California Dreamin'

 

 

By:  Kenda

 

 

*This story was written in 1994, and is similar to And The Angel Wore A Cowboy Hat, in that it’s up to the reader to decide if Rick is dreaming, or if he, on occasion, visits an alternate Simon universe. Though these types of stories are a bit unorthodox, I had fun stretching my writing imagination when I was penning them.  

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

 

     Not since Vietnam had Rick Simon seen anything like this.  The carnage, the destruction, the broken and bloodied bodies.  Children screamed in pain and terror.  Bystanders frantically clawed at the rubble, trying to free the trapped and injured victims. In the background, sirens wailed as the first rescue units raced to the scene. 

 

     Rick ran down the sidewalk, carelessly shoving people aside who hindered his path.  He had been in the Simon and Simon office when the explosion shook the entire building.  Windows were blown out of offices on the lower floors, causing slivers of glass to fly like shrapnel.

 

     At first Rick had thought San Diego was in the midst of a powerful earthquake.  The coffee cups on the ledge behind A.J.'s desk clattered together like fine china, and a trailing ivy residing on top of the filing cabinet did three mid-air flips that would have been the envy of any Olympic gymnast.   The ivy's pot shattered when it hit to the floor, and rich black dirt was strewn across the beige carpeting while the neon Simon and Simon sign swung back and forth as though a strong breeze had blown through the room.

 

     "What the...?"    Rick bolted for the door.

 

     Other occupants of the fourth floor emerged from their offices, too, all bearing the same look of confusion Rick knew had to be dominating his features.  A babble of voices followed the detective to the stairwell. 

 

     "What was that?"

 

     "Was it an earthquake?"

 

     "Sounded more like something blew up to me."

 

     When a woman from the travel agency office headed for the elevator Rick stopped her.  "Don't use that.  We don't know what's goin' on for sure.  You don't wanna find yourself trapped in there if the electricity goes off."

 

     The woman nodded, grateful for Rick's common sense.  The little group stayed right on Rick's heels as he trotted down the stairs.  They picked up other groups of people as they descended, people like Rick, who were wise enough not to summon the elevator.  Everyone asked the same question of one another, "What happened?"  but no one could supply an answer. 

 

     Rick walked out into noontime sunshine.  With the ever-growing entourage behind him, he looked like a teacher leading his students on a field trip.   

 

     The detective paused for a moment and craned his neck, looking in the direction the explosion had come from.  The only thing he could see over the throngs of people ahead of him was a rising cloud of smoke, and fine grains of dust that floated toward the ground like a gentle snowfall.  As a teenager ran by him Rick whipped out a hand and snared the boy's arm. 

 

     "Hey, kid, what's goin' on?"

     The boy's blue eyes were wide with shock.  His pale face and light hair were streaked with soot, and blood flowed freely from a two inch gash by his nose.

 

     "Darvin's Deli just blew up!"

 

     "What?"

 

     The boy pointed down the street.  "Darvin's Deli just blew up!  I was on my way there to get lunch for me and my mom.  I have to go, mister!  If Mom hears about it before she sees me she'll freak!"

 

     Rick didn't stop the boy as he pulled away from him.  As a matter of fact, Rick’s mind hadn't registered anything the teen said beyond his first sentence, "Darvin's Deli just blew up!"

 

     For just a moment Rick's feet were frozen in place.  "A.J.," he whispered.  "Oh my God...A.J.!"

 

     The heels of Rick's cowboy boots smacked a hard rhythm against the concrete sidewalk.  He barreled through the milling crowds like a bowling ball smashing into pins. 

 

     He can't be in there! Please, God, he can't be in there.  Please let me find out he decided to go somewhere else and get us lunch.  Please let me find out he stopped to shoot the bull with someone on his way there.  Please let me find out he was held up by traffic trying to cross the street.  Just please, please, don't let me find out he was in there.

 

     As Rick ran he frantically scanned the people around him looking for a familiar blond head.  A familiar blond head he didn't see.  When he came to the scene, the devastation was awesome.  Bricks, twisted metal beams, and broken glass littered the area for one full block.  The smell of smoke and burning wood made the sky dark and the air hard to breathe.  People were shouting at one another as, brick by brick, they attempted to free the deli's trapped patrons.  The explosion had occurred at sixteen minutes after twelve.  The popular little eating establishment had been packed with customers waiting their turn to order a sandwich and a cup of soup.

