THE NIGHT OF MICHELITO LOVELESS'S REVENGE

By Andamogirl

WWW

ACT ONE

Much later, in the temple of Otepek

Moaning, Artemus Gordon opened his eyes slowly, his head throbbing. "What the hell happened? He mumbled to himself, disoriented.

He groaned at the pain spiking at the base of his skull.

He found himself lying on his back, on cold, hard, slightly damp ground, in semi-darkness. The air was cool in contrast with the stifling heat of the desert.

He propped himself up on his elbows and then into a sitting position, pain flaring in his right knee and he clenched his teeth, waiting for the pain to subside.

Confused he cast a look around him trying to get his bearings. He was sitting on the floor of a relatively small room built with large stones painted with bright colors, forming geometrical intricate patterns. It was dimly lit by a couple of flaming torches stuck in a ring that was bolted to the wall. There was small statue of a god, half-human, and half-bird of prey, like the Egyptian god Horus, placed on a high pedestal, resting against the back red-painted wall. "Otepek!"

He looked around him and his breath caught in his throat in surprise as he discovered behind him a dozen dead bodies sprawled on the large slabs of the stone-covered-floor. There was no blood.

He pushed himself up, swaying but stable and rubbed the back of his throbbing head where he could feel a lump forming. "Ow!"

He picked up his hat, his aching bad knee creaking and placed it back on his head.

He moved toward the corpses, zigzagging among them and noticed they were riddled with black darts. Steven Hawkins wasn't amongst the dead fortunately, he noticed. "They have been poisoned," he said as he searched and found tiny holes in a wall, placed in three rows, on several levels and at regular intervals. He nodded. "This place was booby-trapped like you thought it was, old boy. Hmm… Those ancient tribes knew how to get rid of unwanted visitors," he added. Suddenly worried he did a quick survey of his whole body: no darts. He sighed in deep relief and then rolled his eyes. "Artemus, you big idiot! You should be dead by now." He frowned, puzzled and asked himself, "Why am I still alive?"

He groaned as his memories came rushing back…

He remembered entering the room first – a rifle pointed at his back. The bad guys – the men that Hawkins had hired - had forced him to enter the Sacred Chamber, in case there were hidden deadly traps. He had slowly moved ahead, dreading being killed at any moment by lethal darts, arrows, spears, etc. coming out from the thick walls or emerging from the ceiling – or both.

He remembered something else then. Excited at the sight of the statuette, made with solid gold, the money-driven men had rushed toward it… walking on several slabs that had sunk under their weight, triggering the antique defense mechanism located beneath them, to be stopped literally 'dead in their tracks' by dozens of poisonous darts a few seconds later.

He had frozen and remained immobile – hearing Hawkins breathing raggedly with fear behind him. "Don't move Professor! There may be other traps to be triggered." he had said. Then surveying the floor, he had noticed that the sunken slabs had a geometrical pattern in their middle. He spotted others placed here and there, still 'intact' and ready to trigger other deadly weapons.

But before he could tell this to the archeologist, the younger man had made a bee-line to the god's small statue, grinning, repeating "I found it! It's mine! It's mine! I'm going to be famous!" Fortunately avoiding walking on the slabs marked with a geometrical pattern.

He remembered that he had managed to 'safely' tackle the archaeologist to the floor before he could reach the statue, and then had used a martial art technique that Jim had taught him a long time ago: by applying pressure near the base of Hawkins's neck, at the shoulder, he had nearly instantly rendered the other man unconscious. Then, looking at the statuette of Otepek, pushed by his inquisitive scientific mind, he had pronounced the god's name three times, to see if the legend was true, but he seriously doubted it… and, suddenly a bright and paralyzing light coming out from nowhere had instantly enveloped him.

He felt himself grow cold. The hair on his neck stood on end.

He couldn't explain it but he had felt a 'presence' in his head, invading his mind, starting to probe it. As he couldn't speak he had thought 'Who are you? What do you want? Go away! Leave me alone!' He had heard a voice, in his head.

[My name is Otepek; I am the god of Family and Ancestors. I want to know you thoroughly, to see if your soul is pure.] The voice was deep, vibrant, masculine, commanding.

Right after that, Otepek had moved throughout his memories, and then explored his knowledge and experience. After that, and he didn't know how, the god, had read his soul. He had tried to repel him, in vain. He felt naked, exposed.

