Who's Richard?

Reece wrinkled his nose. The smell was horrendous, and it took most of his concentration to keep himself from retching. Wherever John was for the last year, it certainly wasn’t sanitary. The filthy remains of what looked to be a WWII uniform was strewn on the floor of the motel room, alongside scattered belongings: A crude quiver with various arrows and bolts, a bow, crossbow, and a worn and illegible journal. “This is fucked. He’s been living like an animal, he certainly smells like one, and he is older?!”
 
Samantha shot a barbed glare at Reece, sitting impatiently on the bed. John was in the bathroom cleaning up. "We thought he was dead, Reece. Show a little sympathy. He told us he was working with this “Contingent” and that he may not return. With what’s been happening, who knows what happened to him?"
 
“Well, for starters, he certainly doesn’t. And That doesn’t excuse him stealing my car. That thing was paid off.”
 
“Oh my God, Reece. He’s alive and… “well”, and suddenly the waterworks turn off and your hung up on your car?"
 
“I was nearly arrested for grand theft auto! And for what? His weird-ass World War Two re-enactment trip? What the hell is up with the bow anyways? And he’s married?”
 
Samantha palmed her face in frustration. “Yes, I know. But he called_us_ for help. I don’t think he remembers very much anyway. He wasn’t able to answer very much at all, either. He needs us, Reece.”
 
Reece crossed his arms, creasing his brow with doubt. “Yeah, sure. Are you paying for it? Because I’m still paying for a car.” He mumbled under his breath before speaking up again. “Why doesn’t this… ‘Contingent’, or whatever, help him? What about this? He has this worn out thing tucked in his journal.”
 
Reece produced a very old and worn business card, for a “John Burrhus Skinner”. Old pen markings on the card had a phone number and the name “Richard Miller” written on the back. “Maybe we can give this guy a call? It looks old as hell though…”
 
Both turned to the bathroom door with an inquisitive look as John finally exited, half dressed in new clothes.
 
Samantha peered at the card, reading it over front and back before looking back up to her brother. “Who is Richard?”