 

     Glass crunched underneath Rick's boots as he vaulted beams and scampered over piles of bricks.

 

     Why did it have to be Friday?  Why?

 

     On Friday the delicatessen had homemade cheddar cheese and ham soup.  It was a favorite of the Simon brothers, and if they happened to be in the office at lunchtime on that particular day of the week one of them invariably walked down to Darvin's in order to bring back two cups of soup and two sandwiches.

 

     The detective's mind vividly replayed the scene that took place in the Simon and Simon office not twenty minutes earlier, as he surveyed with growing despair the mound of rubble surrounding him.

 

____________________

 

    

     "Hey, A.J., you gonna stop workin' and go down and get us some cheese soup from Darvin's?"

 

     A.J. looked up from a legal pad he was making notes on regarding a new case.  He watched his brother cross in front of him on his way to the TV. 

 

     "What?"  The blond questioned sarcastically.  "And your legs aren't functioning today?"

 

     "No, no," Rick casually dismissed.  "It's not that.  It's just that it's Friday."

 

     "Rick," A .J. sighed with mock long-suffering.  "It's always Friday whenever Darvin's is serving cheddar cheese soup."

 

     "I know that.  And it's always Friday when my soap opera has its cliffhanger. I've missed it the last three Friday's 'cause we've been out doin' leg work on cases."

 

     "Which is why I bought you a VCR for Christmas several years back - so you could tape your soap opera on Fridays.  I was hoping I’d no longer be subjected to its asinine plots and the inane lives of its shallow characters."

 

     Rick pointed a stern finger at his brother while clicking on the television.  "Hey, buddy, I don't comment on your chosen form of stress relievers, so don't comment on mine.  Personally, I think dancing around and working up a sweat while punching a hanging bag filled with sawdust is about as silly as you think my soap is.  But what the heck, to each his own."

 

     "But can't you just set your VCR to tape the damn thing?"

 

     "I could if I ever took the time to figure that part of it out," Rick said while crossing the floor once more to return to his desk,  "which I haven't yet, so there's no use arguing the point."

 

     A.J.  stood as the opening credits of Rick's show began to roll.  "I'll be happy to instruct you in regards to that sometime soon.  Very soon."   In deference to the warm day A.J. left his suit coat hanging on a branch of the coat rack.  He wasn't nearly as put out by Rick's request for lunch as he let on.  As a matter of fact, he was looking forward to a leisurely stroll in the sunshine. "I'll be back in a little while."

 

     Rick's eyes were locked on the action playing out on the TV screen.  "Sure, A.J. Whatever you say."

 

     A.J. smiled and reached a hand into the pocket of Rick's field jacket that was, as well, hanging from the coat rack.  "And I'm taking twenty bucks from you to pay for everything."

 

     Rick gave a distracted nod.  "Sure, A.J., whatever you say."

 

      A.J. pocketed the two ten dollars bills he'd just retrieved.  "And I'm keeping the change."

 

     "Sure, A.J., whatever you say."

 

     "Oh, and by the way," A.J. said with a devilish grin as he opened the office door to exit the room,  "I suppose now's as good a time as any to tell you I put a For Sale add in the paper for the Hole In The Water.  You'd better start looking for new accommodations."

 

     "Sure, A.J., whatever you say."

     The door had long shut behind the blond man when his words finally registered with Rick.  "Hey!"  He shouted.  "What did you say?"

     All Rick heard was laughter and the distinct 'click,' as the elevator gate was closed.   

 

____________________

    

     Rick coughed to clear his lungs and squinted through the black smoke.  The fire that was raging as a result of the explosion came from the building next door.  At least those pinned underneath the rubble weren't in immediate danger of being overcome by smoke inhalation, or dying as a result of burns. 

 

     Rick's eyes flitted to the bystanders who were frantically trying to offer aid.  Some men had run over from a construction site and were dressed appropriately in blue jean and hard hats, but as well, men in suits and ties and women in high heels who had run out of nearby offices, were doing what they could to help.

 

     A.J.'s here somewhere helpin' dig people out, Rick attempted to convince himself.   That's the first thing he'd do, try to help those that are trapped.  I know he's got to be helping...please let him be helping.

 

     For lack of a better idea Rick yelled, "A.J.!" as he ran around the perimeter of the destruction.   Like a mountain goat on an unstable, rocky slope, the detective stumbled and lost his footing several times, only to rise again, ignoring the stinging cuts on the palms of his hands.  "A.J.!  A.J.!"

