It certainly wasn't the most impressive looking office he'd ever seen. The rug was worn in a few spots and the furniture looked like it had come from a second-hand shop – for good reason. Some people might've said the wear gave the desk an interesting patina – a sense of character. Chris Larabee didn't think that way. The legs were level in the drawers all worked. He was happy with it. The office chairs didn't match and the only one with any semblance of comfort was for the clients. Assuming any ever showed up. He still wasn't convinced that would happen.
His new business partner had no doubts. Buck Wilmington had had to be talked into joining the partnership but once he made the decision, his optimism knew no bounds. That was typical. Even during the worst battles of the war Buck would find something positive to boost morale. It was at the same time one of his most endearing, yet irritating traits.
It was that optimism that had him out of the office now, in search of leads on the whereabout of the man they were hoping would become the third partner in this venture. Chris still couldn't believe he was sitting inside his own detective agency, even though the whole thing had been his idea. Not his first plan, not even his second. First had been to come home from the war and settle onto the family land with his wife and son. Ranching would be a hard living, but an honest one, and that mattered to him. The flu epidemic of 1918 took care of that dream. Adam had died first, with Sarah gone two days later. He'd been in the middle of some godforsaken battle fighting over a few acres of land. It was weeks later until he even found out. Now, even though it was five years later, the idea of working his own few acres still hurt him to his very soul. So, the land was being rented out. Not sold. He continued to harbour a faint hope that someday he'd be motivated enough to try again.
He'd wandered for a while, working other ranches, but that didn't suit him. If he was going to do that work, it needed to be on his terms. Any work needed to be on his terms. Which meant the idea of reenlisting was definitely out of the question, and he dismissed the notion before it was even a full thought. The next plan he did allow himself to consider was law enforcement. Some kind of sense of justice was needed in his life and it was the only avenue that made sense initially. It took him no time at all to discover just how off-track he was with that plan. Prohibition had done little more than shift the balance of power. No one drank any less, but now the proceeds lined the pockets of mobsters and gangsters. The criminal element controlled almost everything, including the police. He was looking for a way to make an honest living, and that clearly wasn't it.
The empty office caught his eye on the way home late one night. Private Detective. It sounded like something out of a dime-store novel. Surprisingly, it also sounded like a good idea. Especially if he could recruit one of his oldest friends into the fold. Buck had taken some convincing, but far less than expected. He'd had his own issues since leaving the service.
The war had left Wilmington restless. He'd yet to find another way to satisfy that need for action, to feed his adrenaline addiction. He travelled some, mostly as a mercenary, although there were some moderately more acceptable jobs as a body guard. But none of them ever quite seemed like the right fit. He always felt like he was selling a little bit of his soul each time he took on a new job, and he wasn't entirely sure he had all that much soul to spare. As a result, when he'd opened his door one day to find Chris Larabee standing there, offering him the most ludicrous option he'd heard yet, he was far more willing to go along with that than even he would have guessed.
By the time they'd actually moved into the office, the brainstorm had struck that they needed another member on the team. He'd been the one to suggest they tracked down Vin Tanner. Ironically, that exact job would have been so much easier if Vin had already been on board. Neither man had never seen a better scout. He could read the land and spotted an ambush or booby-trap long before anyone had a clue there was a problem. Add to that the fact the man was a born tracker – the kind who could find a two-year-old trail on a rock bed.
Tanner had been part of the squad with them in Europe for several months when he was transferred for a special mission. When word got back to them he was being dishonourably discharged a few weeks later, they were stunned. When news of the reason came – desertion, they were in complete shock. The notion that Vin Tanner would abandon his squad – would abandon anyone – in the heat of battle would have been laughable were it not so offensive. Unfortunately, there was no way they could come to his aid as they were shipped out to yet another battle of their own. By the time things had settled enough to try to find their former comrade, he had vanished. And when someone with his skills didn't want to be found, then they weren't going to be.
Chris and Buck had both earned enough brownie points with the brass that they were able to pull in favours and find out what had happened. Tanner had been separated from his squad, ahead of them scouting out the lay of the land. What none of them had been aware of was that the information that had led them to this spot had been a trap. In a matter of moments, the platoon had been wiped out. Vin had been far enough away not to have been killed, but the concussive force of the explosions had left him injured. He survived only with the help of some resistance members. By the time he returned to his division commander, the man that had sent them on the fatal mission, he had been marked as a deserter. Only the commander's desire to cover up his own role in sending the men into an ambush had saved Vin from a firing squad.
Months later, as stories from the resistance surfaced when the war ended, the truth came out, and Vin's name was cleared. The experience left him angry and bitter, and like many others disillusioned by the war, he distanced himself from what was laughingly referred to as respectable society. He found odd jobs along the way, and from time to time stayed in contact with the very select few of the men he had known. That was the avenue Buck hoped to use to track him now.
Any doubt that Vin was destined to be the third member of their team vanished in Buck's mind when he discovered the last place Vin had been heard from was just a couple of miles from the new office. It was in a poor part of town, one populated by the members of society who lived on the fringes – some by choice, but most by fate. There, they made their own community, and for the most part they were left alone. In this neighbourhood, the central gathering point was a drop-in centre operated by two more unlikely casualties of war.
