I have known you for a long time. I can sense when something is not right. If you're hiding something, I suggest you come clean."

Arthur feels his body want to move away, but he remains planted. "Captain, I assure you, there's nothing to come clean about. I was just curious about these files. That's all."

Captain Monroe lets out a deep breath, crossing his arms. "Morgan, I've heard some rumors about you poking your nose where it doesn't belong. It seems you've got an unhealthy fixation on these accidents."

Arthur's heart pounds in his chest. He had expected some resistance, but he hadn't anticipated this level of scrutiny. However, he can’t back down now, not when he has finally found some leads. Perhaps, the captain will help him.

"Captain, I believe there's something more to these deaths. Both Downes and Gray are dead within days of each other and both had taken a loan from Leopold Strauss. It can't be a coincidence."

Captain Monroe scoffs, his disbelief evident. "I understand your concern, Morgan, but let the justice system handle it. You're a game warden, not a detective. That is what the Special Operations Unit is for."

Arthur's frustration boils, but he bites his tongue, trying to retain a semblance of professionalism. "With all due respect, Captain, I don't think that Warden Barnes and his team aren't bein’ as thorough as they should be. Don't you think we owe it to these victims to dig deeper? They deserve more than just bein’ dismissed as accidents."

Arthur can see the cognitive dissonance in the captain’s eyes, struggling with keeping it by the book or going on a limb. He bites the skin off of his lower lip, his eyes cast downward for a moment. Arthur holds onto the hope that he’s made a point, maybe Captain Monroe will agree to help him.

Then, after a moment longer, the captain sighs and meets Arthur’s gaze. "Arthur, you've always been an overachiever. Always wanting to be some kind of hero. Do you think you can play detective just because you have a hunch?"

What a blow, but he can’t give up.

Arthur takes a step towards Captain Monroe, lifting his hands in an open gesture. "Captain, I'm not tryin’ to play the hero. I genuinely believe these deaths are linked. I think we owe it to the victims to pursue this further."

Captain Monroe leans in, a stern look on his face. "Loyalties, Arthur. Where do your loyalties lie? With the law, or with anarchy? Are you trying to prove yourself for that promotion you've always wanted?"

Arthur's eyebrows furrow. He's not getting through to the Captain, and it frustrates him. "This ain’t about the promotion! I'm telling you the truth. I want to make a difference and protect the innocent. That is what we all swore to do. But I can't do it alone. I need your help."

Captain Monroe leans back, his tone cold. "I have faith in the justice system, Arthur. That's where this belongs. We investigate poaching and hunting accidents, not supposed conspiracies. Let the system do its job."

"But what if the system fails, Captain? What if there's somethin' bigger at play here? Can't we at least look into it? For the victims' sake?" Arthur makes one desperate plea. He knows that challenging the authority of the captain is risky, but he isn’t one to let things go, not when lives are involved.

Captain Monroe is quiet for a moment before speaking. "No, Morgan. I won't entertain your fantasies. You're straying from your duty. Don't let your ambition blind you. Stick to your duties. Drop this investigation immediately."

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken consequences. Arthur knows in his heart that he can’t stand idly by, waiting for justice to take its course. Lives are at stake, and he can’t let any more innocent blood be shed.

Without another word, Arthur gathers himself and walks out of the file room. He knows what he has to do: he has to take matters into his own hands. The law may be blind, but he isn’t going to let evil roam free, even if he doesn’t have help from Captain Monroe.

***

Fumbling for his keys, Arthur finally unlocks his car and lets himself in the driver’s seat. He lets out a deep exhale as his eyes are cast upon the empty parking lot. Well, except for Captain Monroe’s vehicle.

He needs to keep going. He needs to find different connections.

Who knows people? Who has a way to find out the inner workings? Who knows their way through money?

He turns on the ignition and lets the car idle for a moment.

Then it occurs to him.

Dutch. Dutch and is charismatic air. While he doesn’t want to question Dutch’s business practices, there have been times when his connections have appeared to be…problematic.

Eliza had always doubted Dutch’s motivations whenever Arthur would come over and share the next big idea the music manager was coming up with. “Where does he get all of his money?” she would ask. “It can’t just come out of thin air.”

Maybe there is more to it than Arthur realized.

