Post by MissRedhead on Feb 25, 2009 13:57:16 GMT -8
The Night of the Coney Kid
By Redhead
James West walked into the parlor car just in time to see his partner shove the telegraph across the table and slouch in his chair with a groan. Although he had a pretty good idea of what was going on, he figured he might as well ask, even if he wasn’t going to like the answer. “What’s the news, Artie?”
“Our downtime has been postponed.” Gordon said, making a face as if the words themselves tasted bad.
West frowned; they were overdue for some time off. The past few months had been particularly long and difficult for both of them. “No one else could take on this assignment?” West asked wistfully as he walked over to the small, but well stocked bar.
“Don’t you think I tried Jim? I want this vacation just as badly as you!” Gordon angrily replied from his chair.
“I didn’t mean it that way, Artie,” West handed his partner a drink. “Just wishful thinking.”
“Sorry Jim,” Gordon sat up and accepted the proffered glass.
West waited a safe while, until Gordon finished his drink, to ask what their assignment was.
Gordon peeled himself from the chair. “Since everyone else is on an assignment and we just happen to be headin’ in that direction in general,” he animated with his hands, “we’re to head to Indianapolis on a counterfeiting case.”
“I thought you liked money Artie,” West smiled, and engaged in a favorite pastime of his; pushing his partner’s buttons.
“Heh, heh, heh. Right now I just want to say goodbye to some real greenbacks instead of playing with the funny stuff.”
“Come on, Artie, it’s a simple counterfeiting case. It’ll be over in no time and then you can spend as much as you like on wine, food, women, and a place to sleep, as long as it comes out of your wallet and not mine.”
Gordon blinked then shared a laugh with his partner. “You’re right, Jim. It’ll probably be quick and painless, and then we can be back on our way to rest and relaxation.”
Indianapolis
“Well, this is the store where the bogus ten was passed.” Gordon held the phony bill in front of him. “Imagine, gluing higher denominations to a one dollar bill.”
West looked up at the weatherworn false storefront. “Quiet little place, the owner probably doesn’t get many bills over five. Shall we get started?”
Gordon nodded and led the way through the door. The store was even smaller on the inside then they had thought. Every isle was cramped full of merchandise gathering dust. The two agents squeezed their way up front to the counter.
“What can I do for you gents?”
Gordon plopped a twenty on the counter, “I’ll take a pack of those cigars there, and some information, friend.”
The storekeeper put the cigars on the counter. “I’m not sure I can change this for you mister,” he said as he rummaged around in his till.
“You can keep the change if you can give us some information.” Gordon said with a finger on the twenty and let the cigars lay on the counter for the time being.
“What kind of information are you looking for? I… I really don’t want any kind of trouble,” the storekeeper stammered.
Gordon held up the coney ten, “this bill was passed in your store a week ago, do you remember who gave it to you?”
The clerk look on the verge of protesting some more so West laid down his credentials on the counter. “We’re Secret Service agents looking for an alleged counterfeiter. Can you help us?”
“I don’t want to get mixed up with the government. Let’s see… you said last week? Ah, yes. There was a young man in here who gave me a ten. Jumpy young man he was too.” The clerk thoughtfully tapped his jaw.
“Do you know his name or can you tell us what he looked like?” Gordon asked, not yet releasing the twenty.
The storekeeper thought for a moment, “handsome young man he was, kind of muscular too and he had dark, thick hair, and I think green or hazel eyes, not completely sure though. That’s all I remember.”
Gordon tucked the bogus bill away, “thank you. Good day.” The two agents left the store and stood by their horses. “That description could be any number of people,” Gordon bemoaned.
“Cheer up, Artie. Let’s go for a drink,” West said with a sparkle in his eye.
Gordon looked at his partner then got the idea, “James, my boy, that is an excellent idea.”
