THE NIGHT OF THE FAKE HAND
By Andamogirl
WWW
ACT ONE
A few hours later in the bandits' camp
Dirty Sam (Artemus Gordon) dismounted an equally dirty Lockpick covered with mud and dung and reaching up he patted his horse's neck then he ran a hand over the quarter horse's velvety muzzle. "Don't worry, I promise to clean you from the tip of your ears to the end of your tail and to give you a whole bucket of apples when all this is over, to be forgiven," he whispered.
But Lockpick snorted in reply – blowing air over his owner's hand in response still mad at his rider.
The fake trapper then headed toward a group of bandits gathered around a small fire. They were eating beans, chatting and drinking coffee. "I'm late," he said scratching his false bushy beard. And he offered them a fake explanation, "I was busy with a Lady till mid-morning… and she didn't want to let me go," and he had a lewd smile.
The bandits chuckled and offered Artie room beside the fire.
Surprised one of Coltrane's goons said, "And she didn't give you a bath beforehand? Because you're kinda dirty and smelly, old timer.'
Dirty Sam guffawed. "What? A bath? Me? Na, never! Water is for fishes and beavers, not for me. But I wouldn't mind a bathtub filled with whiskey! And Christina didn't care if I was clean or not, what she wanted was me – and my money." He sat on a dead tree trunk, beside a blond man, pulled out a flask of whiskey from the pocket of his fringed jacket spotted with stains and took a big gulp. Then he wiped his lips with the back of his threadbare sleeve and looked around him, curious. "Where are the others?" he asked.
Pouring beans on his plate again, the blond bandit replied, "They left to raid a gold depot in the valley. Coltrane and the other guys should be back in half an hour or so. The boss left us here to guard the camp – and the gold." He elbowed the fake trapper. "So, how was she?"
Dirty Sam grinned. "Redhead, luscious and tireless." He paused as the others grinned. 'I hope they will be back before the cavalry arrives, otherwise the plan won't work. But it gives me the opportunity to place my little time-bombs at strategic places without being disturbed', he thought. "Do you have any good beds here? Christina drained me of my energy last night… and not only that." There was a new lewd smile and to accompany that statement he placed his hand on his crotch.
Grinning, the blond bandit nodded. "Sure, old timer. There's a room in the third cave on the left, you can't miss it. it's the dormitory. It's empty so you can have a quiet nap there."
Dirty Sam nodded. "Thanks lad." Then he stood and headed toward the entrance of the main cave, rubbing one temple as he was tired after a night of intense lovemaking.
Once inside, he explored the first cave (the larger one), noticing crates filled with rifles and others with ammunitions and. sticks of dynamite. Then in the next one, in a corner he spotted four large crates wrapped in chains with locked padlocks sitting next to a group of stalagmites and he knew that they contained the stolen gold. In the third cave was the empty dormitory, and in the fourth, he discovered a natural basin of crystal clear water and, against the wall he spotted buckets and on a table bars of soaps and washcloths. "You have just discovered the bathroom," he said to himself.
He began pulling out time-bombs from the extra inner pockets of his jacket, one by one, and hid them in caves number 3 and 4 where, once exploded, they would provide the most possible damage and would force the bandits to go to cave number 2, the one with the stolen gold and number one, with the mini arsenal – he couldn't destroy – unfortunately - without crumbling the mountain on top.
He had hid his last time-bomb in one of the crevices of a moss-covered wall when he heard someone behind him pull back the hammer of the gun he was holding.
He immediately froze in surprise in time with the blood in his veins as he recognized that noise and he raised his hands and icy chill running through his body.
He slowly turned around and found himself face to face, or rather face to chest with the giant blond leader of the bandits pointing his Colt Single Action Army revolver (SAA) at him. "I can explain everything," he said.
But Strongman Coltrane wasn't interested in hearing it. He suddenly backhanded Artie with his gun, propelling the USSS agent against the wall of the cave.
With a smirk Coltrane watched the older man crumple in a heap on the ground with blood pouring all over his face. "Don't bother to," he just said.
