The Story Begins! The Case of the Missing Doctor

The Journals of Cody Caldwell
 
The day started well enough, I rolled out of bed and washed my face if water that I had to take a truncheon to in order the break the ice. Bracing that. After washing and dressing I went downstairs and the squeaky voice attendant at the hotel informed me in his irritating breaking voice, damn son, let those testicles drop, that I had a letter from Mr. Hennessy. Upon taking my breakfast at a nearby slop shop down the half frozen icy street from my hotel I chanced to read the missive.
 
“Mr. Caldwell, I hope my letter finds you in good health. It seems that I may have need of your skills in regard to a most interesting case involving the disappearance of a prominent member of the Kansas establishment. I require your assistance in this matter and look forward to briefing you on the affair at 3 o’clock this afternoon when you will be acquainted with your companions in this investigation. Sincerely, Rupert Hennessy.”
 
Well shit, the boss was calling. At least it was all polite like. I mean I am sure his secretary rewrote the “Get that no-good drifting gambler in here, I got work for him” in his thick Irish brogue, but what the hay, even on its best day Kansas City can get damn boring.
 
Natural-like I showed up a bit early, best to take in the team as they arrive.
 
First up was a pair of fellas that would make milk sour simply by walking by.
 
The first one was actually kinda famous, if you know the history of it, Henry Mumple, the long time companion of Black Jack Cole himself! He kept to the background and was known for his pecurlarities, his love of gloves, bathing regularly and cutting up mostly dead things among ‘em. Said to be a deadeye with his rifles he palled around with Black Jack Cole for years until that fateful day when that bastard Osage Thorpe done shot him dead. Heard he was delivering freight and letters when he was not mopping around mourning his dead lover. Eh, so be it. We all deal with loss differently.
 
His companion was a half injun fella named James Walter, honestly had I not been told he was injun I won’ta known it. Seems affable enough, walks with a surety and gait of a man accustomed to the wilds. Probably a good tracker and scout. We’ll see.
 
Next to arrive was real brash fella from California, Elijah York-no-relation-damnit, who seemed to be real peculair about his name, York, it ain’t hard to spell, seesh. Needs to work on his insults too, took one look and me and called me “Useless.” Oh, I so need to cultivate that opinion. Heh. Anyway he seemed competent enough in a “I ride ‘round on horses and shoot shit” kinda way and that seemed sensible given we was to track down some doctor that got himself missing on the Osage Trace.
 
The last member to join the team was a real looker, not my sort but good looking. Called herself Sister Marie. Said she was a nun, or former nun, or some such, and a nurse. She seemed nice, I liked her and remembered we had worked together before on the Chicago Fires Investigation from a couple years ago in 1871. Apparently she worked on the Red Rover during the war and anyone who has seen that sorta shit is someone to respect. She spent a lot of time later talking to the brother's York mother, which was kindly of her, and informative. Seems the mother calls her kids the Killer, the Liar and the Doctor, with the Doctor being her favorite. Hmm, interesting.
 
The last member of our group, Herb Zobist, a gunslinger and whore-monger, how does that boy not have sypphilis yet, would be joing us at Fort Scott later. We had also worked together on the Chicago Fires Incident. I wonder if he is still addicted to the laudanum, probably, people don't kick that habit all too often.
 
Anyway, Hennessy spins some tale about three brothers York, one who goes missing and another that wants him found. He mentioned a lot of details about names and such but I lost track after about 5 minutes in. It pays good money and makes for better connections so no wonder Rupert ponies up a team for this so we head out to Fort-god-damn-nowhere-Scott and meet the York family.
 
The Col. York, the Killer, has organized some damn huge team of local yahoo’s to scour the countryside at the beshest of Mr. York, the Liar, for William York, the Doctor. We decide to ride on ahead in an attempt to find the missing doc his mother dotes fondly on while the Col.’s men scour the countryside, going homestead to homestead, asking about the brother, seesh some people are so stupid.
 
Pretty boring trip, damn, Kansas is flat.
 
Along the way Sister Marie stumbles upon some half eaten corpse of a kid the crows had got too and whom Henry cuts open, naturally, apparently he got murdered, gutted, sown up with sillage and tossed in the brambles. Which is curious, why kill ‘em, remove the innards, sewn ‘em back up and dump the body out here, odd that.
 
We, and by that I mean Mr. Mumple and Sister Marie, decide to take the poor lad to a local town, Hempler, Hempsley, Hempleton, some such, which is a generous usage of the term “town” by the way, for an appropriate burial.
 
I am sure its the damned Mormans or some such, stupid religious folk abound around here, Presbyterians I think. When we took the body for burial the local Mr. Importance seemed appropriately horrified and swore they had never seen anything like this before, which only makes me suspect them more. Something wrong is going down in this part of Kansas, but then again we all knew that.
 
Anywho it seems the good Doc. York on his Fine Bay Horse rode through here and we will continue on our way to his next destination. the Osage Mission, to see if he made it there. This whole place gives me the wiles, something really odd is going on around here, I can feel it. At least my companions seem decent enough, we shall see.
 
Cody Caldwell March 16, 1873