West and Gordon pushed through the swinging doors of the saloon. It was an average saloon with the average type of customers, working men drinking up after a hard day. Since it was money they were after as well as drinks, the two agents sat down at the bar for front row seats of any action. West ordered them both a beer and got some change back. He half turned toward his partner to keep one eye on the door. Gordon discretely looked at the singles and gave a slight shake of his head then took a swig from his beer. The two agents continued to slowly drink their beer. As they neared the bottom of their mugs, a young man matching the grocer’s description took a seat at the bar and paid for a beer with a five. West gave his partner a wink and downed the last of his beer.
“Bartender, I’ll have another beer for me and my friend here,” Gordon slapped a twenty on the bar.
Like clockwork, the bartender gave Gordon the five he had just received in the change. Gordon claimed his change and discretely ran his thumb over the five denomination. Yup, that was the guy they were looking for. He gave his partner a slight nod and turned toward the young man.
West took a large gulp of beer and headed for the door incase the fellow decided to make a run for it as most men caught up in this situation do.
Gordon still held the phony five as he addressed the fellow two seats over, “excuse me, friend.”
The young man nearly spit out his beer. “You mean me?” He nervously asked while looking at the five in the stranger’s hand.
“Would you mind telling me where you have come across such an unusual five note?” Gordon leaned back on his elbow on the bar. Of course he didn’t expect the kid to come right out and say the bill was his work. This part was just for his amusement and Jim’s.
“Un-unusual? I’m not sure what you mean, friend.” The young man glanced toward the swinging doors.
“Well, feel this denomination, here in the corner.” Gordon reached out towards the young man’s hand, but was stopped by the bartender’s.
“Look, Bub, the kid doesn’t want no trouble, ya hear?” The bartender released the obnoxious customer’s hand roughly.
“Bub’s no way to address a friend, friend. I was just sayin,’” Gordon looked over to where the kid was and did a double take. The kid was heading for the door. “I’ll just be going now.”
“Yeah, we don’t like any troublemakers around here, do we John?”
A large man with black whiskers grabbed a fistful of Gordon’s shirt and shoved the agent into another large man. Where was Jim? He loved this stuff. Probably out front smoking a cigar, that bastard, Gordon thought as he received a fist across his face and slammed into the bar.
‘What was taking Artemus so long,’ West wondered as he flicked his cigar butt aside. He decided to see what was going on for himself and pushed through the swinging doors just in time for someone to slam full force into him and to see a big oaf slug his partner. West sprung up from the chair he had been knocked into and looked from the swing doors to his partner.
“Get him Jim!” Gordon yelled and retaliated the punch.
West didn’t need to be told twice and bolted out the door after their suspect. The sun had set and it was getting hard to see. He saw someone round the corner, the street was empty. Figuring that they could get a fresh start in the morning, West headed back to the saloon. His black was still there with a couple others, but no sign of Gordon’s mount. ‘Probably back at the train icing his bruises,’ West thought and smiled to himself as he set his horse in the direction of the train they called home.
“Well, did you get him?” Gordon asked and lowered the newspaper, revealing that he was icing his jaw with his other hand.
West tossed his hat aside, “no.”
“No? James, my boy, you are slipping.” Gordon said as he dropped his rag on the table and folded up the newspaper.
“I’m slipping? What about you?” West asked as he took off his tie. “Don’t you think that was much too public a place for our work,” he indicated the bruise on Gordon’s cheek.
“But you said ‘let’s go for a drink,’” Gordon sputtered.
West smiled, he had Artemus Gordon right where he wanted him. “That’s right.” Without another word he walked back to the galley. If he said too much he might just find himself working on this case by himself come tomorrow morning.
West and Gordon looked at the long road ahead of them in the morning sun.
Gordon pushed the brim of his hat up with his thumb, “What side do you want to take?”
“Tough choice isn’t it, Artie,” West smiled. “I’ll take the right side of the street. Meet you at the end.”
The first establishment on the right side of Main Street was a barbershop. ‘Hope he didn’t skip town,” West thought as he walked in the door. No luck there. No luck at another general store, news stand, bank, hardware store or dress shoppe. At the end of the street was a farmer’s stand and closing it down was their man. Good, he hadn’t been seen. If he played his cards right, he just might be able to follow the man and corner him. Keeping the brim of his hat low, James West followed his suspect at a distance down the street. Ad dumb luck would have it though, a drunk stumbled into him.