The car is warmed up, so Arthur puts it in drive and pulls out of the parking lot.

It is pitch black, with not even a single star in the sky. Arthur is no stranger to night driving, and he keeps his eyes alert and watchful, looking for reflecting eyes on the sides of the road. One can never know when a raccoon or lone buck gets the urge to run out into the open road.

And as his eyes scan the view in front of him, he takes a glance at the rearview mirror.

And sees a pair of headlights.

It is hard to get a view of the car, but he knows well enough that they aren’t headlights of any vehicle he recognizes.

It could be someone heading home, like he is.

But this is an unutilized road, especially at this hour.

He can’t just jump to conclusions like this, that would make him too paranoid.

He needs to test his theories. Seeing another road, he makes a quick right without signaling his direction.

If the car behind him mirrors his actions, then there's no doubt — he's being followed. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, fingers pale with the pressure. He takes deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. If they are following him, what do they want? Information? To talk to him?

He isn’t so sure he wants to know.

The headlights behind him turn as well, confirming his suspicion. Arthur's jaw sets firm, a blend of fear and determination stiffening his posture. This isn't good. He knows it ain't just paranoia now; someone's got their sights set on him, but for what?

The road ahead is less traveled, canopied by trees and an old fence line that lines the sides of the road. This could be someone’s farm or ranchland, no one is sure to spot him or hear him should something go wrong.

He pushes harder on the gas, picking up speed.

The winding road stretches ahead, shadows playing tricks with Arthur's vision as he navigates sharp turns and uneven surfaces. His heart pounds like a drum in his chest, echoing the thumping of the tires over the gravel. He squints to keep the tailing vehicle in his rearview mirror, watching every move it makes with hawk-like precision. The road narrows, branches scraping against the sides of his truck as he barrels down the path that seems more suited for a horse than a motor vehicle.

That’s when the headlights draw closer and the bumper makes contact with the back of his car.

The jolt sends a shudder through the frame of Arthur's SUV, his pulse racing in tandem with the engine's roar. He grips the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white as he tries to maintain control. The impact wasn't strong enough to disable his vehicle, but it's clear that whoever is behind him isn't just trying to send a message; they are trying to force him off the road.

Arthur's mind races as he considers his options. He could try to outrun them, but with the road getting rougher and his SUV already taking a hit, that might lead to disaster. Alternatively, he could stop and confront them, but that's a risk he's not sure he can afford with everything that's hanging in the balance. Isaac's face flashes in his mind, a sharp reminder that he’s got more than just his own life to consider.

With a gritted determination, Arthur slows his pace slightly, planning his next move. His eyes catch a glimpse of a small clearing just ahead, to the right of the road—a potential spot to maneuver and confront his pursuer under more controlled circumstances. He steels himself, sucking in a sharp breath as he prepares for whatever comes next.

As he approaches the clearing, Arthur abruptly cuts the wheel, steering his SUV off the road and into the clearing, ramming through some old barbed wire. He hears it scratch the side of his car, but he can’t focus on that now. As he tries to navigate the escape off-road, his eyes go back to his rearview mirror.

The headlights are still there.

He curses under his breath. How can he shake them? He wants to think this is just intimidation, but it almost seems that they are trying to accomplish more than that.

The ground beneath his SUV rattles and bounces, soft dirt kicking up behind as he maneuvers through the clearing. Grass and wild brush clutch at the tires, attempting to slow him down, but Arthur's resolve is forged in steel. He presses harder on the accelerator, the engine growling like a caged beast eager for release. In the chaos of movement, his mind reels back to his rodeo days with Hosea, who always said, "Keep your head when all about are losing theirs." But right now, the distant memory can barely pierce the fog of his adrenaline.

Gritting his teeth, Arthur spots an opportunity—a narrow path veering left, and an old farm truck is coming from the opposite direction. It will be cutting it close, but if he times it right, he will lose his assailant.

The farm truck is laden with hay, and it trundles slowly along the path, unaware of the drama unfolding fast toward it. Arthur’s pulse throbs in his ears as he calculates the timing, steering his SUV so it slips behind the truck just as they pass a thick copse of trees, effectively blocking him from view.

