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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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And Caleb? Caleb was digging in. The renovation would take a few days. In that time, he would solidify his cover, establish the tavern's new protocols, and prepare for the inevitable summons from Bronte. But for now, the sound of a hammer striking a nail was the only music he needed.
Two days passed in a blur of sawdust and negotiation. Caleb spent his days supervising the renovation, using his Crafting Skill to guide Isaac's crew in subtle ways, suggesting a support beam here, a wider door frame there, optimizing the space without revealing his supernatural expertise.
The transformation was remarkable. The smell of rot was replaced by the scent of fresh pine and varnish. The leaking roof was sealed tight. The sticky floor was replaced with sturdy, sanded planks. The bar, once a scarred slab of wood, was now a polished surface that gleamed in the light of the new oil lamps Caleb had installed.
He kept the aesthetic grounded. No velvet, no brass rails. Just wood, iron, and warmth. It looked like a place where a man could rest after a twelve hour shift at the docks without feeling out of place.
On the evening of the second day, as the crew was packing up their tools, Caleb stood with Doyle behind the new bar.
"It's... it's beautiful," Doyle whispered, running his hand over the wood. "I never thought I'd see the day."
"It's functional," Caleb corrected. "And tomorrow, we open. Remember the prices I told you."
"Yes, sir. 75 cents for stew. 15 cents for a beer. We'll be gaining very small amount of profits on every sale."
"But in exchange we're buying loyalty," Caleb said. "And loyalty pays better than beer."
Hearing that, Doyle nodded his head, the motion rapid and slightly jerky. In truth, he didn't fully understand the concept.
To a man who had scraped by in the slums for decades, the idea of selling a product for pennies of profit, or even at a loss, seemed like a fast track to the poorhouse. In his world, you squeezed every cent you could because you never knew if tomorrow would bring a famine.
But since Caleb was the boss, the man who had transformed this rotting husk into a fortress of oak and iron, Doyle just followed along and listened to every order that Caleb made. He had seen the gun on Caleb's hip and the money in his pocket, he was content to be the passenger in this carriage.
"Yes, sir. Loyalty. I'll remember."
At this time, Isaac and his crew approached the bar where Caleb and Doyle were standing. The big carpenter wiped his hands on a rag, looking satisfied but tired.
"Mr. Doyle," Isaac said, addressing the figurehead but casting a respectful glance toward Caleb. "That's the heavy lifting done. We've reinforced the beams, stripped the rot, and laid the floor. Tomorrow should be the last day of work."
"Just the finishing touches then?" Caleb asked, leaning against the polished wood of the new bar.
"Yes, sir," Isaac confirmed. "Mostly installing the furniture, tables, chairs, stools, the new shelving units behind the bar, the kitchen fixtures, and a new piano as requested a swell. We need to fill the space."
He paused, shifting his weight, a faint crease appearing between his brows. "Thing is, the fund we had for materials... it covered the lumber and the varnish, but we're short for the furnishings. We just need a bit more to clear the bill."
Doyle froze, the instinct of a man without money kicking in, but he quickly remembered his new reality. He subtly looked at Caleb, his eyes wide and asking for permission. Seeing the slight nod of agreement in Caleb's eyes, a look that conveyed 'Handle it, I'm backing you', Doyle cleared his throat.
"Right, right," Doyle said, puffing out his chest slightly. "Mr. McLaughlin here handles the accounts for the renovation. Mr. McLaughlin, if you would?"
He told Caleb to take out the money.
Caleb nodded his head, stepping forward. "How much are we looking at, Isaac?"
"Two hundred dollars should cover it all," Isaac said. "For sturdy stuff. And I promise the two of you, Mr. Doyle, Mr. McLaughlin, we'll stretch every penny. You're getting quality work at a fraction of what the big contractors would charge."
Caleb nodded his head. He reached into his leather satchel. To the onlookers, he was digging through a bag. In reality, his mind accessed the Inventory System, selecting a stack of bills and materializing them into his hand within the concealment of the leather flap. He pulled out the cash, the bills crisp and authoritative, before he handed them to Doyle, who passed them to Isaac with only the slightest tremor in his fingers.
"Here you are," Doyle said. "Good work so far. Keep it up." Placing the money in Isaac's calloused hand.
And after Isaac took it, counting it quickly with the dexterity of a man who knew the value of a dollar, Caleb fixed him with a serious look.
"One condition, Isaac," Caleb said. "I want you to buy the furniture from a trusted seller. Someone with good quality, but not that expensive of a price. We're building a tavern for working men, not a parlor for the Mayor. I don't want anyone inflating prices because they smell an easy mark."
His voice was calm, but the weight of his Persuasion Skill lent it gravity. "And I don't want you to lie to Mr. Doyle here about the cost or bring in second rate scrap. Understood?"
Hearing that, Isaac nodded his head earnestly. "You don't have to worry about that, sir. We have several connections thanks to our previous jobs, before the layoffs. There's a joiner down on 4th Street who owes me a favor. He does good work, solid oak. I'll hook Mr. Doyle up on some great deals."
"Good man, I know you will," Caleb said. "Get it done."
"We'll be back at dawn," Isaac promised. He signaled to his crew, and they gathered their tools, tipping their hats as they filed out of the tavern, leaving the scent of sawdust and honest sweat in their wake.
