New Competition
"Are you sure you feel up to it, James," Melinda asked, as Jim took her hand. "You are both supposed to be resting, you know." She stood slowly to stand next to him. Jim was dressed in his tuxedo, the white dress shirt and black suit fitting his frame perfectly. The bruises on his face were fading, the sore purples and reds now a pale yellowish. He slipped his arm around her slim waist. "You should be resting your knees. Colonel Richmond would be very upset with me if I wore you out."
"I thought Colonel Richmond said rest and relaxation," Jim smiled, leaning slightly over her face, looking into her eyes. "And no one ever got injured dancing a waltz." The slim girl leaned against his side, her eyes fixed on his, as she smiled up at him. They stood close together in the crowded dance hall under the flickering candlelight of the multiple chandeliers.
"Besides we have already returned to duty," Artie said, grinning at the group of friends across the table, as his partner turned to look down at him. "Low level work, nothing strenuous of course."
"Of course," Laura said, nodding, sitting next to him, "He wouldn't want anything to happen to his two favorite agents." Everyone laughed except Steve, who was sitting on the other side of the table with Marlita.
"How did you two get to be the favorite's anyway," Steve said, protesting. "Hasn't Jeremy been there the longest?" He looked between Laura and Melinda.
"It's Artie's wonderful reports he writes," Jim said, slapping a hand on his partner's shoulder. "The Colonel just loves to read them. He has said, on more than one occasion, that he should have them published into novels as true crime stories."
"Fact is often stranger than fiction," Artie said as he refilled Laura's glass with champagne. "But I am not telling you ladies anything you don't already know. You don't just type our reports, you type everyone's reports. You know as much as Colonel Richmond as to what goes on; more than the individual agents."
"That's true," Laura said, "we know all the dirt. But no one else has the crazy experiences that you two do. You seem to be sent out into the strangest mysteries or after the most dangerous criminals. Thankfully I don't have to type reports one chapter at a time. I get everything at the end when I know you two are both back safely in Washington."
"Maybe I should write my reports in chapters," Artie said, "and leave them off at cliffhangers." Jim, still standing beside him, made a low whistle as Artie continued in a deep voice, "…as Jim disappeared in the dark and foreboding mansion…could his brave partner find him in time?" The girls burst into hysterical laughter as Steve rolled his eyes.
Jim shook his head, "go ahead, Artie," he laughed, "send your next report to Richmond with cliffhangers. He would hang us." He turned to Melinda, "too much talking and not enough dancing." He led her to the dance floor and they quickly disappeared with the other couples on the crowded wooden surface. The music was performed by a small orchestra playing new, quicker music for dancing. Women spun across the dance floor in wide-skirted dresses that sparkled in the candle light, with hair piled in high curls and fixed with dazzling pins. Delicate hands were covered in long, white gloves and glittering rings. The men all wore black tuxedos in differing cuts and styles.
"Do you write all the reports, Artemus," Marlita asked as she sipped from her champagne glass. She watched him from across the table, cluttered with empty dishes, buckets of ice with open bottles, and delicate stemmed glasses. "I am always seeing your writing and not James's." She paused, looking at the group as the others giggled. "Did I ask something wrong? If so, I apologize."
"Oh, no," Artemus said, quickly reaching for her hand to reassure her. "It's just that you are not in on the joke yet. You see Jim can write the report but he doesn't take time to write full sentences and paragraphs. His reports look more like the lists he use to keep in the war. The President once said, after seeing one report, that he was reminded of the military timelines Jim used to organize for him. Nothing but lists of names, dates, times, and locations. They wouldn't take you as long to type as mine do but it wouldn't be half as entertaining."
Marlita blushed, taking her hand back as Artemus released it. He reached for another bottle of champagne and added more to her glass. "Oh, your reports are like novels that Jules Verne writes; spies, bombs, secret passageways and hidden tunnels, stabbings and poisonings." She fluttered her hands near her face as she blushed, turning to Steve. "Aren't you nervous about starting to do this work?"
"Nervous?" Steve said, "More like eager. I enjoy working with Jeremy, and learning the rules of the agency, but I would like to find some of these hidden tunnels myself." He rolled his eyes, looking across at Artemus, "have you ever worked in an office? The nine to five day, every day, every week exactly the same. Terrible!"
Artie watched him for a minute, "I have heard of your father, I think," he paused, not sure how much he should say, "he is in real-estate in New York City? He helped finance Central Park?"
"Yes, that's him all right," Steve said, "you're from that area too, aren't you? Our families could be neighbors." The younger man grinned, completely missing the stare from across the table. "The park has been very good for business, brings visitors into the area. Your family is in the theater business, performing the plays?"
"Yes," Artemus said, suddenly pulling out his watch. "Well, I am afraid James and I have to leave now." The girls booed as Steve looked puzzled. "We are taking a turn watching a house tonight with some other agents. I won't bore you with details but someday soon you will read an exciting report." He winked at Marlita and gave Laura a light kiss on the cheek as he stood. He quickly spotted Jim across the dance floor and gave him a nod. His partner immediately stopped dancing and walked Melinda back to the group.