He took a calming breath.

Otepek knew everything about him now.

Still musing, Artie stopped in front of the small statue, remembering what had followed. Otepek had "said", [You are a good man Artemus Gordon. You are worthy to travel back in time to meet the ancestor of your choice. Don't worry I will bring you back to your time when I sense you are ready. You miss your father a lot, and Ulysses S. Grant too… even if you were not relatives, you loved him like he was your surrogate father, and Grant had a father's love for you. I can send you back in time to meet one of them. You have to choose who you want to meet.].

He had been very tempted to go back in time to see his beloved father, but had said, 'No I have a mission, maybe another time…"' Then, the light paralyzing him had suddenly vanished, freeing him.

Disoriented, he wondered how much time had elapsed since he had spoken the name of the god three times in a row. A few minutes? Less than that? He had the feeling that it had lasted hours.

And…he remembered that he had been hit on the back of his head after that. But before losing consciousness, through a gray veil, he had seen the younger man holding a gun… 'a few minutes then' he had realized, then everything had faded to black.

Ending his flashback, he frowned, puzzled. The statuette was still here… Where was Hawkins? He turned around carefully… to find himself face to face with the younger man. He was holding a gun in his right hand and a hammer and a chisel in the other one. "Let me guess, the statuette is fixed to the pedestal and you want me to remove it from it."

He looked down at the slabs around him. Several of them had geometrical patterns in their middle. "Don't walk on the slabs with a geometrical pattern! They trigger booby-traps, Professor."

Hawkins dropped the hammer and the chisel at Artemus's feet and said, "Thanks, but I gathered that after seeing the sunken slabs." He paused and added, "The statuette is fixed to the pedestal, yes, and you're going to remove it. Starting now."

Suddenly they both heard a loud rumbling from above causing everything around them to shake. Rocks began to fall from the ceiling, crashing down to the ground and breaking into pieces, clattering to the ground and burying the dead bodies.

Hawkins took a step back, frightened. "What-what's happening?" He stammered as the ground shook beneath their feet.

Moving to the side as the ground started to crack open with a roar, Artemus said, "The temple is crumbling." He paused and they both heard the deep rumble of shifting rock. "Damn! I told you not to use dynamite to open the stone doorway giving access to the temple. But you didn't listen to me. Very old structures like this are fragile. Let's get out of here."

Huge chunks of stone were now falling everywhere.

Hawkins waved his gun menacingly. "Not without the statuette! Remove it! Do it! DO IT!" he said, as his voice roughened with raw desire to own the small statue. He cocked the hammer and added, "And you should hurry up if you don't want to die."

Using the hammer and the chisel Artemus managed to un-fix the statuette from its pedestal as the loud rumbling continued, as the floor shook violently, as the ceiling continued to come down. He dropped the tools at his feet, and, holding Otepek's gold representation against him, he joined Hawkins in the corridor just as another violent shake hit.

A few seconds later the sacred chamber collapsed with a deafening, thunderous thud.

Fear running in their veins, the two men ran at top speed (avoiding the deadly slabs) as the ceiling continued to fall all around them, miraculously avoiding to being hit by falling debris, as the fracturing floor was opening, all along the hallway leading outside.

They left the crumbling temple at top speed. The brightness of the sun was blinding, forcing the two men to squint against its harshness… before a good part of the hill collapsed on itself, creating a vast crater at the top, a dark cloud of sandy dust hanging over it.

They ran down the hill as fast as they could, or what was left of it, zigzagging frenetically, dodging enormous rolling boulders.

Then, when the avalanche of rocks was finally stilled, standing next to a big Saguaro, breathing heavily, Hawkins pointed his revolver at Artemus again. "Put the statuette on the buckboard and wrap it in the blankets you'll find there. Do it!" He commanded breathlessly.

Panting, Artie complied and then bent over, dust falling from his hat, hair and shoulders, and he placed his hands on his knees. "I'm too old for this," he rasped.

The archaeologist took a step backward in the red sand, "Good, now move away from the buckboard Mr. Gordon… I'm sorry, but I can't let you live. I have threatened a federal agent; it's a major federal offense, and I don't want to end up in a cell for many years. I have much to do," he said, his voice calm and measured.

He was ready to pull the trigger when a rattlesnake coiled in the shadow sprung from under the vehicle, its black tongue flickering, frightening both the archaeologist and the horses.

