"It's fine, I can wait. But the moonshine has to match the taste and aroma of a fine spirit."
"These matters I have to entrust to you, Mr. Benedict."
"I'm sure you won't let me down."
Despite his earlier flashiness, Davey still had over $1,600 on him. That would cover everyday expenses for a long time. So he wasn't in a hurry—if the moonshine venture took longer to start, fine—but the quality had to be perfect. Once the recipe was set, production would never stop: steady sales, gradual expansion, hiring more hands.
"All right, Mr. Callander. I'll keep experimenting and get you the moonshine you want as soon as I can."
Benedict knew well that although Davey was playing the gentleman now, he was still the same cold-blooded outlaw underneath. The occasional pain in his leg reminded him of that. If he lost his usefulness or disappointed Davey, death would be his final outcome.
Having attended the police banquet, Benedict realized Davey's power had grown a lot. There was no chance of running. Besides, if he could produce moonshine that matched whiskey in flavor and aroma, the money would start flowing—his cut, even if small, would far exceed what he made selling fake medicine. Most importantly, he'd be safer. Being a behind-the-scenes producer was far less risky than hawking bogus cures; and if danger did come, Davey would handle it.
...
After leaving the distillery, Davey planned to head back to camp. Being away for ten days or a fortnight was normal, but you still had to return now and then. He didn't plan to leave the Van der Linde Gang yet.
"Davey, don't worry—I didn't tell Dutch about what you're doing."
"But I'm going to tell Abigail. You know she's never liked the gang life."
John said this on the way back. Davey replied, "I trust Abigail will make a wiser choice than you, John."
John hesitated. "Maybe."
Mac asked, "Davey, do we need to turn in our cut to the gang? We've been out half a month."
Davey said, "I'll cover Wróbel's debt. You and John each hand in a dozen bucks or so."
Mac winced. "A dozen bucks—don't you think that's a bit much, Davey?"
While Davey was tied up with the moonshine, Mac had been either in the saloon or drinking coffee with women. The cash he got from the clinic's secret room had long since been spent. John was similar—he hadn't been drinking coffee, but he bought gifts for Little Jack and Abigail, likely influenced by the banquet. He'd also spent time at the saloon.
Davey was speechless. He gave each of them about a dozen dollars and sent them back to camp to hand it in themselves. How much they actually gave was up to them. The gang technically expected half, but nobody made a fuss if you didn't. Outlaws lived for the day, spending freely—saving was useless when one good job could change everything.
When they reached camp, many were gone. Bill, Arthur, Charles, and Kieran Duffy were absent.
"Oh—Davey, Mac, John, you're finally back. How'd it go? Any luck?" Hosea greeted them with a smile.
Davey said, "Mostly deadbeats. That Strauss fellow keeps loaning money to people who can't pay, then dumps the problem on us. Every time it's like robbing folks—only we're robbing the poor instead of the rich. And we end up playing detective; they never hand over the cash willingly. They hide it in the oddest places."
As he spoke, Davey moved to the gang's chest and covered Wróbel's debt himself. John and Mac waited until he'd walked a bit away, then each dropped a few dollars into the box.
"Hey, Dutch—where's Arthur? And Charles, Bill, Lenny, and that O'Driscoll kid? Haven't seen them around." Davey asked casually. There was nothing between him and Dutch right now, so he kept things friendly.
Dutch replied, "Davey, looks like you didn't come back with much. That O'Driscoll kid finally talked—he gave us the location of the O'Driscoll camp. It's at the Six-Point Cabin. Arthur, Bill, and Charles went ahead to scout it. You're back just in time—if Colm's there we'll take him out together."
Dutch paused, then added, "Lenny and Micah went off to gather intel." He knew, though, that Colm probably wasn't there; otherwise he'd have gone himself. And he knew Davey didn't like Micah.
"All right, Dutch. We'll wait for word from Arthur and the others." Davey said. "That rat would be best off getting killed out there." He made no effort to hide his disgust for Micah.