 

     No one paid any attention to the detective as the cries of the victims, shouts of the civilians offering aid, and wail of the sirens drowned out his calls.

 

     Rick had no choice but to step back when the firemen and paramedics arrived at the scene.  Policemen moved ahead of the rescue personnel in an attempt to clear the area.   A young cop put a beefy hand on Rick's chest and roughly pushed him backwards.  "Get out of here now," he growled.  "You'll only get in the way."

 

     Rick's hand grabbed a fistful of the crisp, starched uniform shirt. "Don't you go pushing me, you little sonuvabitch.  I think my brother..."

 

     Before Rick could say anymore, a nightstick was rammed in the small of his back and he was roughly spun around.  Rick was looking into the face of another young San Diego police officer he didn't know, while the one he had just assaulted was encircling his wrists with handcuffs.

 

     Rick arched his back and turned his head as far as possible.  He struggled to free himself.  "Listen to me!  I think my..."

 

     The private investigator would have no doubt spent the remainder of the afternoon in a jail cell had Downtown Brown not come running over at just that moment.  The plain clothed black detective showed his badge to the young cops he didn't recognize.

 

     Over the deafening noise around them Town roared, "What's going on here?"

     Rick turned at the voice of his old friend.  Town could read both the relief and fear in the detective's eyes, but at the moment didn't understand the reason behind either one of those emotions.    "Town, I--"

 

     "When I told him he had to get back, had to get away from the area," the burly young man with the crew cut explained, "he became resistant and combative, Lieutenant."

 

     I'll show you resistant and combative, you little punk.  You probably haven't had your badge for more than two days, you look so damn green.

 

     Town's eyes glanced at the young man's nametag.  "Take the cuffs off him and carry out your orders, Landers."  Town looked to the other rookie, who had joined his partner in restraining Rick.  "You, too, McKinny.  I'll take care of Mr. Simon."

 

     Neither man questioned Town.  Like Rick had suspected, they were both fresh out of the academy and eager to please anyone who was considered to be their superior.

 

     Town grabbed Rick by the elbow and steered him away from the mayhem at a trot.  "What the hell are you--"

 

     Rick jerked out of his friend's grasp and halted their progress.  He, too, had to shout to be heard.  "Town, I think A.J.'s in there!"

 

     Town looked at the pile of rubble behind him, where paramedics and fire fighters were beginning to extract the first victims. 

 

     "You what?"

 

     "I think A.J.'s in there!"

     "Are you sure?"

     Rick shook his head in both frustration and desperation.   "No, I'm not sure!  But he headed out of the office right at noon to come here to get us lunch!  I--"

 

     Town reclaimed Rick's elbow, intent on getting him to an area of safety.  They didn't need any more civilian victims than they already had.  And if A.J.'s body was found lying bent and twisted underneath the destruction, the last thing Cecilia Simon was going to need was to be burying two sons. 

 

      "You don't know for sure that he's in there, Rick!  He could have already been heading back to the office when the explosion occurred!"  A massive red fire truck rumbled by the men, blasting its air horn.  "Or he might not have arrived yet when it hap--"

    

"But I didn't see him anywhere!"  Rick pleaded.   "I looked, Town.  I looked!  I didn't see him!"

    

Despite Rick's protests, Town ushered him across the busy street bustling with fire trucks, ambulances, and squad cars.  "You wait here," the police lieutenant ordered when they'd reached the safety of the sidewalk.  "I'll--"

 

     Like a dog intent on following its master, Rick was once again at Town's heels.  "No!  I have to--"

 

     "Rick, damn it!"  Town turned and planted his hands firmly on Rick's chest.  He propelled the stubborn detective backwards until Rick was forced to step up on the sidewalk once more.  "Wait here and let me do my job.  If A.J. is among the victims...your mother's going to need you, Rick.  She's going to need you.   Now let me go over there and see what I can find out.  As soon as I know something I'll be back."

 

     As much as he wanted to start digging through the rubble brick by brick, Rick could do no more than clench his fists and nod.  Other police officers were urging all civilians to the sidewalk Rick was standing on.  He knew if he was caught near the devastation again he might not be so lucky as to have Town come to his rescue.  He couldn't risk being shackled in the back of a paddywagon if A.J. was, indeed, found to be among the injured...or the dead.

 

     Rick watched Town run across the street.  His eyes lost track of his friend when the black man zigzagged behind two fire trucks. 