Hawkins instinctively fired at the rattlesnake but couldn't avoid Artemus's fist that came flying his way - at his face. He dropped like a stone to the red sandy ground, flat on his back. Black out.

Rubbing his knuckles, Artie sighed. "I'm getting too old for this," he muttered to himself and groaned as his headache spiked.

WWW

Desert Springs, Arizona, three days later, on the Wanderer

His legs trembling beneath him, Artemus Gordon managed to climb onto the rear train platform at a snail's pace, his footsteps slow and clumsy. Exhaustion weighed heavy on him and he was sore all over. "It's no fun growing old," he muttered.

Three days and nights traveling across the Painted Desert to reach Desert Springs, had killed his back, bruised his butt, his legs and drained his strength.

He opened the door of the parlor car and placed the wooden box containing the statuette of Otepek he was holding onto the floor, to his left, leaning against the work table so he wouldn't fall over. Shoulders hunched, he removed his hat and dropped it on the chair starting a mini cloud of dust.

He wiped beads of sweat from his upper lip and moaned staggering like a drunk. "Boy! All I need now is to get rid of my dusty clothes, take a bath to remove the grime of my over-fatigued body, then hit my bunk for at least a week of uninterrupted sleep," he said before looking at his partner in disbelief. James West had just left the galley, holding a mug of steaming coffee and was now heading toward him, smiling. "Jim? What are you doing here?"

Pulling the older man against him, Jim hugged Artie with one arm. "It's good to see you too, Artie. Welcome back home. And to respond to you, I live here. This is my train too, buddy. President Harrison gave the Wanderer to us both, you remember?"

Smiling too, Artemus returned the embrace warmly. "Yes I remember. Our old train, the best gift ever." He parted from his companion and said, "I'm surprised to find you here. I thought you were still in Denver arresting a ring of counterfeiters."

Placing his mug on the work table, Jim replied. "I did it with the help of the local police then I joined you here. It was a quick and easy job. I arrived this morning." Then he took Artie by his shoulders and examined him from head to toes. The usually dressed-up and always impeccable and immaculate Artemus Gordon (except when he played the role of an old dirty and stinky trapper for example) was wearing rumpled, dirty clothes and was reeking of both acrid sweat and horse's smell. His hair was damp, covered with dust and sand and matted. His face was sunburnt and grime-covered. He had deep dark circles underneath his eyes, a few days stubble and looked utterly exhausted. "You look like hell, buddy," he said, his voice tinged with concern. "Are you alright?"

Rubbing a weary hand over his tired face Artie said, "More or less." He winced. Every single bone and muscle of his body felt sore. He added "And I look like hell, because I was in hell Jim – or something very, very, close. The outward trip was okay, the heat was bearable, but the return trip was absolutely terrible. That scorching heat was awful, it was like traveling through molten lava. Hawkins and I we could barely breathe, the hot air was burning our lungs and that damn sand was everywhere! And I mean everywhere… including in very sensitive places. Fortunately we had enough food, but not enough water to either clean ourselves or shave ourselves, just to drink, barely." He grimaced, feeling disgusting and scratched his several days' worth of stubble. He hadn't showered, bathed and shaved in days. Licking his parched lips, he suddenly realized how thirsty he was. "Whiskey…" He breathed.

In a flash Jim rushed toward the sideboard, poured whiskey into a glass, up to the rim and then handed it to his partner. "Here, buddy."

Nodding, Artie took the glass of liquor and drank it eagerly. He lowered it to the coffee table and said, "Thanks, I needed that." He touched his itchy crotch wondering how sand could have ended up there with such tight underwear and added, "I came here directly – no, not directly." He sighed and rubbed his scruffy chin. "Boy! I'm so tired that I can't think straight." He paused and added, "I asked the sheriff of Desert Springs to lock Hawkins in a cell, and then I came here." He blinked a few times trying to keep his fatigue-fogged and slowly shutting-down brain to function, just a little more. "Oh! Yes, and I was almost killed… " He trailed off, his voice raspy. He yawned, covering his mouth with one hand. "Y'know, as usual, another assignment, another close call, the routine," he finished.

Blood froze in Jim's veins. He stared at his companion. "You what? That mission wasn't supposed to be dangerous; it was just baby-sitting duty, nothing dangerous or tiring. That's why Malone gave it to you… Ooops!" Then he cringed. He shouldn't have said that.