The skittish young man turned around and seeing the agent, took off to his safe haven; the saloon.
West bolted after the kid, through the swinging doors, and was stopped short by the two behemoths who gave his partner trouble the previous night.
“Whoa, hold it there pardner,” the man with auburn hair pressed his large hand into West’s chest, halting the agent. “You can’t possibly be in such a rush just for a drink, now.”
The guy with black whiskers grabbed West’s hat, “this is the fancy dude that the kid says is causing trouble for ‘im. Take yer business somewhere else Mr. Fancy-pants.”
Slightly irritated that his partner had failed to meet up with him, Artemus Gordon headed back down the street to where they had left their horses. He tried to convince himself that Jim had got the kid, but he had a hard time believing it for some reason. To Gordon’s great amusement, his partner had just landed on his backside right in the middle of the road followed by his hat and a roar of laughter.
Ignoring his partner and his hat, West jumped right back up and burst back through the swinging doors.
So, the entertainment was just beginning. Gordon picked up his partner’s hat and twirled it on his finger. After making sure nothing else was going to come flying out the door, Gordon entered the bar and picked his way around unconscious bodies and broken bits of furniture. No sign of the kid anywhere, so Gordon found a bottle that was not busted and helped himself.
Hair disheveled, shirt rumpled, sweaty, and wide-eyed, West looked around the bar to see if there was anyone else to take on. Only his partner remained conscious besides himself. Straightening his jacket, West marched over to his partner’s corner table and snatched his hat from his partner’s finger.
“Not bad James, you have me beat by three tables and five chairs, but I am up on you by nine bottles and three men.” Gordon crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back.
“You cheated.”
“On the contrary, I was just evening out the odds.” Gordon poured himself another glass. “James, my boy, we are getting old. Hey!”
West downed his partner’s drink. “Eight bottles; and I’m just evening out the odds.” He slammed the glass back down on the table, “and James West does not ‘get old.’”
“So you say that the young man works at the farmer’s cart at the other end of Main Street?” Gordon asked as he put the finishing touches on his disguise.
“Yeah. Think your disguise is really going to work Artie?” West asked from behind his partner. “The entire town knows by now who we are.”
Looking affronted, Gordon turned on his partner, “how can you ask that when your hide has been saved so many times by my art? No, really Jim, it’ll work. He probably doesn’t even know who William Johnson is. Only the really, talented, counterfeiters know who’s who in their ring and gluing denominations isn’t quite up there with the very fine engravings of the Johnson clan.”
“I hope you’re right.” West looked out the window then grabbed his jacket. “Carriage is here Artie.”
“Bill. Name’s Bill Johnson.” Gordon said raising his chin in an upper-class to lower-class way.
“Right. After you, Bill.”
A carriage pulled up in front of the little fruits and vegetables stand and a well dressed gentleman climbed out.
“Good day sir, how may I be of assistance?” The handsome young vendor politely asked. “Bright red apples for a pie after dinner dessert? Or perhaps some fresh lemons for sweet lemonade for the young’ns? Or how about a large ripe watermelon to cool down with instead?”
“Those apples there look just dandy.” Gordon gave the kid a twenty. He looked over his change thoughtfully.
“I did give you the correct change, didn’t I sir? I could count it again if you wish,” the young man nervously asked.
“Not bad, not bad at all. But I could teach you how to make better change like that there,” Gordon nodded to the twenty in the kid’s hand. “If you get my meaning, that is.”
The kid lightened up, “really mister?”
“I like you son, what’s your name?” Gordon deposited the change in his coat pocket.
“Peter McCartney, sir.”
Gordon had the young man in the palm of his hand. “Bill Johnson. Tell you what sonny, what time do you get done here? I’d like to take you for a drink, if you’re not too young for something that is.”
“Usually about four o’clock, Mr. Johnson and I can hold my whiskey, thank you.”
“Fine, fine. Forget the sir and mister, stuff. I’ll be back with my carriage to pick you up at four then.” Gordon shook the young man’s hand then climbed into his carriage.
