Artemus stirred and brought his eyes into focus. He felt somewhat rested although another eight or ten hours of sleep did sound good to him. Artie sat up and grasped his head; he discovered he had developed a whopper of a headache. He went to his sideboard to mix a headache powder with some water when his eyes took in the clock on the sideboard. Artemus did a double take and his jaw dropped. The clock read three o'clock. That can't be right, Artie thought, I know that it's light out and that means it must be daytime but…we were supposed to meet with Colonel Richmond at noon! Artie put the headache powder away, drained the glass and went in search of his partner.
He found him sitting at the table in the main car, papers and programs and agendas spread out all over the table and some spilling onto the floor he was making notes on a pad. Jim looked up when his partner entered the car and took in his appearance. Artie looked like hell even though he had gotten almost twenty-four straight hours of sleep. Jim wished he could complete this assignment alone but knew that was out of the question. He made a mental note to send a wire to the doctor later and tell him to strongly suggest that Artemus get a solid week or two of sleep in before giving him any more missions.
"James, is there anything you'd like to get off your chest?" Artie asked snidely.
"Such as?" Jim feigned innocence.
"Drop the innocent routine, buddy boy, it doesn't suit you. You know damn well what I'm talking about. It's three o'clock in the afternoon. WE were supposed to meet with Colonel Richmond and those State Department agents at noon. Why wasn't I invited to your little party?" Artie demanded.
"Calm down, pal. This was just the cursory meeting. I got their agenda and list of things they'd like to do while they're in town and I'm working on it. No harm done. Besides to tell you the truth it looks like I should have given you a sedative or something, you still look like hell, partner."
"I'm sorry, Jim, I shouldn't have yelled at you, it's just that…"
"I know, Artie. Why don't you go grab something to eat from the kitchen and we can go over this stuff and I'll fill you in on all the oh so boring things you missed."
"I'll get something to eat later, I seem to have acquired a small headache and I'm not very hungry right now. How long until we're expected in town to begin our babysitting?" Artie asked not sure he wanted to know the answer.
"Not until seven. The delegates will arrive at the hotel on the stage. We'll meet them there. I guess we have to get them settled and then take them to dinner."
"Oh joy, dinner with foreign delegates. I suppose they will want something silly like a hot dog," Artie griped.
"A what dog, Artie? Are you sure you're ok?" Jim asked staring at him.
"Yes, I'm fine. You really should read the trade journals more often, Jim. A guy named Charles Feltman is supposedly working on something called a hot dog. It's some kind of meat thing you put in bread and eat. He's still working the kinks out of it."
"Oh, I see," Jim replied, "well, whatever they want we are supposed to see to it that they get it, within reason," Jim stated.
"Within reason, of course. Who's reason…theirs or ours?" Artie asked no one in particular, Jim chuckled.
They spent the next two hours going over all the documents Jim had brought back and thought they had a pretty well rounded schedule planned, with very few of the items on the agenda taking them into dangerous territory fun wise. They only had to put up with these people for a week then Jim planned to get Artie some well deserved time off if he had to shoot him to do it. Jim looked at the mantel clock and saw that it was nearly time for them to head into town. He had suggested that they eat first but Artie vetoed the idea saying they didn't have enough time. The furrow in Jim's brow deepened.
They arrived at the hotel with half an hour to spare. Jim insisted they go to the hotel restaurant and that Artie eat something. Artie ordered a steak and potato but mostly pushed it around his plate. Jim coaxed him into eating about half of the meal when they heard the stage pull up. Jim and Artie stood patiently by waiting for their passengers to disembark.
Finally, after the luggage had been tossed down from the top, the group climbed down from the stage and looked around. Jim was mildly surprised; Artie just stared ahead. The group consisted of three men, two of them wearing business suits and the third dressed like a garish looking clown trying to imitate a cowboy. Jim suppressed a grin and glanced at Artie, who was gathering up the luggage.
They made the obligatory introductions, and Jim helped Artemus gather the last of the luggage and they headed into the hotel. Jim got the keys and they went up to the rooms, Jim grabbing most of the luggage. The dignitaries wanted to change before supper and told James and Artemus they would meet them in the restaurant. Jim welcomed any chance to be free of them and readily agreed. He drug Artie down the stairs and into the restaurant.