"Do you really have to leave so soon?" Melinda said, her hand gripping his elbow. "It's not that late yet." Her twinkling eyes suddenly narrowed as she looked at him, "Is this really work or do you two have other dates tonight?"
"You are a suspicious little thing," Jim laughed, kissing her cheek. "Would I do that to you?" Her eyes continued to glare. "It's work. We are working tonight." He smiled, the dimples melting her anger.
"That's what happens when you don't have a nine to five job," Artie said, picking up a top hat and putting it on his head at a jaunty angle. "You end up working twenty-four hours a day instead, seven days a week…"
"And three hundred and sixty-five days a year," Jim finished. "24/7, in other words." He turned to Steve, "don't wear yourself out dancing with all of them."
"And they need to be home by midnight," Artie added, as the girls all whined in unison. "Their boss, Herb, is very strict. In fact, don't go out of your way to mention to him that we were even here."
Steve laughed as the girls all waved. The two agents slipped from the dance hall and into the night. "We work too much," James, "even when we are on light duty." Jim humphed as they walked through the darkness, a large carpet bag held in his hand.
Hours later…..
I can't see a thing from up here," Jim growled, as he squinted through the lens of a long telescope. He stood a few feet back from a window, looking across the street toward a large home through the semidarkness.
"Of course not," Artie said, yawning behind him, sprawled sideways in a wide, wing-backed chair. "It's too dark out. That's what happens after midnight on a night with no moon." He stretched and yawned again, shifting in his more comfortable work clothes and tall leather boots. They had changed hours earlier, putting their dress clothes in the carpet bag.
Jim lowered the telescope and looked at the outside of the casing. "I thought you said this was a new light gathering lens that you could see with at night."
"It's a light gathering lens that works better when there is at least some light to gather," Artie said, his voice clearly annoyed, "It's for using at dusk, or inside a dark building; any low light situation." He pointed at the window glass. "That's pitch black outside. It won't work."
"I was hoping it would work with the lamp light," Jim sighed. He raised the lens again and put it to his right eye, and then switched it to his left; annoyed and desperate. "I can see when people pass under the street lamp," he muttered, "so it does help some." He paused, his shoulders tensing. He took a quick step closer to the window and angled down to the street.
"What?" Artie said, jumping to his feet. He stood behind Jim's shoulder, squinting through the glass. They stood together, in the unlit rented room, two stories above the street, watching people move in and out of shadows below them. Most were workers from factories walking to an early job or working home after a late shift. An occasional woman would walk past, often stopping to speak with the workmen. Many were known to the agents and would be utilized for occasional bits of information, for a token fee. Usually following behind the street women were police officers, making sure they were not molested and stayed out of serious trouble. Artie's eyes, already adjusted to the darkness, noted the usual people below. He looked back at his partner, as Jim lowered the lens from his face, slowly, lost in thought. "Jim, what did you see?"
"I'm not sure," Jim said, as he collapsed the lens. "Two people walked out of that house," he said pointing to the large home that they had been watching. "I don't think they were men," he paused, still thinking, "but they didn't look like women either."
Artie snorted, surprised at his partner's confusion. Jim was usually quick with explanations, "well, James, my boy, it's either one or the other. Unless it's someone on stage, then it can be confusing," he chuckled. "What did you see," he repeated.
Jim suddenly turned to a small table in the middle of the room. "Wait," he snapped, putting the lens down. He picked up a nub of a pencil and quickly wrote a note. "What time is it," he asked, still writing.
Artie grabbed at his watch, turning it to the weak lamp light, "Quarter to four," he said. He stepped to the table and read the note, muttering, "Following two possible leads."
"The next team will be here in fifteen minutes," Jim said, dropping the pencil and grabbing his hat. "I want to follow those two. Come on," he said, jumping to the door. Artie snatched his hat and followed, locking the door on the way out. They hurried down the stairs and out the front door. Jim turned to the right for a few steps and crossed the street, keeping to the darkest shadows, away from the lamps.
"Would you mind telling me what it is that you saw?" Artie kept a half step behind, not knowing when to turn and trying to stay out of the way. Jim paused, obviously trying to decide which way to go.
"Two people," Jim whispered, "about average height, long braids down the back," he paused as Artie whispered "Chinese". Jim shook his head, "No, the clothes were American pants, jackets, and hats. I couldn't see faces but they had the figure of a female."
"Two females walking the streets," Artie sighed, clearly disappointed. "We've been watching them all evening. Women walk these streets all the time in the city."
"In pants and jackets?" Jim said, shaking his head. "Not that I've ever seen. Not like these two."
"Modern women," Artie shrugged, "You can't tell them what to wear anymore, can't enforce dress codes in a city as large as this. But you said they came out of the house? They could be the ones everyone is looking for."
"Everyone is looking for men," Jim said, suddenly continuing down a dark street, narrow with tall darkened store fronts, "who are supposed to be contacts from the customs business in California. But maybe we should be looking for women who dress like men and everyone thinks they are men because no one has seen them up close." They rounded a corner and took a few steps down another, even narrower, old street when a dark figure stepped out in front of them.
