Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 73: Release our brother Dennis! Otherwise, massacre Saint Raphael!

"Commission? What commission?"

"The deposit has been received."

Finnian patted his pocket: "An editor-in-chief and a boss, we'll definitely help you get away with it cleanly."

"what?"

"No, no! Sir! I've changed my mind! Can I change my mind? I don't want any commission!"

"Change your mind? Sure, of course you can."

Finnian tilted his head and drew his Colt revolver from his waist.

He opened the loading port and ejected a bright yellow bullet with his little finger.

"Look."

He showed the empty magazine to Jerry.

Then, he slammed the loading port shut and spun the cartridge wheel rapidly.

Click, click, click, click!

He snapped the cylinder shut and then shoved the pistol in front of Jerry's face, the butt pointing directly at him.

"The channel to revoke the commission is right here."

Finnian's tone was icy: "Six holes, five bullets, one empty magazine. Want to give it a try?"

Jerry had never seen anything like this before, and he was so frightened that he trembled and dared not take it.

Five bullets, one empty magazine.

This is a one-in-six chance of survival and a five-in-six chance of instant death.

He couldn't believe he would be so lucky.

Even if the odds were reversed, he wouldn't dare choose.

"Hahahahahaha!"

Seeing that Jerry was already terrified, Finnian burst into laughter and put away his pistol.

"It seems our contract is still valid."

"That's more like it, kid! In business, you have to be honest."

"Alright, let's get down to business."

“I need you to go back to San Francisco and publish a statement in your newspaper.”

“Tell those uniformed scumbags in San Raphael, tell that bastard lieutenant named Buck, immediately, right now, release our friend, Mr. Dennis Cornell!”

“If we don’t see Mr. Dennis emerge from the dungeon unharmed within three days, we will attack Saint Raphael and massacre the county! We will cut off the heads of Buck and all his soldiers and build a mound of skulls!”

"what?"

"W-what?"

Jerry and Peter were so shocked their jaws nearly dropped to the floor.

Irish robbers are trying to rescue Denise Colney?

Did they admit it publicly?
FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

This is fucking explosive!
This is ten times, no, a hundred times, more explosive than Dennis being arrested!
Who could have imagined this! Who the hell could have imagined this!
The leader of the Irish Workers' Party, that politician who wielded immense influence in San Francisco, is indeed in league with this group of ruthless killers!

"my Lord!"

Peter's face flushed with excitement: "This, this is the biggest news of the year, no! This is the biggest news of the century!"

"Quick! Quick!"

Jerry realized what was happening and scrambled toward the camera.

"What are you all standing there for? Quick! Adjust the camera!"

"Damn it! Hurry up and take a picture of it!"

Finnian called out to the thugs behind him.

"Brothers! Get your weapons out!"

Dozens of ruthless bandits immediately roared, pulled off red headscarves, and raised their Winchester rifles and shotguns high.

Two of them unfurled a hastily made banner.

Written crookedly in black paint, it read: "Release Dennis! Otherwise, massacre Saint Raphael!"

"FUCK! This is it!"

Jerry practically pounced on the camera.

"Thorn--!"

"boom!"

A blinding white light exploded. "Very good."

Finnian was pleased with the photo: "Send the guest off."

"No! Wait! We ourselves..."

Jerry and Peter didn't even have a chance to finish their sentences.

He rolled his eyes and fainted.

It's the same old surprise attack, the same old formula.

San Francisco, Montgomery Street, Pacific Union Club.

Inside a luxurious private room.

Several powerful Irish businessmen sat together, their faces grim.

"This is absolutely a frame-up! It's a great show put on by Buck and those railroad tycoons!" a beer merchant named Donovan said angrily.

“That’s right.” A gray-haired banker calmly analyzed, “Dennis is a union leader. How could he be so foolish as to collude with that shady gang? That would be political suicide.”

"It's no use saying all this now!"

Donovan was frantic: "We have to find a way to get him out of here right now! I've already contacted the best lawyer in all of San Francisco, Mr. Harrison!"

"Spend money! No matter how much it costs, get Dennis out on bail first!"

"Yes! As long as he gets out, his mouth will be able to throw all the dirty water back at us!"

"That bastard Buck! He dared to touch Dennis! He's declaring war on us Irish!"

At that moment, there was a knock on the door of the private room.

A secretary, pale-faced, rushed in carrying an extra edition of the California Chronicle.

"Boss! Look!"

Donovan impatiently snatched the newspaper away.

"What the hell is bad news now?"

He looked down, and a huge photograph suddenly appeared in his field of vision.

And above the photo, the title printed in blood red.

[A ruthless bandit publicly declares war: Release our brother Dennis! Otherwise, we will massacre Saint Raphael!]

Donovan's breath hitched.

Several other entrepreneurs also saw the newspaper.

Without exception, they all fell silent.

What else is there to say?

They had only one thought in their minds.

Dennis Kearney is finished.

……

When the California Chronicle’s evening paper was thrown into San Francisco, the entire city erupted in excitement.

The violent photo that dominated the front page, along with the extremely arrogant headline, relentlessly assaulted everyone's eyes and reason.

This is no longer just news; it's a declaration of war.

It was an open declaration of war by that group of lawless Irish gangsters against the California government and even against civilized order.

"FUCK! I knew it! I fucking knew it!"

In a cigar club, a banker who was usually impeccably dressed was now flushed with excitement.

“I told you so! Dennis Kearney, that scumbag, he’s absolutely not clean! And you guys are arguing with me, saying he’s just a political demagogue!”

"Now, all of you open your eyes wide and look! His Irish gang brothers are coming to rescue him!"

"They're in cahoots! They're all in cahoots!"

"Hang him! Dennis Kearney must be hanged immediately!"

"And those gangsters! Send in the army! Use Gatling guns, turn them all into mincemeat!"

Anger and fear overturned the elegance and dignity of the past.

Meanwhile, at the Workers' Party headquarters on the other side of the city, the atmosphere was unusually oppressive.

Those union members who usually cheered and shouted along with Dennis were now all dejected.

They were unwilling to believe that their leader would be associated with a group of ruthless killers.

However, the photo also contained a declaration that they couldn't refute.

The Irish Workers' Party, a political force that had just emerged in California politics and caused headaches for countless capitalists, has seen its reputation plummet at this moment.

(End of this chapter)