"They are going to be a while, Artie, why don't you order another dinner. You didn't get to eat all of the last one," Jim tried.
"Jim, I'm not hungry, I ate less than an hour ago. Back off, the Mother Hen routine is getting tiresome," Artie snapped.
"Sorry, pal, I'm just worried about you is all."
"Well, don't, I'm a big boy and I can take care of myself, thank you very much," Jim wondered where the anger was coming from and made a mental note to talk to the doctor.
"All right, if that's the way you want it," Jim deadpanned.
"Aww come on, Jim. We only have to get through the next five days then this will be over. I can make it don't worry about me."
"Well, partner that's what partners do. They worry about each other and don't tell me you weren't the least bit worried about me over the past eight weeks."
"Touché, James, point taken."
"And Artie, I'm not going to let you back out on your promise to me. No missions for at least two weeks after this," Jim began only to be interrupted by their charges.
"I'd love to hear about some of you gentlemen's missions," the one called Donovan remarked, "I bet you have some tales to tell."
"Jim's the tale spinner, I'm just here as eye candy," Artemus snapped.
"What's his problem?" he asked.
"Oh, Artie? He didn't get his beauty sleep."
"Shut up, Jim," Artie warned.
"You'll have to excuse my partner, gentlemen. He's just finished eight rather long weeks worth of assignments with no break longer than half a day and he's more than a little tired," Jim explained.
"There's no need to explain my actions, Jim. I'm perfectly capable of explaining myself if I feel there is a need," Artemus glared at his friend.
"Is that true, Mr. Gordon?" Donovan asked. Artie merely nodded as he stared down into his cup of coffee.
"Mr. West, pardon me if I am out of line, but what was your President thinking sending Mr. Gordon to baby sit us when he's this exhausted?" Donovan seemed genuinely upset, Artie noted.
"No, Mr. Donovan, you are not out of line. I asked myself that same question. It seems your government told my government they wanted our top agents for this assignment so here we are," Jim answered, disgruntled.
"Well, I for one will feel much safer knowing that America's top agents are with me," the one called Matthews remarked, Donovan shot him a look and Jim had to hide his grin.
"Mike, you'd let God himself risk life and limb to protect your sorry backside."
"Now, Don, don't get upset. There's no need, after all, we are in a foreign country and we don't know the customs. I just feel safer knowing we have two top notch men to show us around."
"Whatever," Donovan sniped.
Jim noted that Artie was on his sixth cup of coffee in the past hour and knew the caffeine; while it would keep him awake would be getting to him soon. Jim thought that his partner's excessive coffee drinking might explain his surly mood. He suggested they adjourn for the night and the men get some sleep. Jim and Artie followed them up to their rooms and made sure they were safely inside with their doors locked before retiring to their own room. Jim had made sure he had only reserved one room with a king size bed so he could keep an eye on Artie. This did not get past his exhausted friend.
"Still playing nursemaid, eh James?"
"Sorry Artie, sue me. I told the doctor I would take care of you and I intend to. You can yell, scream, shout do whatever you want it won't change anything," Jim dared him to argue.
"Nah, for once I think I actually don't mind," Artie replied as he dressed for bed, "what do you make of our charges?" he said trying to change the subject.
"Matthews is a twit. Ketchum is a pompous ass…" Jim grunted.
"And Donovan?"
"I'm not sure about him, yet. He seems too…well, normal to be hanging out with these other two bozos."
"I agree, I think I might like Donovan," Artie yawned.
"He seemed awful interested in you, Artie," Jim teased.
"It's my natural charm and charisma, James my boy," Artie yawned again.
"Well, right now I'd say we put that charm and charisma to bed. Breakfast comes pretty early," Jim put the light out and waited.
He was rewarded rather quickly with the sounds of Artie's shallow if somewhat uneven breathing. Damnit, I think he's coming down with something, Jim thought, I'll have to keep an eye on him. Jim drifted off to a restless sleep, worry about his partner permeating his sleep.