IN THE LINE OF DUTY

 

 

*In The Line Of Duty was written to explain, within the world of fan fiction, Marlowe’s sudden disappearance from the show between the sixth and seventh seasons of Simon and Simon.

 

 

By: Kenda

 

     Rick Simon was awakened Thursday morning by a slobbery tongue licking his right hand. Lifting his head off the pillow, Rick opened one eye to see Marlowe sitting beside his bed. The detective patted the large dog on the head while yawning.

 

"You wanna go outside, boy?"

 

     Marlowe gave an enthusiastic bark in response to the question he was asked every morning at this time.

 

     Rick rolled out of bed, smiling at the old dog who lumbered on ahead of him, making his way to the sliding glass doors in the houseboat's living room. Rick opened those doors instructing, "Go on, Marlowe." He watched as the dog trudged to the dock, and from there, crossed to the grassy area surrounding the marina's parking lot.

 

     Rick stood for a few minutes in the doorway, taking pleasure at the sight of Marlowe chasing a butterfly.

 

Well, maybe chasing isn't exactly the word, Rick thought as he watched his dog.

 

     Rick and Marlowe had been together thirteen years now, and Rick could tell those years were starting to show on the dog. Thirteen was relatively old for a dog, especially a big dog, the vet had told Rick the last time Marlowe was at his office. At that time, Rick had been informed by the doctor that the loss of hearing Marlowe was experiencing, and the eyesight that just wasn't quite as sharp as it once was, was not unusual. Not to mention that the old dog was troubled with arthritis, Rick noted, as he caught sight of Marlowe trying to run after the pesky butterfly in a slow, awkward gait.

 

     Rick slid the screen door shut as he stepped back into his boat, leaving Marlowe to his early morning fun.

 

"What a beautiful day," the detective said, taking notice of the sun coming up over the water, and the temperature that was already in the high seventies at only six forty-five.

 

     "How come every time A.J. and I are gonna be stuck in a stupid courtroom all day, it's on a gorgeous day like this? Just once you'd think it could pour rain when we have to be stuck inside." Rick took a sip of coffee, then continued his one-side monologue. "Oh, well, this case should be wrapped up today. Now if this weather just holds out through the weekend, things will be shaping up to look pretty damn good."

 

     Rick smiled as he reached into the refrigerator for the carton of eggs, his mind on the upcoming weekend.

 

     Carlos had stopped by the boat two weeks ago, bringing the news that all the members of the old motorcycle gang he and Rick used to run with had finally been located.  All the men were willing and eager to attend the reunion Carlos had planned as soon as a date could be set. The forty-four year old Rick hadn't seen some of these men since he was nineteen. He was excited over at the prospect of reuniting with them for a weekend of fun. Carlos quickly organized the get-together.  Everyone involved would be meeting on motorcycles at one of the car washes he owned, and from there they’d spend three days cruising the California highways by day, and camping by night.

 

     Rick still shook his head in wonder as he thought of how much they had all changed. Ironically enough, he wasn't the only one who had to borrow a motorcycle for this trip.  Three other men had to as well, or so Carlos had informed him.

 

     As Rick poured his scrambled eggs into the skillet, he recalled with great amusement how rugged he and this group of boys thought they were. He laughed now, and had to admit that by the standards of 1988, they really weren't much of a gang - nor the tough guys they had tried so hard to be. Basically, they had just been ten teenage boys who all owned motorcycles, and had all known Carlos in one way or another. They came from a mixture of racial backgrounds, as well as economic ones. Rick was probably the most privileged of the boys when it came to his upper middle-class background. They carried no weapons, didn't mix it up with other gangs, and didn't even have a name for themselves. They were just, ‘the gang,’ - a group of boys who enjoyed getting together and riding their motorcycles around San Diego, and later, once they were out of high school, down into Mexico. 

 

     Rick popped two pieces of bread into the toaster while recalling that this group of young men he had enjoyed spending time with had started to drift apart when he was around nineteen or twenty. A couple of them, like Carlos, had gotten married.  One went to college, one moved to Nevada, and over the next few years, several of them were drafted and called to serve in Vietnam. By the time Rick had come home from Nam in 1971, the gang had long since disbanded and the weekend motorcycle trips were a thing of the past.

 

     But now, for old times sake, Carlos had managed to get everyone together again.

 

Well, almost everyone, Rick thought with regret. Paz had been dead for seventeen years now, having lost his life in Vietnam. Another young man who had ridden with them, a cousin to Carlos, had died of cancer three years earlier. So, of the original ten, eight were left.  Three were arriving from out-of-state, one from as far away as North Carolina.