After Isaac's crew left, the silence returned to the tavern, but it was a different kind of silence than before. It wasn't empty, it was pregnant with potential.
Caleb turned to Doyle. He reached into the satchel again, accessing the inventory once more, and took out another 200 dollars. He pressed the bills onto Doyle's hand.
"This is the rest of the payments for Isaac and his crew," Caleb said, his voice low. "Their labor costs, plus a bonus for finishing on schedule. You should be the one paying them tomorrow."
Doyle looked at the money, then at Caleb. "Me? But you're here boss."
"I have a feeling I would be very busy with other things tomorrow," Caleb said, his eyes darkening slightly as he thought of the looming meeting with Bronte. "I might not be able to make it down here until late. You handle the crew. Be the fake boss you should be."
Hearing that, Doyle nodded his head, his grip tightening on the cash. He stood a little straighter. "Don't worry, boss. I will handle the matter here. I'll make sure the furniture is placed according to your instructions. We'll be ready to open."
"Good," Caleb said. He took a final look around the room. His Crafting Skill highlighted the structural integrity, green lines overlaying the beams and floorboards. It was solid. It was safe. "I'll see you when I see you, Doyle."
Before then he said his goodbye, taking his leave. He stepped out onto the porch, the evening air cooling the sweat on his brow. The street was quiet, the industrial district settling into its nightly rhythm of distant machinery and barking dogs.
On the outside, he gets on Morgan, swinging into the saddle with a fluid motion. The horse shifted, eager to be moving. Before then he ride back to the Bastille, guiding the mare through the labyrinthine streets of the slums and up toward the gas lit sophistication of the city center.
The ride was a decompression chamber. Caleb let his mind drift from the micro management of the tavern to the macro management of the city's criminal underworld. He was playing a dangerous game, acting as the bridge between two titans who wanted each other dead, all while holding a knife behind his back for both of them.
Reaching back to the Bastille, the sounds of the saloon were already spilling out onto the street, piano music, laughter, the clinking of glasses. Caleb slowed Morgan to a halt near the hitching post.
He have just get off Morgan and was patting her on the head, scratching that specific spot behind the ears that she loved.
The horse tossed her head, letting out a series of snorts and nickers that, to the average person, sounded like simple animal noises. To Caleb, however, the translation was crystal clear.
"About time," Morgan seemed to say, her ears flicking back. "That cobblestone back there was uneven. You nearly missed a step. And I smell sawdust on you. Disgraceful."
Caleb chuckled, understanding the sassy horse thanks to his max level Horse Mastery skill. "Everyone's a critic," he murmured to her. "You got your oats this morning, didn't you?"
"Oats are a right u should receive, not a privilege," she snorted back, stomping a hoof.
As he was communing with his mount, he was approached by a young Italian man. Caleb didn't need to turn around to know who it was, the heavy scent of cologne and the distinctive click of expensive shoes gave him away. Caleb already knew from his outfit, a tailored pinstripe suit, a fedora tilted at a precise angle, and a silk tie, that he was Bronte's man.
Caleb turned, his hand resting casually near his holster, his face composing itself into a mask of professional disinterest.
Sure enough, the man greeted Caleb respectfully, removing his hat with a slight bow. "Buonasera, Signor McLaughlin."
"Evening," Caleb replied.
"Mr. McLaughlin," the messenger began, his voice lowered to avoid eavesdroppers. "The boss... Signor Bronte... would like you to go and meet him tomorrow morning at 9 AM in the mansion."
Caleb raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What's the occasion?"
"To discuss the matter of the docks," the man explained, his eyes darting around nervously. "Since there have been movement outside the city... scouts, riders. The boss suspects it to be Cornwall's men. He believes they are positioning for the assault you warned him about."
The messenger paused, then added with a tone of reverence, "He specifically asked for you. He said he would like his best weapon, both in gun and mind, to discuss the matter tomorrow. He values your counsel highly, Signor."
Caleb suppressed a smirk. 'Best weapon.' It was flattering, in a sociopathic sort of way. It meant Bronte was scared, and fear made men pliable.
Caleb hearing that nodded his head as he continued to brush Morgan's mane, acting as if the summons from the most powerful crime lord in the city was merely a scheduling note.
"Tell him I'll be there," Caleb responded calmly. "I will come tomorrow morning. Assure Mr. Bronte that everything will go well. Tell him not to stay up late worrying, he should get some rest tonight. A clear head is better than a frantic one."
The man nodded his head, looking relieved that the message was received without resistance. "I will convey your... care for the boss's health. He will appreciate it. Grazie, Signor McLaughlin."
He turned to leave, then hesitated. His gaze flicked to Morgan, then back to Caleb. "A fine horse, signor."
"She is," Caleb agreed.
Enzo gave a small, respectful bow, and after that, he took his leave, disappearing into the shadows of the street with the quick step of a man who didn't like standing in the open for too long.
Caleb looked at the leaving back of the man, watching him until he turned the corner. Morgan at this time snorted loudly, shaking her mane, and let out several sharp neighs. She stepped sideways, nudging Caleb's shoulder with her nose forcefully.
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 2)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 2)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 4)
- Bow (Lvl 3)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 4)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 3)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl 3)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl 1)
- Leadership (Lvl 1)
Money: 3,350 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 252,792 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 70 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 1 land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 10 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, & 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern
Bank: -