“Yes sir, I mean, Bill!” The young man called after Gordon.
“Well, Artie? Where is he?” West asked after Gordon closed the coach door.
“Well, as you so kindly reminded me the other day, we shouldn’t make our work too public, and abducting a handsome and quite charming young farmhand in the middle of the day is definitely much too public.” Gordon smiled smartly at his partner.
West groaned and rolled his eyes upward.
“We pick up young Mr. McCartney at four o’clock.”
“You’re paying for the next coach then,” West smiled.
“Ah, Jim! I just lost a twenty on these apples!” Gordon whined and held out the change Peter had given him.
West took the bills and looked them over. “More coneys huh?”
“Yup, but only the ten and five. The singles are genuine. So, you coming along for the ride later?” Gordon asked as he started to shed his hot disguise.
“Sure, but like I said, only if you’re paying,” West smugly pushed his hat down over his eyes and leaned back for the remainder of the ride.
“Are you ready there Peter?” Gordon called from the window of his stage. He hoped the kid would not notice the figure in blue riding on horseback behind him. Jim insisted on wearing that blue corduroy jacket of his and riding behind instead of joining him in disguise in the carriage.
“Yes si- uh, Bill.” Peter McCartney started to climb into the private stage but halted.
“Something bothering you Peter?” Gordon asked and prepared to grab the kid if his charade wasn’t working.
“Um, maybe we should meet up later, I had better run,” Peter stuttered, looking over his shoulder.
Gordon silently cursed. His boneheaded partner might have ruined his simple plan. “Someone giving you trouble Peter? Just climb on in, I have ways of taking care of those things. Don’t you worry.” Gordon hoped the kid took his bait. Otherwise Jim could take over and hunt down the kid and he wasn’t going to lift a finger to help. Gordon smiled reassuringly at the kid and offered Peter McCartney a hand.
Peter glanced from the blue figure on horseback slowly coming up the road then took the proffered hand.
“So, these your handiwork?” Gordon fanned out the five and ten he had received in his change earlier from the young man.
“Sure are Bill, but let me say that your work is excellent! I could not tell it from the real thing!”
“Thank you; that was all I needed to know, “Gordon said in his regular voice and bought out his handcuffs.
“Huh?” Pete McCartney slid towards the end of the seat, utterly confused.
“United States Secret Service. You’re under arrest Mr. McCartney for counterfeiting.”
But before Gordon could slap the handcuffs on the youngster, the carriage hit a rather large pothole, jostling the stage. Peter took a hold of this advantage and dived out the door.
West was riding at a closer distance to the stage since the curtains were drawn and McCartney could not see him. They were just down the road from the jail when all of a sudden the young man jumped out of the moving carriage. Without thinking any further, West jumped off his horse and ran after the young man, this time tackling him in the dusty road. They rolled around for a moment, then the kid tried to get up and run, but West bought him back down.
Gordon stopped the coach and got out, hoping his partner had caught the little rat. He watched in amusement as his partner wrestled with the squirming kid in the dust for quite a while. After a few escape attempts by Peter, countered by West tackling him, West finally had the kid pinned down securely.
“Good job, Jim, I stand corrected on what I said yesterday.” Gordon said as he slapped his cuffs on young Mr. McCartney.
“What, that we were getting old?” West asked as he picked himself and his prisoner up from the dirt road.
Gordon grinned and moved away from his partner, “no, that now I’m up by two and a half men.”
“Paybacks, Artie…” West warned as he shoved his prisoner back into the stage.
“Ah, finally, vacation here I come!” Gordon happily said as he walked into the parlor car.
West grimly regarded his partner, “not so fast Artie. You have another assignment.”
“What do ya mean I have another assignment? What about you,” Gordon cried.
Poker-faced, West answered his partner, “my assignment is in San Antonio. Your assignment is in San Francisco.”
Gordon took a breath, ready to tell his partner what their superior could do with the assignment but as he was about to unleash his furry on his partner, his face blanked for a moment and then he finally caught on, “ha ha ha. Very funny, Jim.”
