One Hundred Years Of Tanner

by Remington Kane

  “Alexa is a beautiful young woman. I assume she’s seeing someone.”

  Spenser grew serious.

  “It’s someone you know, Cody. A man named Deke Mercer.”

  Tanner let out a long breath.

  “I thought that might happen. Alexa could do worse than Deke.”

  Spenser pulled out a chair and sat.

  “Tell me about this cousin of yours. He’s the husband of Dr. Jessica White?”

  “Yeah,” Tanner said with a smile. “And he’s something else. He’s also the strongest man I’ve ever met.”

  “I’d like to meet him someday, and it’s good to know that you still have blood relatives, although I hope you’ll always think of me as family.”

  “Spenser. If not for you, I’d be dead. And Romeo, Nadya, and now Florentina, they’re my family too.”

  “Nadya always knew you and Sara would wind up together. That girl is spooky sometimes the way she can read the future.”

  Tanner grinned.

  “She was only twelve when she told Romeo that she would be his wife.”

  “Do you remember what he said to her?” Spenser asked with a smile.

  Tanner nodded, paused, then did a perfect impersonation of Romeo.

  “If I marry you, little chick, they’ll lock me up and throw away the key.”

  Spenser laughed.

  “You always could mimic him well.”

  “You’d never know that he grew up in Texas,” Tanner said.

  “Romeo’s a surfer dude at heart, always has been,” Spenser said, and then he pointed at the book. “Have you come across anyone who might make a good Tanner Eight someday?”

  Tanner thought about that.

  “You know, I have. There’s a kid named Henry who lives in Pennsylvania. He has the heart of a lion, but he’s still just a boy.”

  “I wonder if Keane O’Connell ever dreamed that there would still be a Tanner a hundred years after he took on the name for himself.”

  “He didn’t,” Tanner said. “That first night, that initial contract, he was just trying to find a place for himself in the world.”

  Spenser picked up the book, then carefully opened it to read the first few pages, pages that had been penned by Keane O’Connell.

  6

  I’m Tanner

  CHICAGO 1917

  O’Connell was headed to kill the four thugs when he saw them emerge from the alley that led to the house they’d been living in.

  He had assumed that they would bury the bodies of the two Germans, and perhaps they had, but given the fact that they each carried sacks or suitcases, he thought it more likely that they had decided to find a new place to flop.

  They must have had the spot picked out ahead of time, because they settled inside another abandoned home a half hour’s walk from the first one.

  At one point, the men had grown loud and O’Connell understood that they had plans to get drunk before visiting a local whorehouse named Sally’s Place.

  O’Connell had never been inside Sally’s Place, but Davin had gone there once. Keane’s younger brother had come back satisfied, but also disgusted.

  “There are some beautiful women there, Keane, but also girls, and I mean young girls. Any man that puts it to a child must be a pig.”

  O’Connell had counseled his brother to find himself a nice Irish girl… but Davin had never lived long enough to take that advice.

  The four young thugs entered a pub and bellied up to the bar. O’Connell entered, ordered a beer, then settled himself at a small corner table.

  Of the four men, the Englishman was the one O’Connell deemed a threat. The man was taller and broader than his companions and O’Connell saw that the thug never relaxed his guard despite downing several drinks. Every man entering the bar was studied and evaluated mentally by the Englishman, and he had looked O’Connell’s way more than once.

  Seeking to put the man at ease, O’Connell left the bar first, then took up a position that would allow him to watch the pub’s exit.

  When the men left the pub and sauntered off in the direction of Sally’s Place, O’Connell headed toward the whorehouse ahead of them.

  Sally’s Place looked like any other home on the block, except for the two men on the front porch, one of whom was sitting in a rocking chair and holding a shotgun. It was a pump action shotgun, and O’Connell decided it would be the perfect weapon to use on his targets.

  At the right distance, the spread of the pellets might hit all four men if fired while they were standing close together. That would reduce the risk of the thugs returning fire.

  His prey came staggering along the street as O’Connell slipped behind a row of hedges. Once at the house, the men were greeted by the guards on the porch. That was when O’Connell learned that the Englishman’s name was Taylor.

  Apparently, the men were regulars, but to O’Connell’s surprise, they didn’t enter the house. Instead, the man with the shotgun left the porch and went inside.

  When he returned, the man had a redheaded woman with him. She was no young skirt, and looked to be in her forties, but O’Connell thought she was a fine-looking lass. He then realized that she was Sally, the madam of the home, and not one of its offerings.

  “Hello, Taylor,” the woman said. “You have great timing. I just acquired a girl that you would love.”

  “I’ve always been lucky, Sally, and I have a bit of spare cash tonight.”

  The woman met the Englishman at the foot of the steps and they haggled in low tones. After reaching an agreement, the Englishman gave the woman a chunk of the money he had taken off the Germans he and his friends had killed. O’Connell had only caught a glimpse of the money through the hedge, but it seemed a princely sum to spend on the rental of four whores.

  The man with the shotgun led the men along a dirt path that had been worn into the grass at the side of the home. It took them to the rear of the property.

  O’Connell followed by moving along behind the row of hedges, while staying back a good twenty feet.