 

     The sidewalk Rick was waiting on soon swarmed with people.  Some were the bystanders who had been the first to offer aid and were now intent on remaining to see this tragedy through to the end, others were gawkers; employees and patrons of nearby shops and restaurants who had spilled out of the establishments upon being thrown from their seats by the explosion, while others were like Rick; people who feared a family member or friend might have been inside the deli when the blast occurred. 

 

     Over the din of sirens, the roar of fire trucks, and the shouts of rescue workers, Rick could vaguely pick up snatches of conversations going on around him.  One woman was weeping hysterically while being comforted by a stranger.

 

     "My husband!  My little boy! They were in there," she sobbed into the man's chest.  "I know they were in there.  It's Friday!  They have cheese soup on Friday.  My son loves it.  I ran across the street to get some shopping done while they stood in line.  It was so crowded in there.   I knew I could get some other errands run while they waited.  My son didn't want to come with me.  He wanted to wait with his daddy.  I shouldn't have left.  I should have never left!  At least we'd be together now if I hadn't."

 

     A man who appeared to be about Rick's age plowed through the throngs of people and tried to crash through the police barricade.  With little regard to his distraught story, the uniformed officers pushed him back as he struggled and shouted.  "My daughter!  My daughter works in there!  She's only seventeen!  Please, I have to know if she's okay!"

 

     "My wife!"  An elderly man wailed.  "My wife was in there!  I was waiting for her in the car.  Can someone tell me something about my wife?"

 

     Rick tried in vain to block out the anguished cries of the people surrounding him.  He felt like an isolated island in the midst of a stormy sea.  He wasn't capable of offering comfort to anyone, nor accepting anyone's empty words of reassurance.  So he just stood there, alone and silent.  The only action on Rick's part that gave away the fact someone buried under a ton of bricks and steel might be a loved one of his, was the way he stood on the tips of his boots and craned his neck at repeated ten second intervals in an effort to see past the obstructions blocking his view of the devastation across the street.   When his eyes weren't trained in that direction, they were scanning the crowd around him with the hope A.J. was among those bystanders who had been ushered across the street safe and sound.                                                 

 

     Rick's calf muscles screamed in protest, as once again he

pushed himself up on his toes.  Two hours had passed since he watched Town disappear across the street.  Ambulances had come and gone during that time span, but as of yet none of the people waiting with Rick had been informed as to whom those ambulances might hold, and what type of condition their occupants were found in.  For as frustrated and impatient for answers as Rick was, he understood all too well the reasoning behind this.  The victims those vehicles contained were no doubt in serious condition.  At the moment transporting them to the hospital took precedence over notifying relatives.  That would come once hospital personnel had a chance to go through the patient's pockets in search of identification.

 

     Rick tuned into the voice of a police officer, who was now relaying to the frantic bystanders which hospitals the victims were being taken to.  People began to disburse in a rush, recklessly shouldering and elbowing their way through the crowd in an effort to get to their vehicles.  Rick had just turned with the intention of running the five blocks to the small parking lot where the Powerwagon resided when he heard his named shouted.

 

     "Rick!  Rick!"

 

     It took Rick a moment to locate the voice over the shouts of rescue workers and the screechy bellowing of air horns.

 

     "Rick!"

 

     Downtown Brown stood across the street in front of a fire truck, frantically waving Rick in his direction.

 

     The detective didn't even stop to look for oncoming traffic as he raced across the street to his friend.

 

     Town grabbed Rick by the elbow with an urgency that unnerved the investigator.  The black man threaded them through fire trucks, and around hoses coiled underfoot like thick, overgrown snakes.  His feet never slowed from the pace he had set the moment he took hold of Rick's elbow, a pressing jog.

 

     "Town, what's goin'--"

 

     The police lieutenant halted their progress as they came to the pile of rubble, twenty feet high in places that had, two and a half hours earlier, been the popular deli known as Darvin's. 

 

     "A group of firemen found A.J."

 

     Rick's right hand shot up and encased Town's forearm in a bruising grip.  "Where is he?  How bad was he hurt?  What hospital was he taken to?"

     The words flew out of Rick's mouth as fast as breaking news is rushed over a Teletype.  Town was all too aware of the reasons behind the rapid-fire questions.  If Rick kept talking he wouldn't have to hear what Town needed to convey.  There was no doubt that, simply by looking into Town's face, Rick was already well aware the news his friend had for him wasn't good.