 

     "What a mixture of different goals and professions we've all turned out to have and achieve," Rick said as he poured a glass of orange juice. "Carlos owns seven car washes. Tom's a garbage man. Mike owns a restaurant. Hector's a mechanic. Juan's a schoolteacher. Tim's a Baptist minister, which is pretty hard to believe, and Bill's nothin' but a bum like he always was. I bet our mothers didn't think any of us would be half as successful as we are. I know mine sure didn't. I think I gave Mom most of her gray hair in the three or four years I ran with that group of guys."

 

     Rick smiled as he remembered the numerous lectures and warnings Cecilia had issued during those turbulent teenaged years.

 

"I don't care that you boys aren't breaking any laws, people will judge you by the company you keep, Rick." Or, "When people see a gang of kids on motorcycles like that, Rick, it makes them nervous, even if you aren't doing anything wrong." Or, "All it takes is for one boy to get the idea that doing something wrong is fun, then the next thing you know you'll all be following him and doing wrong, too, just like a flock of sheep."

 

     But somehow, over time, Rick's mother had come to terms with his friends and their passion for motorcycle riding. Maybe in part because he did prove to her, through his actions, that they weren't breaking any laws and had no intentions to. That they were just a group of guys that enjoyed getting together and riding their cycles. By the time Rick was eighteen the lectures had pretty much stopped. Cecilia even consented on occasion to A.J. riding along behind his brother now and then, in order to spend a day with Rick and his gang as they took in the sights and sound of San Diego.

 

     Rick's mind came back to the present when Marlowe barked outside the screen door. He padded over to the door to let the big dog inside. As Marlowe walked past him, Rick commented, "Somehow I knew you'd be back in before breakfast was served."

 

     Rick crossed to the galley and snared the slices of bread from the toaster, then filled his plate with eggs. Marlowe followed his master, watching as Rick put the eggs that were left in the skillet, along with one slice of toast, in his dog dish.

 

     Repeating a daily ritual, Rick said, "Go on, Marlowe, those are for you," and indicated to the dog's dish with a wave of his hand.

 

     Rick had barely started eating his own breakfast before Marlowe was sitting beside the table, looking up at him.

 

     "You’re finished already? Well, you'll just have to be satisfied with what you had, boy, 'cause the rest is mine. There's plenty of dog food in that dish if you're still hungry."

 

     Rick chuckled as Marlowe looked at him with an expression that seemed to say, "Yes, Rick, I know that, but that's dog food. I want people food."

 

     Carrying on a one-sided conversation with his dog, as he often did in the mornings over breakfast, Rick asked, "Hey, Marlowe, how'd you like to spend the weekend at A.J.'s? Does that sound like fun?"

 

     Marlowe gave a bark that Rick took to mean, "Yes."

 

     Shaking his head fondly, Rick reached out and petted his dog.

 

"You really are something else, you know that? You've sure been a good dog all these years." Rick scratched the dog behind his ears. "Yeah, you like it at A.J.'s, don't ya,’ boy? A.J. likes you, too, you know. Well...he tries to hide that fact sometimes, but he doesn't have us fooled, does he?"

     Marlowe barked once again while wagging his tail.

 

     "Yeah, I happen to know he feeds you hamburger whenever you're there, and he lets you sleep on the foot of his bed, too, doesn't he?"

 

     Getting up from the table, Rick began clearing away his breakfast dishes. Rick maneuvered around his big dog as he put his skillet in the sink and began running dishwater. Stepping over Marlowe so he could wipe off the stove and countertops Rick commented, "Now if A.J. says you can stay with him this weekend, you behave yourself. If he has a lady there, you make yourself scarce, you understand?"

 

     Marlowe barked one more time, as if to say, "Sure, Rick, no problem. I'll behave myself."

 

     Rick bent down to give the dog one final pat on the head.

 

"Yeah, you're a good old dog." Glancing up at the clock, Rick informed his pet, "I better get my butt movin.' A.J.'ll be here at quarter after eight and I gotta shower and shave yet." With that said, Rick hurried to accomplish the remainder of his kitchen chores. 

 

Marlowe retreated to the living room while Rick got ready for work.  He lay down in front of the screen doors to enjoy the cool breeze coming in off the ocean.  Thirty minutes later the old dog barely woke from his morning nap when Rick stepped over him, exited the boat, slid the heavy glass doors shut, and locked them. The dog opened one eye when he heard Rick’s muffled, “Bye, Marlowe.” 

 

Marlowe watched Rick walked down the dock, then yawned, stretched, rolled over on his side, and fell back to sleep.