“Paybacks, Artie” West said and smiled as he dodged a decorative pillow.
Finis
By Redhead
James West walked into the parlor car just in time to see his partner shove the telegraph across the table and slouch in his chair with a groan. Although he had a pretty good idea of what was going on, he figured he might as well ask, even if he wasn’t going to like the answer. “What’s the news, Artie?”
“Our downtime has been postponed.” Gordon said, making a face as if the words themselves tasted bad.
West frowned; they were overdue for some time off. The past few months had been particularly long and difficult for both of them. “No one else could take on this assignment?” West asked wistfully as he walked over to the small, but well stocked bar.
“Don’t you think I tried Jim? I want this vacation just as badly as you!” Gordon angrily replied from his chair.
“I didn’t mean it that way, Artie,” West handed his partner a drink. “Just wishful thinking.”
“Sorry Jim,” Gordon sat up and accepted the proffered glass.
West waited a safe while, until Gordon finished his drink, to ask what their assignment was.
Gordon peeled himself from the chair. “Since everyone else is on an assignment and we just happen to be headin’ in that direction in general,” he animated with his hands, “we’re to head to Indianapolis on a counterfeiting case.”
“I thought you liked money Artie,” West smiled, and engaged in a favorite pastime of his; pushing his partner’s buttons.
“Heh, heh, heh. Right now I just want to say goodbye to some real greenbacks instead of playing with the funny stuff.”
“Come on, Artie, it’s a simple counterfeiting case. It’ll be over in no time and then you can spend as much as you like on wine, food, women, and a place to sleep, as long as it comes out of your wallet and not mine.”
Gordon blinked then shared a laugh with his partner. “You’re right, Jim. It’ll probably be quick and painless, and then we can be back on our way to rest and relaxation.”
Indianapolis
“Well, this is the store where the bogus ten was passed.” Gordon held the phony bill in front of him. “Imagine, gluing higher denominations to a one dollar bill.”
West looked up at the weatherworn false storefront. “Quiet little place, the owner probably doesn’t get many bills over five. Shall we get started?”
Gordon nodded and led the way through the door. The store was even smaller on the inside then they had thought. Every isle was cramped full of merchandise gathering dust. The two agents squeezed their way up front to the counter.
“What can I do for you gents?”
Gordon plopped a twenty on the counter, “I’ll take a pack of those cigars there, and some information, friend.”
The storekeeper put the cigars on the counter. “I’m not sure I can change this for you mister,” he said as he rummaged around in his till.
“You can keep the change if you can give us some information.” Gordon said with a finger on the twenty and let the cigars lay on the counter for the time being.
“What kind of information are you looking for? I… I really don’t want any kind of trouble,” the storekeeper stammered.
Gordon held up the coney ten, “this bill was passed in your store a week ago, do you remember who gave it to you?”
The clerk look on the verge of protesting some more so West laid down his credentials on the counter. “We’re Secret Service agents looking for an alleged counterfeiter. Can you help us?”
“I don’t want to get mixed up with the government. Let’s see… you said last week? Ah, yes. There was a young man in here who gave me a ten. Jumpy young man he was too.” The clerk thoughtfully tapped his jaw.
“Do you know his name or can you tell us what he looked like?” Gordon asked, not yet releasing the twenty.
The storekeeper thought for a moment, “handsome young man he was, kind of muscular too and he had dark, thick hair, and I think green or hazel eyes, not completely sure though. That’s all I remember.”
Gordon tucked the bogus bill away, “thank you. Good day.” The two agents left the store and stood by their horses. “That description could be any number of people,” Gordon bemoaned.
“Cheer up, Artie. Let’s go for a drink,” West said with a sparkle in his eye.
Gordon looked at his partner then got the idea, “James, my boy, that is an excellent idea.”
West and Gordon pushed through the swinging doors of the saloon. It was an average saloon with the average type of customers, working men drinking up after a hard day. Since it was money they were after as well as drinks, the two agents sat down at the bar for front row seats of any action. West ordered them both a beer and got some change back. He half turned toward his partner to keep one eye on the door. Gordon discretely looked at the singles and gave a slight shake of his head then took a swig from his beer. The two agents continued to slowly drink their beer. As they neared the bottom of their mugs, a young man matching the grocer’s description took a seat at the bar and paid for a beer with a five. West gave his partner a wink and downed the last of his beer.