  At the rear of the property was another structure. It was a large shed that had been converted to living quarters. The man with the shotgun opened the door, fumbled around inside, and an electric light came on.

  It was a wonder to O’Connell. He was used to homes having electricity in a city like Chicago, but it seemed an extravagance to have power running to what was once no more than a shed.

  A third guard came out a back door of the home, and he was not alone. There was a child with him, a girl who looked to be no more than fifteen. O’Connell was disgusted when he realized that she was to be given to the four men to abuse.

  He nearly revealed himself when he saw the man escorting her slap her across the back of her head. The girl was crying and had tried to free her arm from his grip. She had long blonde hair, but it was tangled and dirty.

  “She’s a feisty one,” Taylor said while laughing. “Don’t worry, me and my mates will take the fight right out of her.”

  The guard holding the girl spoke in a deep baritone.

  “Sally said you boys could break her in, but don’t mark her face.”

  The Brit winked at the man.

  “She might be a little bruised around the lips.”

  The guard had no sense of humor or just didn’t like sick jokes, but he pointed at the Brit with a thick finger.

  “Don’t fuck up her face, or we’ll fuck up your face.”

  The Brit sighed, then reached out to grab the girl by the wrist. The girl kicked at him but missed. The Brit, Taylor, slapped the back of the girl’s head the same way the guard had, only with more force.

  That made the girl fall to her knees, and Taylor pointed down at her.

  “You could stay on your knees like that all night, you little tart, right, boys?”

  The other men hooted in laughter, as the girl’s escort headed back to the house.

  O’Connell watched the four thugs force the girl inside the shed, and slam the door shut b
ehind them. The man with the shotgun stared at the door for a moment, but then spun on his heels to head back toward the porch.

  O’Connell made his move when the man was halfway along the path. He had slid up behind the man by walking along the edge of the grass. After snaking an arm around to cover the guard’s mouth, O’Connell slid a blade between the man’s ribs.

  He had planned to leave the guard alive, if unconscious, but after watching the man do nothing to protect a child, O’Connell held no regard for him.

  The brute struggled mightily, and O’Connell lost his balance and fell to the ground with the man, as the shotgun dropped onto the grass beside them.

  And still he kept stabbing away with the knife, sapping the other man’s vital force with each cut. The brief struggle ended, and O’Connell stood above the dying man, only to bend over and claim the shotgun.

  The girl’s screams were laced amid the men’s sick laughter, but both sounds ended when O’Connell kicked open the door.

  The girl was lying on her back atop a mattress. Her dress had been torn from her torso, revealing a pair of pale freckled breasts. Three of the men were clustered together, with one down on his knees at the girl’s side.

  The three all had their pants down to their ankles, while the Englishman stood in a corner and had just unbuttoned his britches.

  The man who’d been holding the girl down released her and struggled to his feet

  O’Connell, with the shotgun pressed against his shoulder, fired at the three men who stood together. One man died right away. He was the man in the middle and had caught most of the pellets. The other two men fell to the floor clutching their faces, while screaming in agony.

  O’Connell pumped the shotgun and fired at the Brit as the other man was bringing out a gun. Pellets shredded the Brit’s chest and ripped a gash in his throat.

  After pumping in another shell, O’Connell reached down and helped the girl up from the mattress. She was splattered with blood and appeared shocked by the violence, but she didn’t fight him and was willing to move where he guided her.

  The two men thrashing on the floor received another blast as shouts came from the house. Although the men on the floor were still alive, O’Connell knew that they would die in minutes from their wounds.

  He had fulfilled his first contract as a hired killer.

  O’Connell snaked an arm around the girl’s waist and lifted her up. He then kicked at the thin wood that was the back wall of the shed. The wall panel was behind a curtain. When the panel fell out, the curtain covered the opening in the wall.

  O’Connell stepped outside with the shotgun leading the way. Behind the home was a stretch of trees, and O’Connell said a prayer of thanks for the bright and nearly full moon shining overhead. He moved as fast as he could, with the girl held in one arm and the shotgun in the other, until he came to the rear of a row of shops. It was after hours, and business had ended for the day.

  After leaning the shotgun against a wall, O’Connell’s knife made short work of a lock on a back door, and he was pleased to see that he had broken into a thrift shop.

  He placed the girl on her feet. She stirred from her shock enough to cover her exposed breasts with her hands, then she stared at O’Connell with eyes full of trepidation.

  O’Connell grabbed a dress from a rack, deemed it to be the right size, and handed it to the girl.

  “Take that, lass, it should fit you.”

  After turning her back, the girl put the dress on, then wiped the blood splatter from her face with the remains of her old dress. She turned to stare at O’Connell again, and there was less fear in her eyes.

  He sent her a grim smile.

  “What’s your name, Lass?”

  “Eloise Murphy.”

  “How did you wind up in that house, Eloise?”

  Tears rolled down the girl’s cheeks.

  “My father sold me to Miss Sally this morning. He needed the money to pay off a gambling debt.”

