Dutch leaned forward to tap the partition separating him from the cabbie.
"You can let me out here," he said. The carriage slowed; a tray in the wall clicked open, and Dutch gave it the expected coins. When they came to a stop, Dutch stepped out. He waited, looking over some storefront with absent eyes, until the cab's reflection turned the corner. Dutch settled his satchel more securely on his shoulder for the walk.
The café a few blocks down the cobbled street had no sign, its only advertising the smell of baked goods. And "coffee." Dutch wrinkled his nose at the strong, bitter smell. His passage through most of the café went unremarked by the maids staffing the counter. He seated himself at a booth; the man on the other side wore an impeccable suit paired with a fabulous mustache. Dutch brushed his own bare lip after he removed his hat.
"You are Dutch?" The younger man took a moment to parse the thick Spanish accent.
"Yes, sir."
"But you are American, not Dutch?"
"Yes, sir. I was born here in New Amsterdam. My master gave me the name when I started my apprenticeship, and it just--stuck." The Spaniard shook his head.
"But she is also--ah, never do I understand the American humor." His dark eyes lit on the strap still hanging from Dutch's shoulder.
"You have it?" The apprentice nodded. He lifted the bag from his lap, and reached inside. The Spaniard leaned forward. Dutch drew out a gold bar; it shined in the café's tasteful lighting. The Spaniard made a noise as Dutch set it on the table and pulled out another. He brought out another, and then another. The Spaniard reached to lift one of them, and Dutch sat back. The Spaniard tapped it with a finger, and then dug in a nail. Gold leaf tore to expose the dull lead underneath. Dutch watched the other man's eyebrows shoot up.
"Glorious!" the Spaniard said. "Excellent." He looked up at Dutch. "Your master will receive the usual fee. If this is acceptable?" Dutch inclined his head. The Spaniard accepted the bag with shaky fingers. He rose, and was gone. Dutch relaxed once the café's doorbell chimed. He took his hat from the seat behind him, and began dropping the "gold" bars into it.
Another happy customer.
"You can let me out here," he said. The carriage slowed; a tray in the wall clicked open, and Dutch gave it the expected coins. When they came to a stop, Dutch stepped out. He waited, looking over some storefront with absent eyes, until the cab's reflection turned the corner. Dutch settled his satchel more securely on his shoulder for the walk.
The café a few blocks down the cobbled street had no sign, its only advertising the smell of baked goods. And "coffee." Dutch wrinkled his nose at the strong, bitter smell. His passage through most of the café went unremarked by the maids staffing the counter. He seated himself at a booth; the man on the other side wore an impeccable suit paired with a fabulous mustache. Dutch brushed his own bare lip after he removed his hat.
"You are Dutch?" The younger man took a moment to parse the thick Spanish accent.
"Yes, sir."
"But you are American, not Dutch?"
"Yes, sir. I was born here in New Amsterdam. My master gave me the name when I started my apprenticeship, and it just--stuck." The Spaniard shook his head.
"But she is also--ah, never do I understand the American humor." His dark eyes lit on the strap still hanging from Dutch's shoulder.
"You have it?" The apprentice nodded. He lifted the bag from his lap, and reached inside. The Spaniard leaned forward. Dutch drew out a gold bar; it shined in the café's tasteful lighting. The Spaniard made a noise as Dutch set it on the table and pulled out another. He brought out another, and then another. The Spaniard reached to lift one of them, and Dutch sat back. The Spaniard tapped it with a finger, and then dug in a nail. Gold leaf tore to expose the dull lead underneath. Dutch watched the other man's eyebrows shoot up.
"Glorious!" the Spaniard said. "Excellent." He looked up at Dutch. "Your master will receive the usual fee. If this is acceptable?" Dutch inclined his head. The Spaniard accepted the bag with shaky fingers. He rose, and was gone. Dutch relaxed once the café's doorbell chimed. He took his hat from the seat behind him, and began dropping the "gold" bars into it.
Another happy customer.
It's a nice reveal, and I'm sure it comes up somewhere in the future, but having the gold bars not be gold and everyone be fine with it seems like an unnecessary step. Why cover them in gold at all?
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