He retrieved the small orange devices he had silently watched the other man hide and observed them for a few seconds. He noticed that the timer was set on 90 (minutes) and put it on 0 (start), stopping it. "Small time bombs, very ingenious," he said. As two of his men framed him curious to see why their leader had knocked out the old trapper, he showed them the explosive gadgets before pocketing them and ordering, "Look everywhere. Everywhere! He probably placed his little bombs in all the caves. Find them! All of them!" And watched his men scatter.
Then he grabbed Artie's arm and dragged the unconscious man outside the 'bathroom cave' heading toward the outside.
Once In front of the rest of his men, he pointed his gun at Artemus lying, inert at his feet and pulled one of the time bomb out from the pocket of his jacket and said, "This man tricked us! I saw him hiding time bombs inside the caves. Old trappers don't have those kind of sophisticated explosive devices – so he's not a trapper! He's an impostor! He's probably a federal agent… or a Pinkerton agent! Anyway, he wanted to create chaos, and kill a bunch of us too, to recover the stolen gold. It means that our hiding place is not safe anymore. His superiors know where our camp is." He pointed at the entrance of the first cave. "Go! Take everything, the boxes of ammunitions, the rifles, the crates and the trunks, everything! I want to leave this place before sunset! You have exactly 30 minutes!"
WWW
Clint – Strongman - Coltrane kicked Artemus in his ribs, hard, twice, for pleasure. The other man didn't react as he was still unconscious and bleeding profusely from a gash to his left eyebrow. "You're so dead, old man," he said with a southern drawl. He grabbed a rope attached to the saddle of a horse and holding Artie by his ankle he dragged him to the foot of the big oak tree which topped the hill. "Your friends will have a welcoming surprise when they arrive, you hanging from the end of a rope," he said, ending his sentence with a cruel smile. He threw the rope above a large, solid branch and made a wide noose with the other end. "I've never hanged a man from the Secret Service or a Pinkerton before, but there's a first time for everything," he added. Then he chuckled coldly, his eyes dark.
Strongman put the noose around Artie's neck and then he pulled on it, progressively lifting Artie off the ground, into the air.
Feeling a terrible pressure on his neck, his windpipe being crushed Artemus brutally and painfully regained consciousness… hissing sharply and choking.
He instinctively clawed at the rope tightening around his neck, sucking in air, struggling to get free. His chest started heaving, searching for oxygen, every inhale whistling through his teeth.
Spots started to appear in his vision as his lungs burnt with screams for air and his eyes flooded with involuntary tears.
The leader of the bandits pulled the fake trapper higher watching him kicking air wildly, gasping for breath, his body twitching with convulsions, his puffy face becoming bluish with lack of oxygen. Then he attached the rope to the trunk of the oak tree.
He watched the older man's struggling ceasing progressively - enjoying each second of the hanging. Then, after a few more seconds Artemus slumped as his chest stopped moving. His body was now dangling limply and boneless from the rope, still swaying slightly, his head lolling to the side.
Coltrane grinned. "Good riddance!" He said coldly. Then he turned around, his hand moving down to his revolver as he heard the sound of a horse galloping and a man screaming, "Noooooooooo!"
Blackjack the black stallion halted in a cloud of dust a few seconds later and Jim, his face drained of any color pulled out his Colt from his holster.
BANG! BANG! Two gunshots resounded – and two well-aimed bullets cut the rope a few inches above Artemus Gordon's head and the unconscious man dropped to the ground in a heap.
Coltrane groaned and glared at the man dressed in a blue suit who was sprinting toward him, holding a gun. He pointed his Colt at him but he wasn't rapid enough. Two other gunshots resounded. A bullet pierced his shoulder and another one his leg and he collapsed to the ground like a sack of potatoes as troopers swarmed the camp and dozens of them entered the caves.
He let out a howl of rage and helplessness. It was over. He and his men would end up behind bars then with a noose around their necks. Then… death.
