CHAPTER SEVEN

They walked up to the bar of the small but clean little establishment while they waited for a table to free up. The food must be good Artie surmised as the place was full with young couples, a few families and respectable looking cowhands. It was a nice change from the usual variety of saloons they'd seen over the years populated by tough men looking for trouble.

They each ordered a beer and enjoyed the lukewarm sudsy brew in quiet. Joy had used up about all the talking and listening they had for one day. "That's one heck of a girl, you have there. My ears are still ringing from all her questions, but she is really something. You should be proud."

"Well I guess I would be if I had anything to do with it other than a brief part quite a number of years ago." At least this time he said it with a smile, Jim noted. Maybe he'd stopped beating up on himself so much.

He decided this was the moment he'd been waiting for. "I don't know Artie, but maybe you should think about taking a desk job. It would put you out of dangers way. I bet Richmond would love the help." He didn't look at his partner right away. He figured it would be better to let the idea sink in for a minute before he got his expected response. He turned slowly from the bar leaning his back against the polished wood. If Artie was out of the field and direct involvement in cases, then the danger of Joy being used as a pawn would be reduced. It turned his stomach, the thought she could ever be used as leverage against either of them. Plus being in one location instead of constant travel, would make him more available to her.

The down side was of course their partnership would be broken. He preferred not to think about that because he knew he'd be lying when he said to Artie, Don't worry I'll do great with a new partner. You know you aren't perfect. But of course they were perfect together, each one able to anticipate the others next moves with an almost inborn sense of the other's strengths and weaknesses. But Joy's safety, my niece, the word echoed in his head, and Artie were far more important than his own welfare.

Artie studied his beer for a moment before he spoke. "We'll it's a thought I had too, but what would you do?" He tried to sound casual. He didn't want Jim to think he was acting like a mother hen.

"We'll, I could do anything I suppose." Now it was Jim's turn to sound nonchalant. "I could work with another partner, of course it would take awhile to break a new one in, or maybe I could do something else in the department... like design security for the mints. Gosh knows they get into enough trouble."

Artie nodded his head as if Jim's last idea had merit, but he knew it would never last as James West would get way too bored with drawings, diagrams and writing protocol. "Do you think you'd get bored?"

"Oh no, it would be fun not to get shot at, beaten up and abused by the usual types we run into." He smiled his broadest grin knowing Artie saw right through it.

"Yah," his partner replied with an equally false grin.

A table opened up at that moment. The two men ordered another round and sat down to a satisfying and awkwardly silent meal.

WWWWW

That night Artemus had a dream.

He was sitting at his family's kitchen table, his mother was clearing the dishes. His younger brother, Theodore was there as well as his baby sister Litta. His parents looked like they were when he was a boy of twelve, but he was the same aged adult he was now, as a matter of fact he was older than his parents. But no one seemed to notice and the usual language drills his father conducted every night after dinner were in full swing. Litta was reciting the Lord's Prayer in Russian, while Theo worked on his essay in French. His father sat attentively, arms crossed coaching little Litta in pronunciation while the Brooklyn street sounds seeped in through the open windows. Mother turned and smiled lovingly at him with all the pride one woman could hold. He wanted to reach out to her and hug her short but sturdy frame. She turned back to the sink and he remembered how he loved to watch Litta take her mother's hair down at night from the tight bun she wore and brush it one hundred times, counting alternately in French and Spanish each stroke.

Father nodded in encouragement as Theo worked through an especially difficult passage, his tight black curls staying locked in position as he waved his hands like an orchestra conductor in tempo with his son's oration. Lamb's wool is what his mother called father's thick mane and she frequently told him how lucky he was not to have curls as dense and stubborn as his father's.

He wanted to speak, but he had no voice. He reached out to touch his father, who glanced over at him and with sad eyes said, "You will need to be the father of this family some day, Artemus. It's a heavy responsibility but I have faith in you my son. You are the smartest, and bravest." Then he turned back to coaching Litta and the scene vanished.

He was standing at a grave, his heart so heavily with grief it hurt. The air was cold and damp and he would have shivered if he hadn't been so numb. His mother, a short pillar dressed in black, leaned on him and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder as she sobbed uncontrollably. It was Theodore in the box, dead from consumption. He was so young, so handsome, so charming. Why hadn't it been him? Mother said it was not their job to question God's will, but it meant that her eldest, Artemus, would have to live up to the most honorable standards as he had to fill the shoes of both her sons now. She told him the good Lord knew he could call Theo back to his fold because her eldest would achieve so much and help so many in his life that he would do the good of two men.

He was relieved but at the same time ashamed that he didn't have to bear the grief of his father who had died two years prior and would now have his youngest son forever as a companion in death. He was the father of the family as his own father predicted and pretty little Litta nestled into his side as she hung onto his jacket for protection from the pain, and confusion that death brings. He started to cry.

The scene changed again and this time there were flowers and smiles and happy faces as he watched Litta, a grown woman, walk towards him in her wedding dress like a vision of an angel. He escorted her proudly down the aisle and a tall dark handsome man waited for her and her love which she freely gave. He glanced behind him and there sat his mother still in her kitchen dress, holding Theo's French book on her lap, and a pot of stew she stirred with one hand as with her other hand, she dabbed her eyes tearing with joy. The church was a sea of faces some from long ago memories but many from more recent encounters. Antoinette sat next to what seemed to be an empty seat and he strained his neck to see if Loveless was with her. His heart started to race as he realized that if the little man was there, he would attempt to ruin this happy day or even worse, take his sister hostage. In the back row he saw what looked like an army of the nameless henchmen he'd run into over the years who were always ready for a fight. But today they looked oddly content and sat quietly enjoying the procession.

Jim was sitting up front, smiling and he wanted to warn him about Loveless but he found his hands were securely tied together and his voice refused to cooperate. Two boxes stood at the back of the room ominously and he watched them wondering what or who might be in them but they never opened.

Then he was back in the kitchen, but his mother seemed to fade away slowly still with the same loving smile on her face. There was a far off train whistle. She spoke but her voice was like a fog coming from all directions. In Russian she said, "It's all up to you now Artemus, my son. You must take care of your family, and all whom you come to love, but you are strong and loyal. And always be honorable to your family's name." And she was gone.

He opened his eyes still groggy from sleep and looked about the small room.

Was he in New York? A dim light filtered through the window, and he held up his hand to see if he was still the man he was yesterday or if somehow he'd been changed to a boy overnight. He looked at his bruised hand, now black in dim light and knew he was the same man he had been.

He let the slow heart beat of the locomotive, as it pulsed steam through its boiler, bring him out of the dream's possession and into the reality of the new day.

WWW

Authors note: I'm going to be traveling over the next week. I'm hoping to post while away but if you don't hear from me, it's not because I forgot or abandoned the story, just lack of connection or time. So wish me fair winds and strong signal strenth.

As always, thanks for reading.

Diddlepie