 

 

S&S      S&S      S&S      S&S      S&S       S&S

 

     At three o'clock that afternoon the Simon brothers were walking out of a courtroom with an attorney on one side of them, and Lieutenant Abigail Marsh on the other. They fought their way through the press, declining to make any comments while heading for the long corridor. As the brothers stood leaning against the wall, talking further to the attorney, a man in handcuffs was led out of the courtroom they had just exited. Face set in cold fury, the man lunged at the Simons, but was held firmly on each side by a uniformed police officer. Turning back to glare at Rick and A.J., the man yelled, "You'll pay for this, you nosy sons-of-a-bitch! You'll both pay! You'll be sorry you ever stuck those ugly faces where they don't belong!"

 

     The Simon brothers just looked at one another and shrugged.

 

"Hey, A.J., how many threats does that make since we’ve opened Simon and Simon?"

 

     "I don't know. I kind of lost count after we reached one hundred."

 

     The two brothers grinned as the lawyer standing with them observed all this with a shocked expression. "Aren't you guys even a little concerned about all that?" The attorney asked.

 

     A.J. looked at the man who had been their client's lawyer, as well as a college acquaintance of the youngest Simon’s.

 

"Dennis, if we had a nickel for every time someone's threatened us like that in the past eight years, Rick and I would both be rich men today. It's not a big deal - just comes with the territory."

 

     Rick grinned. "Yeah, and besides, every time one of these guys decides to make good on his threat, it's A.J.'s French doors that suffer, not us. That's why I finally had to get my own place. I got sick of getting little pieces of glass in my feet whenever some thug would shoot a bullet through ‘em, or throw a brick through ‘em, or even throw one of us through ‘em.”

 

     A.J. shot his brother a dirty look.

 

"Yeah, that's right. It always is my French doors. You've got patio doors now. I think I'm going to start giving these guys your address, big brother."

 

     The attorney shook his head. "I wouldn't take this one so lightly, guys. Gillmore was involved in some hard-core drug dealing. He has some nasty looking friends if you ask me."

 

     "Yeah, I'll say,” Rick agreed.  “That guy who's been sittin' behind him all week is built like King Kong, and seems to be about as rotten tempered, too."

 

     "Yes, I noticed,” the lawyer saod grimly. “And that wasn't a friend, Rick, that was his brother."

 

     "Don't worry about it, Dennis,” A.J. dismissed.  “We were only hired by the guy's wife to follow him around for a divorce proceeding.  It's not like we knew he was a drug dealer before any of this and were out to get him. We just kind of stumbled onto that part. Once he's had. . .oh, say three or four years to cool off in prison, he'll understand that."

 

     "All right, whatever you guys say,” Dennis conceded while Rick laughed at his brother’s words.  “You're the ones who deal with this kind of thing all the time, not me."

 

Dennis held out his right hand to Abby. "Lieutenant Marsh, thank you for all your help."

 

Turning to Simon brothers, the lawyer then shook hands with each of them "A.J., it was good seeing you again.  Take care of yourself. Rick, it was nice meeting you."

 

     The brothers said their good-byes as the lawyer turned to leave the building. He got about halfway to the door before turning around again. "Hey, guys, just watch your backs for a while!  You don't want to find King Kong waiting for you in a dark alley."

 

     Rick and A.J. laughed as they replied, "Okay," and "Yeah, sure."

 

     Abby was engaged in a conversation with a young police officer who had approached her while they were saying good-bye to Dennis. As the brothers waited for Abby, Rick turned to his sibling.

 

"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Can Marlowe stay at your place this weekend?"

 

     "I thought you said your neighbor would let him out and feed him for you like she did last year when we went on that fishing trip."

 

     Rick loosened his tie and undid the top button on his white dress shirt. “She was, but when she came over the other night to get things squared away with me, Marlowe growled at her and wouldn't let her near him. I kinda hate to ask her to do it now. I'm afraid he might bite her, or run off on her or something."

 

     "That doesn't sound like Marlowe - growling at someone like that.”

 

     “Ah,” Rick shrugged his shoulders, "he's kinda been that way on and off for the last year. He can hardly hear any more, and I know he doesn't see very well, either. He's just gettin' old and confused, I guess."

 

     "Much like his master," A.J. commented dryly.

 

     “Ha, ha,” Rick said in response to the teasing remark. "Will you keep him for me? You're gonna be around, aren't you?"

     "Yeah, I'll be around. I've got a date on Saturday night, and I might go sailing Sunday afternoon, but other than that I'll be home. Go ahead, bring him on over."

 

     "Thanks, A.J. Is it okay if I drop him off tonight?"

 

     A.J. leaned over the water fountain he was standing next to, taking a drink before answering with, "That's fine. What time are you guys leaving tomorrow?"