His face like stone, adrenaline coursing through his veins, Jim West kicked the blond hulky man's gun sending it away into the nearby bushes and then dropped to his knees beside an immobile Artie, his heart racing as he thought of the worst.
He quickly loosened the rope and pulled it over his partner's head, grimacing as he saw Artie's slack, blue face bloodied from a gash to his left eyebrow and the deep angry red marks around his neck. "Oh God, Artie!" he let out, his chest feeling heavy with deep worry. "No, no, no…"
In a half-relief, he noticed that, fortunately Artie's neck wasn't broken. Lynching someone like that didn't include a fall that broke the neck, he thought. But unfortunately his best friend had suffocated due to the strangulation and paled in alarm.
He hoped that it wasn't too late to save him.
With a grim face, he checked for a pulse with trembling fingers and found none. He leaned in close, his ear directly in front of the other agent's nose and mouth, and listened closely. Nothing. He placed his ear against his now immobile chest and couldn't hear anything.
Artie wasn't breathing.
Jim's own heart skipped a beat in panic. He grabbed Artie's shoulder and shook the lifeless man. "Artie! Wake up! No! You can't be dead!" he said feeling fear gripping his heart. "What can I do? What can I do?" he asked himself, as he sat back on his heels, overwhelmed with panic. Holding Artie's limp hand and pressing it in his, he closed his eyes. "God, Please, no, no, let him live please," he begged, his throat closing up with raw emotion.
Coltrane still conscious sniggered. "He's dead! I killed your friend, your partner I guess, right? And I enjoyed every second of it!"
Immediately Jim cast a murderous glance over his shoulder at the bandit crumpled on the ground with muscles in his strong jaw locked tightly in rage. The thought of killing the blond giant briefly flickered through his mind but he dismissed it. He respected the law. Coltrane would be arrested, put in jail, trialed, convicted and hanged – like all his accomplices.
He would never take justice into his own hands, even if he was tempted to, like now, he thought and worked at calming his breathing.
He looked down at his best friend's bloody cyanosed face, expecting a response from Artie who knew everything, always knew what to do. But Artie was dead, he finally realized and he couldn't say anything, wouldn't say anything anymore.
He closed his eyes again, tears rolling down his cheeks.
He placed a trembling hand on his best friend's brow. "Artie, don't leave me alone…" then he rested his face on top of the other man's still chest and sobbed, gripping the fabric of his stained and stinky shirt. He lifted his head, feeling something underneath his fingers. He pulled out a small buffalo and a small beaver carved in wood from his breast pocket. He blinked to clear his vision and let out a weak smile: Artie's tiny sculptures he gave to children he met in the streets…
He suddenly remembered Artemus doing Cardiopulmonary resuscitation, a technique which he had invented and he simply called CPR, combined with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to a drowned young boy a few years ago and bringing back to life.
He abruptly calmed down and whispered, "Calm down, you have to save Artie! Nothing is lost! You can revive Artie with the CPR technique, he had taught you."
Placing himself at Artemus' side, he moved his unresponsive partner's right arm to be closer to Artie and taking the other man's head in his hands, he pulled it back gently, his chin upward. He opened Artemus's mouth pinched his nose shut and drew a deep breath before bowing his head, covering Artie's bluish-tinged lips with his own. He started breathing for him, blowing air into him. Then he placed one hand over the other above his best friend's sternum, interlocking his fingers, before beginning regular, hard, quick, chest compressions, letting the ribcage recover its shape between two of them, anxiously watching for the rise of Artie's chest as his lungs expanded. But there was no movement.
Keeping his anxiety at bay Jim repeated the maneuver a few times, drawing as much air into his own lungs as he could between regular chest compressions – but Artie still wasn't breathing on his own. He remained motionless, his face slack and livid and his lips blue. "No, no, no!" he said, panic coming back. "Don't do this to me! Don't die on me buddy! I can't do this alone, I need you."
He breathed into Artie's mouth, again and again, re-starting the chest compressions, increasing the pressure each time before stopping when he heard two distinct thuds.