“Bartender, I’ll have another beer for me and my friend here,” Gordon slapped a twenty on the bar.
Like clockwork, the bartender gave Gordon the five he had just received in the change. Gordon claimed his change and discretely ran his thumb over the five denomination. Yup, that was the guy they were looking for. He gave his partner a slight nod and turned toward the young man.
West took a large gulp of beer and headed for the door incase the fellow decided to make a run for it as most men caught up in this situation do.
Gordon still held the phony five as he addressed the fellow two seats over, “excuse me, friend.”
The young man nearly spit out his beer. “You mean me?” He nervously asked while looking at the five in the stranger’s hand.
“Would you mind telling me where you have come across such an unusual five note?” Gordon leaned back on his elbow on the bar. Of course he didn’t expect the kid to come right out and say the bill was his work. This part was just for his amusement and Jim’s.
“Un-unusual? I’m not sure what you mean, friend.” The young man glanced toward the swinging doors.
“Well, feel this denomination, here in the corner.” Gordon reached out towards the young man’s hand, but was stopped by the bartender’s.
“Look, Bub, the kid doesn’t want no trouble, ya hear?” The bartender released the obnoxious customer’s hand roughly.
“Bub’s no way to address a friend, friend. I was just sayin,’” Gordon looked over to where the kid was and did a double take. The kid was heading for the door. “I’ll just be going now.”
“Yeah, we don’t like any troublemakers around here, do we John?”
A large man with black whiskers grabbed a fistful of Gordon’s shirt and shoved the agent into another large man. Where was Jim? He loved this stuff. Probably out front smoking a cigar, that bastard, Gordon thought as he received a fist across his face and slammed into the bar.
‘What was taking Artemus so long,’ West wondered as he flicked his cigar butt aside. He decided to see what was going on for himself and pushed through the swinging doors just in time for someone to slam full force into him and to see a big oaf slug his partner. West sprung up from the chair he had been knocked into and looked from the swing doors to his partner.
“Get him Jim!” Gordon yelled and retaliated the punch.
West didn’t need to be told twice and bolted out the door after their suspect. The sun had set and it was getting hard to see. He saw someone round the corner, the street was empty. Figuring that they could get a fresh start in the morning, West headed back to the saloon. His black was still there with a couple others, but no sign of Gordon’s mount. ‘Probably back at the train icing his bruises,’ West thought and smiled to himself as he set his horse in the direction of the train they called home.
“Well, did you get him?” Gordon asked and lowered the newspaper, revealing that he was icing his jaw with his other hand.
West tossed his hat aside, “no.”
“No? James, my boy, you are slipping.” Gordon said as he dropped his rag on the table and folded up the newspaper.
“I’m slipping? What about you?” West asked as he took off his tie. “Don’t you think that was much too public a place for our work,” he indicated the bruise on Gordon’s cheek.
“But you said ‘let’s go for a drink,’” Gordon sputtered.
West smiled, he had Artemus Gordon right where he wanted him. “That’s right.” Without another word he walked back to the galley. If he said too much he might just find himself working on this case by himself come tomorrow morning.
West and Gordon looked at the long road ahead of them in the morning sun.
Gordon pushed the brim of his hat up with his thumb, “What side do you want to take?”
“Tough choice isn’t it, Artie,” West smiled. “I’ll take the right side of the street. Meet you at the end.”
The first establishment on the right side of Main Street was a barbershop. ‘Hope he didn’t skip town,” West thought as he walked in the door. No luck there. No luck at another general store, news stand, bank, hardware store or dress shoppe. At the end of the street was a farmer’s stand and closing it down was their man. Good, he hadn’t been seen. If he played his cards right, he just might be able to follow the man and corner him. Keeping the brim of his hat low, James West followed his suspect at a distance down the street. Ad dumb luck would have it though, a drunk stumbled into him.