 

     "We're supposed to meet at the car wash at eight. We decided that as long as we were all able to get Friday off work, that we wanted to make the most of our free time." Rick took a drink at the fountain, too, then straightened up. "I'm going to Carlos's cousin's tonight about six-thirty to borrow his cycle, so if it's all right with you, I'll drop Marlowe off on my way there. I'm gonna leave my truck with Jose¢ and ride the cycle back to the marina tonight. I don't think Marlowe would do too well ridin' behind me, so I better drop him off at your place first."

 

     "That's fine. I'll be home." Suddenly remembering something Rick had mentioned weeks earlier, A.J. asked, "Didn't you say you wanted to borrow my sleeping bag for this trip?"

 

     Looking like a little kid whose hand has been caught in the cookie jar, Rick stammered, "Uh...yeah, A.J., I did. I...uh...got it already. I stopped by the house on Tuesday night but you weren't home, so I kinda let myself in and borrowed it then."

 

     "Rick, how can you borrow something if you don't ask first?"

 

     "To tell ya’ the truth, pretty easily.  Just takes a key to your house. And, if I forget that at home, I can always use my lock picks, or a credit card, or—“

 

     "You know, someday you're actually going to ask me before you take something of mine, and when that day comes, I swear I'll have a heart attack."

 

     Rick smiled. "Well, I sure wouldn't want you to have a heart attack, little brother, so maybe it would be in your health's best interest if I don't ask first."

 

     A.J. shot his brother a look of annoyance, then changed the subject.

 

"What happened to your sleeping bag anyway?"

     "Let me give you a little advice, kid. If you ever take the Sylvia triplets on a camping trip, make those girls bring their own sleeping bags.  Don't let all three of them share yours. Sleeping bags just weren't made for four people."

 

     A.J. rolled his eyes and groaned. "I had to ask, didn't I?"

     The police officer Abby was talking to had walked away during the course of the brothers' conversation. That action allowed Abby to hear the end of it.

 

     "So, little Ricky’s going on a camping trip this weekend."

 

     "That's right, Abby,” A.J. said, “Little Ricky and his old motorcycle gang are having a reunion this weekend."

 

     Abby looked the older Simon up and down.

 

"Gee, I wonder why it doesn't surprise me to find out that Ricky was a member of a motorcycle gang in his long-ago youth."

 

     "It's Rick, Abigail, not Ricky," the older man informed the lieutenant. "And A.J.'s exaggerating.  We weren't really a gang, we were just a group of guys who liked hanging out together and ridin' around on cycles."

 

     "That's a gang, Rick," Abby said dryly.

 

     "Abigail, it's no wonder you and my mother are friends. You sound just like her," Rick said with disgust. Shrugging, he added, "We were just a group of guys who had some good times together for a few years.  There was nothing more to it than that."

 

     "Except for that time all of you ended up in jail," A.J. pointed out.

 

     With a knowing smile, Abby nodded.  "Oh, now the truth comes out."

 

     "Hey, we were innocent!" Rick protested. "And besides, little brother, you were in jail with us if I remember right."

     Abby turned exaggerated wide-eyes on A.J.

 

"The Golden Boy has a juvenile record? The former Little League star?  Prom king? Senior class president?  Goodness, A.J., when this hits the papers you'll have to leave town."

 

     A.J. shook his head in exasperation at the teasing. "Very funny, Abby." Then thinking further of all the lieutenant had just said, he asked, "Exactly what do you and our mother talk about when you get together?"

 

     "Oh, that's our little secret," Abby informed the brothers smugly. "Now come on, I want to hear about this perfectly innocent arrest. That's one thing your mother never has mentioned."

 

     "That doesn't surprise me considering how mad she was over the entire affair."

 

     Rick laughed. "Oh boy, was she ever." Leaning back against the courthouse wall, Rick told Abby the story.

 

"One summer night when I was nineteen, this group of guys and I were out riding around the city.  We were taking in the sights, enjoying the weather - you know, just hangin' out. Mom had let A.J. come with me that night so he was riding behind me on my cycle. We had stopped at a diner that had carhops, so there we were, ten guys all around eighteen and nineteen years old, and A.J., who was a month short of turning fourteen. We were just eatin' some burgers, laughing and goofing around, but not bothering anybody or anything, when we were suddenly surrounded by three cop cars. A motorcycle gang had just gone on a rampage somewhere in the city, breaking into stores and causing a lot of trouble, and I guess we fit the general description.  Young kids on motorcycles, all of us but A.J. in black leather jackets, and all of us just hangin' out. So without really asking us any questions, the cops hauled us down to jail."

 

     A.J. began laughing now, as he recalled more clearly the events of that night.