He cringed. "I broke two ribs. I'm sorry Artie," he said. He leaned back down, squashing Artie's nose shut before giving him another breath of air.
He lost track of how many times he pumped his hands against Artie' ribcage and the number of breaths he gave him, but didn't stop.
He couldn't stop. He couldn't lose the man he loved like he was his own brother.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity Artemus let out a whimper, meaning he was alive – again - and he slowly stirred. Then he jerked, shuddered, convulsed and coughed his way to life, thrashing, his chest rising and falling with each painful, ragged breath. Then, shivering, his features contorted in a grimace as he started gasping, his breathing labored.
Coltrane gasped as he couldn't believe his own eyes. "He was dead!" He said, stunned, as he watched Artemus heaving and wheezing.
In a flash Jim reached out and rolled Artie onto his side and suddenly the older man began to cough violently again, his throat hoarse and burning.
Looking down at Artie, utterly exhausted, struggling to breathe by himself, Jim sat on the ground heavily and nodded, proud of himself. "But I brought him back."
Several seconds passed by and Artemus opened his eyes wide, feeling the constricting pressure gone and his chest on fire with each breath he was taking. He slowly moved onto his back and felt a strong hand wrap around him.
He let out an inarticulate and raw sound instead of 'Jim?'
Jim grinned immensely relieved. "Yes it's me. You're back! I did it! I did it!" He put his hand on his partner's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "It's alright Artie, I'm here. Take it easy. Yes, that's it buddy! Breathe, breathe, you're safe now." He pulled out his kerchief from the inner pocket of his vest and gently mopped the blood seeping now from the gash Artie had to his left eyebrow. "You're a mess buddy."
Blinking hard as his surroundings blurred in and out of focus, trembling from the ordeal of being hanged Artemus tried for a word of thanking, but no sound came out, only a pained croak. It hurt even to swallow.
Jim placed his hand on Artie's chest. "It's alright. You'll be okay. Close your eyes Artie," he said as he saw the other man's eyes roll a little in their sockets as he fought to stay conscious, breaths coming in gasps. Then his eyes fluttered close as he blacked out.
Tears of profound joy running down his own face Jim touched Artemus's rope-burnt throat with trembling fingers, finding a pulse there.
He was never happier. Then, grinning, he collapsed in relief, out of breath himself. He reached out, dragging Artie into his arms. "It's over, you're safe."
WWW
Later in Fort Bradley's infirmary
Major McGarrett, the Chief Medical Officer of fort Bradley put his stethoscope back in the pocket of the long white jacket he was wearing on top of his uniform and turned toward James West, standing restlessly beside the door of the small infirmary.
He smiled reassuringly and said, "Mr. Gordon's breathing is still erratic, but his pulse is back to normal. He's going to be alright. But…" And saw Jim flinch in deep worry at that 'but'. He added, "But he suffered a violent strangulation and his upper airway is badly bruised and is swollen too. He won't be able to talk for a few days as the larynx which houses the vocal cords suffered very strong pressure. But I think the vocal cords are not impaired, he should be able to talk within a few days, then everything will go back to normal. It's going to be painful to breathe and swallow and as for eating, he'll be restricted to liquids, like broth or soup." He paused, looking at his patient laid on a bed, sleeping, heavily sedated, and continued, "I put a thick layer of ointment on his neck – it's an old Navajo recipe, it smells bad but it's very efficient in reducing the swelling and healing the rope burns and the bruises and stopping the irritation. I'm going to give you a terracotta pot filled with it and you should apply it to his neck twice a day. They should vanish in a few days. I stitched his opened eyebrow and he'll probably have a hell of a headache for a few days, but the good news is that he's not concussed like I feared he would be. His head is as solid as a rock. I gave him a few drops of laudanum. He should sleep till tomorrow morning." He smiled. "You can sit by his side."
Smiling, Jim said, "Thank you Doctor," then he padded toward the bed on which his best friend cleaned up and without his disguise was lying. He was dressed in blue striped pajamas and had a white bandage wrapped around his head, neck and chest.
