THE NIGHT OF THE FAKE HAND

By Andamogirl

Author's notes: this story takes place in post-season 4.

Reference to my stories "The Night of the Disguised Assassin" & "The Night of the Outlaw."

I was always fascinated by Artie's alcohol tolerance. In "The Night of the Firebrand", disguised as a trapper called Blue Bird (one of his best disguises and acting in my opinion) he kept drinking whiskey, first in a glass and then directly from the bottle and handled his liquor well.

References to the following episodes: "The Night of the Falcon", 'The Night of the Pistoleros", "The Night of the Lord of Limbo", "The Night of the Surreal McCoy", "The Night of the Skulls", "The night of the Green Terror, "The Night of the Big Blast.","The Night of the Inferno", "The Night That Terror Stalked The Town", "The Night of the Winged Terror (1) and "The Night of The Diva".

Warning: violence, hanging & temporary major character death.

WWW

TEASER

Denver, Colorado Territory

The Wanderer

The bright, orangey sunset had been replaced by myriads of stars lighting the darkening sky when James West entered the parlor car of the Wanderer which was stationed at the Denver railroad yard.

He immediately grabbed his gun, pulling the hammer back when he discovered a man – an old, dirty trapper – sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor next to the couch.

The older man's shoulders were slumped and his chin was resting against his chest, and his arms were hanging limp on either side of him. He was almost immobile. He had his eyes closed, his palms opened and he was breathing slowly.

Re-holstering his gun, Jim smiled and knelt beside the other man before lifting his chin which was covered with a fake salt and pepper beard.

The disguise was really good, especially the faux bushy eyebrows and putty nose but the Secret Service agent immediately recognized Artemus Gordon, his partner, best friend, companion and surrogate brother. It wasn't the first time Artie used that old-trapper character he called Blue Beard or Dirty Sam – a name he had chosen for their current mission.

He noticed a big purple bruise under the older man's right eye and frowned in concern. Artemus's eye was intact when he had left the train a few hours before.

Placing a hand on Artemus's shoulder, he gently shook it.. "Artie! Come on, wake up buddy! You can't sleep on the floor."

Blinking his eyes opened, Artie smiled. "Oh, hi, Jim. I wasn't sleeping you know, I was just kind of meditating, trying to keep my drunkenness at bay," he drawled.

The younger man frowned in concern as he saw the exhausted look on Artie's face and noticed the strong smell of alcohol on his breath. "Kind of? Then I bet it didn't work?"

Rubbing the nape of his neck Artie shook his head. "Yes, for now, but it won't last, because I lack practice…but it helped me to relax though – maybe too much because now all my limbs are still lax, and I feel like I'm made of jello," he slurred.

Licking his lips, Jim said, "Mmmm… I like jello. I love when you make your famous, and delicious trifle, where the fruit and sponge layers are suspended in orange-juice-flavoured jello."

Smiling Artie said, "I'll make you a trifle with jello once this mission is over." He removed his stinky raccoon fur hat and then ran his fingers through his disheveled hair that he had dyed gray at his temples. Then he continued, "You know me James, when I am undercover, playing a role, I do it thoroughly… hence my dirty and smelly clothes – all of them - and that's why I drank a dozen of glasses of cheap whiskey and a whole bottle of terrible bourbon and knocked out the sheriff and his deputies too, to show the bad guys in the room that I can hold my liquor like a 'true man' and that I'm tough and dangerous and not afraid of lawmen." He touched the bruised spot under his eye and winced. "Ow! And I have other bruises on my chest."

Jim nodded. That explained the bruises, he thought. "What happened?"

The older special agent sighed. "It wasn't my intention to hurt the sheriff and his deputies and I'll present my apologies to them later, after this mission is completed. There was a brawl at the saloon – that I didn't start - and a deputy hit me without doing it on purpose and I spilled my whiskey all over the bar. I thought it would be a good idea to show the bandits sitting there – that I wanted to meet - that no one had the right to spill my liquor, not even lawmen. I pretended to become very pissed off and I knocked out the sheriff and his aides and I wasn't pulling any punches." He chuckled. "I'm fighting pretty well for an old trapper. The bandits immediately loved it and when I told them I was looking for work while the beaver trapping season was over, one of them proposed that I go with them to their camp, to meet their boss. He'd be more than happy to have me join his men he told me." He smiled broadly, proudly. "My plan worked like a charm. After my little show in the saloon, I was hired by a big, big man built like Voltaire – you know, but he's blond and he has a moustache, his name is Clint – Strongman - Coltrane; and strong he is, believe me! He's a mountain – and an ex-Confederate sergeant. Now, I know everything about that group of bandits raiding the gold mines and gold deposits along the river. Pretending I had a woman to 'visit', I left the camp at noon and headed straight back to the Wanderer, telling the man that I would come back the next morning. Eight hours of riding! I have sores on my saddle sores."

