The Night of the Deadly Opera

by Andamogirl

Episode-tag. This story takes place directly after the end of "TNOT Whirring Death." Artemus Gordon accepts to sing the lead role in the opera "Fidelio" at the demand of an old friend of his, Signore Modena, the conductor of the Roma Orchestra. Dr. Miguelito Loveless and Voltaire are still around, preparing something wicked.

3. Act Two

THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY OPERA

By Andamogirl

WWW

ACT TWO

BANG! The shot got lost in the music and no one reacted, the spectators thinking that it was part of the scene. A few of them even applauded its realism.

The bullet hit the side of the presidential box, dislodging a piece of gold-painted plaster. A little to the left and Grant would have been a dead man.

Reacting immediately, Jim jumped on President Grant, pushing him to the carpeted floor and took his Derringer out of his inside pocket in a flash. As for Colonel Richmond and Dr. Henderson, they hurriedly crouched behind the front panel of the box.

At the same time, on the stage, the singers finally registered that something was definitely wrong when the actor-guard stabbed Artemus with his bayonet, and they progressively stopped singing.

This was not written in the opera libretto, they thought.

Grimacing with pain, Artie let out a choked gasp and sank to his knees, pressing his hands on his right side, blood escaping freely between his fingers.

Enraged to have missed his target because of Artie, the assassin lifted his rifle again, pointing the bayonet at the other man's head.

In a flash, Artie pushed it to the side – cutting the palm of his left hand - and mustering all the strength he could manage, he punched the shooter right in the stomach.

The phony guard was thrown backwards, wincing and breathless, and dropped his weapon on the stage. Pulling a knife from his belt, he moved towards Artie – murder in his eyes. He was stopped by a bullet which caught him in his leg, and a second one lodged in his shoulder a split second later. He collapsed like a deadweight to the wooden floor and was almost immediately swarmed over by armed policemen. Others quickly evacuated the now fearful and agitated spectators.

In the Presidential box, Ulysses S. Grant propped himself on his elbows. "I'm fine," he said to three pairs of very concerned eyes.

Relieved like the others, Jim said, "Stay down Sir."

Grant nodded. "Good idea, Jim. I have no intention ending up like President Lincoln. And damn good reflexes too, thank you."

Moving to his knees Jim threw a glance over the front of the box, down to the stage. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Artemus struggling with an actor-guard. "Artemus!"

WWW

Shortly after

Putting his small gun with which he had shot the assassin back in his pocket, Jim jumped onto the stage and knelt beside Artemus writhing on the stage, curled around himself in a trembling ball, his hands pressed on his bloodied side and bleeding profusely. "Artie! I'm here buddy," he said. He grabbed Artie's hand and they interlaced their fingers. "Please don't die Artie ..." He blanched as the blood pool around his partner's body was increasing rapidly. "Stay with me Artie."

Through clenched teeth, Artie let out, "Not… planning to go anywhere… Trying to stay alive." He grunted. "Ow! That hurts!"

Stephen Henderson, holding his big black bag, joined the two agents crouched on the other side of Artemus, and said, "Fortunately I had the good idea to bring my medical kit, as if I had had a premonition. I'm sorry Artemus, but I need to see the wound." Then he coaxed him into uncurling. He ripped Artie's bloodied clothes to get access to the wound. He quickly assessed the extent of the damage, then said, "Put your hands on the wound and apply pressure, Jim!" and Jim instantly did that.

Immediately Artie yelped and then whimpered. "Hurts!"

Jim removed Artie's long haired wig, putting it aside, and stroked his partner's hair soothingly. "I know Artie, but I have to do this, I'm sorry."

Henderson groaned and checked his patient's pulse. "Don't release the pressure, Jim!"

Blinking tears away, Artemus looked into Jim's worried eyes and then whispered, "The President? He… he's alright?"

Feeling his partner's blood running between his fingers Jim nodded, his heart pounding in his chest "Yes, he's alright and safe. You saved his life. You're going to be okay, Artie."

Going numb and cold Artie smiled, his vision going blurry and blackening. "How… was I?"