His heart hammers against his ribs, loud in the sudden silence as he waits, hidden by the hay-laden truck and the dense foliage. He quickly turns off his lights for a moment, driving blind but slowing down just enough. He peers through a gap in the tree branches, eyes squinting as he scans for any sign of the headlights that have been dogging him. Seconds tick by, each one stretched thin like a wire pulled taut. Then, relief washes over Arthur as the headlights don’t reappear from behind the cover of trees and truck. He lets out a long, shuddering breath he didn't realize he was holding, his hands trembling on the wheel.

Now, hidden away in this makeshift refuge, Arthur allows himself a moment to think, his mind racing as fast as his heart. He knows that he must figure out who is chasing him and why. His life as a game warden has taught him to be watchful, to notice the out-of-place details that might have been ignored by even the most avid of outdoorsmen.

And there is no doubt in his mind that whoever was behind that wheel, is also connected to the two murders.

After waiting for almost thirty minutes, he relaxes his grip on the steering wheel, and gets back on the road to drive home.

Come morning, he has to pay a social call to Mr. Van Der Linde.

***

The morning sun casts a golden glow upon the small city of Pine Crest, nestled in the heart of High Sierra. Arthur walks with purpose towards the old Victorian house that serves as Dutch Van Der Linde's office. His heart pounding with a mix of apprehension and determination, he is on a mission to uncover the truth behind the mysterious killings that plagued the state he loves. And after last night, he is more convinced than ever that it is more than what the media or even Captain Monroe seems to believe.

He walks up the steps calmly, as though he didn’t just get accosted by an unknown vehicle last night. He turns to look at the beaten-up car over his shoulder. He really wishes he had driven his truck this morning, but he has to take it to the Call Me Uncle’s auto body shop, anyway.

He exhales, running a hand down his face, and reaches for the door. Letting himself inside, he closes the door quietly behind him. The entire house has been remodeled to function as a business establishment while keeping that old Victorian charm. Steadying himself, he looks ahead to his secretary at the front desk and they smile at each other. She knows who he is and is already picking up her phone to let Dutch know.

As he turns to absentmindedly peruse, a familiar figure catches the corner of his eye.

It is Mary. She is standing in the corner of the waiting room with a tablet and stylus in her hand, writing something.

Her shiny, dark hair cascades down her shoulders, contrasting against her fair skin. In a moment of hesitation, Arthur's mind swirls with bittersweet memories of their past. He hasn’t seen her hair like that since they were teenagers. He can still recall the nights they spent stargazing, promising each other forever.

And just as he is about to turn back around and leave, she lifts her head from her tablet and their eyes meet.

"Arthur!" Marcy calls out, her voice laced with a mix of joy and longing. She hurries over to him, as fast as she can in that narrow pencil skirt she wears. The pearls strung about her neck catch the light from the window, making her look like the queen of Sheba.

Startled, Arthur just looks at her. "Mary," he murmurs, caught off guard by her excitement. The unresolved emotions between them strain the air, like a taut wire ready to snap.

Mary locks her tablet and holds it close to her chest, her eyes never leaving him. "I've been waiting for you. It's been a while since we last talked, and I thought we could catch up over dinner tonight."

His heart twists in his chest, torn between the turbulent memories of their past and the tangled web of the present. "Mary, I–" he begins, only to be interrupted by her persistent pleading.

"Please, Arthur." she implores, her voice tinged with a mix of desperation and longing. “I…I really want to talk to you.”

Right. That’s all she wants to do is talk. It seems that is all they ever do is talk, but nothing is really ever said. What is this all for? What is the goal? How can he get his mind made up when all is ever done is talk?

No, he can’t do this. He doesn’t have time for words. Every second that goes by is a second wasted in not solving these two murders. His own problems will just have to wait.

Arthur's gaze flickers with regret as he struggles to find the right words. "Mary, I am knee-deep in somethin’ right now. I can't explain it, but it's very important."

Mary's eyes soften, a hint of confusion glimmering in their depths. "I'm not sure I understand."

He shakes his head. "Like I said, it is too difficult to explain."

Her smile fades, but just as quickly as it left it reappears, her eyelashes fluttering past her sparkling irises. "You can explain it to me over dinner then," she offers.