"Good evening, gentlemen," the smooth voice of a woman said. The two agents froze in mid-step, obviously caught following her. The woman was still standing in the shadows, clad completely in black, making her almost invisible. Only the pale skin of her cheekbones shone in the dim lamplight. "Looking for someone?"
Jim tilted his head, looking her up and down, "I was," he said, his smooth voice soft in the darkness. "My friend and I were looking for a good time in the city. We thought maybe you and your friend," he paused, his eyes darting to the sides of the alley, "might be interested in…"
"Really?" The woman snapped, crossing her arms over her chest as she took a step closer, moving into the light. Black hair peeked out from underneath the edge of a wide-brimmed black hat. Deep blue eyes glared at them from a porcelain white face.
Artie's eyes darted over the clothing, noting the tight fitting, and slightly Spanish, clothing was clearly a man's south-western outfit. It reminded him of his Spanish gun-slinger disguise he had worn in the past. "Of course you must be use to men following you in the night when you are out so late," he said, giving the woman his most gallant smile and tipping his hat.
The blue eyes looked from one man to another, "names, please," she snapped.
"I would love to introduce myself," Artemus said, rambling on, giving his partner time to look the situation over and decide what to do. "Maybe you would like to see some official identification," he purred, raising his right hand to his jacket front.
"Hold it, mister," another woman's voice, harsher sounding, came from above them. Artie's hand froze as his gaze went up. He could just make out a pair of tall black leather boots on legs that disappeared into the darkness and the twin black eyes of a double-barrel shotgun pointing down at him. He swallowed and tried to speak but Jim was quicker.
"We just want to talk," Jim said, holding his hands to his sides, as he also looked up. "Why don't you climb down here and stand by your friend and we'll have a nice chat."
"I'm fine where I am," the voice growled. The barrels moved to Artie, "you may remove the object with your left hand and it better not be a gun. I can take both your heads off from here."
Jim glared at the barrels, watching silently, as Artie slowly pulled open his jacket and twisted his left hand to his inside pocket. Two fingers snagged his identity card and he handed it slowly out to the woman in front of him. The woman took a careful step closer to him and reached for it. He smiled and winked at her as she took it and stepped back.
She walked backwards a few steps into the lamp light and opened the card, her eyes scanning it, as the agents looked more closely at her. The clothes were tight fitting and no gun was obvious but along the waist band, front and back, were the short thin handles of throwing knives. The agents exchanged a shocked look. Suddenly the girl folded the card again and stepped back to them. Without taking her eyes off them, she called out to her companion, "Secret Service agents."
The shotgun barrel snapped up as the woman said loudly, "Oh for Christ's sake! What a wasted evening!" She shifted her body and suddenly dropped to the ground, landing the tall boots with a loud thud on the cobble stone street.
Jim stepped forward as the woman turned away. "Now that you know who we are," he snarled, "You tell me who you two are and what you were doing in that house."
The woman paused, looking back at him, snapping, "We're Secret Service agents too."
"What?!" As Jim took a step closer, the girl snapped an identity card out of a coat pocket with her free hand. She waved it in front of his face and started to turn away again when Jim stepped forward and grabbed her left wrist. She instinctively pulled back, yanking, but he held on even tighter, pulling her closer, twisting the card to inspect it in the light. "There are no women Secret Service agents," he snarled.
"Let go of my arm," the woman whispered fiercely. She yanked again, her hat tipping back from her face. Blond hair fell out, partially covering her darker tanned skin. Pale eyes glared into his. "I won't tell you again, mister," she snarled, raising the shotgun barrel over her shoulder as if to strike him.
Jim's eyes darted briefly from her face to the double barrels, and released her wrist. She immediately stepped away from him, spun around, and dropped the barrels into a shotgun sleeve slung over her back. The gun almost completely disappeared in the leather scar board, which blended with the color of her coat. The butt end was quickly covered with the long blond braid. She straightened the brim of hat as she began to walk away.
"Hey," Jim snapped, trying not to yell in the night. He looked back at the dark haired woman, who was approaching Artie, his card held out to him. "I said I want to know who you two are. This conversation isn't over."
Artie recognized the frustration in his partner's voice, which sometimes lead to drastic action. "Maybe we can talk over dinner," he said, taking the card back and trying to break the ice that hung in the night's air between them. "Or should I say breakfast," he smiled, stepping closer to the woman's blue eyes. He tucked the card into his coat, noting that the blond had stopped walking away and the dark haired woman seemed more relaxed at his side. "We can explain to you how Secret Service agent's share information."
The girl in front of him smiled, her perfect white teeth almost glowing in the darkness. "That would be interesting," she said. "As long as the sharing goes both ways." She winked at him and turned to walk away.
Artie turned to look at his partner as Jim took a deep breath and tried to calm his voice. "Well, this is surprising. So, breakfast, while we talk?"
The two women, now standing next to each other nodded, the blond saying, "Fine. We know a place. And we'll even let you pay." They began to walk as the two agents followed, muttering to each other.
tbc...