Swallowing hard, fighting welling tears, Jim cleared his constricted throat and did his best to smile to hide his concern. "You were great! The President loved your performance Artie. I was with him, sitting at his side, he enjoyed every second of your performance buddy…" He lost his fight and then the tears came. "Stay with me buddy…"

Reaching a trembling hand out, Artemus brushed Jim's wet tears, leaving traces of blood on the other man's wet cheeks. "You're crying…" His hand suddenly went limp as he was losing strength rapidly. "Oh boy! Then I'm dying…" He realized in a haze, cold spreading throughout his whole body. "Not going to make it Jim… it's the end of the road for me." "I'm… I'm sorry Jim… m' so co-co-cold…" He tried to curl up again to keep himself warm. But the surgeon's strong hands straighten him out. "No! Don't move."

Dr. Henderson shook his head. "Don't move Artemus!" he repeated. "It's going to make the bleeding worse. Now listen to me, you're not dying. The wound bleeds a lot yes, but it's not fatal and I don't think that any organ is damaged. But I need to operate on you to be sure. You could be bleeding inside too." He smiled reassuringly. "You were very lucky, as usual, Artemus. You have been stabbed in the fleshy part of your side." He fished an already filled syringe from his black bag and pierced Artie's neck with the point of the needle. "It's a fast-acting painkiller which happens to have a secondary effect as a sedative." Then he administrated the drug, watching Artie's eyes fluttering close a few seconds later. "You're going to be alright, Artemus." He gestured towards two policemen holding a stretcher and a blanket. "Here!"

Immensely relieved by Henderson's words, Jim smiled. "Heard the doctor Artie? You're not dying buddy; you're going to be okay."

Giving a nod, Artie slurred, "Oh boy!... that's too bad… It was almost the end… of… the opera… Couldn't wait five minutes 'til it was finished… " He finally slipped into a deep slumber.

The two men jumped onto the stage, and sat the stretcher on the stage. Henderson gently positioned Artie on it and took the relay – pressing on the stab wound. "We're going to take him to the hospital, as soon as possible," he said to the policemen. He watched two other policemen lay the bleeding assassin, passed out, onto a second stretcher. "Follow us."

Holding Artie's hand Jim accompanied the two men holding the stretcher. "You're going to be alright Artie," he said to an unconscious Artemus.

WWW

San Francisco general hospital

Dr. Stephen Henderson opened the door of the operating room, and was immediately surrounded by Ulysses S. Grant, James West and James Richmond, all three very concerned.

The surgeon smiled reassuringly. "I have already said it several times, but Artemus Gordon is really indestructible," he said. "He's going to be alright. He was very lucky – as usual, I should say. His intestines and stomach were not penetrated and the knife only brushed his liver, making a small cut there. There was an internal bleeding but it was minimal. It is now under control. The cut to his left hand is superficial. I put a little of that special ointment Artemus brought me after his two-week stay with that Cheyenne medicine man, on the stitches…"

Grant frowned, surprised and then upset. "Artemus stayed two weeks with a Cheyenne Medicine Man? Why I don't know that?"

Richmond intervened. "It was during Artemus's last leave, Sir. That's why. He wasn't on an assignment, so it's not in any report. He spent two weeks with American Knife – you've heard about him. He learnt a lot of things with him: how to make remedies with the local flora and fauna, and even learnt the Cheyenne language. He's fluent in Cheyenne now."

Henderson nodded. "That Indian ointment is going to accelerate the healing, and there should be no scar left after that." He smiled and added, "He's out of danger, and he'll recover fully, given enough time. He'll have to stay here in the hospital for a few days."

Immensely relieved and running a hand on his tired face, President Grant let out a long sigh and said, "He's not going to like it, Stephen. He hates hospitals."

Immensely relieved too, Jim smiled and corrected: "Actually, Sir, Artemus just can't bear hospital food, which he finds just horrible – Artie is a gourmet, you know - but he loves nurses, he really does, and he loves being pampered by them."

Dr. Henderson chuckled. "Well… then I'm sure he's going to like his stay here. All the nurses I met are lovely and adorable."

Immensely relieved too, Colonel Richmond said, "He was on a vacation, now he's on medical leave. What about the assassin, doctor?"