He looked terrible, he noticed, his face was pale and shiny with sweat and his eyes had dark shadows beneath them.
He covered Artemus's hand with one of his own, and squeezed gently. "Oh, Artie…"
Seeing that McGarrett asked, "You're very close, are you related? Are you brothers?"
Jim smiled. "We're not related but Artemus is the big brother I never had, he's family." He took his place on a chair beside the bed and took Artemus's limp hand in his, interlacing their fingers. "Hi buddy," he whispered as not to wake him, even though he knew that a huge thunderstorm plus a cannonade wouldn't have woken him up. "You're safe now. Everything is going to be alright."
McGarrett added, "You saved his life doing the Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation you described in detail to me, Mr. West. I didn't know that technique to bring back people from respiratory arrest. It's fantastic. I'm going to teach it to the people at the fort now. It saves lives."
Still looking at his best friend's slack face, Jim replied, "It's a technique Artemus invented. He's a genius you know, always busy in his lab inventing a lot of things, and not only gadgets and bombs…He taught CPR to me, but while doing it I broke two of Artie's ribs…" then he cringed.
McGarrett nodded. "Don't feel guilty about that, because iI was inevitable, Mr. West, but don't worry most broken ribs heal by themselves within six weeks. I wrapped his ribs in a special elastic bandage for compression I have developed. It will help the ribs to set, but won't prevent him taking deep breaths, which could decrease the risk of pneumonia. I will give you painkillers and sedatives I made myself with instructions for you to follow." He patted the younger man's shoulder reassuringly. "He's out of danger now."
Feeling much better, Jim smiled. "Thank you again Doctor."
The Major nodded. "I'm going to have him carried to you train as soon as possible. I have received orders from Colonel Henderson CMO of the U.S. Military Hospital in Washington to transfer him there."
Jim nodded. This time President Grant would keep Artie in Washington for more than three weeks, like he did the first time. Maybe a month or two, until Artemus was completely recovered. 'I bet I'm going to work with Jeremy Pike again', he thought.
WWW
The next morning in the Wanderer
Hearing a moan Jim sitting on the edge of the bed, slid his fingers down to Artie's jaw and gently turned his head to the side. "Artie, wake up."
Artemus made a disgruntled noise of complaint and cracked open his eyes and saw that the early morning sunlight was shining around the edges of the curtains.
His face immediately twisted in agony. He threw his head backward, shut his eyes tight, gripped the blanket and let out a raspy cry.
Paling in concern, Jim placed a soothing hand on his partner's brow. "Take it easy Artie. You're safe, you're home, you're in your bed – and I'm here." Then, he pushed the pillow behind his best friend's head to prop him up. He placed a mug to the other man lips and said, "Just take a sip, slowly. It's tea and honey." His voice was low and soothing.
Artemus complied, winced then relaxed a bit, still in great pain – his head hurt, his neck hurt and his chest hurt. Breathing hurt too, it was like inhaling fire and swallowing hurt also. It was like swallowing shards of glass, he thought.
He looked up at Jim, into his eyes and asked: "What happened?" But only a strangled croak left his mouth and he frowned, puzzled. He cleared his throat coughing up slightly and wanted to try again, but Jim gently put a finger on his lips and shook his head.
Fortunately Jim could read lips. "No, don't talk, you're going to make it worse for yourself. You don't remember?"
Shaking his head, slowly, Artie mouthed, "No."
Jim nodded. "What's the last thing you remember?"
Closing his eyes in order to focus his concentration, Artemus saw a series of images scroll through his memory: him hiding a time bomb, Coltrane holding a revolver, the other man hitting him… He reopened his eyes and without any sound, he replied, "Coltrane hit me with his gun."
Jim took Artie's hand in his, pressing it in a comforting gesture and said, "Okay, the blow to your head has caused a memory loss, it happens, and it is usually temporary and it's nothing serious…" He paused seeing his best friend frown in worry.