 

"Remember, Rick, how that cop put me in the front seat with him, while you, and Carlos, and Tim, were in the back? All the way to the station, Abby, this cop is giving me a lecture on the evils of hanging out with boys so much older than myself, and how I wasn't too young to change my ways."

 

     Rick picked up the story there.

 

"Yeah, and the guy knew A.J. and I were brothers 'cause when they started loading us in cars I made it clear to this cop that my kid brother was to stay with me. So when the guy wasn't lecturing A.J., he’d turn around and lecture me on an older brother's responsibilities, and how I should be ashamed of myself for involving such a young boy in these kind of lawless activities. A.J. kept protesting and trying to tell the guy we were innocent, but he wouldn't listen. When we finally got to the station they put all of us in a jail cell except A.J., 'cause he was so young, I suppose. I remember the last thing I said to him was 'A.J., call Mom, but break it to her gently.'"

 

     Rick shook his head in disgust as he remembered that phone call. "So what does the little squirt do? When Mom answers the phone he says in this happy-go-lucky kinda voice, 'Hi, Mom, it's A.J. Rick and I are in jail. Can you come get us out?'"

 

     Abby couldn't help but laugh at Rick's words. She had heard A.J. use his innocent, little boy voice with Cecilia several times herself. She could just picture this scene in her mind as Rick went on to say over her laughter, "Man, I could hear Mom screaming through the phone, 'What! You're in jail!' and all I thought was, 'Way to go, A.J., that was real smooth.'"

 

     “What happened when your mother got there?”

 

     "By the time she and some of the other parents arrived, some witnesses had been brought in who said no, we weren't the boys who had been causin' the trouble, and then the waitresses at the diner were able to verify how long we had been there. The cops finally figured out there was no way we could have been clear across town at the same time we were eating hamburgers."

 

     "So I take it you guys were released to your mother with no further problems then," Abby stated.

 

     A.J. smiled. "Well, with no further problems from the police, but with big problems from Mom. She was so mad at us she wouldn't talk to Rick or me for three days."

     Confused, Abby asked, "Why? You were innocent."

     "According to Mom, that wasn't the point,"

Rick informed the woman. "The point was, number one, she always told me running around with a gang of boys like that would cause me trouble someday.

 

“Number two, having to come and get her sons out of jail was embarrassing, and humiliating, and she'd better never have to do it again, regardless of whether we were innocent or not.

 

“And number three, what kind of influence was I planning to have on my little brother? How could I even think of letting him do something with me that would get him hauled off to jail?

 

“A.J. kept trying to tell Mom it wasn't my fault, but she wouldn't have any part of it. She finally turned around and glared at him - he was sittin' in the back seat of the car while I got the honor of having to sit up front with her - anyway, I remember she yelled, 'Andrew, be quiet! I don't want to hear it! You're in trouble, too, mister, so just keep your mouth shut.'"

     Abby laughed while shaking her head.   "Well, evidently Cecilia finally got over it because I believe she's hauled your butts out of jail a few times since then."

 

     "Yeah, she got over it," A.J. agreed. "But Rick and I were sure walking on egg shells for a few days. Mom probably wasn't even mad by the second day. I think she was just milking it for all it was worth. Rick and I were cleaning the house, mowing the lawn, washing windows, cooking dinner - doing all kinds of things while trying to get back on her good side."

 

     "Your mother sure had you two wrapped around her little finger, doesn't she?" Abby questioned while picturing a nineteen- year-old Rick and thirteen-year-old A.J. trying to win back their mother’s favor by performing household chores.

 

     "Yeah, she did," Rick admitted as the trio walked toward the courthouse exit. “Actually, she still does.”

 

     Abby squinted when they stepped into the afternoon sunshine. "Well, if little Ricky's gang is back in town this weekend I suppose I'd better put some extra officers on patrol so the streets will be safe."

     "I don't think that's necessary,” A.J. smirked.  “At the most, all you're going to get is concerned citizens calling up saying, 'There's some very old men out riding motorcycles. Do you think that's a wise thing for men of their years to be doing? Especially the bald one with the cowboy hat. Isn't there some kind of law that prohibits elderly gentlemen from riding motorcycles?'"

 

     Abby laughed as Rick, who wasn't finding his brother humorous at all, grabbed A.J. in a headlock and dragged him toward the Camaro.

 

"See ya’, Abby!"

     A.J.  freed himself from Rick's hold and was straightening his tie as Abby reached her vehicle, which was parked three cars over from A.J.'s.

 

"You guys have a good weekend," she told the brothers. "Oh, and, Rick, be careful, okay? You are rather old to be riding a motorcycle all weekend. And I don't want to have to call your mother to come get you out from jail, either."

