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If it was up to Wolfe or me, no mention of that evening would have made it anywhere near my report. However, the briefcase with the false bottom played a pretty pivotal role in taking down Zeck, and it would be remiss of me not to mention where it came from. I sometimes have to throw omissions or adjustments into my case reports to make them suitable for family reading, but I have never used them to tell a barefaced lie and do not intend to start now. I kept it short and sweet, but the mere mention was enough to bring up uncomfortable reminders of that night. Not even Wolfe, let alone me, knew what to do with it afterwards, so by mutual, unspoken agreement, we had decided that the best course of action was just to avoid talking about it altogether. But my duty to provide the public with honest, entertaining case reports interfered, so I inserted only the details I concluded were absolutely necessary for understanding the events that followed. Like I said, I’m having a hard time making sense of the rest of it myself.
The ride up to 1019 had brought a repeat performance from Wolfe, who beelined directly for the back corner of the elevator and planted himself there with his eyes closed. As we began the ascent, a slight movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Had he stumbled when the elevator started moving? I took the opportunity to study him without him noticing. I'd already remarked once on Wolfe's fatigued appearance at Lily Rowan's, but he only seemed to have gotten worse since then. Given how bizarre the Roeder disguise was on him to begin with, I told myself I was imagining things. His plethora of wrinkles could be exacerbating the shadows under his eyes, and his missing weight would easily account for his rather deflated presence.
The elevator shuddered to a halt, and I faced forward before he caught me staring. Probably it was nothing, and I was just having a hard time adjusting to the new Nero Wolfe.
As the evening wore on, though, the less sure I got. Whatever was the matter with him, it seemed to be finding its way into his mannerisms. Having spent as much time with Wolfe as I have, I pride myself in my ability to discern when he's ignoring me, lost in thought, or just being plain lazy. That night, though, his movements were slower, clumsier, and it seemed to take him a few extra seconds to hear what I said. His responses, when they came, were much less deliberate than usual. Wolfe may be a lot of things, and more than a few of those things may be a pain in my neck, but imprecise with his words sure as hell isn't one of them.
I said in my report that we collaborated on the briefcase, but it much more resembled our normal operations, which meant I worked while he watched from a chair on the other side of my desk with his brow furrowed and his eyes half closed. Had we not been passing the time discussing more important matters I would have given him a harder time about it, but even as it stood I saw no reason to do everything myself.
“Hold that there, will you?” I motioned for him to come help, needing a way to keep two particularly ornery pieces of briefcase in their respective places while I fastened them together. Wolfe sent me a glare but said nothing, which was odd because I'd practically cut him off in the middle of a sentence. His face arranged itself into a grim expression, like he was not only irritated at the prospect of getting up but almost afraid. I kept an eye on him as he rose. For a split second it seemed like he was about to lose his balance, but he got through it and came to the desk. I hadn’t quite managed to erase the concerned look from my face, but it turned out I hadn’t needed to. He missed it completely, his gaze distant and unfocused.
Like I said, something was off. The notion of bringing it up only grew stronger as he was careless enough to let our hands brush. Remembering the dodge he’d given me at Lily’s place, though, I stalled. Riding Wolfe about anything and everything may be my job every other day of the year, but these circumstances were unique. This Wolfe wasn’t the one I was used to, the one who sat on his behind all day with his beer and his books, bickering with Fritz, playing with his orchids, and refusing to work. This Wolfe was so hell-bent on following through with his cockeyed scheme that he didn’t seem to care about letting all else fall to the sides. I was used to relying on distant, impersonal matters such as the bank account, my salary, and clients who expected progress to needle him into action. The only thing I had now was his well-being, and I admit I wasn’t sure how to use that approach without sounding a worried wife fretting over her man. The longer we skirted the topic, the more uneasy I got, until I felt so wound up that I had to grit my teeth to keep from fidgeting out of pure nervous energy. Knowing that no line I could take with him would end well, though, I just ignored the memory of how cold and clammy Wolfe’s skin had felt against mine and focused on the briefcase.
A few moments passed, and the tension kept mounting. My reasoning in the moment was that I had decided to take pity on him, but it was just as much of a release for myself. “All good,” I declared. His hands disappeared from my line of sight, and I could have sworn I heard a faint sigh of relief. I kept my gaze downwards, knowing that the more I showed I was aware of how strangely he was acting, the more he’d dig in his heels and refuse to admit anything was wrong. I leaned in to check our work, taking a lot longer than intended on account of my mind, which was busy wrestling with the problem of how to handle Wolfe. I still hadn’t figured it out when I’d satisfied myself that the briefcase would hold up, but standing there with my head down for any longer would have looked plain silly.
"That ought to do it," I announced, looking up at Wolfe. I was hoping for a nod or maybe even a ‘satisfactory.’ Hell, given all the unfamiliar habits he’d picked up, I would have been fine with a “good job, pal.” What I was met with instead stopped me in my tracks.
