Part Two
There was something so pretentious about the way he entered a room. The way he swung his arms beside him and tipped his hat to a lady, all the while flashing a grin that could make that very same girl flush bright red in her cheeks. Artie could easily mimic Jim's slow walk and easy going meander, he was blessed with the gift of observation. He would never have admitted this to his partner, Artemus liked surprises and preferred to keep some of his talent to himself. You just never knew when it would come in handy.
Jim strolled into the inn around four or so in the morning, the creaking of the floor in the room beside his alerted Artie to the arrival of his sociable friend. The dark haired man groaned and rolled over in his bed, shifting himself slightly so that his back was positioned on top of a pillow. For some reason his lower back had begun to ache that night, maybe around midnight or so. Artie hadn't been sure, but the pain had been going on for hours now. After a few minutes the creaking of the floorboards next door stopped, Jim having finally gone off to bed after his romp through the town.
Artemus sat up and crouched into his knees, sighing as he rubbed the aching spot on his back. He reached for the bottle of whiskey he had been sipping the length of the night ever since the pain began, hoping to dull his senses enough in order to get a few hours sleep. A couple more gulps trickled down his throat, warming the pit of his stomach before finally numbing the pain in his back. He lowered himself gently down into the bed, hissing as he repositioned the pillow beneath him into a more comfortable position. Perhaps age was finally catching up with him?
Around eight or so Jim stumbled into Artie's room with a half-hearted knock and that ever-present grin on his face. His shirt was rumpled and smelled strongly of perfume, a purple feather from some sort of showgirl costume lingering on the seat of his pants. "Good morning." He said with a yawn, watching as Artie picked out his character for the day.
"Morning Jim." Artemus replied, standing with his hand placed on his chin as he mused over which tie to wear. "Have a good time did we?"
Jim shrugged. "Same ol' same ol'." He murmured, sitting himself on Artie's bed. "Found out what connects all those missing people together."
"So did I. Had a nice little chat with a drunk who would have believed anything I told him." Artie informed him, snatching up a red tie and heading towards the full length mirror. He flipped up his collar and tied the red cloth around his neck, quickly and neatly returning the collar down in one smooth flick of his hands. He looked at Jim from the reflection in the mirror, turning just in time in order to catch the vest that had been tossed to him. "Thank you." He said, slinging the vest over his arms and fastening the buttons as Jim studied the empty bottle of whiskey and book that sat on Artie's bedside table.
"You had a wild night there yourself Arte." He said, holding up the bottle in front of him.
"I find that the writing style of Homer can be enhanced by the occasional bottle of booze." Artie informed him, slipping on an expensively tailored jacket. He studied his reflection, scrutinizing every aspect of his person in order to better fit the role he was about to play.
"I don't doubt it." Jim agreed, putting down the bottle. "I'm going to be seeing Lina again today."
"Oh, was that her name?" Artie asked, hardly interested in the response. At this point he was just trying to make conversation while concentrating on whether to go with or without facial hair.
"Yeah, and as it so happens the farmer who struck the gold vein is her first cousin. She's told me a lot of interesting facts, one being that it wasn't the townspeople who reported the missing persons." Jim said, beginning to pace around the room like he always did when he was deep in thought. Artie already knew this but decided to let his friend continue on with reporting his own findings. "The townspeople could care less, it was the Shooting Star Saloon owners who looked to the government for some answers. Eleven woman and three men have gone missing, all of them having something to do with the saloon."
Artie was satisfied with his appearance and slowly made his way for the edge of his bed, his back still sore from the previous night. "I'm guessing this is some type of mass conspiracy and cover up involving the entire town." He assumed with the type of causality one could only achieve after being a government agent for as long as he had. "Did you hear about the three families-"
Jim cut him off with a nod. "The three families that practically own this town? Yeah, I've been told. The Shaws, the Tenny's, and the Timony's."
"They must have something to do with the disappearances. They're probably the reason that fourteen people are missing and everyone's too afraid to talk about it." Artie suggested.
"Agreed, as horrifying as the whole notion sounds. Today we need to figure out two things; one is find out where the people are being held, or heaven forbid, where the bodies are hidden."
"And two?" Arte urged. He tried to hid a grimace as Jim sat down next to him, causing the bed to shake and Artemus' back to throb in pain once again.