Shoulders hunched, Artie's face scrunched up. "I now know why we were separated. Let's give something easy to the old man to spare his old bones… " he said, upset.

Embarrassed, Jim sheepishly said, "It wasn't my idea, Artemus, but Malone's."

Looking straight in his partner's eyes, Artemus, deeply hurt, feeling betrayed, said, "Yes, but you knew! And you didn't take up my defense. You could have said to Malone, 'No way! Artie's in tip-top shape, I want him with me on this assignment, we never separate…"

Raising a finger, Jim interrupted Artie, "Actually, we do work together, but separated as you usually go first wherever our mission is, disguised for a reconnaissance job."

Frowning, Artie continued, "But no, you didn't. I know I am 60 but I'm still capable of doing what I did before when I was younger, you know."

Pause. He rubbed his stiffening and aching knee.

Releasing a heavy sigh, a more realistic Artie added, "Okay, I'm doing my best to," his expression defeated and tired. He gave a weak smile. "At least, my mind is still sharp!"

Feeling bad Jim sighed. "I'm sorry, Artie, but if I didn't oppose Malone's decision, it's because you were still lying in a bed in the Washington Military Hospital three weeks ago, buddy. You almost died and Dr. Henderson did another of his miracles to bring you back. Malone knew that too. He and I both wanted to spare you, and that mission was an easy one, well… it was supposed to be an easy one…"

Blinking slowly Artie sighed. "Like you, James-my-boy… I'm a magnet for trouble. Where I go, danger follows me closely." He gave Jim an 'I forgive you' smile and his eyes softened. "It's okay, I'm not mad at you anymore, Jim, I understand why you did that. You wanted to protect me…"

Feeling immensely relieved Jim smiled. "You're like my brother, Artie. You're family. It's natural to want to protect those whom we love…" he said his voice grave and sincere. Reaching out, he pulled Artemus against his chest and they hugged, again, longer this time. "Love you, Artie."

Resting his head on Jim's shoulder, eyes half-closed, struggling to stay awake, Artie rasped, "Love you two Jim. God, I'm so exhausted…" He swayed as he looked like he was about to collapse and he leant against his partner for support.

Pushing Artemus back by his shoulders, Jim said, "I know you are buddy." And watched his companion rub at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

He caught Artie in his arms as he began to tilt. Then he gently maneuvered his best friend onto the closest couch, seated him on it, furrowed his brow and asked, "What happened up there?"

Mustering what was left of his declining strength (not much), and while he still could make himself coherent, Artie said, "An ancient temple in the Painted Desert almost fell on my head. It's a long story; I'll tell you it later, not now. I can't think straight." He placed his hand in front of his mouth and his jaw cracked on a new, wide yawn. Then he rubbed again his puffy and bloodshot eyes. "I think I seriously need to take a bath," he added, glancing at his grimy hands. His vision swam. He closed his eyes drowsily and rested his head feeling like it weighed a ton, onto the first thing within reach, onto Jim's shoulder, again. "But… I think I nee-eed to slee-eep before tha-at… so t'red" he slurred his breathing slowing a little, sagging against his partner.

His eyes slipped shut.

Noticing that Artemus was falling asleep, his partner having reached the end of his endurance, Jim gently moved his best friend onto his back and placed a cushion under his head.

He quickly divested his companion of his dusty jacket and sweat-soaked shirt and dropped them on the carpeted floor, wrinkling his nose. Then he removed Artie's dusty boots and smelly socks. "Ugh…" He let out unable to hold back his disgust. Nausea wasn't far away.

Cracking open one bleary chocolate eye, Artie breathed, "S'ry, smell bad, stink… was sweltering heat, no shower," he mumbled.

Smiling, Jim nodded. "Yes, you do." Then he continued stripping his companion. He unbuckled Artie's gun belt and his belt before setting it on the coffee table.

He finally removed Artemus's dusty pants adding them to the pile of clothes, leaving the older man in his black, short underwear.

Once he was half-naked, Artemus rolled to his side on the couch too small for his large frame. He curled uncomfortably in himself, arms folded.

Jim picked up the tartan coverlet folded on the twin seated sofa, shook it out and then draped it over his partner's relaxing form. "Sleep well buddy…"

Eyes closed Artie mumbled blissfully, "Mmmmmm…" and his breathing evened out. A few seconds later his muscles went slack.