Wolfe was gripping the desk with his head down and his eyes pressed closed, swaying slightly. He showed no indication of having heard me. A tingle of worry raced up my spine.
"Uh... sir?" My instincts must have kicked in, because my legs were moving me around my desk towards him without my having told them to do so.
Again, Wolfe took far longer to respond to me than was normal for him, his voice distant and slurred. "One moment... Archie, I... simply..."
If an occasion ever arose in which I needed to catch Wolfe, I'm glad it was now. I'd like to think I'm pretty strong, but I don't know if I could get away with supporting his usual poundage without pulling a muscle. As it was, he caught me off guard, and I barely managed to react quickly enough to keep him from whacking his head on my desk as he fell. I let out a grunt as I lowered his body to the floor as gently as I could.
I was all too familiar with Wolfe's intense aversion to all forms of physical touch. I'd known him for years, and could probably count the amount of times we'd exchanged so much as a handshake using that very hand. Yet here I was, cradling his head as he lay unconscious on the floor of my office. I wondered if this was how Wolfe had felt after I’d conked out during the Chapin case. He told me afterwards that I’d spent the taxi ride home with my head in his lap. And now, years later, I was finally returning the favor.
With his eyes closed there was nothing about him I recognized, yet something was keeping me from looking away. The dynamic between us had been shattered as soon as I got into that car with Roeder, and whatever the hell had just happened was as if someone had come along and stomped on whatever pieces we had left.
I must have only been kneeling there for a few seconds before Wolfe stirred, but somehow it felt like an eternity. The slight movement of his head jolted me out of my reverie, and I withdrew my hands to give him space. By the time his eyes cracked open, I was on my feet, leaning up against my desk with my legs crossed in what I hoped was a nonchalant pose.
His gaze drifted towards me, and we locked eyes. I gave him my best quizzical look. He blinked slowly, taking in his surroundings. "Ah. Archie.”
I said nothing, waiting for an explanation.
“I'm sorry you had to witness that. As you can see, maintaining this disguise has its challenges." I felt the quizzical look becoming something else.
Wolfe began making the necessary motions to get up, but I put up a hand, shifting forward slightly. “Nuh-uh. Not so fast.”
He ignored me, giving me his best we-won’t-discuss-this-further glare. “Archie.”
“Nope. Nothing doing. I admit that more than a few lovely young specimens have swooned over me, but you’re not young or lovely and I know it would take a lot more than the sight of me to bring you down.” Even to me, the joke fell flat.
Wolfe growled, although I couldn’t tell whether it was due to my comparing him to a woman or the fact that I was putting my foot down. He pushed himself into a somewhat unsteady sitting position, making it plainly obvious that he wanted nothing more but to move on and forget the whole incident, but I wasn't about to let it slide.
"I said hang on!" I snapped. That got a pause, both of us unused to me being the one giving the orders. Under normal circumstances he would be furious, so the fact that he did nothing more but glare up at me triggered yet another warning siren in my head.
"We're about to take on an operation that's dodgy enough on its own, and we can't have you keeling over in the middle of the big showdown,” I carried on, finally having hit on a line to take that didn’t stray too deep into unfamiliar territory. “I can call in Vollmer. Say it's because you want to make sure I'm fit to play the part or something."
He shook his head a fraction of an inch. "The risk is too great. I'll be fine. I assure you, when the time comes I will have no problem controlling my faculties."
Damn him and his stubbornness. "Uh-huh. I know you're used to being pigheaded until you get your way, but you can't just will your legs not to give out on you."
His eyes glinted. "Oh, I can. I have before."
I can never quite decide whether to be fascinated or irritated by Wolfe's dramatically vague references to his past, but this time it only riled me further. He just wasn't hearing me. "Yeah, and how do you know you’ll be able to do it again?"
"Archie, I know my limits," he growled, pulling himself up and leaning heavily on a chair. He looked as if the slightest draft would bowl him over again, but I knew he was thinking that the sooner he got off of the floor, the easier it would be to forget what had just happened. Whether it was me or himself he was trying to convince, I wasn’t sure, but his lackluster performance certainly didn’t bolster my confidence in his wellbeing.
"Clearly not," I snarled, gesturing to the spot of dingy carpet where he'd lain just a moment before. I was good and sore now, nerves that had been threatening to fray since that goddam package of sausage had arrived on our doorstep finally coming undone. "You disappear for months without a trace, and when you finally turn back up you're half dead on your feet. If we make it out of this you can fire me as soon as we get back to the office and you can park your fanny in that oversized chair of yours, but what kind of moron do you take me for, sir?"
"Archie, you know I hold your intelligence in exceptionally high regard." Wolfe's voice was uncharacteristically quiet, his senses probably still recovering from his trip to the floor, but I was too riled to care.