Josiah Sanchez had been a chaplain in the Army. Initially there as a man of God, purportedly to offer prayer and comfort, the sights and experiences of Europe shook his faith, and shattered what he had thought was his future. Wounded in a battle while he offered last rites, he was rescued by Nathan Jackson, a stretcher bearer who was a far better medic than half the doctors over there. The hell they had been through brought the two men together and after the war both felt the need to find a way to help themselves, and others, heal. This centre, this sanctuary, became their mission. Food, basic medical care, comfort, counselling. Whatever they could find a way to offer, was made available to anyone who needed it. Those who used the services, and could afford to, made small payments. Those who couldn't afford it, well they weren't turned away. Nathan knew some of the funding came from local churches, and from a few community groups liked the idea of keeping this part of society tucked off to the side. He also knew there was more money coming in from somewhere but had no idea where. Josiah would simply smile and say that the Lord provided. Nathan found it amusing, given the fact that Josiah wasn't entirely certain the Lord even existed anymore.
Late on a Saturday evening, that was where Chris and Buck were headed. They hoped dinnertime at the clinic would be a good opportunity to find someone who might lead them to Tanner. Their journey to the destination was disrupted by the sounds coming from an alley way they passed.
They had no idea who it started the fight, or what it was about. They only knew one thing. Six against one was not fair odds. They could hear the young black man attempting to plead his case as he was being quickly boxed into a corner.
"You fellas know what this money is for. It ain't mine. You take this, and a lot of guys are going to go hungry."
"Yeah, but we won't. Give us the money boy."
The man stood a little straighter, a glint of defiance in his eyes. "I ain't your boy."
"You ain't gonna be anything in a minute."
"You fellas might want to rethink that." Buck drawled slowly. The six turned, ready to draw another man into the fight. They froze when they realized the were staring down two men, both well armed.
"This ain't your fight friends."
"It is now. And we aren't your friends. You have about ten seconds to get out of here, and I'd advise against coming back."
"Just who the hell do you think you are?"
"Name's Larabee. You'd do well to remember that." One of the six was foolish enough to believe he could beat the odds. He made a move for something his pocket and a moment later felt the scorch of a bullet through his arm.
"Next time I won't be so considerate. Your 10 seconds are almost up." If the single shot hadn't been enough incentive, Chris's glare finished the job. The six men bolted out of there.
"You alright?" Buck walked toward the young man.
"You ain't getting' this money either Mister."
"Relax. We don't want it. Name's Buck Wilmington. And you are?"
"Nathan Jackson. What are you doing around here?"
"Well, interestingly enough, looking for you." Chris had holstered his gun before he walked closer. "Understand you run a sort of shelter around here."
"You two don't look like you need in a place to put up for the night."
"Hoping you can help us find someone. Word is, he settled in around these parts."
Nathan relaxed somewhat, feeling more comfortable with the guns out of sight. "This friend of yours have a name, Mister – Larabee was it?"
He nodded. "Vin Tanner."
"Come with me gentlemen. I might be able to help you."
Ten minutes later they were settled in the kitchen at the centre. Buck took a sip of the coffee that had been offered to them, and quietly set it off to the side. He tasted worse, but it had been a long time.
"Mind if I ask why you're looking for this Tanner fellow?"
"We knew him. We owe him. Hoping to be able to offer him a job."
"You don't waste words, do you Mr. Larabee?"
"Name is Chris. And no. I don't."
Nathan smiled as he stood up. "You two wait here for a couple minutes. I'll see what I can find out. Josiah will likely be coming back here in a minute. Don't worry, he's not as scary as he looks."
They waited quietly for Nathan's return. In light of the problems they'd had earlier, both men were on alert when they heard the door open behind them. The light coming through it was almost blocked by the silhouette of the man entering.
"Reverend Sanchez? Is that you?" Buck stood up, grinning as he walked toward the man.
"Nobody's called me that for quite a number of years. Just go by Josiah now. Sorry son, can't say as I recollect your face."
Buck didn't take it personally. "Well for one thing, it didn't have a moustache at the time. We hooked up briefly during the war. You were praying over a lot of men that day, so I can't take offense that this handsome mug isn't familiar to you."
"Well, I hope I was able to offer some kind of comfort."
"I wasn't the one in need of it at the time. But I'm sure you helped the others."
Chris was about to speak when Nathan entered the room. "Well I see you folks have met. Now, if you come with me."
They walked out into the main hall and over towards the window where young man stood looking out. At the sound of the approaching footsteps he turned and stood at attention. "Captain Larabee. It's and honour to see you again, Sir."
"Relax Tanner, no one's in the service anymore. From what I hear, I'm surprised you'd bother to show any kind of respect for rank."
"Not showing respect for rank - Chris. Showing respect for the man that was in the uniform."
"We heard about the raw deal." Buck added, grabbing Vin's hand and shaking it hard. "Wish we could've done something at the time."
"There were bigger issues to worry about. It's over now."
"Is it?" Buck could hear there was still anger in Vin's voice when the subject came up.
Vin shrugged. "Let's just say it's done. Nathan tells me you folks are looking for me. Something about a job?"
Chris nodded to an empty table. "Why don't we all sit down. I think we have a few things to talk about."
M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7
tbc