THE NIGHT OF THE MURDEROUS RAINS
The rain came down in buckets, pouring over the earth like a sheet. He pulled the collar of his jacket tight around his neck, but it did no good, the rain was still running freely down his back. When he made it back to the train he promised himself he would pummel his partner for being clumsy and pulling almost all of the muscles in his back, leaving HIM to tackle these last few assignments on his own.
This last assignment had left him drained, both physically and emotionally. He hated violence, and he especially hated it when he had to act like a bloodthirsty killer. He could hardly wait to get home and take what he hoped would be a long uninterrupted soak in a hot bath. He shivered as he recalled the details of this last mission and hoped he never had to go through that again. At least I've already filed the report, he thought, so I won't have to do that when I get back. And that partner of mine had better make me a nice hot meal. He rode on unable to repress the shivering, probably the onset of a nice cold thanks to Uncle Sam.
"You're back early," the man said as he entered the room from the front of the main car.
"You sound disappointed, James. Would you rather I leave and come back later?" Artie growled.
"Whoa, pal, I'm just surprised to see you that's all. Colonel Richmond telegraphed yesterday and told me not to expect you until tomorrow."
"Yeah, well riding a lame horse in a downpour with nowhere to seek shelter could make even the best of men want to hurry things along a bit. Did you by any chance
cook anything for supper? I haven't eaten in a while," Artie replied as he shook the rain off of his poncho and hung it on the coat rack.
"As a matter of fact I did. It's not much but you're welcome to it. I ate lunch but by the looks of you, you haven't eaten in a while. Are you sure you're okay, pal?"
"I'm fine, Jim. Nothing a nice hot bath, a meal and a good night's sleep wouldn't cure," Artie lied, hoping he would buy it.
"Well, you dig in, Artie, I'll go get that hot bath ready for you," Artie's anger at his partner softened a little when he noticed Jim struggling to get up.
"Never mind the bath, Jim. I'm really too tired, I'd probably just slip under the water and drown, making Uncle Sam that much more pissed off at me. I'll just sit here with you for a bit while you eat then I'm going to go to bed. Besides, I think the rain did a pretty good job of washing the trail dust off me," Artie replied softening the tone in his increasingly tired and exhausted voice.
"Nonsense, Artie. You're exhausted, you're cold, wet, probably very hungry, and you look like hell. Like I said I ate earlier today, you eat," Jim pointed him in the direction of the table and his plate of food.
"All right. James, my boy, if you insist," Artie sat at the table and began eating.
Artie kept a careful eye on Jim, watching his movements. True he had seen very little of his partner in the past two months, but he could tell Jim's back was still giving him grief. While the food wasn't exactly five star the conversation was. He and Jim talked about Artie's latest assignment in great detail. Artie told Jim about having to play three different characters, sometimes all in one day, just to get close to their intended target…Count Lorenzo. Artie thanked the heavens he was finally behind bars, him and his disgusting mob. Artie left out some of the more grisly details and this didn't get past his watchful partner's eye.
"Jeremy tells me you played Lightning McCoy again. That couldn't have been very fun," Jim commented dryly, hoping to draw his friend out.
"Yeah, Lightning is always fun," Artie rolled his eyes.
"Wanna talk about it?" Jim asked in that voice that Artie knew so well meant it was more than just a suggestion.
"Not really, but then I don't think you'll accept that for an answer will you?"
"Right as rain, Artie," Jim flinched at his partners dirty look, "no pun intended."
"Yeah, I know," Artie sat there quietly contemplating his mashed potatoes and he pushed the food around the plate for a few strained minutes.
"Jim, I think it's time for Lightning to die."
"Excuse me, Artie?" Jim asked, shocked.
"I don't know, Jim, maybe it's my tiredness talking. I'm just sick of playing bad guys. It makes my skin crawl. I have to do some really unsavory things…things I'd just as soon not talk about," Artie shoved the plate away from him, Jim frowned at the small amount Artie had eaten, barely enough to keep a bird alive.
"I can't say that I know what you go through when you play these characters, pal, but I can see that it takes a lot out of you to do it. More than Uncle Sam has a right to ask in my opinion. If you say Lightning had to die then so be it," Jim stated.