  O’Connell let out a sound of disgust. After finding a shirt and a pair of slacks that would fit him, he removed his bloody work clothes and changed into the new shirt and pants, while hidden from Eloise’s sight by a stack of boxes.

  O’Connell then picked out an overcoat, one long enough to conceal the shotgun. When he was done, he walked over and tossed money on the counter. He was an assassin, not a thief.

  “Sir?” Eloise said. “Did you kill those men to save me?”

  “No, lass. I killed those men because I was paid to do it, but I’d be damned if I would leave you behind to the tender mercies of Miss Sally.”

  Eloise moved closer and O’Connell saw that her eyes were as green as his own. O’Connell also realized that the girl was a bit older than he had guessed earlier and was likely past her sixteenth birthday.

  “What’s your name?” Eloise asked.

  O’Connell smiled.

  “I’m Tanner.”

  7

  Frank Recti

  O’Connell took Eloise to an all-night eatery that catered to the staff of a hospital.

  The girl was ravenous and told O’Connell that she had not eaten since the day before yesterday. He guessed they were not the first meals the child had missed.

  She told him that she was a month away from turning seventeen, yet she looked small for her age.

  “You have any other family besides your father?”

  Eloise looked stricken by his question, and O’Connell understood why.

  “I won’t take you back to your father.”

  “You promise?”

  “I just did. I’m not a liar, lass.”

  “I don’t have anyone else, Tanner.”

  “Then I guess you’re on your own.”

  “Could I stay with you?”

  “No, but I’ll help you settle in somewhere.”

  Eloise yawned, then looked at O’Connell with drooping eyes.

  “I’m so tired.”

  O’Connell paid the bill and walked with Eloise to his rooming house. The basement room where Davin had died had been cleaned and reorganized months earlier, but O’Connell knew that a pair of old army cots were among the junk scattered in the basement.

  He set the cots up, and after Eloise used the toilet, O’Connell covered her with a musty blanket taken from a box of stored items.

  “I’ll have to wake you early so no one sees us leave.”

  Eloise nodded at him even as she was falling asleep. O’Connell cleaned the dust off an eastward facing window and positioned his cot so the morning sun would wake him. He fell asleep while staring over at Eloise. The girl reminded him of his first love, Bridget O’Hara, only Bridget had died of pneumonia when she was fourteen.

  He drifted to sleep, his mind at ease, and his pockets full of cash.

  Eloise rose at first light without complaint. O’Connell had gone through the old clothing in the basement and filled a suitcase full of clothes for Eloise. He had also come up with a disguise for her.

  “Those are boy’s clothes,” Eloise said, while staring at the pants O’Connell was handing her.

  “I know that, but if you dress like a boy I can sneak you upstairs into the bathroom where you can get properly clean.”

  Eloise took the clothes as she sighed.

  “I would love to be clean.”

  With her long hair tucked under a cap, Eloise made for a passable boy, and O’Connell snuck her upstairs. They had to wait inside his room, after realizing that someone was already in the communal bathroom.

  The wait was a short one, and after bathing, O’Connell led Eloise back down to the basement, where she changed into a dress O’Connell had found for her. The garment was a little old-fashioned, but it fit her well and matched the shoes she wore.

  “Do you have any skills, child?”

  “I can sew. I can even make dresses. My grandmother taught me how when I was little.”

  O’Connell rubbed a hand over his chin as a thought occurred to him.

  They
spent time walking about and watching the city awaken to a new day. That was followed by breakfast at a café that also had pastry. Eloise’s appetite was as strong as the previous night, and the thin girl ate breakfast along with two pastries called olykoeks. An olykoek was a ball-shaped cake made of sweetened dough, much like a donut hole treat.

  Just after ten in the morning, O’Connell escorted the girl into a dress shop he used to pass by on his way to work at Sid Hershel’s tannery. O’Connell held the morning paper in one hand as he opened the dress shop door for Eloise. Its headline told of the five men who had died the night before at a house of ill repute. The four thugs, along with the bodyguard who’d had the shotgun.

  O’Connell wrinkled his brow in concern when he read that the murders were being attributed to a mobster named Frank Recti.

  Frank Recti entered Sid Hershel’s tannery with two other men and headed straight for the office.

  Hershel had been seated at his desk with a big smile on his face, as he took in the headline on the newspaper before him.

  When he looked up and saw Frank Recti, the smile turned into a worried frown. He thought he was staring up at three police officers.

  “May I help you gentlemen?” Hershel asked.

  “The coppers been to see you?” Recti asked. His voice was like a harsh whisper. He was thirty-five, but while still a teenager, he had survived an attacker using a garrote in the stairway of a North Side tenement.

  The attacker hadn’t survived, and Recti had taken over his territory. The voice was notable, as was Recti’s dark hair, which sat in a tangle above his head looking as if it had rarely been combed.

  “You aren’t the police?” Hershel asked.

  “I’m Frank Recti. You’ve heard of me, yes?”

  Hershel knew the name, as well as Recti’s reputation.

  “Four pieces of vermin were gunned down last night. These were men trying to invade a part of my territory. Luckily for me, I have an alibi, but I hear these men were giving you trouble. I was also told that you were seen talking to the Heinz brothers.”