"Two is try to talk to this farmer who struck the gold. There had to be more than what we're just assuming here." Jim finished.
"Well I'm off to talk to the sheriff this morning. I guess since you know a cousin of the farmer you can have that job. We'll meet back here later and compare notes." Artie told Jim with his usual whimsy, grasping the metal frame of the bed nonchalantly as he lifted himself to his feet.
He straightened himself out and walked to the door, taking hold of the handle. "Oh, and Jim?" He asked as he opened the wooden portal.
"Mmhmm?" Jim inquired, slightly eyeing him with a smug look.
"You might want to change your shirt before heading out. You've got lipstick all over you." With a grin, Artie left.
It was another beautiful day in the town of Holy Oak. The sun shone down on Arte's shoulders as he snuck out of the hotel through the kitchens, making his way to the sheriff's little outpost on what use to be the extremity of the town. Always a fan of dramatic flare, he pulled out a cigarette case and lit up just before entering with what he liked to call his "governor" walk. The curtain began to open and the audience was caught off guard. The sheriff looked up at him from his desk littered with papers, and asked him what he wanted.
He was a meek and frail looking man with a mustache almost hastily grown on his upper lip in an attempt to make himself look tough; someone who would as soon as quake in his boots when faced with a problem than go out and solve the state of affairs. Artie hung up his hat on top of the coat rack and took a seat opposite the man, puffing out the smoke from the cigarette and staring the man down before giving him an answer.
"I just bought a piece of land in this town." Artie said, in a voice that was clearly false to anyone who didn't know him. "Want to know a few things first before I move myself and my establishment here." It was more of a demand than a request and he could see the sheriff buckling already.
The sheriff fiddled through some parchment on his desk in search of the documentation of the purchase. He lifted up a paper but Artie placed a hand on top and lowered it back down. "Have the document with me son." He murmured, taking out a forged piece of paper from his coat, flashing it to the sheriff quickly, and then returning it back to the coat. The sheriff seemed satisfied enough.
"Well what can I do for you Mr.-"
"Mr. Gervais." Artie smiled, grasping the sheriff's hand and firmly shaking it, staring the man in the eyes the entire time. The characters were all in place.
"What can I do for you Mr. Gervais?" The sheriff continued, folding his hands and sitting up straight like he was trying to make a good impression this late in the meeting.
"I'm opening up a supply shop here." Artie told him, starting to tell the big lie that was part of his act. "Came all the way from Boston, surveyed the land myself, bought the materials for my shop, starting to move my family here, and now I find out about all these murders." He has his audiences' attention now.
"Woah, hang on a second there friend. There haven't been any murders here in Holy Oak." The sheriff corrected him.
"Oh, so all those people who've gone missing aren't dead then?" Artie quickly retorted, putting out his cigarette on the cluttered ashtray that sat on the even messier desk. "Either way I'd like to know a bit more before settling my wife and children in a town where eighteen people have disappeared."
"It's fourteen people, not eighteen." The sheriff said under his breath. He wouldn't quite meet Artie's glare now.
"Fourteen's still just as bad as eighteen, isn't it? And it's not like any of you here are showing concern. I had to find out about this from a newspaper back in the east." Artie huffed, leaning back in the wooden chair. His back gave a quick jolt of pain, momentarily throwing off Artemus' performance as he gripped the handle of his chair.
"You needn't worry Mr. Gervais. Everything's being taken care of." The sheriff assured him, looking at him with some renewed interest. "Are you ok sir?"
"Dandy. The war wound and all, still hasn't healed." He quickly covered up, both hands tightly gripping the arms of the chair.
"A veteran are we? Did you fight in any major battles?"
"Yes, but I don't really like to talk about it." Artie needed to get off this topic quickly and back to the matter at hand. "You still haven't given me a proper response to my concern."
"I told you, the matter is being taken care of." The sheriff repeated, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"Heard the government's gotten itself into the matter now, so is it really being taken care of? If not I'm sure I can find myself a less hostile place and relocate my interest there." His back gave another twitch and the pain seemed to spread to his legs. The tension was building as the action of the plot rose.
"Please Mr. Gervais, I'm telling you that matters pertaining to the disappearances have nothing to do with you or your family."
