Chapter 37: A Dazed Lenny
While Davey was taking over Donal’s territory, quite a commotion broke out at the Valentine Saloon.
Drunk Arthur had gotten into a fight with other patrons, and things quickly turned into a full-on brawl.
In the original game’s story, Arthur was the only one who started throwing punches—but this time, with Mac joining in, the situation blew up even worse.
Valentine’s officers soon arrived and detained Arthur, Mac, and Lenny.
They hadn’t managed to escape because Arthur had drunk far too much.
He and Mac had been competing in a drinking contest and had downed five bottles of whiskey between them.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake... isn’t this guy one of Mr. Callander’s?” Deputy Sheriff Graf muttered, visibly exasperated.
The three drunken men were brought to the station, and Mac was recognized right away.
They’d been taken in simply because the police had to maintain the appearance of law and order—they couldn’t just ignore the fight.
The officer in charge sighed. “They were completely drunk. The bartender called it in, and the guy they beat up too... We had no choice but to bring them all here.”
Arthur, sprawled on the floor of the station, kept shouting incoherently: “Never... I’ll never... hic... let you take me alive... never...!”
Mac squinted at the officers through bleary eyes, feeling like he might’ve seen them before, but couldn’t quite place them. “Shut up... come on... drink... cheers...”
He then tried to grab one of the officers to clink glasses, leaving the poor man both amused and helpless.
Lenny, on the other hand, was mostly sober. At the bar, it had been Arthur and Mac doing most of the drinking, while he’d had only a few glasses.
The moment they were arrested, half his buzz vanished.
After everything that had happened in Strawberry, the sight of a police station felt like a nightmare.
He was trembling uncontrollably, terrified of what might happen next.
Deputy Sheriff Graf rubbed his forehead. “These guys... such a pain when they’re drunk. Mr. Callander’s got business elsewhere.”
“I remember he booked a room at the Helton Inn. You lot, take these fellas there.”
He turned to Lenny. “Hey, kid, can you walk on your own?”
Lenny nodded nervously. “Y-yes, sir... I can, officer.”
Graf nodded. “Good. Then walk. As for the guy who called this in, looks like he’s been drinking too. He started the fight and then called the law. Throw him in a cell to sober up.”
Lenny could only stare blankly as the officers ignored the protest of the man who’d made the call and dragged him off to the jail cell.
Four officers supported Arthur and Mac as they escorted them out.
“Move it, kid. Don’t tell me you’d rather have a drink in the station?” Deputy Sheriff Graf said with a laugh.
The other officers joined in, chuckling as they walked.
Lenny followed behind in a daze until they reached the Helton Inn.
“These are Mr. Callander’s friends. Give them a room,” one of the officers said, greeting the Inn staff like an old acquaintance.
“Of course, officer—but I’ll need a hand carrying them upstairs. No way I can lift these two,” the clerk replied with a grin.
Mr. Callander was a valued customer at the Helton, and naturally, his friends would receive the same courtesy.
Lenny trailed after them up the stairs to a double room.
“Hey, kid, they’re your problem now,” one officer said before leaving.
Lenny nodded blankly, still not understanding what was happening.
Why had the police arrested the guy who’d called them, and then escorted them—the fighters—to a Inn?
Mr. Callander...
Was that Davey?
Why were the police so respectful toward him?
He couldn’t make sense of it. His thoughts were a blur. Exhausted and half-drunk, Lenny soon drifted into a confused sleep.
...
At Donal’s base, an officer soon arrived to inform Davey of the incident.
“Sorry to trouble you, sir. You know how it goes—drunks always find a way to stir up trouble.”
As Davey spoke, he casually slipped a five-dollar bill into the officer’s hand.
The officer thought back to the recent banquet and almost refused, but his hand acted faster than his conscience, pocketing the cash.
For an ordinary officer, five dollars wasn’t a small amount—especially for simply delivering a message.
The gesture impressed Donal’s men, who saw firsthand Davey’s generosity and his influence with the police.
They’d worked with lawmen before, but never had officers treated them this kindly.
“Mr. Callander, your room’s ready. Would you like to...” Donal said respectfully beside him.
Since Davey had no proper base in Valentine and had been staying at inns, Donal declared that this base would now belong to Mr. Callander.
The two-story house had six rooms—three on each floor. Donal had vacated the entire second floor for Davey’s private use, while he and the others stayed on the first floor.
Donal took the master bedroom downstairs, and the other five members shared the remaining two rooms.
Davey was thoroughly satisfied with the arrangement.
The upstairs master bedroom was large and had its own balcony.
From there, one could overlook the streets of Valentine.
The house might not have belonged to him, but for now, Davey was clearly its master.
And sleeping in a proper bed was far better than a tent or an inn cot.
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