Jim opened the windows to make air currents and lowered the blinds. He dimed the lights and then picked up the filthy clothes.

He was tempted to throw them off the train but Artie was particularly fond of his tailcoat blue suit he had paid a fortune to his tailor in Washington for, so he rolled everything in a reeking ball and holding it at arm's length, he headed toward the laundry room.

He dropped them in the laundry basket on top of the other dirty clothes already there and glanced at Artie's latest invention, an incredible steam-powered washing machine combining washing and rinsing and water removal by spinning. It had too the ability to fill and drain water by itself. They could do their own laundry now instead of having to give their laundry to launderers during a stopover in a city. And Artie had in mind another very practical invention, another machine which would be able to remove moisture from a load of clothing, bedding and other textiles after they were washed in a washing machine. Because they now had to dry everything on indoor clothes lines stretched out across the lab.

He smiled, "Good old Artie," he said, thinking that his best friend would never cease to amaze him with his inventions.

Still smiling, he headed back to the parlor car.

He sat at the work table and began writing his report on his last assignment, keeping an eye on Artie – who was dead to the world - who never moved a muscle.

His face was peaceful, his breath was steady and quiet.

Jim frowned, upset. He should have said no to Malone, he should have accompanied Artemus there, in that desert, in that temple, and promised to himself he'd never do a solo mission again. "Rest up now, Artie, you earned it. You are safe."

The older man let out a soft snore.

WWW

The next evening

Rubbing one reddened eye with his knuckles, Artemus's face scrunched into one of disgust as he stripped off his smelly underwear crusted with dust and sand.

He pushed it to the side with his foot and turned on the water of the shower waiting for it to heat up. He ran a hand through his hair, greasy and dirty and exhaled a long sigh. "Ah, a shower… wonderful sight!"

Moving like a very old man, hurting all over, feeling like he was 100, he stepped under the strong spray, closed his eyes and braced his hands on the white tiles.

He let out a long moan of pleasure as the hot water made contact with his filthy skin and streamed over his fatigued muscles.

But after the 24 hour more coma-like nap, he felt much better, and to be in tip-top shape, he'd hibernate in his bed till they reached Washington.

He took a step back, away from the cascading water and then reached out toward the shelf to his right and picked up a bottle of sandalwood shampoo sitting there. He poured half of it on his soaked head and he slowly worked his fingers into his messy hair, lathering it up, massaging his scalp.

He groaned in pleasure this time.

Once his wild curls were entangled and clean, he started to rinse the shampoo out. Then he grabbed a bar of soap from the shelf and noticed that it wasn't the usual lemon-scented soap that he and Jim used, because it was rose, and raised the bar to his nose and inhaled.

It smelled of roses.

Using his deep baritone voice, he called, "Jim! Come here! Now!"

The door opened a few seconds later and Jim found himself face to face with a stark naked, dripping wet Artie holding a bar of soap. "What? Are you okay?" he worriedly asked.

Placing the bar a few inches from his best friend's nose, Artie frowned in suspicion, and asked, "This bar of soap is rose and smells like rose, Jim. It's a woman's soap. Are you cheating on your wife? Because if you do, I'm gonna punch your face!"

First outraged by Artemus's question, Jim sent his partner a black look and then he growled, "What? No! I'm not! I love Juanita. I would never cheat on her…"

Narrowing his eyes, Artie let out, "Says the man who flirted with Carmelita Loveless and kissed her. Did you forget that?"

Crossing his arms on his chest, Jim explained, "Nothing happened between us, Artie. She was attracted to me and I wanted information. We both had what we wanted, that's all. And it was a goodbye kiss. And you know that." He waved a stern finger. "You jump to conclusions too fast, Artie and that doesn't sound like you, but I'm not offended. You're exhausted and your brain is working at its minimum." With a smirk on his lips, he said, "While you were gone, I ran out of soap. I wanted to buy a new bar when I found this one in the dresser of the bathroom. As it looks fairly recent, I suppose it belongs, or rather it belonged – past tense - to your latest conquest, Artie, Carla Martinelli, the lovely Italian actress. She spent three nights here, on the Wanderer… but she didn't sleep much, and you either and you took many showers together… and not just to wash yourselves."

Scowling, Artie sputtered, "What? Because I'm old, I can't have a sex life?"