The skittish young man turned around and seeing the agent, took off to his safe haven; the saloon.
West bolted after the kid, through the swinging doors, and was stopped short by the two behemoths who gave his partner trouble the previous night.
“Whoa, hold it there pardner,” the man with auburn hair pressed his large hand into West’s chest, halting the agent. “You can’t possibly be in such a rush just for a drink, now.”
The guy with black whiskers grabbed West’s hat, “this is the fancy dude that the kid says is causing trouble for ‘im. Take yer business somewhere else Mr. Fancy-pants.”
Slightly irritated that his partner had failed to meet up with him, Artemus Gordon headed back down the street to where they had left their horses. He tried to convince himself that Jim had got the kid, but he had a hard time believing it for some reason. To Gordon’s great amusement, his partner had just landed on his backside right in the middle of the road followed by his hat and a roar of laughter.
Ignoring his partner and his hat, West jumped right back up and burst back through the swinging doors.
So, the entertainment was just beginning. Gordon picked up his partner’s hat and twirled it on his finger. After making sure nothing else was going to come flying out the door, Gordon entered the bar and picked his way around unconscious bodies and broken bits of furniture. No sign of the kid anywhere, so Gordon found a bottle that was not busted and helped himself.
Hair disheveled, shirt rumpled, sweaty, and wide-eyed, West looked around the bar to see if there was anyone else to take on. Only his partner remained conscious besides himself. Straightening his jacket, West marched over to his partner’s corner table and snatched his hat from his partner’s finger.
“Not bad James, you have me beat by three tables and five chairs, but I am up on you by nine bottles and three men.” Gordon crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back.
“You cheated.”
“On the contrary, I was just evening out the odds.” Gordon poured himself another glass. “James, my boy, we are getting old. Hey!”
West downed his partner’s drink. “Eight bottles; and I’m just evening out the odds.” He slammed the glass back down on the table, “and James West does not ‘get old.’”
“So you say that the young man works at the farmer’s cart at the other end of Main Street?” Gordon asked as he put the finishing touches on his disguise.
“Yeah. Think your disguise is really going to work Artie?” West asked from behind his partner. “The entire town knows by now who we are.”
Looking affronted, Gordon turned on his partner, “how can you ask that when your hide has been saved so many times by my art? No, really Jim, it’ll work. He probably doesn’t even know who William Johnson is. Only the really, talented, counterfeiters know who’s who in their ring and gluing denominations isn’t quite up there with the very fine engravings of the Johnson clan.”
“I hope you’re right.” West looked out the window then grabbed his jacket. “Carriage is here Artie.”
“Bill. Name’s Bill Johnson.” Gordon said raising his chin in an upper-class to lower-class way.
“Right. After you, Bill.”
A carriage pulled up in front of the little fruits and vegetables stand and a well dressed gentleman climbed out.
“Good day sir, how may I be of assistance?” The handsome young vendor politely asked. “Bright red apples for a pie after dinner dessert? Or perhaps some fresh lemons for sweet lemonade for the young’ns? Or how about a large ripe watermelon to cool down with instead?”
“Those apples there look just dandy.” Gordon gave the kid a twenty. He looked over his change thoughtfully.
“I did give you the correct change, didn’t I sir? I could count it again if you wish,” the young man nervously asked.
“Not bad, not bad at all. But I could teach you how to make better change like that there,” Gordon nodded to the twenty in the kid’s hand. “If you get my meaning, that is.”
The kid lightened up, “really mister?”
“I like you son, what’s your name?” Gordon deposited the change in his coat pocket.
“Peter McCartney, sir.”
Gordon had the young man in the palm of his hand. “Bill Johnson. Tell you what sonny, what time do you get done here? I’d like to take you for a drink, if you’re not too young for something that is.”
“Usually about four o’clock, Mr. Johnson and I can hold my whiskey, thank you.”
“Fine, fine. Forget the sir and mister, stuff. I’ll be back with my carriage to pick you up at four then.” Gordon shook the young man’s hand then climbed into his carriage.
“Yes sir, I mean, Bill!” The young man called after Gordon.
