"Someone is looking for me? Who is it?"

  Richard was taken aback. He hadn't expected anyone to seek him out in a city where he knew virtually no one.

  "I didn't get the details. Just said he's an old friend of yours," the waiter replied with a shrug. "Anyways, I've delivered the message." He turned on his heel and left, leaving Richard with more   questions than answers.

  Richard washed his hands, removed his scarf, and made his way to the front hall.

  As he entered, his gaze locked onto a familiar face, and a surge of emotions welled up in his chest. "Hardy… I can't believe it's you," he murmured, his lone eye misting over.

  Hardy grinned and pulled Richard into a tight hug.

  The two men had served together, shoulder to shoulder, in the same squad for years. They had faced life-and-death situations countless times. After Richard's severe injury and early retirement from the military, they had lost touch for over a year.

  "How have you been?" Hardy asked, his tone full of genuine concern.

  Richard sighed heavily. "As you can see, I'm scraping by. Blind in one eye and with no real skills, this is the best job I could find."

  Hardy's expression grew serious. "Richard, how would you feel about working with me?"

  Richard raised an eyebrow. "Working with you? What are you up to these days?"

  Hardy's smile returned, but there was a hint of something darker in his eyes. "I'm with the Austrians now—a gang in Los Angeles."

  Richard blinked in surprise. "You're running with a gang now?"

  Hardy gave a slight nod. "Bill brought me in. You remember Bill, don't you?"

  "Bill's in the game too?" Richard said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  Hardy leaned in and began to explain. "After I got discharged, I ended up in San Diego, working as a bartender because I couldn't find anything better. One night, some guy tried to mess with one of the waitresses, and I lost it—beat him up real bad. Ended up in jail for a bit."

  He paused, recalling the rough days. "Luckily, my lawyer managed to get me off on a technicality, but after that, no one would hire me. That's when Bill called me over to Los Angeles."

  Richard listened intently as Hardy continued. "I wanted a legit job at first, but Bill got into some trouble with another gang—the Spaniards. They nearly killed him. I couldn't let that slide. I took out six of them and ended up joining the Austrians to protect our turf."

  Richard's face showed his shock. "I read in the papers that someone named Cook from the Spanish gang was killed at his home. That was you?"

  Hardy's nod was almost imperceptible.

  "And now there's a turf war between the Austrians and the Irish, right? It's all over the news."

  "Yeah," Hardy said, his tone turning grim. "Things are heating up. That's why I need more men—people I can trust. I came to see if you'd be willing to join me. I won't lie; it's dangerous work. But if you don't want to, we can just catch up, and I'll be on my way."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Richard hesitated, thinking of his mother. "Hardy, I'm not afraid of danger. After all, nothing could be worse than what we went through in the war. But I worry about my family. If my mother knew I joined a gang, she'd be heartbroken. She's always wanted me to find a steady, safe job."

  Hardy placed a reassuring hand on Richard's shoulder. "Look, just think about it. Let's catch up after you're done with work. We can grab a drink and talk more."

  Richard nodded. "Alright. We'll talk later."

  While they were conversing, the restaurant owner came bustling out of the kitchen, his face flushed with anger. He caught sight of Richard, who was supposed to be washing dishes, sitting at a table chatting instead.

  "Richard!" the portly owner barked, pointing a greasy finger at him. "The kitchen is overflowing with dirty dishes, and you're out here chatting? Do I pay you to socialize, or to work? If you don't get back there right now, you're out on the street!"

  Richard stood up, jaw clenched. "I'm going back now."

  The owner sneered. "Oh, no, it's not that simple. You're losing two days' pay for this stunt. My rules."

  Richard's meager wages barely covered his basic needs—$120 a month. After rent, food, medical bills, and sending money to his family, there was hardly anything left. Losing even two days' pay would make his already precarious situation even worse.

  His eye injury constantly reminded him of his plight. The military's half-hearted surgery had left him with persistent inflammation and required ongoing treatment. A more effective surgery or even a prosthetic eye could improve his prospects, but both were well beyond his financial reach.

  Richard's frustration simmered just below the surface. Today, Hardy had offered him a way out—a chance to change his circumstances, even if it meant embracing a life his mother might disapprove of.

  The owner continued to berate him, pushing him closer to his breaking point. Richard glanced at Hardy and suddenly made up his mind. "I've changed my mind, Hardy."

  Hardy, sensing the shift in Richard's resolve, grinned. "Glad to hear it."

  At that moment, Hardy felt a surge of gratitude toward the irate owner. If the man hadn't pushed Richard so hard, he might not have agreed so quickly.

  The owner, oblivious to the change, kept yelling. "Richard, I'm warning you! Get back to the kitchen and scrub every dish, and while you're at it, clean the whole damn place!"

  "Enough!" Richard's voice was calm but firm.

  The owner blinked in surprise. "What did you say?"

  "I said, enough." Richard's expression was steely, his tone cold.

  The owner's face turned red with fury. "That's it! You're fired! And you can forget about getting paid this month. Now, get out!"

  Without warning, Hardy drew a revolver and pressed it against the owner's cheek.

  The man's eyes widened in terror, his bravado evaporating instantly. "W-What are you doing?"

  "I don't like it when people talk too much," Hardy said quietly. "Now, pay my friend his wages. All of it. Right now."

  The owner nodded frantically. "O-Okay, okay!" He hurried to the cash register, pulled out a stack of bills, and handed them to Richard with trembling hands.

  Richard took the money and counted out ninety dollars. "I worked twenty days this month. This is what I'm owed. I don't want a cent more." He tossed the excess money back onto the counter. "Let's go, Hardy."

  Hardy chuckled, following Richard out of the restaurant. The owner slumped against the wall, a wave of relief washing over him as the two men exited.

  Back in the car, Richard let out a laugh. "You know, Hardy, I haven't felt this alive in a long time. I think I made the right call today."

  Hardy smiled. "I'm glad you feel that way."

  They drove to a nearby bar, shared a few drinks, and then made their way to Richard's rural home. There, Richard explained to his parents that he had found a job in Los Angeles that paid three times what he was making now. His parents were overjoyed and asked him about the nature of the job.

  "Transport driver," Richard said with a grin. "It's a great gig."

  The next day, Hardy and Richard hit the road. As they drove, Richard asked where they were headed. Hardy smiled. "You're the first recruit. Now, we need to find more of our old friends. Next up, Henry."

  "Henry?" Richard's face lit up. "He was our squad's best scout. Is he out of the army too?"

  Hardy nodded. "Yeah, he got out a bit after you did. He's been working on a cattle farm, but he's agreed to join us. We'll pick him up next."

  Richard's smile widened. "I can't wait to see him. It'd be great to get the old squad back together for a drink."

  Hardy's grin matched Richard's enthusiasm. "Don't worry. We'll have a lot of familiar faces joining us soon."