"If only it were that easy, Jim. Each and every character I play is in some small way a part of me, a part of who I am. Sure I can just not use that character again and be done with it, but this time…" Artie let his voice trail off which sent alarm bells sounding in every corner of Jim's brain.
"This time what, pal?"
"This time a part of me became Lightning."
"You do that every time you have to wear a disguise."
"Not like this. This time, I had to kill an innocent person, Jim. To complete my damned assignment I had to shoot and kill an innocent person and there was nothing I could do to stop it. But the terrible thing was I almost enjoyed it. I have so much pent up rage in me lately that I'm not sure I'm sorry I did it." Artie spat. Jim didn't like the look on his partner's face.
"That's it. I'm contacting Washington…"
"And tell them what? That I'm having a temper tantrum and don't want to do my job anymore? No, Jim, like I said it's probably just…"
"Exhaustion? Languor? Burnout? Artie, Washington has had you on the go day in and day out for the past two months. And lord only knows how many persona you've had to invent and reinvent just to complete your assignments while I have been sitting here doing nothing," Jim said vehemently.
"I have a job to do and I do it simple as that. And you aren't exactly sitting here doing nothing, Jim. Don't think I don't know about all the telegrams you've been sending out, trying to get help for me from other agents. And I do appreciate that by the way," Artie fired back.
"They don't know how much it takes out of you to do this. Every time you come back from an assignment I've seen it, Artie. I've seen the dark circles under your eyes, the pale skin and your sunken eyes, and don't give me that look, most people don't know when Artemus Gordon is hiding something under piles of stage makeup but I'm not your average someone," Jim retorted.
"No, James, you're not."
"It burns me up that I have to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you go out and work yourself to death trying to complete my part of the assignment as well as your own."
"Jim, I told you I don't mind. You need time to heal. In a few more weeks…"
"Artie, in a few more days you'll be so exhausted you won't even know your own name," Jim argued as he crossed to the telegraph.
As if on cue, the telegraph rattled, indicating an incoming message. Jim groaned and snatched the pad and pencil. Tapping out the quick acknowledgement, he began scribbling the newest message from Washington, his frown growing by the minute. When he had gotten the last of the message, he typed a reply telling them he would get back to them. He slammed the telegraph key back into its customary position and threw the pad and pencil onto the table.
"Do you really think that reply was wise, Jim?"
"I don't care, Artie! You're already well into a state of exhaustion. They have NO right to ask you to go right back out, especially not in this weather!" Artie was not sure when he had ever seen Jim this mad before.
"I know, Jim. But what are you going to do? Uncle Sam says jump and we ask how high," Artie sighed.
"Not this time, pal. Not this time."
"What can I do, Jim? I have to go to Atlanta," Artie intoned, he pushed himself away from the not even half eaten dinner. When he rose he swayed for a second and steadied himself on the table.
"Artie, are you okay?" Jim rushed to his side.
"Yeah, I'm fine, like I said I haven't had much sleep. Just let me get a good night's sleep and we can start for Atlanta in the morning."
"No, pal, I'm telling Washington we can't take the assignment."
"We? Don't tell me you were planning on tagging along, James. I know the doctor hasn't cleared you yet."
"You let me worry about that, pal. Let's get you to bed. Otherwise, within a day or two there will be no need for this discussion, the doctor will have himself a new patient. And besides, we have an extra day since they don't know you're here." Jim said as he watched Artie lean heavily against the doorframe waiting for him.
Jim called Alex and told him to get the train moving toward Atlanta in the morning, and even though he was told to be there as quickly as possible, he told Alex to take his time getting there no matter what he might hear from anyone else. He put his arm around Artie's shoulders and was surprised at how thin his friend felt. Artie's usual barrel chest felt almost like skin and bones and he walked with a prisoners shuffle not the usual robust stride he walked with. Jim's concern intensified when he tried to make small talk with his partner but only got monosyllables in return.
Jim helped Artie undress and helped him get into bed. Glad for the close relationship they shared and the fact that helping the other undress didn't embarrass them anymore. Jim wanted to send a wire declining the mission but he knew Artie wouldn't approve, so Jim felt no guilt in taking his time getting them there. At least by the time they did arrive Artie will have gotten some very much needed sleep and Jim hoped his back was well enough to fool the doctor into letting him go on the mission with Artie.