“Well, Artie? Where is he?” West asked after Gordon closed the coach door.
“Well, as you so kindly reminded me the other day, we shouldn’t make our work too public, and abducting a handsome and quite charming young farmhand in the middle of the day is definitely much too public.” Gordon smiled smartly at his partner.
West groaned and rolled his eyes upward.
“We pick up young Mr. McCartney at four o’clock.”
“You’re paying for the next coach then,” West smiled.
“Ah, Jim! I just lost a twenty on these apples!” Gordon whined and held out the change Peter had given him.
West took the bills and looked them over. “More coneys huh?”
“Yup, but only the ten and five. The singles are genuine. So, you coming along for the ride later?” Gordon asked as he started to shed his hot disguise.
“Sure, but like I said, only if you’re paying,” West smugly pushed his hat down over his eyes and leaned back for the remainder of the ride.
“Are you ready there Peter?” Gordon called from the window of his stage. He hoped the kid would not notice the figure in blue riding on horseback behind him. Jim insisted on wearing that blue corduroy jacket of his and riding behind instead of joining him in disguise in the carriage.
“Yes si- uh, Bill.” Peter McCartney started to climb into the private stage but halted.
“Something bothering you Peter?” Gordon asked and prepared to grab the kid if his charade wasn’t working.
“Um, maybe we should meet up later, I had better run,” Peter stuttered, looking over his shoulder.
Gordon silently cursed. His boneheaded partner might have ruined his simple plan. “Someone giving you trouble Peter? Just climb on in, I have ways of taking care of those things. Don’t you worry.” Gordon hoped the kid took his bait. Otherwise Jim could take over and hunt down the kid and he wasn’t going to lift a finger to help. Gordon smiled reassuringly at the kid and offered Peter McCartney a hand.
Peter glanced from the blue figure on horseback slowly coming up the road then took the proffered hand.
“So, these your handiwork?” Gordon fanned out the five and ten he had received in his change earlier from the young man.
“Sure are Bill, but let me say that your work is excellent! I could not tell it from the real thing!”
“Thank you; that was all I needed to know, “Gordon said in his regular voice and bought out his handcuffs.
“Huh?” Pete McCartney slid towards the end of the seat, utterly confused.
“United States Secret Service. You’re under arrest Mr. McCartney for counterfeiting.”
But before Gordon could slap the handcuffs on the youngster, the carriage hit a rather large pothole, jostling the stage. Peter took a hold of this advantage and dived out the door.
West was riding at a closer distance to the stage since the curtains were drawn and McCartney could not see him. They were just down the road from the jail when all of a sudden the young man jumped out of the moving carriage. Without thinking any further, West jumped off his horse and ran after the young man, this time tackling him in the dusty road. They rolled around for a moment, then the kid tried to get up and run, but West bought him back down.
Gordon stopped the coach and got out, hoping his partner had caught the little rat. He watched in amusement as his partner wrestled with the squirming kid in the dust for quite a while. After a few escape attempts by Peter, countered by West tackling him, West finally had the kid pinned down securely.
“Good job, Jim, I stand corrected on what I said yesterday.” Gordon said as he slapped his cuffs on young Mr. McCartney.
“What, that we were getting old?” West asked as he picked himself and his prisoner up from the dirt road.
Gordon grinned and moved away from his partner, “no, that now I’m up by two and a half men.”
“Paybacks, Artie…” West warned as he shoved his prisoner back into the stage.
“Ah, finally, vacation here I come!” Gordon happily said as he walked into the parlor car.
West grimly regarded his partner, “not so fast Artie. You have another assignment.”
“What do ya mean I have another assignment? What about you,” Gordon cried.
Poker-faced, West answered his partner, “my assignment is in San Antonio. Your assignment is in San Francisco.”
Gordon took a breath, ready to tell his partner what their superior could do with the assignment but as he was about to unleash his furry on his partner, his face blanked for a moment and then he finally caught on, “ha ha ha. Very funny, Jim.”
“Paybacks, Artie” West said and smiled as he dodged a decorative pillow.
Finis