Retreating toward the door, back to it and facing Artie, ready to dodge any projectile, bar of soap, bottle of shampoo or washcloth – or all of them and not necessarily in that order - Jim smiled soothingly. "I never said that," he said with a mischievous grin on his face. "But next time, find a hotel room. People would like to sleep at night."

Pointing at the door, blushing furiously in embarrassment and glaring at Jim, Artemus commanded, "You! Out! Now!"

Once the door was closed Artie looked down at the bar of soap in his hand and remembered everything… and Carla bringing that bar to the bathroom because she loved roses!

He looked at his reflection in the mirror facing the shower and straightened his back and shoulders. He pulled his waist inand flexed the still hard muscles of his arms. He remained broad and strong, hard muscle still faithfully adorning his aging body. Then he brought his soaked hair back with his fingers. His hair was still abundant, just with a few gray hairs at his temples and he only had a few wrinkles. He always looked young ... younger than he actually was anyway.

He smiled. "You're perfect!"

He chose to ignore the bit of extra fat.

He used Carla's bar of soap and a washcloth and soon, sand, dust, and dirt was scrubbed off and into the water swirling around the plug hole.

Head thrown back and eyes closed, both arms staying limp at his sides, Artemus stood under the hot water until his fingers started to prune and the steam had filled the entire bathroom.

Feeling human again and relaxed, he turned the water off and stepped out of the small shower stall onto the bathmat.

He grabbed one of the large fluffy towels off the rack and began to dry himself and his hair.

He wrapped it around his waist after that and stood in front of the mirror hanging over the sink. It was steamed over, so he reached out and wiped it clean with his palm – and glanced at his reflection.

He touched the salt and pepper stubble on his cheeks and chin and said, "You need a good shave now, to look a bit more presentable."

He opened the drawer of the dresser and pulled out what was necessary: a shaving soap providing protection and lubrication for the razor, a shaving brush to whip the soap into a lather, a shaving mug, a bottle of oil in order to lubricate and moisturize the skin to prevent a painful razor burn – and an open razor.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Jim's worried voice said, "You okay Artie? You didn't drown in the shower; did you?"

Opening the door, Artemus responded, "No, I'm still here." He sniffed a delicious mélange of smells: toasts, mushroom and onion omelet and apple pie. "Did you prepare dinner?" then he heard his stomach growl it needed to be filled.

He was hungry. Shaving would have to wait.

Smiling proudly, Jim nodded. "Yes, I did. It smells good, right? Don't you remember that Juanita taught me how to cook? But don't get used to it, Artie. You're the Chef here, not me. There's your name on the door of the galley. I just cook when you're not in shape to do it. I don't like to cook."

Grabbing his fluffy bathrobe hanging on a hook fixed behind the door, Artie asked, "I know. How are Juanita and the children?"

Leaning against the doorjamb, Jim said, "She's okay and Jesus and Rufina are alright too, but they miss me a lot and I miss them a lot. I'd like to go back more often to Tecate to be with them, but I'm always busy with assignments. I hope we'll have leave soon."

Nodding, Artie removed the damp towel from his waist. "Yes, I hope that too." He threw it onto the sink before closing his bathrobe and added, "You have a lovely family, Jim, and I hope you'll see them soon."

He followed his partner into the narrow walkway and closed the door behind him. "Give me five minutes to dress and I will prepare some coffee."

Pressing Artie's shoulder with affection, Jim said, "It's good to have you back Artie." He hugged the other man and parting, added, "I'm going to set the table for dinner."

WWW

Much later

His expression nonplussed, Jim scratched his head as he observed the statuette of Otepek he had just taken out of its box and placed on the dining table. "Mmm… and that statuette actually spoke to you Artie?"

Glaring at his partner, his hands balling into fists at his sides, Artemus said, "Statues don't talk, Jim. They are inanimate objects."

Smiling, Jim nodded. "I know that."

Catching Jim's smirk, he wrinkled his brow, let out a sigh and said, "I'm not senile if it is what you're thinking," he said in an affronted voice.

Closing his fingers around his mug Jim smiled soothingly. "I never thought that." He chuckled and added, "Be careful, Artemus, you're starting to sound like a grumpy old man." He ignored the other man's scowl and took a sip of coffee. "Is he here?"

