Dutch's response to Marco's budding enthusiasm wasn't just excited; it was an eruption of theatrical passion. He seized Marko's hands, his own face flushing with an almost alarming intensity. His eyes gleamed.
"Oh, Mr. Dragic, please allow me to call you Marko, my friend!" Dutch boomed, his voice thick with emotion, practically squeezing the poor man's fingers. "How dare I object to your magnificent proposal? My very purpose in inviting you here was to forge a bond, a friendship with a mind such as yours! Your profound intellect, your sheer brilliance, has long filled me with boundless admiration! If Saint Denis weren't a stone's throw from the Arctic Circle, and if we hadn't been perpetually dodging Blackwater's finest, I'd have been at your door ages ago! But it's not too late, Marko, not too late now!"
Dutch leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial growl, his brow furrowing into a mask of righteous fury. He even let out a soft, indignant growl. "What truly infuriates me, however, is the utter blindness of those pompous, self-important fools in Saint Denis! They show no regard—no regard!—for a towering genius like you! They force you to peddle your magnificent designs, your world-altering inventions, in public, like some circus act, only to be mocked and ridiculed! It fills me, my friend, with an unholy, boundless indignation!"
The more Dutch spoke, the darker his expression became, his face, already bearing a touch of gravitas, now contorted into a masterful portrayal of incandescent rage. He might have looked like he was about to spontaneously combust, but every word he uttered was a perfectly aimed shot, a pendulum swing that struck Marco's heart. It dredged up years of slights, of misunderstood brilliance, of suffocating frustration, leaving the scientist utterly vulnerable, ripe for Dutch's emotional conquest.
"Oh, Dutch, dear Dutch!" Marko gasped, his own hands clenching Dutch's in return, tears welling in his eyes. He gazed at Dutch with an almost tearful reverence. "My friend! Every single word you speak resonates deep within my soul! Truly, I never, ever imagined there would be a soul in this entire, godforsaken world who could understand me! Dutch!"
Their hands remained intertwined, two men, one a master manipulator, the other a desperate, lonely genius, gazing into each other's eyes with a sickeningly sweet, 'mutual' affection. Of course, Dutch's performance was worthy of a standing ovation, while Marko's emotion was brutally, painfully real.
Seeing Marco so utterly lost in the moment, Dutch decided to unleash the final, crushing blow, the surprise that would irrevocably seal Marko's devotion.
"Marko, my friend," Dutch continued, his voice now laced with a heartbreaking sorrow, a tremor of profound sympathy. He even placed a hand over his heart, as if physically pained. "I am truly heartbroken by your life, by your relentless misfortunes! Your existence shouldn't be this squalid. With your towering talent, you should be exalted! You should be held in the highest regard, valued wherever you step! You should be a very pillar of this nation, a source of immeasurable pride for the entire country! Instead, you live in crushing hardship, mocked, ridiculed, forced to perform for those uncaring merchants like some pitiable animal! Oh, Marko, your life, my friend, should never have been this way!"
Dutch paused, his eyes gleaming with a controlled fire. "My friend, I find your situation utterly, truly unacceptable! I believe you should be famous, enshrined in history for eternity! The world should know your name! You should hold a high position, revered by all! Not hidden in the shadows like some scurrying rat!"
Dutch then snapped his head towards Arthur, who was approaching with a tray of tea, his voice suddenly sharp, yet with a subtle eyebrow twitch. "Arthur! Arthur! Oh, hurry, Arthur, go retrieve the two thousand dollars we set aside. Marco, my friend, allow me to do my utmost to alleviate your burden!"
Arthur, the gang's dual enforcer, a seasoned socialite, and Dutch's long-suffering accomplice in countless cons, didn't miss a beat. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and the unspoken signal passed between them, a silent understanding honed by years of deception. He knew exactly what role to play.
"But Dutch," Arthur began, his voice laced with feigned hesitation, a perfect portrayal of concern. He even wrung his hands slightly. "Isn't this the money for our raw materials? If it goes to Mr. Dragic, then our employees—"
"Enough, Arthur! Enough!" Dutch thundered, his voice cracking with emotion. He waved a dismissive hand, as if swatting away a fly. "Marko is my friend! His knowledge is boundless, his achievements are exceptionally brilliant, and he needs this money far, far more than we do! Oh, child, I know our group also needs this money. For us, it merely means a slightly better life for the next six months. But for Marko, this might be his only hope to continue living! Oh, Arthur… I refuse to see my friend wander homeless!"
Dutch's voice grew mournful, almost a sob. His words sent a genuine chill down Marko's spine, subtly destabilizing his already fragile emotions. The final line, "I don't want my friend to wander homeless!" hit Marko like a physical blow, bringing a fresh wave of tears to his eyes. For so many years, for so long, this was the first time anyone had truly cared, had treated him with such profound, heartfelt sincerity.
Those long-oppressed souls who consider themselves extraordinary often possess two traits: a deep, bitter contempt for the wealthy, and a heart that, once opened, burns with an almost frightening fervor. Marko was precisely such a man, and Dutch, a master of human psychology, understood this perfectly. He had prescribed the perfect remedy, and the results were nothing short of miraculous.
Listening to Dutch and Arthur's "argument," Marko immediately became frantic.
He darted between them, a desperate gesture with his hands, trying to stop the manufactured quarrel. "Oh, enough, enough! Dutch, Arthur, please, don't argue! My friends! I don't want this money! I don't want it!"
"No! Marko, my friend, you must take this money!" Dutch bellowed, his voice filled with passionate insistence. He practically lunged for a nearby clothes rack, pulling out the wad of banknotes hidden within. "Take it, Marko! My friend, I am truly sorry, there is not much else I can do for you. This… this is already my utmost effort!" Dutch forcefully attempted to shove the two thousand dollars, enough to drive a man mad, into Marko's hands.
He didn't take credit. He didn't mention the grueling effort required to scrounge up those two thousand dollars. Instead, he apologized to Marko, humbly stating that his meager abilities could only extend this far. After such a masterful, emotional performance, who could possibly withstand such a blow? Dutch, of course, found it all hilariously easy, a well-worn tactic from some ancient art of persuasion. But Mr. Dragic was clearly no seasoned veteran of emotional warfare.
Each word from Dutch, laced with apologies yet brimming with concern, resonated deep within Marko, burning into his very soul. The gratitude swelled within him, threatening to overwhelm him entirely. His emotions were stirred to an unparalleled, almost terrifying degree.
He clutched Dutch's hands tightly, his eyes and heart overflowing with emotion, his vision blurring with tears. "Oh, Dutch, oh Dutch! My dear friend, no, no, no! I cannot take it! This money is for your group's very livelihood! I won't take it! My friend, you have already shown me such boundless consideration. How could I possibly harm my friends' interests for my own? Dutch, do you know? For all these years, you are the only one who has truly cared for me, who has truly valued me! So how could I harm my friends' interests for my own? My friend!"
Dragic had completely, irrevocably fallen.
Dutch's grin, hidden from Marko's view, widened. This was his genius. His method of controlling the gang, whether it was Arthur, Hosea, John, Sean, Bill, or Charles, was never through fear, but through the heart. Why did they all remain loyal? Because the camp was their home! No discrimination, no bullying, no betrayal—just people supporting each other like true family. That was the real way to win hearts.
And Dutch had just used the exact same method to win over Mr. Dragic.
And, he mused, with a satisfied flick of his cigar ash, he got his golden goose didn't he? Now it's time to hatch some eggs!