Doing his best to keep his glassy eyes opened – feeling the drunkenness he had been fighting for hours come back with a vengeance – Artemus exhaled a long sigh in defeat. 'Hangover here I am!'

Patting Artie's shoulder in a 'good job' gesture, Jim said, "A real seasoned trapper would have collapsed flat on his face to the floor, wrecked and passed out after the 10 shots of whiskey. I'm really impressed, Artie. You can now put 'I can hold two bottles of liquor without blacking out and crumpling to the floor' on your long list of numerous talents."

Hiccupping Artie nodded. "Ya, but I'm not drunk… but intoxicated. Totally wasted. Completely plastered." Then he grinned ear-to-ear and giggled like a child. "But a happy drunk! Didn't happen since… since… err… I don't recall. Do you? B'cause I don't."

Shaking his head, Jim said, "I don't either," then he grimaced in sympathy. "You're going to have such a horrid hangover in the morning and your face will hurt, hurt a lot more – and I'm not talking about the waves of nausea and vomiting…"

Blinking slowly, Artemus nodded. "You're right, Jim, tomorrow morning's hangover is going to be absolutely awful, but it's a small sacrifice y'know." He tried to stand, but failed. "Y' know Oops! Coltrane showed me his camp, he's so proud of it! but I didn't visit the caves…" He moaned. His head was floating from all the alcohol he had absorbed. "I need to lie down and soon, because the room is spinning and I'm gonna to be sick." He rubbed a hand over his tired face. "My legs don't want to cooperate Jim. Help me please?"

Smiling, Jim offered a steady hand to Artie, who took it and pulled his best friend forward. The fake trapper stood up and leant on the younger man.

Artie pulled back, stumbling backward slightly, then forward and nearly face planted.

Jim caught his partner's elbow, keeping him from tipping over. "Alright Artie, I think it's time for you to hit your bed," he said.

The older man nodded. "That sounds like a very good idea." He took a step forward and a pocket knife and a small bear carved in soft wood suddenly dropped to the carpeted floor. "Oops! There's a hole in my pocket," Artie said.

Jim's smile grew. "I'll pick them both up later."

His eyes half-lidded, Artie nodded. "Carving things in wood helps me to relax; you should try it Jim…" He paused to hiccup again. "Instead of spending your time oiling all the guns and rifles here." He smiled lopsidedly. "I love carving small animals and giving them to children. I have others in my chest pocket… I cra… craved… carved them when I was waiting in that saloon, waiting for the bandits to show themselves… Want one Jim?" He burped and giggled. "S'rry." He breathed, his sight going blurry.

Smiling, Jim shook his head. "Maybe later Artie. You need to get some sleep buddy and I'm putting you to bed, let's move."

His ol' noggin here feeling like it was full of tapioca, Artie took a step forward and boneless, swaying on his feet toppled forward. In a flash Jim placed a hand around his partner's waist, steadying him. Then, one arm wrapped around his colleague's waist he headed toward the narrow walkway.

He brought his partner into his private compartment and once the older man was inside, Artie limply plopped down on his bed.

Jim removed the older man's boots, socks and pants, grimacing in disgust as they were filthy and smelly, then he took the other man's jacket and shirt – both in need of a serious washing – throwing all of them in the laundry basket nestled in a niche behind the door, leaving Artie in his dirty and holes-riddled long johns. Then he helped him lie down on the bed before covering him with a blanket.

His eyes closing, Artie reached out, taking Jim's hand in his and whispered, "Thanks J'm. mmmmhhhmmn goo'night… See you in the morning." before drifting off to a deep sleep. Then two seconds later he was snoring softly, mouth opened, still holding Jim's hand.

Marmalade the tawny long haired cat and Aztec the British Shorthair suddenly leaped on the bed and settled on Artie's lap, making themselves comfortable there, snuggling against each other, not at all bothered by Artemus's Dirty Sam appearance and very bad smell as they were used to their owner's various, creative, disguises, bad smells included.