 

     Rick scowled at the lieutenant as he got into A.J.'s car.

 

“You and my brother are real comedians today, you know that, Abigail?"

 

Abby had no chance to respond before the Camaro’s engine roared to life.  She waved good-bye to the men, then climbed in her own car, never imagining that the next time she saw the brothers it would be at County General Hospital.

 

 

S&S      S&S      S&S      S&S      S&S       S&S

 

 

 

     A.J. was still teasing Rick about his age when the Simons arrived at the marina parking lot twenty minutes later.

 

As Rick got out of the vehicle he said, "Even though I hate the thought of leaving poor Marlowe with someone as incredibly insensitive as you are, I'll bring him over in a couple of hours."

     "That's fine. Oh, by the way, I don't suppose Marlowe has had a flea dip recently, has he?"

     Rick smiled and leaned back in the car window.

 

"As a matter of fact, you're in luck. Marlowe reminded me last night that if he was going tostay at your house, I'd better give him a flea bath, otherwise you'd be naggin' and itching all weekend."

 

     "It's a good thing Marlowe's smarter than his master then," A.J. returned as he backed the car out of the parking spot and headed toward his own home.

 

 

S&S      S&S      S&S      S&S      S&S       S&S

 

 

     Saturday morning A.J. was awakened by the same slobbery tongue licking his hand, that had woken Rick two days earlier. The dog was sprawled on the bed, across the lower part of A.J.'s legs.  Marlowe didn’t make an effort to get up or move until he saw the blond man begin to stir.

 

     A.J. patted the large head.

 

"Morning, Marlowe. You want to go out?"

 

     At that question Marlowe barked and jumped off the bed with so much enthusiasm he almost dumped A.J. on the floo. In fact, he probably would have dumped his surrogate master on the floor had A.J. not been expecting Marlowe's sudden movement. Friday morning the blond man had been tossed to the floor when Marlowe bounded off the bed.

 

     As A.J. followed Marlowe down the stairs, he noticed that the big dog was having trouble maneuvering the stairway. They made their way slowly to the kitchen door, A.J. giving the dog a massage on his hindquarters for moment when they arrived. 

 

"You poor old dog. Your arthritis is really bothering you today, isn't it?"

 

     Marlowe enjoyed the extra attention, then looked up at the door and barked.

 

     "All right,” A.J. opened the door to let the dog outside. "I get the hint.”

 

     The youngest Simon brother made coffee and poured himself a glass of juice, then went upstairs to the master bathroom. Walking back through the bedroom a few minutes later, he picked up the blue bathrobe that was lying across the foot of the bed. He put it on over his bare torso and pajama bottoms.

 

     A.J. returned to the kitchen.  He turned on the radio and began preparing his breakfast. Before he sat down to eat, he went to the door and called loudly for Marlowe. When the dog didn't appear several minutes and several calls later, A. J. walked through the living room.  He looked out the French doors to see if he could spot Marlowe anywhere.

 

     Seeing the animal in the canal, happily chasing ducks, A.J. opened the doors and stepped onto the deck.

 

"Marlowe!  Marlowe!"

 

     Marlowe still didn't hear him.  Sighing, A.J. rolled his pajama bottoms up to his knees, then walked barefooted across his small back lawn and waded into the canal. The water had reached his shins before the dog finally took notice of him. Upon seeing the blond, Marlowe left the ducks to their peace once again and ran over to A.J.  He shook the excess water off himself, giving the detective an unwanted shower with canal water.

 

     "Thanks a lot, Marlowe," A.J. said as he motioned for the dog to follow him.

 

     A.J. and the dog made their way to the back door of the garage.  A.J. padded across the cement floor to retrieve one of the towels he kept in a cabinet. Unfolding the towel, he called loudly, "Marlowe, come here!"

 

      Once Marlowe figured out where the sound was coming from, he lumbered over to A.J. The blond man knelt down to wipe the water and dirt off the dog's legs and feet, then wiped the dirt off his own bare feet.

 

     "You really are getting pretty deaf, aren't you, boy?" A.J. asked the dog, who wagged his tail in response.

 

Rick had warned his younger brother that he might have to go in search of Marlowe once he was let outside because the dog didn't always hear when he was called for. A.J. had therefore been careful these past two days, and kept a close eye on the dog whenever he let him out. The last thing the blond detective wanted was to have Marlowe disappear on him, or have something happen to the old dog when he was in A.J.'s care.

 

     A.J. had noticed, like Rick had, that Marlowe didn't see well anymore, either. The dog had walked into the refrigerator and several pieces of furniture more than once since Rick had dropped him off on Thursday night.

 

     A.J. threw the soiled towel into the washing machine. Giving the dog a final pat on the head, A.J. opened the door that would allowthem back into the house. 