Arthur hesitates, his mind racing with thoughts of his investigation and the danger lurking in the shadows. He has to let her down gently, lest they make a scene in front of Dutch’s secretary. "Mary, I appreciate the offer, but I can’t think about dinners right now. It just isn't the right time."

Mary's face contorts with determination as she leans in closer, her voice pleading and desperate. "Please, Arthur," she implores, her eyes searching his for any sign of remorse. "You promised you would call me, but you never did." Her words are laced with disappointment and a touch of anger, betraying the hurt she feels from being ignored by someone she thought still cared.

Before Arthur can respond, the door to Dutch's office swings open, revealing the aging manager of the country rock band. Dutch is impeccably styled, his charming smile painting an illusion of success.

He couldn’t have come at a better time. Arthur lets out a sigh of relief and Mary catches it, looking at him with a pinched brow.

"Arthur!" Dutch exclaims jovially, and once within arm’s reach, he grips Arthur in a bone-crushing embrace. "I was just on the phone talking to John about the tour. We're goin’ to take the high country by storm!" He steps aside, motioning for Arthur to come into the office. “Why don’t we talk about it?”

Arthur nods. “Shoah, Dutch.”

Mary steps forward, raising a forefinger. “Mr. Van Der Linde—”

“In a minute, Mary.” Disregarding Mrs. Linton, Dutch leads Arthur towards his office. Arthur doesn’t look back at Mary; he already knows the expression on her face. They step right through the threshold and Dutch closes the door behind them, leaving Mary to her own thoughts.

“Make yourself comfortable, son,” Dutch says warmly as he removes his hand from Arthur’s shoulder and makes his way back to his desk. Arthur pauses in his steps to refamiliarize himself with Dutch’s office.

Inside, the office exudes an old-world charm. Faded photographs adorned the walls, capturing moments of triumph and camaraderie. Dutch smiles at Arthur, the lines etched on his face told tales of a life lived on the edge, of risks taken for the sake of adventure. Arthur respected him, and admired him, but also saw the vulnerability that lay beneath the charming facade.

"How's Annabelle, Dutch?" Arthur asks, lifting up an old figurine off of Dutch's desk.

"Oh, still visiting her sister," he sighs.

"So that make-up artiste must be doing a marvelous job."

"Molly? Sure. Marvelous woman. Can do that cat eye like no one else can."

Arthur forces a smile, the weight of his discovery heavy on his shoulders. He needs answers and Dutch has always seemed to have the uncanny ability to know everyone. Seizing the opportunity, Arthur now searches for a moment to broach the topic that lingered in the air like an unsolved mystery. But he needs to appeal to the man’s ego first.

“So business must be real good then, huh?”

Dutch studies the game warden with a raised brow. “I suppose.”

“Must take a lot of footwork to get a business like yours off the ground, right?”

Dutch slowly sits down in his leather chair. “Sure.”

“And a lot of networking? Even if the people ain’t in the same business as you?”

There is a sudden silence in the room and Dutch’s gaze narrows. “Arthur, what the hell are you getting at?”

Arthur finally sets that ridiculous trinket back on Dutch’s desk and rests both hands on its edge, casting a serious gaze. "Dutch, do you know anything about a man named Leopold Strauss?" he asks, his voice laced with both curiosity and suspicion.

Dutch's eyes flicker with a hint of unease, his jovial facade slipping for a moment. "Strauss? Why do you ask, old friend?"

Arthur takes a deep breath, his heart pounding. "I've been investigating a series of killings linked to him, Dutch. The victims, Mr. Downes and Leigh Gray, both had connections to Strauss."

A fire ignites in Dutch's eyes, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "Arthur, you're playing with fire here. Strauss is not someone you want to mess with. Trust. Me."

But Arthur's resolve only strengthens, fueled by the knowledge of Strauss' true nature. "Dutch, I've uncovered something dark about him. Those two people who borrowed from him? They ended up dead," he emphasizes, a tremor of anger and fear running through his body.

Dutch’s eyes widen. "Dead?"

"Yes, Dutch. Haven't you seen the news?”

“Yes, I’ve seen the news! But they’ve all been saying—!”

Arthur cuts him off, laying out the truth bare. “Those deaths weren't accidents." There is a dead pause, only the sound of Dutch’s antique grandfather clock ticking rhythmically in the silence. “Someone doesn’t want folk to know, and I am determined to find out why.”

