Saint Denis was a welcome change of scenery. From hostile Valentine to the complicated end of Rhodes, the tarnished smog of the city would suffice for now. Now safely having rescued little Jack Marston after he had been taken by the Braithwaite family, the gang had begun settling down. Dutch had even made friends with Angelo Bronte, a big name in town, securing himself a certain level of protection.

Being acquainted with a man of a name such as Mr Bronte himself meant easier access to information. Being now somewhat regular attendees at his parties, the gang had managed to make some well-needed extra money. Arthur Morgan, playing his role as the gang’s errand boy, had been sent to find a certain Bennie Campbell, a man running some interesting business in Saint Denis.

The story said that Campbell was usually found at Bastille Saloon around five in the afternoon on Thursdays, drinking whisky. Arthur hitched his horse outside and entered the place as seamlessly as he could. Upon entering, he found the place to be strangely quiet. A woman stood near the bar with her hands placed on the wood.

“S’cuse me, Miss,” he approached, one hand on his belt. “Have you seen a man by the name of Bennie Campell?” His gaze lifted up, slightly covered by the brim of his hat. Then, a flicker of recognition flashed through his eyes. He knew you. He had known you quite a while ago, before the chaos in Blackwater. You had been strangely interested in an outlaw’s business for a lady of class, and he had only been ever more amused.

“Well, well. Should’ve figured I’d eventually find you in Saint Denis.” He drawled, now leaning closer and resting his own arm against the counter of the bar. “Didn’t know a lady such as yourself frequented these places. Ain’t bars a little too wild for you?”