 

     "How long ago did the ambulance leave with him?  What'd the paramedics say about his injur--"

 

     Town pulled his forearm from Rick's grip and gave the man a little shake. "Rick, slow down.  Slow down and listen to me for a second.  A.J.'s still here."

 

     Rick looked around, but all he saw were firemen hosing down the building next door, rescue workers scrambling over the rubble, and police officers engaged in traffic control.

 

     "Still here?  Where?  What do you mean, he's still here?"

 

     "He's trapped in the basement."

 

     Rick voiced his confusion in one word.  "Basement?"

     Town gave a grim nod.  "The basement was evidently the deli's main storage area.  As you can imagine, when the building exploded that's the first thing that was filled with its remains.  They've found...three bodies down there so far."

 

     Rick felt the blood drain from his face.  He swallowed in an effort to produce saliva.  "A.J.?"

 

     "They found A.J. down there, too," Town confirmed.  "He's alive, Rick."

 

     For a brief second Rick glanced up at the cloudless sky and whispered, "Thank God."  His attention returned full-force to Town and he broke into a fast walk.  "Take me to him."

 

     Town kept pace along side the detective.  "Rick, you need slow down for a second and hear me out."

 

     Rick's impatience was clearly broadcast in his terse, "What?"

 

     "He's trapped underneath God only knows how many tons of brick and mortar.  The firemen have been working to free him for over an hour now, but they're making very little headway.  Because of the way he's pinned, they haven't been able to fully access the seriousness of his injuries. As well, the danger involved in getting him out of there is that the rubble will come tumbling down on him, and on those who are trying to save him."

 

     Rick's footsteps increased in speed. "Take me to him."

 

     "Rick...I'm not certain they'll let you down there."

 

     "They'll let me down there all right, Town.  Just take me to him."

 

     Town didn't attempt to further dissuade Rick as he led the way around the rubble.  He'd known the oldest Simon brother long enough to know further argument in a situation such as this would be nothing but a waste of time.

 

     Even before the two men reached the far side of the destruction, Rick knew A.J. was somewhere in the vicinity.  A fireman was crouched down looking into what Rick surmised was the basement area where A.J. had been found.  He could tell the man was talking to someone, but was unable to hear his words over the noise around him. Other firemen were gingerly clearing the pile of bricks and metal by hand.  Another group of men dressed in the heavy, protective gear of the San Diego Fire Department, had formed a bucket brigade on the opposite side of the destruction and were standing in line, waiting to retrieve buckets of the building's ruins as they were handed up to them from the basement. 

 

     The individual who had been down on his hunches stood as Town approached.  The Hispanic fire chief was a short, compact man in his mid-forties with wide shoulders and a barrel chest.   His thick dark hair peeked out from underneath his sturdy helmet.  Sweat caused the ends to curl tightly against his forehead and around his ears.

 

     Town spoke loudly in order to be heard over the powerful background noises.  "Chief Guverez, this is Rick Simon.  He's the brother of the man your people are working to free."

 

     The chief held his hand out to Rick.  "Mr. Simon," he nodded.  "I'll get right to the point.  We've got a problem.  A big problem."

 

     Rick's words were voiced as a statement, as opposed to being voiced as a question.  "Regarding my brother."

 

     "Yes, I'm afraid so.  As Lieutenant Brown has probably already told you, he's trapped down there and we're having a helluva time getting him out."  The man's dark eyes cast about the pile towering in front of them.  "An industrial sized refrigerator is laying across his legs.  Bricks and other wreckage from the explosion are on top of that.  We're working on removing that debris right now, but as far as how we'll get that refrigerator off him...I just don't know.   We were hoping to slide him out from underneath it, but we can't work fast enough to get the debris off him before more comes cascading down.  It's a danger to him, and a danger to the men who are down there with him."  The chief nodded toward the men running back and forth emptying their buckets several yards away, before returning them to the crew below.  "Right now they're filling five gallon buckets with whatever they can extract by hand."

 

     Town surveyed the frantic activity around him.  "What about bringing in a Caterpillar to dig it out?"

 

     Rick knew what the man's answer would be before it was even formulated.

 

      "Too dangerous," the chief replied.  "The entire area is too unstable for us to be digging around down there with heavy equipment like that until all the victims are out.  We believe Mr. Simon's brother is the last victim who's...alive.  But, of course, we can't be certain of that fact at this time.  There's a possibility of others yet being found."

