Chapter 78: Sheriff Malloy’s Intelligence
“You’re showing contempt for the United States—contempt for the law!”
The lead bootlegging agent’s face flushed red with rage at Donal’s words.
But Donal ignored him completely. With a cold snort, he turned and led his men out, leaving the agents fuming helplessly in the station.
Whatever excuses Sheriff Hanley would have to make to them later were no concern of his.
...
Land Farm.
After listening to Donal’s report, Davey said calmly, “Looks like Sheriff Hanley’s getting a little too greedy. We’ll halt the moonshine trade in Strawberry for three days—consider it giving those agents some face. But if they still want to cross me after that, they’d better be ready for hell.”
“As for Hanley, spend the next few days talking to the officers at the Strawberry police station. Find out who he’s been pushing aside—and whether they might be interested in working with us.”
“Once you find the right person, it’ll be time for Strawberry to have a new sheriff.”
Davey didn’t take the bootlegging agents seriously. In his eyes, the United States Bootlegging Enforcement Bureau wasn’t worth his attention.
That department had risen thanks to the big liquor companies. They’d poured huge sums into political donations, bribed plenty of congressmen, and lobbied for a way to protect their profits under the law. The result was the creation of this so-called bootlegging enforcement agency.
To the federal government, moonshine sales cut into national revenue—after all, no taxes were paid. So the liquor barons’ demands had been quickly approved.
These magnates even kept funding the agency to expand its power, not realizing that twenty years later, the same men protecting their profits would become the Prohibition agents enforcing the ban against them.
But this was the West—
a place where even the United States couldn’t maintain proper law enforcement. Civilization might be creeping in, but savagery still ruled most of the land.
Here, Prohibition agents had little real power. They might intimidate common folk, but against an outlaw like Davey—someone even the Pinkertons found troublesome—they were hopelessly outmatched.
Giving them three days was Davey’s way of showing restraint.
And that number wasn’t random—two days from now, it would be time for Sean MacGuire’s rescue, after which Mac would return.
If there was fighting to be done, Davey wouldn’t lead it himself—he’d send Mac instead.
...
After settling affairs in Strawberry, Davey rode into Valentine and entered the sheriff’s office.
“Mr. Callander, the sheriff’s in his office,” one of the deputies greeted him respectfully.
These days, Davey was practically their benefactor.
Each month they received generous bonuses and crates of free moonshine.
For anyone who wasn’t a heavy drinker, it was more than enough to last half the month.
It was all thanks to Davey, so showing him respect came naturally.
...
Inside the sheriff’s office, Davey asked, “Sheriff Malloy, any progress on that matter I asked about earlier? You know I’ve been keeping a close eye on it.”
He handed over a box of fine cigars as he spoke.
Seeing the box, Sheriff Malloy’s smile widened. They were Cuban cigars—premium stock, thirty dollars a box, five sticks inside. Six dollars a cigar. Once lit, they gave off the scent of burning money.
“Mr. Callander, I’ve got news about what you asked. Lately, the bounty hunters in Blackwater have had a serious falling-out with the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Seems they’ve been butting heads pretty hard.”
“When it came to deciding who’d escort the prisoner, the bounty hunters won out—after all, they were the ones who caught him. The Pinkertons are furious about it, and from what I hear, they probably won’t be joining the transport.”
Malloy tucked the cigars away, then passed along all the information he’d gathered.
“Is your source reliable, Sheriff? You know how important this is to me,” Davey asked again.
He was deeply concerned about the plan to rescue Sean MacGuire.
Even if he wasn’t going himself, his brother and close friends were the ones involved.
A single butterfly could start a storm—his presence here had already changed the original course of events. But this was no game. In the real world, death meant death. Even Arthur’s so-called “main character” luck wasn’t something he could count on.
To avoid unnecessary risks, Davey needed to gather as much information as possible.
And Sheriff Malloy clearly had the right connections.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Callander,” Malloy assured him. “The intel came from a friend of mine who works as a police officer in Blackwater. He’s well-informed about what’s going on there.”
Hearing that, Davey finally felt at ease.
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