"Then why don't you act like it? Why go to the trouble of even bringing me in at all if you won't take me seriously?" The unfamiliar territory I’d been hesitant to venture into seemed to be unavoidable.
"I am doing nothing but pursuing the course of action that promises the highest chance of success. My current condition is nothing but one necessary discomfort for a much greater cause." His eyes were locked with mine, but it felt like he was looking right through me. His normally rich and captivating words rang hollow in my ears.
"You're not listening to me!" My voice raised to a roar as something inside me snapped. "Discomfort my eye, this is your life on the line. To hell with necessary, I can't lose you again!"
I stopped. He blinked, slowly. It's a rare occasion for Nero Wolfe to be stunned into silence. Maybe the reason I'd felt like he wasn't hearing me was because I didn't know what I was trying to say until the words left my mouth. We stared at each other, his gaze growing suffocating as the seconds stretched on.
"Just... Eat something, for Chrissake," I muttered, looking away. "Fritz would take one look at you and have a heart attack."
Wolfe took a deep breath and rubbed his temples with one hand, another unfamiliar gesture betraying the extent of his fatigue.
"I appreciate your concern," he began.
I cut him off. "Don't. Don't try that again."
Wolfe pressed his lips together, his expression inscrutable.
"I get why you kept me in the dark when you left." I waved a hand. "Did I like it? No, it was damned tough. I had everyone from the papers to the DA out to get me for a lie I didn't tell. The only one who knew I was working alone was the one who stranded me there to begin with." I admit that was dramatic emphasis. Strictly speaking, he hadn't been the only one, but I hoped he wouldn't be pedantic enough to try correcting me, what with the state I was in. I eyed him accusingly. "I hate having the wool pulled over my eyes as much as the next guy. Probably even more, but I get why you did it. Beating it to the West Coast for a month or two is one thing, though. But starving to death out of sheer stubbornness is a hell of a lot more permanent, and I..." I realized belatedly that I hadn't gotten so far as to come up with the rest of that sentence, so I was forced to let it hang.
"And you can't lose me?" Wolfe's repetition of my outburst made me want to change my name and skedaddle to another state myself. We had strayed far out of our usual bounds now, and I was at a loss as to how I could even begin to salvage this one. I crossed my arms, feeling more secure with the pressure on my chest.
"I mean, it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I was doing just fine before you came back." Apparently I had decided that the best plan of attack here was to completely pivot from the argument I'd just been making. Great.
"Undoubtedly." If it was within his skillset, Wolfe would have raised an eyebrow at me.
"I have my own detective business right here, and I'm turning a pretty good profit."
"I am aware."
Every word I said was just digging me deeper into the hole I'd wound up in, but I couldn't get my mouth to shut up. "I could be raking in even more, if I wanted. You're not the only one who can afford to turn down cases."
"Archie," Wolfe sounded politely exasperated, "Your point?"
And by gum, there it was. A hell of a lot more difficult to spot underneath all that loose skin he was sporting, but the folds of his cheeks were deepening in what he thought passed for a smile. I knew I was in deep when even Nero Wolfe was finding humor at my expense. The bastard was enjoying watching me squirm.
Since this particular anecdote will never see the light of day, I see no reason to censor it for print. "Fuck it," I muttered, passing a hand over my face. "I don't know."
Wolfe frowned. "It's unlike you to admit defeat, Archie."
"Yeah, well, I guess we're both a little out of character right now."
"Indeed. Is the briefcase complete?" He was deflecting again, but this time, it was just as much for my sake as it was his. He took a step forward, a clear invitation for me to move out of the way so that he could inspect our, or should I say my, work. Despite my discomfort, I wasn’t quite ready to let him off the hook yet. I held firm.
"You gonna collapse on me again?"
Wolfe met my gaze evenly, his dark eyes boring into mine. We both knew that no matter what answer he gave, it was a promise neither of us could be sure he'd be able to keep. A beat of silence passed.
"Pfui," he growled, the same way as he had a thousand times before. The familiarity of that single word stirred something in my chest, and my resolve weakened. Though I wanted nothing more than to sit him down and get a good meal in him, I knew that if I pushed any further, he'd start refusing out of pure spite, too. I'd gone as far as I could, which was already further than I ever had before. If anything was going to change, it would be in the solitude of wherever he was living these days, and I knew that he'd rather stay lean and sick forever than admit he'd caved to my worries. Having no choice but to accept that, I bowed out and let him through.
I did get that ‘satisfactory’ after all, if somewhat late. When he was through inspecting the briefcase, we sat back down and began going over contingencies. We finally parted ways around midnight, and my mind was busy going over our plan for the thousandth time as I navigated the car through the deserted streets. If I were anyone else, I probably would have lain awake for hours trying not to think about the sight of Wolfe lying prone on the floor of 1019. As it was, I tossed and turned for a full ten seconds before I was out for the night.