Dr. Henderson removed the stethoscope from his neck and slid it into the pocket of his white coat. "He was operated on with success, and he is out of danger. He hasn't regained consciousness yet. You should be able to interrogate him late afternoon, not before. He was moved into a private room thirty minutes ago, and he's under guard. He won't go anywhere."

Ulysses S. Grant nodded. "Without Artemus's intervention, I would be lying on a table in the morgue right now. That bullet missed my head by only a few inches."

Colonel Richmond nodded too. "That was very close, Sir. We have interrogated everyone, the conductor, the musicians, the singers, and the extras… even the personnel of the opera house. No one knew that man. His name is Nat Hopper, but I suspect a phony name. An extra was needed; he applied for the job and was hired. I'll know more after I interrogate him personally."

Grant sighed. "He's maybe one of those ex-confederate men who want to kill me every now and then because I defeated General Lee and won the war. They think that, me dead, they'll be able to restore the Confederation. But it's been dead for more than ten years now."

Rubbing his chin pensively Jim said, "Maybe, or it could be one of Dr. Loveless henchmen, Sir. He tried to kill the Governor and he escaped and vanished. He loves creating chaos around him, and killing the President of the United States sure would create chaos. A great deal of it."

Richmond nodded. "We'll see. In the meantime I want you to find everything you can on that assassination attempt, Jim. It's a big thing. People know something."

Suddenly the door of the hospital waiting room opened and a busty blond woman, dressed in a red dress with a pink feathered boa around his neck, and holding a handbag entered. "Where is he? Where is he? She asked anxiously. "Is he dead?"

Moving towards her, Jim took her arm, gently. "No, he's not dead. Artemus is going to be alright miss…?"

She started crying. "Bowen, Bessie Bowen."

Jim immediately pulled her into his arms to comfort her. "Sshh… Artie's alright, he's safe."

She sobbed against Jim's shoulder and babbled, "I was so scared… he was hurt… stabbed, no: skewered! I thought that he was dead… Oh my god! Caruso…I mean Artemus, he sang to me in Italian…. It was so wonderful… I loved that. He saved my life, you know? There was a bomb in that big music box… and I was almost vaporized! Caruso, is he alright?"

Grant frowned puzzled. "Caruso?"

Running soothing circles on Miss Bowen's back Jim looked at the President. "Yes, Sir, Arturo Caruso dell' Artemo, my partner's last role during our last assignment: an Italian tenor… Long story, Sir. Artemus protected Miss Bowen from Dr. Loveless."

Miss Bowen sniffed. "He's a baritone not a tenor," she corrected. Then she finally registered the presence of the President of the United States standing next to her, and she blushed in embarrassment. She parted hastily and did a quick curtsy. "Mr. President! It's an honor and a pleasure to meet you."

Ulysses S. Grant smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Bowen. Don't worry, Caruso… I mean Artemus is going to be alright."

Bessie pulled a handkerchief from her handbag and mopped her tears. "You're sure? Because he was stabbed, rather skewered… It was awful."

The door opened again and Signore Modena entered, very pale. He immediately made a beeline towards Jim, grabbed his arm and asked, "Where's my boy? Where's Artemus? Is he alright?"

Jim smiled reassuringly, patting the old man's arm. "He's out of danger. He's going to be alright, don't worry. He's strong." He turned towards Grant and introduced the Italian conductor. "Mr. President, let me introduce you to Signore Giulio Modena, the conductor of the Roma Orchestra. He was Artie's professor of violin and his choirmaster when he was a boy, till he was seventeen."

Surprised, President Grant lifted his eyebrows and reached out. The two men shook hands. "It's a pleasure to meet you Signore Modena."

Giulio Modena smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. President." Then his smile vanished from his face, replaced with worry. "Artemus sta bene? Is Artemus alright?"

Grant nodded. "He will be. Don't worry, Signore Modena. Like Jim said, Artemus is strong. He's going to be alright, believe me. The man is indestructible."

Dr. Henderson nodded and looked at Miss Bowen and at Signore Modena. "Yes. Do you want to see him?" They both nodded. "But he's not conscious. He's still sleeping off the anesthesia. He was taken to room 21. Follow me please."

Miss Bowen did a quick curtsy to the President again, and followed the surgeon. Signore Modena bowed his head politely and followed suit.