 

     Without further preamble Rick stated,  "I wanna go down to him."

 

     Despite the demanding tone Rick had used that left no room for argument, he was surprised at the chief's willing acquiescence. 

 

     "Under normal circumstances I wouldn't allow a civilian into a situation like this, but these aren't normal circumstances, Mr. Simon.  There's a doctor down there right now.   There's a strong possibility he's going to need you to make some tough decisions for your brother.  That's why I asked Lieutenant Brown to try and locate a family member as quickly as he could."

 

     "What kinda decisions?"

 

     "The doctor will apprise you of the situation," was all the chief would say.  He indicated to a passageway in the debris.  "It'll be a tight fit, but I think you can shimmy on through.  If you had much girth to you, we'd have a problem.  And whatever you do, don't grab a hold of anything.  Just let your body slide down.  If you start clawing for a hand-hold you're likely to bring a ton of bricks down on top of you and everyone else."

 

     Rick nodded his understanding and waited impatiently while the chief yelled to his men that the victim's brother was on his way down.  The detective handed his hat and field jacket to Town. 

 

     "Be careful down there," Town instructed for lack of knowing what else to say.

 

     Rick gave a tiny nod.  "I will be."

 

     The long legged investigator dropped to his butt and gingerly eased his feet through the narrow opening.  The fire chief hooked his hands underneath Rick's armpits to prevent him from sliding into the basement in an uncontrolled tumble.  Rick wriggled and shifted like an earthworm disappearing into a snug hole, until the only part of him left to be seen was his shoulders and head.  Chief Guverez released his arms, allowing Rick to slowly descend the rest of the way on his own.

 

     The fire chief's concerns regarding Rick's body spilling into the basement, and bringing along with it a shower of debris, were unfounded.  The detective actually had to work at navigating his legs and trunk over and around haphazard piles of brick and metal.  The area surrounding him was dim and hazy, in the same way a city is on a morning when the air is filled with too much smog from the smoke stacks of factories and the exhaust systems of cars.  Powdered dust continuously floated downward like a fine, wet mist.   The gray dust clung to Rick's face, hair, and clothes. It worked its way into his nose and down his throat causing him to sneeze twice.  By the time he reached what once had been the basement's floor his hands and forearms were dotted with cuts and scrapes. Through the haze, Rick could vaguely make out huddled figures on the other end of the wide room.  Shafts of sunlight were more prominent in that area, and there was a larger opening through which firemen passed up buckets of debris.

 

     Despite the need to rush to his brother's side, Rick carefully picked his way over mounds of bricks.   He felt like an unskilled rock climber, and all-too-soon his back ached in protest of the hunched position he was forced to maintain while slowly progressing toward the firemen. 

 

     Rick's eyes briefly cast to the destruction surrounding him.

 

     It's a miracle they were even able to find A.J. down here.  Oh, God, please don't let anyone else be buried alive underneath all this.  It'll take days...probably even weeks, before it can all be cleared out.  By then it'll be too late.  Don't put anyone else's family through this kind of heartache.

 

     Rick forced his mind clear of all despair and continued his journey.  It took him five long minutes to reach his brother's side.

 

     Men surrounded A.J. to the point, that at first, Rick couldn't even see him.  The firemen were issuing instructions to each other while working to clear massive amounts of rubble away from the blond detective.  Just as Chief Guverez said, the men would no more than remove one brick before another would tumble into its place.  A black man dressed in blue jeans and a red oxford shirt, whom Rick guessed to be the doctor the fire chief had mentioned, was bent over A.J.'s head in an effort to protect him from the falling elements.

 

     Because of the piles of debris and the men frantically working to clear it, Rick was forced to crawl the last few feet.  A.J.'s head was turned away from him, and his eyes were closed.  Blood seeped from a cut by his mouth, and from another jagged line that ran across the middle of his forehead.  Just like it did Rick, a film of gray dust covered A.J.'s hair, face, and clothes, in much the same way fine dust covers the body and clothes of a coal miner. Someone had loosened A.J.'s tie and undone the first three buttons on his shirt to offer him a clearer airway.  One of the fireman's coats had been draped over his upper torso, in what Rick guessed was an effort to combat shock.  The collar of the dress shirt that had been a crisp, starched white when A.J. left the office, was now stained a murky, gray-red where mortar, soot, and blood had mixed together.  A blood pressure cuff loosely encircled A.J.'s right biceps, and an IV line had been started by one of the paramedics or the doctor, Rick wasn't sure which.  The needle was inserted in a vein in the blond detective's left arm, while a clear bag of fluid rested above his head on a haphazard shelf of bricks created by the explosion.