Petting the heads of the two cats who had decided to lick each other clean, Jim said, "Keep an eye on Artie, okay?" The he left the room.

The two furballs meowed a 'yes'.

WWW

Much later

It was nearly mid-day when Artemus mumbled groggily and rolled onto his back and woke up with one killer headache, his eyes burning in the sunlight provided by the window in his room.

He blinked a few times to clear his vision as his stomach roiled queasily. His mouth was dry, tacky and his tongue felt like cotton - still tasting of bad liquor. His limbs felt like lead and his brain was sluggish.

Telltale signs of a hangover, he mused.

He grabbed his throbbing head in his hands and groaned in pain. He lifted his face from his pillow, blinked twice and then cast a bleary gaze around the room, recognizing his sleeping compartment- and not Elizabeth's pink bedroom – pink deshabillé and pink boa. And he was disappointed.

It was just a dream.

He smiled then. If it was a dream, yes, Elisabeth Perkins existed, and loved everything pink, and they had made love a week ago in her brand new pink-colored bed, he thought.

He propped himself up on his elbows, winced and frowned as he tried to pull together his thoughts of what the hell he'd been doing last night and why he felt like he had been run over by a herd a buffalo.

Everything surfaced in his mind in a series of half-one-second-images. 'Yes, two bottles of bad liquor… Never again,' he thought.

He managed to muster the energy to move himself up into a sitting position, slowly, then pushed the blanket to the side and found he was wearing only his long underwear.

He didn't recall taking his clothes off, so Jim had done it. "Thanks Jim," he murmured and pressed two fingers against the side of his head, heavy and throbbing in time to his heartbeat, trying to get the hammer in his skull to stop. But it wasn't possible.

He let out a long sigh. "Oh boy! It's the worst hangover of my life,' he said and grimaced. "Oooh, too loud old boy," he whispered then. He groaned and screwed his eyes shut as a splitting headache suddenly assaulted him in time with a wave of nausea. "Oh boy!" He repeated.

Turning pale, Artemus stumbled out of bed and he ran as fast as he could to the bathroom, opened the lid of the toilet and threw up everything he had in his stomach.

But when the acrid smell hit him, his face turned green and his stomach heaved again. He retched again, mostly bile and then it was over.

Once in front of the sink he brushed his teeth while looking at his reflection in the mirror pondering if he was going to have a bath or a shower, or anything.

He chose to stay as he was. 'First because my personage must look like he has not taken a bath in his whole life, that's why I'm called Dirty Sam and then because I don't want to ruin both my 'perfume' and my make-up,' he mused.

He opened a drawer of the dresser, took out a bottle of a homemade liquid painkiller, removed the cork and swallowed a little of it. "You should feel better with that in a short time," he said to himself. Then he put the bottle back in place.

He left the bathroom and – sans bathrobe – forgetting it as his old noggin' was still filled with tapioca and padded down the narrow walkway. He was a little wobbly, but feeling better.

Still disguised as Dirty Sam – but with his teeth cleaned, Artemus made his way down a narrow passageway to the galley, yawning, scratching his ragged-and-stained underwear covered butt, then he ran his hand through his hair which was sticking out in all directions, trying to discipline them a bit.

He desperately needed coffee – and breakfast, but coffee first.

He entered the galley in order to prepare coffee and breakfast – and was surprised to find Jim there, trying not to burn toast, and it smelled of good freshly brewed coffee.

He said, "Hi Jim! Good morning," and then opened the cupboard and took a cup from inside.

Smiling, Jim replied, "Hi Artie. Good morning. How are you?"

Rubbing his reddened and puffy eyes, Artie heaved a long sigh. "I have a hangover from the seventh circle of hell… other than that, I'm fine," he said before moving toward the stove.

He grabbed the dishcloth which was folded on the table to avoid getting burned and, with his hand wrapped in it, he took the pot of coffee and poured himself a. steaming cup of dark, thick, liquid.

He needed coffee, requiring at least two cups to start his brain - even Jim's bitter-molasses-like-coffee. He took a sip, groaning at how bad it was. Still, he needed it.

Still busy with the toast, Jim said, "Good! For once, I'm going to cook breakfast. What about an omelet and some toast?" Seeing that Artie who could have been a Chef – and who, in his youth had trained and worked in France in great restaurants - was smirking he added, "Don't mock me, Artie. You know that's the only thing I can do properly. I'm more talented with a gun than with a spoon."