Grant couldn't help but smile. "Artemus sang to her in Italian? I'm looking forward to reading your report on that assignment, Jim. Then you'll tell me everything about Artemus - and Signore Modena."

Jim hid a smile: Grant was jealous.

WWW

Later

It was late at night when Artemus groggily opened his eyes and blinked rapidly several times, trying to clear his sleep-blurred vision.

His brain was fuzzy. He was confused and disoriented. He brought up one hand to rub at his bleary eyes and then finally registered that he was lying in a bed – not his – there was a blanket covering him, pulled up to his collarbone, a pillow cushioning his head.

He glanced around him, frowning. He was alone in a weakly-lit room – a bare hospital room, he noticed. Feeling his left hand hurting, he lifted it and saw that it was bandaged.

He gasped as the memory flooded back – he had been stabbed! - and he immediately touched his punctured side. It hurt too. A lot. He groaned and grimaced.

Pain was coming in waves – relentless. The drug effects were wearing off. He needed a painkiller, a fast-acting one and he needed it, now!

He licked his dried lips. "Oh boy!" he said, his breathing quickly becoming labored.

He raised his hand and pulled on the cord – activating a bell in the corridor. The night nurse should be there in a few seconds.

Shortly after, the door opened and… Dr. Loveless appeared, sitting in a wheelchair pushed by the giant Voltaire. He was holding a Colt .45.

Immediately Artie reached for his gun – a reflex – and didn't find it, of course. He tried to sit up but let out a strangled cry as a sharp pain pinned him to the bed.

Loveless waved his finger. "Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! You shouldn't move Mr. Gordon, believe me. That assassin – my assassin I should say, skewered you pretty well with his bayonet. You could re-open your wound and bleed a lot." He chuckled. "I was there, in a box with Voltaire when you were singing Fidelio, and I must say that you are very talented. You sing remarkably well. If I really enjoyed the opera I was there mainly to see my assassin kill the President…" He frowned angrily. "But it didn't work the way I had planned it! You intervened and Grant is still alive!"

Gritting his teeth under the assaults of white-hot pain, Artie pulled on the cord activating the bell again. "My duty is to protect the President – so sue me!"

The diminutive man's smiled. "No one is going to help you, Mr. Gordon. I used a knockout gas to neutralize everyone in the hospital."

Lowering his hand, Artie groaned, "What do you want? It's pretty late for a casual conversation."

Loveless sat the gun on his lap. "I came here to kill you, because you and your partner are a thorn in my side, always interfering with my plans. I'm going to start with you, and then I'll dispose of Mr. West. Voltaire wanted to strangle you, slowly, because he liked hurting you in that dark alley. He wanted to kill you there when you were unconscious, but I stopped him. I have principles: one does not kill a man when he's not looking. Then, I changed my mind – oh! I still want to kill you, but not that way. A man like you, so talented, and who loves music and the arts in general I suppose; a man like you needs to die in an artistic way, like at the end of a tragic opera, when the hero dies."

Sweat streaming down his pale face, Artemus curled his right hand into a fist, his knuckles going white and bloodless as he fought against another wave of pain. "I'm sorry, but there's no opera house stage here Dr. Loveless…"

Loveless left the wheelchair. "That wheelchair is not for me, but for you, Mr. Gordon. You didn't finish singing your part in Fidelio, the end is missing. I know that Leonora doesn't die at the end – but I like tragedies, so I've decided to add my personal touch. Leonora will die on the stage… Voltaire?"

Moving off the bed, Artemus stumbled, almost falling to the ground. He grabbed a chair and lifted it to hit Voltaire with… before screaming in agony.

He bit down the nausea that surged through him as the world begins to tilt.

Voltaire's very big hand clamped onto Artemus's throat and threatened to break his wind pipe. "What do you want me to do, Doctor?" He asked.

Dr. Loveless chuckled. "Hit him!"

Snarling, the giant delivered a punch squarely in the other man's side.

Sparks dancing in his vision, Artemus grunted in pain and crumpled in a heap to the floor. He felt his blood soak his bandage and the top of his hospital pajamas, and then he mercifully passed out.

Tbc.