chapter 38; leviticus

                                    

                                          
[A/N] ~ Hiiiiii, did you miss me? here's a quick little dialogue chapter for you. More is coming! If ya'll don't already know, I'm a mom with very little free time so chapters can be few and far between. BUT~ ya'll have stuck with me this far and continue to be patient with me and inspire me to keep the story going. You're awesome! Thank you!
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Arthur turns a corner down the alleyway in Annesburg. He hadn't wanted to come along in the first place, serving as another gun on one of Dutch and Micah's twisted plans but he didn't have much of a say in the matter. A run in with the ghost that was a widowed Mrs. Downes had already left him feeling rattled, haunted by poor mistakes made in his past. 
Interrupting his solemn contemplation, a figure bursts through a side door, tossing itself into Arthur's body and pinning him to the opposing wall. Bony fingers grip his collarbones with force, shaking him violently. "Was you followed?" Micah yells.
"No." Arthur grits, fighting his way out of his grip.
Micah pushes his back against the wall. "Was you followed?" He booms again.
"I said, no!" Arthur shouts, struggling to heave Micah off of him. "What is your problem?
"My problem? What's your problem? You don't look so good, partner." Micah chuckles with a satisfied grin. 
Choking on blood and mucus, the opportunity for a witty comeback is lost on Arthur. A strong cough and the clot is cleared but his breath is lost, heaving to catch up with his racing heart. He keeps himself balanced against the wall, hand on his chest.
"You don't look so good." Micah snickers.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Arthur shoves Micah back with regained strength. 
"Nothing wrong with me, Black Lung. I'm fit as a fiddle!" He answers, holding his arms up high to prove his point. 
Footsteps clomp against the warped dock boards and they both turn to find Dutch, shoulders and spine tight with agitation. The calm and collected look he was once known for is gone, replaced by dark eyes and gritted jaw. Fists balled at his side, he puts himself between his once protégé and new partner in crime, in no mood to put up with their squabbling. 
"Micah reckons there's a rat." Dutch huffs, resting his foot atop an old barrel, leaning over his knee. 
"Oh, does he now... on what evidence?" 
"We was only back five minutes and Pinkertons show up." Micah grunts.
"We've been on the run since you two fools went crazy in Blackwater. We barely escaped with our lives in Saint Denis and now you're tellin' me we got a rat?"
"Well Molly clearly talked but who else?" Dutch says.
"Maybe we've pushed things too far." Arthur offers, Micah rolling his eyes and turning away to swear under his breath. "Maybe time for folks like us has passed. We don't need a rat! We been sloppier than the town drunk. They know who we are, where we are and what we doing."

"Way I see it..." Micah spins back around, now hovering over Dutch's shoulder to steal his ear. "Best thing we can do is let the weak go-" His eyes dart to Arthur, pinning on his sunken eyes and frail figure. "move on, get our money and start over."

There's a pause. Micah still hanging over Dutch, staring into him as he waits for a response. Dutch keeps his glance on the wooden boards below, stirring the suggestion over. A hard pit forms in Arthur's stomach with a fear of what Dutch will say next. He'd once trusted the man enough to believe he'd never leave a man behind, no matter the situation but if he makes the decision to cut off the weak... 
"That ain't happening." Dutch finally answers, the pit dissolving. 
Micah balls his fist before pulling it away, biting his bottom lip with enough force to draw a drop of blood. He lets out a slow breath, holding on to his patience by a thread.
"We got to do something and fast. Otherwise them Pinkertons and Cornwall, they've got us pinned here and ain't none of them stopping."
"Cornwall is why we're here. Shall we Dutch?" Micah adds, waiting for his partner. 
"Yeah. It's time to go." Dutch shrugs his shoulders to Arthur before joining Micah. 
"Leave Cornwall alone." Arthur grumbles. "Look, I know we need money, but revenge? It ain't worth it."

"Of course it's for money." Micah barks, his snout back in Arthur's face.
"Come on Arthur." Dutch says in a calming tone. 
He hesitates, his late attempt to force Dutch and Micah to think rationally, defeated. Sighing heavily, he adjusts his hat and gun belt. "This better not be no stupid revenge mission, Dutch. What are you going to say to him that needs to be said?"
"He's the one who's been hunting us since Valentine. He is the reason Hosea got killed. His sugar business is destroying the people of Guarma. This town, Arthur, is his town. He bought just to destroy these fine folk here." Dutch steps away, leading the way towards the boat docks. 
"These are wrongs you can't right, Dutch. We're wanted men."
Dutch huffs, not bothering to so much as look over his shoulder as he shoots off an accusing question to his once son. "So why did you go for John against my wishes?"
"I didn't want him hanged."
"Neither did I." 
"We're gon' cut a deal, Arthur." Micah interrupts, returning the focus to what they came hear to do.
"We want out and Cornwall wants us to stop robbing him. We all know his money is what's keeping the Pinkertons on our tail. He is America, Arthur. And I want out. And he won't let us go."

"This ain't making a lot of sense, Dutch." Arthur sighs, following behind the pair.
"It will, son." His tongue curls with the word, a sudden bitterness at the sound of it. "It will. A deal, some noise and then we're gone."

With nothing more to say, they walk silently down the dock. The boards, soaking wet after a recent storm, creak beneath their feet. The waves slosh below, the water stirring angrily as if it knows the chaos about to unfold.