Placing the small gold statue back in its box, reverently, Artie said, "No, he's gone. Otepek only 'inhabits' his statue when someone needs to travel backward in time to speak to his or her ancestors, to say yes or no. He's probably back where he 'lives' with the other gods. And I don't 'talk' to him, at least with my mouth, I use thoughts only." Seeing that his partner was looking at him skeptically, he added, "I know, the whole story sounds bizarre, really weird, not real, invented, coming out of a dream, a hallucination, but it's the truth I swear, Jim. I told you the exact story. Everything is absolutely, hundred percent true."

Placing a hand on Artie's arm and patting it, Jim said, "I believe you Artie, always have, always will, but you have to admit that the whole thing is pretty hard to believe. Do you want some friendly advice, buddy? Don't ever tell a word about the whole thing to anyone, ever! Or you're going to end up in a mental asylum, faster than it takes to say, ending up wearing a straightjacket."

Pouring himself a mug of hot fresh coffee Artie hummed in agreement. "You're right. I won't tell anyone, it's better that way." He glanced at the wooden box containing Otepek's small statue and then added, "The statuette is going to be safely placed in the reserve of the Archeological Museum. Then, in September it will be shown during the exhibition about Ancient lost civilizations. The President asked me to personally hand it to the Director after our return to Washington. In the meantime, I'll keep it in my lab."

Taking another sip of coffee, Jim nodded. "What about Hawkins?" He asked.

Frowning in displeasure, Artemus replied, "Hawkins? Pfff! His father is a very influential man, Jim, a friend of the President. He's probably already out of jail, without charge and he's probably heading home as we speak." He waved his hand. "Good riddance!"

Smiling, Jim patted Artie's knee soothingly. "Relax Artie, it's over." He snapped his fingers then pulled a letter from the right pocket of his old beloved emerald green velvet smoking jacket - a little bit narrow for him now that he had gained a bit of weight. "I almost forgot! You got mail in your absence. There's nothing written on the envelope except, 'To Artemus Gordon, the Wanderer, from Lupita'." He smiled teasingly. "Lupita… Lupita… The only Lupita I know is Colonel Lupita Quesada of the Guarde Federal of the Mexican Secret Service. Well, well, well… Artemus, I didn't know that the lovely Mexican Colonel and you had reconnected. She loved you a lot, if I remember correctly."

Blushing bright red up to his ears Artemus grabbed the letter possessively and slid it into the pocket of his new dark emerald robe. "I met her last month at a reception, at the Mexican embassy in Washington. She's now a General and head of the Mexican Secret Service, you know? Those Mexicans are really progressive people, I admire that. A woman general! It would never happen here. We have planned to see each other again soon." He smiled broadly and added, "Lupita is a beautiful woman, and she's very intelligent, witty, and dangerous… she's perfect for me."

Jim chuckled. "Well, Artemus, it would seem that you and I are both attracted by lovely – much younger than us – Mexican women. Be careful Artie, you could end up married and having children, like me – and grandchildren later. You know, I can picture her, at your side at a reception… with a gun hidden in her dress and a knife in her boot. She's a perfect match for you."

Artie grinned.

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On board the Fortuna II (a luxury yacht), August 12, 1960

Dressed in a white smoking jacket, Lucky found Andamo sprawled on one of the large couches in the fantail, smoking his nth cigarette. "There you are compadre. You chose a nice comfy place to hide – in plain sight." Then he smiled.

The dark-haired Latino inhaled a long drag from his cigarette and blew it toward the side. "I'm not a child anymore, Lucky, and I'm not hiding. And I'm not going to that archeological exposition at the Museum." He shook a finger. "That's a no. Don't waste your time trying to convince me, Lucky. Old things are boring, that's why I never go in a Museum. I'm going to stay here and enjoy a cigarette or two. And as we have a floating restaurant, and much to do, then I will check the receipts from yesterday night, count the cash and checks, check orders for the restaurant, fill the account books for this month, see if we have enough Champagne and caviar, etc. I'll be very busy." He tapped at his cigarette above the ashtray to get the burned up parts off.

Lucky sat beside his best friend on a comfortable cushion. "You could be surprised Andamo. Amongst those old boring things there's a unique piece. A statuette of an ancient god called Otepek. The god of Family and Ancestors for the Kep'laas tribe who lived in the Painted Desert, in Arizona more than 2000 years ago. The legend tells that that small statue can allow a man to travel back in time, so he can meet his ancestors. Then afterward he returns the traveler back to his time. That's worth a look!"