 

"Come on, Marlowe, let's go eat breakfast. I even made you pancakes, you spoiled old dog."

 

 

S&S      S&S      S&S      S&S      S&S       S&S

 

 

     At six-thirty that same evening, A.J. was letting Marlowe in the house once again.  The man slipped into his suit coat and straightened his tie. As A.J. walked over to shut off the TV set, he had to step over the now slumbering dog. The detective turned a dim light on in a far corner of the den, then bent down and scratched Marlowe behind his ears.  The dog opened his eyes and look up at A.J.

 

     "Now you behave yourself while I'm gone, Marlowe. Don't mess up my house, you hear? I expect to find all the sofa cushions where they belong, and don't get into my magazine rack and shred the newspapers, or anything else that looks appealing. If you do, you'll find yourself sleeping in the garage tonight and not at the foot of my bed. Understand?"

 

     Marlowe gave a small, sad bark that seemed to say, "Okay, have it your way, A.J. You sure know how to ruin a dog's fun, though."

 

     With a final pat to Marlowe's head, A.J. stood.

 

"See you later, pal. Don't wait up."

 

 

 

S&S      S&S      S&S      S&S      S&S       S&S

 

 

     At two o'clock Sunday morning, A.J. silently shut his car door.  He carried his suit coat and tie over one arm, as he traversed the walkway to his kitchen door. The Grand Canal neighborhood was silent, all the houses dark, the residents long in bed by now.

 

     The blond man’s neighbors were quiet, sedate people.  A.J.’s and Rick's exploits were the only bit of pizzazz that brought occasional spice to the area. Of course, ever since Rick had moved to the marina, the exciting times A.J. provided had become fewer and farther between, and not quite as raucous as when his brother was in residence.

 

     As A.J. turned his key in the door he could hear Marlowe growling from somewhere in the house. Knowing that the old dog was probably confused as to where he was, A.J. opened the door while saying loudly, "It's all right, Marlowe! It's only me!"

     By the time the blond man realized there was something wrong, it was too late. Someone, some very large someone, was hiding behind the kitchen door. A.J. was grabbed from behind.  His coat and tie fell to the floor as his arms were pinned to his sides. As A.J. bucked his torso and tried to kick, two other large men appeared from the dark living room. The only thing A.J. knew as they descended on him was that he had never seen either one of them before, and that they both weighed in excess of two hundred and fifty pounds. A.J. noted that one was an inch or two shorter than himself, while the other was tall, maybe six foot four or five. A.J. knew the man holding him had to be at least that big, as well, if not larger.

 

     Over the sound of Marlowe's frantic barking, A.J. heard in his right ear, "My brother told you you'd pay, Simon. Well, payment's coming due right now, blondie."

 

     A.J. was dragged from the door and it was kicked closed by one of his assailants. Once the struggling detective was in the living room, his arms were held firmly behind him while the two men in front of him pounded his midsection with their fists. A.J. continued to struggle and put up the best fight he could, until   his knees went out from under him. At that point, the man behind A.J. simply tightened his grip on the detective, thereby supporting A.J.'s weight and keeping him in an upright position. Several minutes of this treatment caused A.J. to be gasping with pain and shock. He was positive the two men in front of him had already broken several of his ribs. He could only hope now, that a lung wouldn't be punctured, too.

 

     As the room started to spin, A.J. was aware of two things. Marlowe's frantic barking, although he wasn't sure where the dog was, and the voice of the man behind him.

 

"Oh, no, Simon, you aren't going to pass out on us yet. Our fun is only just getting started."

     With that, the man who was holding A.J. let go of him. The two men in front took hold of his arms and kept him upright. The big man behind A.J. then delivered three hard, fast punches to his kidneys, causing the detective to cry out in pain.

 

     The next few minutes were a blur to the blond as he drifted in and out of consciousness. At some point he was aware of being punched on both sides of his face several times, at another point he felt a fist land squarely in his stomach. All of a sudden, amidst Marlowe's growls and the conversations of his attackers, A.J. saw stars.  He lost consciousness without having any idea what had clipped him on the side of the head.

 

     "What'd you do that for?" The big man who had been hiding behind the kitchen door when A.J. entered the house asked the accomplice wielding a billy club. “I wanted him conscious when we killed him.”

 

     "The damn dog's makin' too much noise! We gotta get out of here. If you weren't such an animal lover I’d have killed the mut the minute we walked in the door. I told you tying him up was dumb."

 

     The brother of the man the Simons had helped put in jail on Thursday glanced at the frantic Marlowe.  They had tied the dog to the leg of the living room couch with a leash they had found in the kitchen.