Deepening his frown as he was getting anxious, Artie repeated, "What happened?" and this time a few garbled sounds left his mouth.
Ill at ease, Jim said, "Later when you feel better…" He was ready to stand when Artie grabbed his arm in an iron grip. "I assume it's something horrible because you wouldn't act like you do if it was not, dreading my reaction… " And he had confirmation of that assumption when he saw Jim flinch and pale. He insisted, "Tell me. I can handle anything."
Reluctantly, Jim said, "Okay, brace yourself Artie… I've got a lot to tell you, buddy, and it won't be easy to hear. That man, Coltrane… He…" He bit his lower lip nervously anticipating his partner's reactions: shock, dismay, distress. 'Poor Artie, it's going to be a huge shock' he thought. He took a deep breath to give himself courage and he added, "Coltrane he… he hanged you." He paused watching Artie's face suddenly draining of color, his mouth opening while he was staring at him horrified. "I'm sorry for telling you that."
In a flash everything came back to Artie's mind and he paled as his whole body trembled with retroactive fright and horror. "Oh dear God," he mouthed without any voice, "I remember now… he hit me with his gun. I lost consciousness and I woke up shocking, hanging from the end of a rope …" Then he started taking deep, heaving breaths and he swallowed around the bile rising in his throat.
His face twisting in concern, Jim slipped a hand into one of Artie's, fingers intertwining and asked, "I'm so sorry… Do you want me to continue?"
Pale as a ghost, Artie nodded and let out a strangled sound.
Then Jim continued, "Your upper airway is badly bruised and swollen. Fortunately your vocal cords are not impaired, are still intact, but unfortunately you won't be able to talk for a few days. It's going to be painful to swallow and as for eating, think liquid food." Grimacing he added, "You died Artie," and he sighed, his eyes haunted, remembering Artie swinging in the air, dead. "I thought I had lost you, definitively, but I used the CPR technique to bring you back. Dr. McGarrett the CMO of Fort Bradley stitched your left eyebrow, he put a Navajo ointment on your neck and wrapped an elastic compression bandage around your chest. It's an invention of his. I broke two of your ribs while doing the chest compressions, I'm sorry, buddy."
Giving Jim an unconvincing, reassuring smile, Artemus patted Jim's hand and mouthed silently, "I am good," then he took a series of deep breaths as he pulled himself together.
Pause.
Knowing that Artie needed time to regroup he stayed immobile and mute. Then after a brief moment, he saw the other man's tense features relax a bit. "You sure?"
Nodding, Artie replied, "I'm sure yes, I'm not okay yet, but I will be.". He could feel his heart thundering in his chest with huge relief – he was alive! – and immense gratefulness. "Thank you very much Jim, you saved my life, again."
Beaming, Jim pressed Artie's shoulder in a warm gesture. "You're welcome," he said.
Regaining some colors, Artemus silently asked, "Do you remember what happened to me after I had that heart attack at my parent's home and died – until Dr. Henderson brought me back with a special serum of his called epinephrine?"
Frowning, Jim nodded. "Yes, I do. Did you have an out-of-body experience again?"
Rubbing his aching forehead, Artie said, "Yes I did. I was floating, Jim, levitating out of my body and above my body… I could see you doing CPR to me… Then you managed to bring me back, and I was alive again… " He grinned. "And I'm very, very happy to be alive." He touched his bandaged aching throat and wrinkled his nose. "It smells bad."
Still reading Artie's words on his lips Jim nodded and said, "Yes, but it's a very efficient ointment. It will reduce the swelling and heal the rope burns and the bruises in a few days and stop the irritation. McGarrett gave me a full terracotta pot of it and I will apply it on your neck twice a day." He smiled. "And you're welcome, Artie. It was my turn to save you. You saved my life two weeks ago in Virginia City."
Smiling too, Artie pressed Jim's shoulder with affection. "I'd be long dead without you Jim, I mean definitively dead, thank you very much again." Then he moved into a sitting position, wincing and grunting in pain, before slowly moving his legs over the side of the bed.
