Allie Pleiter - Mission of Hope

Quinn winced. There was only one place he ever wanted to be at two in the afternoon, and it wasn’t anywhere near the army base. “I’ve got someplace to be at two, but make it three and I’ll be there.”

“Two minutes after three,” said a dark-haired man in uniform with a precise mustache and an even more precise snap of his pocket watch. “He’s punctual, at least. That’s something.” Quinn found himself nose to nose with a meticulously dressed man with dark, sharp eyes.

“I’m told you run fast.” The man pocketed his watch.

“I do.”

“Have you a steady hand?”

Quinn wasn’t entirely sure where this was heading. “So they tell me.”

“Quinn Freeman,” Reverend Bauers cut in, “may I present Army Major Albert Simon. Major Simon, this is Quinn Freeman, the man I’ve been telling you about.”

Major Simon walked around him, appraising him as if he were buying a horse. “Tall, strong, good reach, I’d expect.” He turned to Bauers. “He’s had some training in fencing?”

“Two years,” Quinn stepped in, not liking the idea of Bauers and Simon talking about him as if he weren’t in the room. “It was a long time ago, but I still remember most of it.”

Simon stroked one hand down either tip of his mustache. “Ever shot a pistol, Freeman?”

“I’ve been fired at,” Quinn offered, “but I don’t own a gun.”

“It’s harder than you think.”

“So is a lot of life, Major. Especially now.”

“Which is why we’re here,” Bauers declared. “Major Simon,” he said in a lower tone, “has agreed to be in on our little scheme.”

Quinn looked at the man. He was fit but a bit on the heavy side, somewhere in his late thirties from the looks of it and alarmingly serious. He didn’t seem at all like the scheming type. “The Bandit—”

“Is not a name I’d mention in loud tones around here,” the major cut in sharply. “Not everyone in the army is a fan of such…resourceful measures.”

“I think you’ll find Major Simon a most extraordinary fellow.” Reverend Bauers walked over to a large sack Quinn only just then realized sat on a table in the center of the room. “With some very considerable resources.” He pulled open the drawstring and tilted the top for Quinn to peer inside.

The sack held half of what had been on his list. On Nora’s list, that is. Bandages, iodine, salt, a few tins of meat, needles and thread and half a dozen other various supplies. Major Simon went up a few notches in Quinn’s book, to be sure. More than a few.

“Where’d you get all that?”

“No need for you to know,” Simon said slyly.

“You stole it. Why else would you answer like that?”

“Would you take it no matter where it came from?”

“I’m smarter than that. I don’t know you, even if Reverend Bauers does.”

“They were ‘procured,’ perhaps, or more precisely, ‘diverted,’ but ready for you to put to good use.” Simon pulled the string shut, placing the sack into a crate that sat under the table. “And no, you don’t know me. Yet.”

“The major has arranged a discreet drop-off point,” Bauers said, clearly enjoying the adventure of it all. With that look in his eye, Quinn could easily imagine the days when Reverend Bauers had been the Black Bandit’s trusted accomplice. He seemed delighted to step into those shoes again. “You’re to return tonight and get it back to camp by…well…whatever means you find necessary.”

His first mission. It hummed through Quinn’s veins. Suddenly, he couldn’t get the Bandit’s old gray shirt on fast enough. He longed to strap on the sword and take the world by storm. Now.

“You have a fire in your eye, Freeman,” Major Simon said to him. “I’ve found our friend the reverend is rarely wrong on such things. But you’ll need far more than good intentions if you really want to do what you say. You’ll need training and cunning and several very particular skills. Skills I’ve offered to teach you. But you’ll have to be both patient and discreet.”

“I am.”

“You don’t strike me as patient in the least.”

“Would you be patient if your family didn’t have enough to eat or a real roof over their heads?”

Simon chuckled and clapped Quinn hard on the back. “Bold as brass. You’re right, Bauers, he’s just the man for the job. If he doesn’t get himself killed first.”

“You’ve no idea where all this came from?” Nora asked as she peered at the supplies that had appeared overnight at the Freeman shack.

Mrs. Freeman squinted at the cut on Sam’s foot, paused, and then dabbed it with a bit more iodine. “None at all,” she said over the resulting protests from Sam. “Quinn said he’d put the list up on a fence post across the street last night, asking for help. That’s all we know.” She turned to the boy. “Hush, lad, it’ll hurt far more than that if it don’t heal properly.” Her words were harsh, but her eyes were kind.

“It is amazing, isn’t it?” Nora examined the items again, grateful her father had allowed her to come over to Dolores Park to inspect this surprise package—provided, of course, that she was properly escorted, which wasn’t at all an unpleasant requirement. Nora turned over the tins of meats, looking for any clue. She’d shown the list to several people, and obviously someone else had now seen the list, but still no one seemed to know who’d found the rare items and delivered them to camp. It was a feat. As common as the items were, Nora could only manage to scare up two needles and three spools of thread. Before the earthquake, it might have taken her all of fifteen minutes to secure the entire list. How scarce life’s necessities had become.

“You’d best listen to my ma,” Quinn said, planting himself down on the chest next to a squirming Sam, whose bottom lip threatened tears at any moment. “You strike me as a smart lad. And a brave one. We’ll need you fit and strong to help out. You’ll be no use to me limping around like a goat, now will you?”

“I’ll need you to escort me,” Nora whispered to Sam, grinning. “I shouldn’t trouble Mr. Freeman much longer. He’s a busy man and he’s likely to tire of leading me to and fro.”

Quinn applied a mock frown, but his eyes told a far different story. While he’d refused her any details, she knew he’d gone to great lengths to meet the two o’clock mail run yesterday. When they were late because one of the cart’s finicky wheels had jammed, she’d found him practically pacing the street in a state she could only describe as panic. And while he’d walked calmly—perhaps it wasn’t too much of an exaggeration to say he swaggered slightly—back to the edge of the camp, she’d noticed he broke into a flat-out run once he turned the corner. Yes, sir, Quinn Freeman was very late for something yesterday, and she could not deny what his tarrying had done to that sparkling spot just above her stomach. He looked at her as if she were the best part of his day, and she was not at all certain she hid her own pleasure at seeing him.

“She’s far too much work, this one,” Quinn said. The sour notes in his voice were no match at all for the spark in his eyes. “Take her off my hands as fast as you can, man.” He ruffled Sam’s moppish hair.

Mrs. Freeman gave the quickest of glances back and forth between her son and Nora. “When the foot’s ready, and not a moment before. Iodine and bandages are too rare to go wasting with foolishness. Put that sock back on, young man, and mind you stay out of the dust as best you can. Come back tomorrow and I’ll have a look at it again.”

“Yep,” said Sam, sliding off the trunk.

Quinn snagged the boy’s elbow as he went to leave. “Yes, ma’am, and say thank you.”