"How can you guarantee me this?" Artie asked through clenched teeth. He needed to get out of here. He needed to get to the hotel room and to a bottle of scotch quick.
The sheriff looked around him and leaned in close, Arte trying as best he could to lean in as well and not scream out in pain. "I guarantee that you and yours will not be harmed." He whispered.
"How?" Artie asked in a hoarse voice. All he needed now was the sheriff to admit that he knew the disappearances were related, and that the town had something to do with it.
"Let's just say those who lead to the disappearances do not hold grudges against those who lead moral lives." He said, leaning back into his own chair. The sheriff seemed content by the cryptic answer he gave Artemus.
"So what you're telling me is, since I'm not running a saloon I don't have to worry about whether my life is in danger or not? " Artie finally blurted out, sick and tired of having to dance around the question he really wanted the answer to. He couldn't take the pain anymore, he needed this interview to be over now.
Luckily for Artie the sheriff was less than competent. "Yes sir." He admitted, not knowing who he had just admitted this fact to. The climax of the play was over, and now it was time for the falling action.
"As much as that thought frightens me Sheriff, I have been assured that my family will not be included in the number of missing persons. Therefore I will call it a day and thank you for your help." Artie said, pushing himself off of the seat. He straightened himself out as best as he could, briefly remarking to himself that he could no longer feel his legs.
The sheriff stood up and reached out in order to shake Mr. Gervais' hand once more. Artie did so, seeing double as the pain in his back reached the blinding state. He stumbled for the door after grabbing his hat and placing it back on top of his head, the sheriff calling out, "Don't be a stranger now, Mr. Gordon". An encore.
Artemus paused and grasped on to the door frame, slowly turning his head. The sheriff stood behind him, hands placed into his pockets causally. "What?" Was all that he could manage to get out of his mouth before his legs buckled from underneath him. He hit the floor hard, his troubled back breaking the fall. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the slow steps growing louder as they came closer. Soon the sheriff was standing over him, completely amused by the whole sight.
"You thought I didn't know who you were, did you?" He grinned. Suddenly the sheriff didn't look as meek as he did before. "Well I did. In fact, we all know who you and your partner Jim are. Even that drunk in the tavern knew who you were. He was just feigning ignorance Mr. Gordon."
Artie couldn't speak. This couldn't be happening, could it? "You had something to do with this." He finally gasped, realization hitting him hard. "What did Buckler poison me with!"
The sheriff laughed. "Mr. Gordon, Buckler just gave you the drinks. It was the bartender who did the actual poisoning. But you are correct in one thing. You were given something to put an end to your inane queries last night while you tried to sneak as much information as you could have out of our resident drunks. But here in Holy Oak, when we conspire, we conspire together." The sheriff was a better actor than Artie could have ever imagined.
Artie could have kicked himself if not for the fact he was now paralyzed. The bartender, the drunks, even Buckler had known from the very moment he and Jim waltzed into the tavern that they were the two government agents. The whole damn town, even the women and children too.
"Jim!" He cried out, suddenly remembering who Jim had spent the night with. "What did you do with Jim? Is he hurt? Did you poison him too?"
"That's classified." The sheriff chuckled, giving a swift kick to Artie's side. He would have screamed, but at this point Artie couldn't feel anything from below his chest. He could barely move his arms and head, the pain dying in his legs and back and moving to other parts of his body. The man seemed to take great pleasure in this fact, laughing as he proceeded to take out a knife from his pocket and knick all the silver buttons off of Artie's coat and vest. "These are nice, I think I'll keep 'em." He grinned, then noticing the silver pocket watch Arte had a habit of carrying. "I'll be taking this too. You won't be needing it anyway, right?"
"Oh god." He whispered. "How, how-" But Artie couldn't even finish the question he had been trying to ask.
"Mr. Gordon, we know everything. So please stop trying to get answers to all these questions you have been trying to extract from us for days now. Whatever you've been meaning to know, that's the answer. We know everything."
The sheriff left Artie's vision and went to do something, leaving him lying on the floor. He could barely keep his eyelids opened now, whatever poison that had been put in his body doing it's work quickly. With a final struggled inhale, Artie felt himself slipping away. The curtain closed. The show was over.
End of Part Two