 

     A.J.'s upper body seemed to have landed unscathed for the most part. It was his lower body that was buried under mounds of bricks, and as Chief Guverez had stated, his legs were trapped under a fallen refrigerator big enough to hold a week's worth of food for the San Diego Chargers.

 

     The doctor glanced in Rick's direction as he came to hunker uninvited by his side.  He assumed Rick was another firefighter until he saw the fear and concern in the eyes that traveled the length of A.J.'s body.

 

     "I'm his brother,"  Rick said.

 

     The man nodded.  Although in this cramped space it was hard to discern for certain, Rick guessed the doctor to be A.J.'s height, though about fifteen pounds heavier than his brother.  His forearms and biceps were thick and powerful, as though weight lifting was his main form of exercise.  Not a speck of hair was to be seen on his ebony skull, leading Rick to the conclusion that, for whatever reason, the man shaved his head on a regular basis.  A neatly trimmed goatee circled his mouth and covered his chin, and in his right ear he wore a small, gold hoop earring making him look more like the captain of a pirate ship than a doctor.  A gold chain circled his dark throat, along with the earpieces of a stethoscope.

 

     "Noel Evans," the black man introduced.  "I'm a surgeon at Memorial Hospital.  I just happened to be in this area when the explosion occurred.  I've been down here with A.J. almost from the time they found him."  

 

     "Thanks," Rick readily spoke his gratitude to the man he estimated was somewhere near his own age.  "I appreciate that.  I know this is a pretty dangerous place to be right now."

 

     The doctor gave a little snort.  "I've been in worse.  This is nothin' compared to some of the places I found myself in about fifteen years ago."

 

     Rick didn't even have to ask what the man was referring to.  Somehow, he instinctively knew.  "Nam."

 

     The doctor threw the detective a sidelong glance while reaching down to take A.J.'s pulse.

 

     "Yep, Nam.  I was an Army medic with the 5th division, 1968 and '69."

 

     "Marine Corps.  Sergeant.  '67 to '71."

 

     "Four years," the black man stated with appreciation as he laid a light hand on A.J.'s chest to gauge his rate of respiration.  "That's a helluva long time to spend in-country.  But then, you Marines always were gluttons for punishment.  Either that, or you were fools."

 

     Despite the gravity of the situation, Rick smiled.   He knew A.J. couldn't be in better hands.  "I've been accused of both a time or two."  Rick’s smile left him as his eyes fell back on the still form of his brother.  "How is he?"

     The doctor had to raise his voice in order to be heard over the ever-increasing shouts of the frenzied firemen.  "His pulse is thready, as is his respiration.  He's in shock, but as to the extent of his injuries at this time I can only guess.  He keeps drifting in and out of consciousness, which could mean anything from a concussion, to a broken skull, to internal injuries.  He has been lucid enough at times to tell me his name and answer questions for me, which is a positive sign.  But, as you can tell, I'm at a disadvantage right at the moment in terms of properly accessing his condition.  The IV I've got him on is to combat the shock and keep him well hydrated.  I wanted to put him on oxygen just to help him out a little bit, but the firemen have concerns about having a tank of it down here.  Especially since they don't yet know what caused the explosion."

 

     Rick nodded his understanding.      

 

     The doctor gingerly scooted back and away from A.J.'s head.  "Let's switch positions.  I'd like to see if the sound of your voice will rouse him.  I can work with him more effectively if he's conscious and can answer my questions."

 

     Mindful of the fact that the doctor was unsure as to just what type of injuries A.J. had sustained, Rick came to rest on his knees at his brother's head.  Gently, he laid his right hand against the side of A.J.'s face that was exposed to him.  As he suspected it would be, the skin was cold and clammy to his touch.  "A.J.!" He called over the noise around him.  "A.J., it's Rick!  A.J., come on, wake up.  A.J.!"

 

     Rick had to repeat himself three times before he finally saw a faint reaction from his brother.  A.J.'s head moved slightly, as though he wanted to turn his face completely upward, and his pale lashes bobbed as he fought to open his eyes.

 

     Rick's thumb moved in a soothing caress over his brother's cheekbone.  "A.J., come on!  Wake up now."