Patting Artie's knee, Jim added, "We're en-route to Washington. Dr. Henderson is waiting for you. You're going to stay at the Military Hospital for a few days."
Nodding Artie said, "Oh great!" He released a long disheartened sigh. "And then the President will keep me at his side again and longer than the last time," he said mutely. He pressed his fingers around his painful neck again and grimaced. "He's more and more reluctant to let me go back with you on field missions after I was seriously injured..."
Standing, Jim replied, "Of course he is. He loves you like you were his own son Artie and he wants to protect you. It's a normal reaction."
His throat dry like the Sonoran desert, Artie took a new sip of honeyed-tea and mouthed, "I hate being stuck at a desk. My place is here, at your side, I'm your partner."
Eyes twinkling, Jim chuckled. "I agree. We're a pair. But being the President's personal secretary has it rewards… Washington is full of young, beautiful women and there are all kind of places to bring them, cafés, restaurants, theaters…"
Shaking his head, Artie said mutely, "When? Grant works all the time, even at night, like he's still commanding his troops on the front, and as his personal secretary, I have to follow his rhythm and it's exhausting."
Narrowing his eyes, Jim didn't buy it at all. He crossed his arms over his chest as he raised an eyebrow at his partner questioningly. "Really?"
His face neutral Artie replied in silence, "Really, yes."
Recognizing Artie's poker face, Jim said, "That's not true. The last time I met the President, during that Occularis's affair, when you were still at the White House, I asked him how you were bearing up under your new assignment in Washington, and he replied, I quote, "The question is, how is Washington bearing up? I hear there's been a steady influx of lovely young ladies since Artemus has been assigned to us there…' See. You found some time for the ladies…"
Taking the steaming mug from Jim's hand, Artemus swallowed a little of the sweetened liquid and said, "I'm a magnet to women, I can't help it. they're all attracted by good looks and charm." He smiled. "Okay, I admit it. I had some free time for myself… but I'm not exaggerating too much. I had one matinée or one afternoon per week free because Grant needs to have some free time for himself – and for Julia. And I spent that time with a lot of women…"
Smiling, Jim said, "I hope you have their names and addresses listed somewhere Artemus…" and he smiled as Artie touched his right temple with his fingertips. He added, "Stay here, I'm going to prepare a soup for you. It's going to be liquid food for you from now on…"
Shaking his head, Artie mouthed, "I'm going to prepare my soup. I don't want to eat something resembling to concrete."
WWW
Much later, after dinner
Feeling a little sleepy because of the powerful painkiller running through his bloodstream Artemus was half-lying, half-sitting on the plush gold velvet couch, propped up on cushions. Marmalade and Aztec were rolled into a purring ball on their owner's ankles and feet, eyes closed, napping.
Using a sharp knife Artie had just finished carving a whole family of bears – the mother and her two cubs – from a piece of soft wood, when the telegraph rattled. The cats' whiskers and tails twitched in annoyance, but they kept their eyes closed.
He translated the Morse code in his head in time with the short and long pulses and when the machine finally stopped he looked at Jim, sitting at the work table who had just written down the message on a piece of paper, looking as stunned as him. "What?" He mouthed.
Frowning, not happy to have a new assignment, Jim acknowledged the reception of the message then closed the telegraph box, a bit hard. "Well Artie, we have a new assignment, from President Grant himself," He said. "I understand why he chose us for this mission, but he knows about your state…"
Setting his knife and small sculpture down on the coffee table, Artie moved into a sitting position on the couch, wincing as his ribs hurt.
He scooped the cats up before resettling them on his lap which they immediately took possession of, sprawling there, making sleepy purring noises.
He said mutely, slowly so that Jim could read on lips, "Yes, he knows that, and he's probably not very happy to about sending me on this mission, but you and I are the only 'specialists' in Miguelito Loveless in the Secret Service, and he didn't have any other choice but to put us on this mission."