Dutch shakes his head. “You’re just a game warden. You aren’t the FBI or…or some other highfalutin detective agency.”

“Someone tried to kill me last night.”

Dutch looks back up at Arthur, his mouth agape. “What?”

“You heard me. A dark car chased me. Ran me off the road. Someone wants me either dead or to stop lookin’ into this. Well, I don’t want there to be another victim. And if Strauss is part of it, I need to talk to him and find out who is all on his list.”

Dutch becomes quiet, his fingertips pressed together as his elbows rest on the top of his desk. Arthur slowly rises to a standing position, eyeing him carefully.

Dutch's chair screeches as he abruptly stands up and paces around the room, his movements tense and agitated. Arthur's eyes track him, a sense of unease growing in his gut as he waits for Dutch to speak.

With a frustrated sigh, Dutch runs a hand through his hair, revealing the weight of his own dark secrets etched on his face like deep scars. The tension in the room thickens with each passing moment, until it feels suffocating and unbearable.

"Arthur, I have a confession to make," Dutch begins with a trembling voice, his face pale and tense with regret. "I...I also took a loan from Strauss." As their eyes lock, Arthur's heart drops and his mind races with alarm. "I'm financially ruined, and I've been desperately relying on John's music just to stay afloat." His words hang heavy in the air as they both come to terms with the crushing weight of their dire situation.

Arthur's heart sinks. This revelation strikes him like a blow to the gut. If Dutch has been involved with Strauss, that means that he, too, could become a victim of this dark web of deceit. He wrestles with this knowledge, now also knowing that he’s been taking advantage of John for who knows how long. And Dutch still lives lavishly. All the parties, promos, hiring Mary, all of it has been riding on John and his recent success.

However, even with all of that, Dutch is still in danger and could still share the same fate as the two others, if his theory is correct about the connection to Strauss. Arthur can’t allow that to happen. He has a responsibility to protect his friend. It was what he swore to do when he became a game warden.

His brow pinches as he looks at the bankrupt manager, shaking his head softly. "Why, Dutch?"

Dutch's face twists in a mix of guilt and vulnerability. He looks down at the floor, fumbling for an answer. "Arthur, I...I couldn't see another way out. We needed money, and Leopold offered it to me. I...I took the loan, hoping I could turn things around. John has worked hard to get the band going."

“You’re damned right, he has…” Arthur says sharply but as he looks into Dutch’s eyes, he knows that he already recognizes that. Arthur lets out a deep exhale and goes to Dutch, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You should have trusted us, Dutch. We would have found a way, all of us. Now you could be in danger."

Dutch sighs, nodding his head. "I know, Arthur, and I'm sorry. Please, don't speak of this John. He doesn't need to carry the burden of my mistakes."

Arthur thinks for a moment, weighing his options. It won’t do John any good to know, at least right now. The priority is to get Dutch off of Strauss’ list and see if this theory even holds any weight. There will be a time of confessions and redemption later.

After a minute later, Arthur sighs and nods his head."Alright, Dutch, I'll keep your secret," he answers firmly. "But you're coming with me to confront Strauss. I'll protect your family, no matter the cost."

Dutch nods, a sense of relief coming over him. "Agreed, Arthur. Thank you." Arthur removes his hand from Dutch’s shoulder. “When are you going?”

Arthur doesn’t take but a second to answer. “Right now.”

Dutch nods, his charismatic and confident gaze returning. “Alright. Let’s go.”

As Arthur and Dutch leave the office, Arthur avoids meeting Mary's gaze. He can feel her eyes on him, filled with disappointment and hurt. But he knows her well enough to know that their story is far from over. The tension between them crackles like electricity, every word left unsaid hanging in the air. A part of him wants to turn back, to apologize and make things right. But another part of him knows it's too late for that. The sun continues its path across the sky, casting a warm glow over the street as Dutch and Arthur step outside, his mind lost in thoughts about what could have been.

A loud snort from Dutch interrupts his thoughts. “My god, Arthur, what the hell happened to your car?”

“The detour I had to take last night remember?” He walks around to the driver's side. “Just get in.”

And Dutch, while not being above poverty, reluctantly gets in and they drive off to pay a visit to Leopold Strauss.

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