Cigarette between his fingers, Andamo chuckled. "Time traveling? That's impossible. Ah! No. That's possible in movies – but only in movies. Anything is possible in movies, like travel to Mars in a spaceship, for example." he grinned. "Can you imagine that? Going to Mars in a spaceship?"

Lucky smiled. "One day, perhaps. But I think we'll start by going to the moon, Andamo, it's closer." He patted his best friend and partner's leg. "We've been invited by the Mayor, compadre, you and I and we're a team. Wherever I go, you go. Now get up." He stood, took out his pocket watch and opened it. The chime let out a series of five notes. "11:10. the next launch leaves the yacht for the shore in 10 minutes. You have just enough time to put your nicest suit on, Andamo. Come on!" he grabbed the younger man's arm and pulled him up onto his legs. "Maybe you'll meet a lovely lady there."

Finishing his cigarette Andamo sighed. "There? That's impossible! Only intellectual women attend that kind of exposition. They're rigid and uptight and boring – one word: uninteresting." He heaved a long sigh. "That's too bad, a perfectly good day wasted." He put his cigarette out on the ashtray.

Lucky smiled and placed his hand on Andamo's shoulder. "Perhaps not. Who knows compadre? Something unexpected could happen."

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Later on the city's museum,

Reception Hall

Lucky was shaking the Mayor's hand, when Andamo stopped in front of the statuette of Otepek a glass of Champagne in one hand, a cigarette in the other. An armed guard was standing next to the pedestal – the object being in solid gold - and therefore worth a small fortune, he mused. "That's the famous statuette? It's ugly," he said to the other man. "I like gold but gold bars, not statuettes… but I prefer bank notes, cash."

He fished his cigarette case from his bolero jacket and pulled out a cigarette. Using his lighter he lit it, taking a long drag.

He turned around, taking an ashtray on a table in the middle of glasses of Champagne and spotted his best friend now chatting with a group of old rich ladies and recognized two of them, Mrs. Hedgemore and Mrs. Ferguson, two of the most influential women in the city – and regular guests of the Fortuna II.

He smiled and exhaled the cigarette smoke out slowly and then flicked the ashes into the crystal ashtray he was holding in his right hand.

The suave Lucky could do anything with his irresistible charm – and was probably convincing, with little effort and with a large seductive smile, the other women of the group, to come on board the luxury yacht, to enjoy an expensive menu, he mused.

He took another drag off the cigarette and looked again at the statuette of the ancient god, half-human, half-bird of prey and blew the smoke toward Otepek.

He grimaced and said, "Otepek, Otepek, what an awful name! You're just as ugly as your name, Ote-pek, god of…" Words suddenly died in his throat as a sudden bright and paralyzing light coming out from nowhere enveloped him.

He felt himself grow cold. The hair on his neck stood on end.

He couldn't explain it but he was feeling a 'presence' in his head, invading his mind, starting probing it. As he couldn't speak – panic overwhelming him - he thought 'Who are you? What do you want? Let me alone! Let me alone!'

[My name is Otepek, I am the god of Family and Ancestors and I want to know you thoroughly, to see if your soul is pure,] he heard in his head. The voice was deep, vibrant, masculine, commanding, he noticed. He felt Otepek moving throughout his memories, and then exploring his knowledge and experience. After that and he didn't know how, the god read his soul. He tried to repel it, in vain. He felt naked, exposed. Otepek knew everything about him now.

He breathed, "Please let me go. I'm sorry if I said that your statue was ugly… Please, I don't want to die. Don't kill me!"

[Use thoughts to communicate with me], Otepek 'said'. Then he added in the mortal's mind, [You are a good man, Andamo. You are worthy to travel backward in time to meet one of your ancestors. You have to choose, Andamo. I met one of your ancestors once. I met Artemus Gordon, your grand-father. He was a noble man. I know that you had always wanted to know him – I offer you the possibility to do so. Do not worry; I will bring you back to your time when I judge it necessary to. Do it Andamo. You will not be disappointed. Just tell me if you want to meet him.]

Smiling, Andamo didn't hesitate long. 'I want to meet Artemus Gordon.' He thought.

The bright light paralyzing Andamo increased in intensity and he closed his eyes against the now blinding brightness.

He moaned as a sudden wave of dizziness submerged him and blackness enveloped him.

He vanished.

Tbc