Crossing his arms on his chest, still upset, Jim said, "I know. But I don't like it."
Artie nodded. Then he continued using sign language in order to facilitate dialogue with Jim. "I can't believe it. Loveless wants to give all his fantastic machines to the US Government and explain how they work to our scientists, in exchange for total immunity for what he did during these last few years and to and to be able to come back from time to time to this country without being arrested - because he wants to retire to Mexico." He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "I don't believe it for one second. It's one of his setups again. I'd bet my life on it – believe me." He sighed, upset too. "And we're going to have to bring him to the Capital, on board our train and treat him like a guest… not me! I can't believe it! Loveless here!"
Pouring a new splash of oil on his rag, Jim started to clean his Derringer. "I know, knowing Loveless it sounds highly suspicious, but perhaps Loveless is telling the truth, we don't know for sure. Let's just give him the benefit of the doubt. He's not getting any younger you know and he's probably so rich that he wants to retire to Mexico and enjoy a comfortable life there. It's a nice place… I could buy a ranch there after I retired myself and have horses and a few cattle…"
Smiling, Artie mouthed, "I can't believe you want to become a ranchero. And you'll have a beautiful wife with a strong character and children – one boy, one girl."
Smiling too, Jim nodded. "Is this one of your famous premonitions?" His smile broadened. "I'd like that, I mean I'd like to have a normal, peaceful life and a family. Leave my past behind me."
Petting his cats, Artie said, "As for me, I will go back to the theater to be a thespian again, in a traveling troupe because I like that kind of life, I mean meeting people and playing in front of a different audience each night – and meet lovely women too. I could have my own troupe even and later, when I'm older have my own theater. That would be great!"
Jim nodded. "But in the meantime we have an assignment to fulfill. The President has wanted those formidable machines for years. That's why we have to meet Loveless in four days, at noon, in the cantina of Santa Theresa, near the Mexican border."
Not convinced by Loveless's proposal, Artie gently moved the cats to the end of the couch and stood up. He poured himself a glass of cool water.
He took a sip and winced. "Call me suspicious but I think it's a trap to kill us, that's the phoniest story I've ever heard, Loveless would never do that. Retiring? Giving all his machines to the Government? Bah! That's impossible!" he said without spoken words.
Jim repeated, "Let's just give him the benefit of the doubt." He watched his cat AG leap on his lap and added, "We'll see soon if he's honest or not." He ran his fingers over the black cat's fur and noticed that his companion was now lost in thought. "What are you thinking about?"
Lulled by the loud relaxing purrs of the three cats, Artie started to fight to keep his eyes open. "I am exhausted and I am going to bed early," he mouthed. He yawned and responded, "We shouldn't let Loveless seize the occasion to have the two of us with him at the same time in case it turns out to be a trap to capture us and kill us. We'll be together, but not. If there is a problem, I could help you, he won't suspect an old crippled colonel with a walking stick – actually a rifle made to resemble a walking stick - to be ready to fight and kill…"
Lifting a curious eyebrow, Jim asked, "What do you have in mind, Artie?"
His throat raw, burning him, he switched to sign language again. "You will be accompanied by an officer sent by El Presidente Juan Nepomuceno Méndez in charge of finding out what Loveless's intentions are once he's settled in Mexico. After all Loveless is a dangerous man, a very dangerous man and sought by the American justice system for many felonies, it's normal that he should want to know what Loveless will be doing when he retires, and be worried about what he could do there." He took another sip of water and added, "It would be silly for the two of us to put our necks in Loveless's noose…"
Immediately Jim cringed while hearing those last words. Artie blanched and paused suddenly realizing what he had just said.
Noticing that Jim was ill at ease too the older man said, "I just wanted to say, that we should work together, but separately, like we always do." He rubbed his chin pensively for a few seconds and added, "I'm thinking about bringing back Colonel Hernandez Del Valle Santiago y Sandoval, but older and limping and with a cane… hiding a gun. I just need to build one. It shouldn't take long."
.
Tbc.