His stomach feeling stable Artie began to feel hungry. "But you could turn a harmless spoon into a lethal weapon if you wanted to, Jim," he said." Then his stomach growled.

Moving closer to his best friend Jim pinched his nose playfully. "You stink Artie! you should have called your character 'Smelly Sam' instead of 'Dirty Sam'," then he looked down at the older man's underwear. "It's a nice disguise accessory."

The older man grinned. "Of course I stink. It's part of my disguise. My bad smell is something I concocted with some basic chemicals. I'm not called 'Dirty Sam' for nothing. As for my underwear, I worked hard on it to make it look that way you know."

Jim gave a short laugh. "I know that as a perfectionist you love details so that everything is perfect, but I hope you did not include small animals in this accessory, I mean crabs. Otherwise you go out from f this train immediately and you return only when you are completely clean."

Rubbing his belly, Artie chuckled and then shook his head. "My taste for perfection in my disguises doesn't go so far."

Jim continued playfully, "I'm surprised not to see several flies buzzing around you, Artie. I thought they loved your kind of bad smell."

Artemus chuckled. "I left them outside playing with my horse. Poor Lockpick, I had to make him as dirty and smelly as I am. Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse (Walking Horse in Cheyenne language) who's in the next stall looks at him funny."

Jim nodded. "Why didn't you take Mo by the way? You didn't tell me. He's younger than Lockpick so you usually take him on missions like that where there are long distances to cross."

Sitting on a stool, Artemus replied, "Old trappers like 'Dirty Sam' don't possess splendid Cheyenne warrior horses, but old battered horses, that's why. Except that Lockpick is not old, but older than Mo and he's not battered, he just look like that. I disguised him too, bad smell included, and now he gives me dirty looks – no pun intended."

Placing the golden toast on a plate, Jim replied, "After that mission is complete, the two of you will need a long, long bath – and both in a river! Lockpick because he can't use the bathtub, and you because the smell is going to stay in the bathroom for days!"

Biting into a slice of toast Artie chuckled. "Oh and it's real horse dung I have under my nails…" And he giggled when Jim hurriedly moved the toast away from him.

Marmalade and Aztec started to circle eight's between Artie's legs, meowing for milk. Purring, AG, Jim's black, fluffy cat joined his two comrades, flicking its tail in excitement.

He was hungry too.

WWW

Later

Holding a fourth cup of real, delicious coffee – and not Jim's tar-like beverage - from a new pot he had prepared himself, Artie pointed at a precise point on the map of the Mt Edwards County settled on the work table. "It's here," he said. He took a sip and explained, "Their camp is here, just on top of that rocky hill, inside a series of caves. Coltrane told me there are passages to escape into the surrounding forest, in case lawmen or the cavalry find them. The troops will have to encircle the hill so that no one can escape. We'll need a lot of men, a whole company at least."

Jim nodded. "I'm going to send a message to Colonel Richmond. Fort Bradley can send troops to that hill before mid-day." His face full of concern, he addressed a worried glance to his partner, disguised again in his full 'Dirty Sam' character, a familiar sense of dread was churning in his stomach. He was always worried when Artie headed right into the lion's den like he would soon. The older man was such a magnet for trouble! He mused. "There's no need for you to go there Artie. They will be behind bars tonight."

Artie shook his head. "On the contrary, Jim. My presence there is indispensable. Once there I'll do my best to regroup all the bandits in one unique place – using my little time-bombs to block the other passages – in order to facilitate their capture. I have already filled a whole saddle bag with them. But some of the bandits will try to escape that's why all the troopers have to be posted all around the hill, to catch them." He placed a reassuring hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Don't worry about me, Jim, I'll wait for the end of the whole thing in a safe place. Then we'll search for the stolen gold together."

Not reassured at all by that – because his intuition was sounding alarm bells in his head, Jim said. "I'll be with the troopers, ready to assist you."

Artie headed toward the door. "See you later, Jim. After this mission is complete, I'll take a long bath and prepare us a gourmet dinner."

Jim was too worried to laugh so he barely smiled. "I'm looking forward to it – especially you being clean. That foul smell coming off you is just horrible."

Artemus nodded. "I will," he said with a wink, and then was out the door.

Tbc.