𝘊𝘖𝘕 𝘖𝘍 𝘙𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘎𝘌 | ᴘʀᴇ ʀᴅʀ2

Chapter Nine

The gang arrived in Chicago a few days later. With the help of the cash they earned, a whopping four hundred dollars, they decided there would be no harm in staying at a proper hotel for the night before setting out in whatever direction Reginald Harrington pointed them in for Cormac O'Driscoll.

They boarded their horses in the nearby city stables to head to the hotel and pay for two rooms. Rosalie wouldn't lie—she was ecstatic about sleeping in a proper bed for the night. She loved the wide, open spaces, and sitting by the campfire under the stars, but nothing beat the soft beds and warm baths offered at hotels.

Chicago was an amazing city. Rosalie hadn't seen anything like it since she lived in Boston and New York as a child. It was funny to see the bewildered expression on John and Arthur's faces after they boarded their horses and walked over to the hotel to drop off their things. While they got settled, Hosea and Dutch were off delivering the goods to Reginald Harrington and asking him a few questions about Cormac O'Driscoll.

Rosalie maneuvered through the streets with ease toward the hotel, not minding the way people walked around each other and were packed in like squished sardines. She was used to the way people behaved in these places. To say Arthur had a few ruffled feathers was an understatement. He grimaced when people came too close to him, or if they happened to brush his shoulder as they passed. John only looked bewildered at the tall buildings and the sheer amount of people.

Walking up to the hotel, 'The Gardener House', John made an audible noise of awe, his neck craning as he fought to see the top of the building. "Wowww..."

It was a massive red brick building with hundreds of windows at the end of the street, people weaving in and out of the front, glass double doors. She could imagine it was a sight to see, especially as John had only grown up in the rural area of Illinois near small towns and homesteaders. The most he had seen was a saloon with a few rooms or a semi-decent inn.

Rosalie gave John a small smile and patted him on the shoulder as she came up behind him. "It's quite something, hm? My daddy and uncle loved to stay in these places when we could. Most of the time we'd have to stay in a much smaller, cramped room because it's all we could afford. This one isn't even the fanciest. It might have been grand when it first opened, but not anymore." She explained, her eyes dragging over the chipped brick and dingy carpet she could see through the glass doors.

"It's still the most amazin' thing I ever seen." Breathed John, still in awe at the sight of the tall, multistory building.

Arthur made a noise of discomfort as he came to stand beside them. "There's too many damn people. We ain't stayin' here long, that's for sure."

Rosalie gave him an amused look, before nodding at the doors. "C'mon. Let's get a room then we can meet up with Dutch and Hosea after they decide if we're gonna... go through with doing that to Harrington."

In the past few days of travel, the gang had been considering robbing Reginald Harrington more seriously. But without a clear plan of action, they knew they needed more information. Dutch and Hosea were tasked with gathering details to see if the idea was even doable. If Harrington's guards were tough and plentiful, they might have to scrap the whole idea.

Rosalie led the boys into the hotel lobby. It was nice, but the decor was clearly outdated, the interior resembling the dingy hotels she would have seen in New York as a girl. But despite the decorations, there were no complaints from her, as It was more high class than she had experienced in a few weeks. She spoke to the clerk and purchased two rooms, taking the keys and trailing down the hall.

"Dutch and Hosea have their room across from us," Rosalie said, closing the door behind them.

Arthur sighed as he sat himself on one of the beds. He kicked off his boots and lay on the bed with his hands folded behind his head. "This is comfortable. Beats a bedroll." He murmured, seeming to already be dozing off, his hat tipping over his eyes.