 

     Again, Rick could feel A.J. trying to move his head.  Mindful of the range of injuries the doctor spoke of, from concussion to fractured skull, the detective exerted a minute amount of pressure with his hand in order to prevent A.J. from making such a movement.

 

     "Don't try to move, A.J.," Rick ordered.  "I just want you to open your eyes and talk to me.  Come on!"  Rick coaxed again.  "Open your eyes, little brother."

 

     A few more long seconds passed before A.J. was finally able to comply with Rick's request.  His glazed eyes traveled the limited area he was able to view, as though in search of the brother who had been beckoning him.  His confused query came out in a raspy, weak croak as if his throat was crying out for water.  "Rick?"

 

     Again, Rick's thumb moved back and forth over his brother's cheekbone.  "Yeah, A.J.  I'm right here."

 

     Rick shifted position just enough so A.J. had a clear view of him without moving his head.  "Dr. Evans is still here with you, too.  He wants to ask you a few questions."

 

     A.J.'s quiet, "Okay," at least indicated to Rick he was lucid enough to understand what had just been said.

 

     The doctor's movements were gentle and cautious as he first listened to A.J.'s heart and lungs, then took his blood pressure.  Rick knew this gentleness was in part because the man was only guessing as to the full extent of A.J.'s injuries, and in part because a careless move, even of slight proportions, could rain further debris down on top of them.    

 

     The doctor stuffed the stethoscope back in his shirtfront, then laid probing fingers on A.J.'s pelvic bone.  Rick moved his hands from A.J.'s face to his shoulders in a tender offer of support and encouragement. 

 

     Dr. Evans's hands traveled from the waistband of A.J.'s slacks, all the way up to his neck.  He pressed and prodded while continuously asking his patient if any of those movements hurt him.  Although he never cried out in pain, A.J. sucked in several sharp breaths as his abdomen was probed, and then again when the doctor came to his chest.

 

     The doctor kept his tone light. "A little tender in some spots, huh?"   

 

     A.J. responded with a breathless, "Yes."

 

     Rick's eyes flicked to Dr. Evans, but the man's face remained expressionless as he continued his examination. 

 

     When the doctor touched A.J.'s right wrist he received another acknowledgment of pain, this one a sharp cry of, "Ow!" 

 

     The man's eyes finally met Rick's.  "As I've suspected since I first came to his aid, his wrist is broken.  And possibly his forearm as well."

 

     "What about the other stuff?  The pain he had when you touched his stomach and chest?  Does that mean he's got internal injuries or bleeding?"

 

     "It could mean that.  Or it could simply be severe bruising.  We'll know more once we get him to the hospital, of course."

 

     The doctor's attention focused itself on A.J. once again.  He had to beckon loudly to the detective whose eyelids kept blinking heavily, in much the same way the eyelids of a young child blink when it's long past bedtime. 

 

"A.J.!...A.J.!" 

 

     The black man looked to Rick.  "You try."

 

     Rick nodded and his concerned gaze fell to his brother's pale form.  "A.J.?  A.J., come on!  We're not done yet.  A.J.!"

 

     Rick's voice had the desired effect.  The blond man struggled to open his eyes for his brother. 

 

     "A.J.," Dr. Evans said,  "I need you to tell me where else you hurt aside from your abdomen, chest, and wrist."

 

     The doctor and Rick both leaned closer to hear the mumbled reply.  "My head."

 

     Rick's palm came to rest once again on the side of A.J.'s face and he quietly joked, "That's what happens when you decide to spend the day layin' in a bed of bricks, A.J."

 

     A.J. couldn't see Rick with his left eye because of the position he was lying in, but his right eye traveled upward until he could view the familiar moustache and the mouth underneath it that was trying hard to smile.  A.J.'s reply was dry and full of as much humor as he could muster.  "It wasn't exactly my choice," he weakly quipped.  "And next time?"

 

     "Yeah?"

 

     "I think it's your turn to go out and get us lunch."

 

     A.J. didn't notice the sudden change of expression that erased Rick's smile, nor did he seem to notice Rick's uncharacteristic lack of response to the brotherly teasing.  Pain and fatigue had caused the blond man's eyes to drift closed once more.

 

     Dr. Evans glanced down at the working firemen.  He didn't see how they were going to get the refrigerator off his patient's legs without bringing in some type of equipment to aid in their excavation.  Aside from the fact that it was dangerous for every one of them to be down here, the doctor had concerns regarding the lack of blood flow making its way to A.J.'s legs.