 

"Listen, I don't have any beef with the dog. It isn't his fault he got stuck with these two nosy jerks for masters. I might just take this fella with me when we leave here.  He's a pretty protective old dog." With that, the man reached out to pet Marlowe.  Rick’s dog gave a vicious growl and lunged at A.J.’s attacker with teeth bared.

 

     As the man jerked his hand back, his buddies laughed. 

 

"Yeah, he’s protective of blondie, all right, but he sure doesn't like you, Chris."

 

     "Oh, shut up," Chris Gillmore replied. He shifted his attention to A.J., who was laying on his back the floor between the kitchen counter and the living room. The detective was moaning softly and rolling his head from side to side.

 

     "Guess you didn't hit him too hard after all, Jack. He's coming around, I think." Reaching down to grab A.J. under his arms, the man said, "Let's finish him off and get outta here."

 

     "What about his brother? I thought we were gonna get him tonight, too."

 

     Exasperated, the big man struggled to get A.J. to his feet.  He dragged the detective to the center of the living room.

 

"Well, whatta ya’ want me to do, Frankie? We went by his boat and he's not there. I'm not gonna spend all night running around San Diego looking for him, and there's too much activity going on around that damn marina for us to get him there."

 

Grabbing A.J. by the hair, Chris yanked the blond's head back. 

 

"Besides, big brother will show up for blondie's funeral. We'll have plenty of time to track him down then." Patting A.J.'s cheek, he informed the other two, "Poor ole’ big brother is gonna be so torn up over baby brother's death, he won't even be thinking of watching his own back."

 

     A.J. was aware enough at this point to know what was being said. He also knew he was being held in a kneeling position, the big man's hands underneath his arms. A.J.'s left eye was swollen shut, and he could just get his right one open far enough to see a gun being pointed at his chest. Despite the fact that A.J.'s head was pounding, his vision was blurry, his body was wracked with pain, and the room was spinning in three directions, the detective was dimly aware again of Marlowe's frantic growls and barking.

 

     A.J. could barely make out a man's finger on the trigger of a gun, but he knew it was there.  He could see the gun barrel being held ten inches from his chest. Over Marlowe's barks, A.J. could also hear the three men talking.  He knew the man holding the gun was talking to him, but he couldn't make out what was being said. He thought he might have heard, "Well, Simon, I guess this is it," but he wasn't sure.

 

     Just as quickly as it had all started when A.J. had walked through the kitchen door just fifteen minutes earlier, it was all over. A.J. wasn't sure in what order the following things happened, but they seemed to happen at the same time. The gun was pointed at his chest, a big blur flew in front of him, and the gun went off.

 

     "You shot the stupid dog!"

     "How'd he get loose?"

     "Don't worry about it, you got Simon, too! Look at him. If he isn't dead yet, he will be soon. Let's get outta here before the whole neighborhood wakes up."

     A.J., who without the support of someone holding him up, lay sprawled on the floor again. He was vaguely aware of what running over him and as they raced from the house. The detective remained where he was, semi-conscious, in too much pain to move. As time passed, A.J.'s awareness level increased somewhat, and he turned his head slightly, looking for Marlowe with his half opened right eye. With help from the dim light coming from the den, his fuzzy vision detected a large form lying next to him.  With his right hand A.J. reached out.  He encountered wet, sticky fur.

 

     Marlowe didn't make a sound as A.J. frantically moved his hand over the animal's body, trying to find the bullet wound. When he finally located it by nothing but feel, A.J. applied as much pressure as possible to the injury with the hope of stopping the bleeding. It wasn't easy. Aside from not being able to see clearly, A.J. couldn't move any closer to the dog without causing himself excruciating pain.

 

     Five minutes had passed, when once again A.J. felt himself drifting toward blackness. Right before he lost consciousness, A.J.'s grip on Marlowe tightened and he whispered, "I'm sorry, Marlowe. I'm so sorry."

 

S&S      S&S      S&S      S&S      S&S       S&S

 

 

     Rick looked at his watch as he pulled into his brother's driveway at nine-forty Sunday evening. He was wind burned, dirty, and tired, but he was smiling as he thought of the three days he had just spent with his old friends. Getting out of the truck, Rick grabbed A.J.'s sleeping bag from the back and made his way up to the kitchen door. Rick had told A.J. on Thursday evening if he got back before ten o’clock on Sunday night he'd stop by and pick up Marlowe.  Otherwise, if it was past ten before he returned, he'd get the dog after work on Monday.

 

     Rick knocked on the door several times, but received no answer. Past habits would have had him walking in without the formality of knocking, but A.J. had been on Rick's case ever since he had moved to the marina, in an effort to get his older brother to knock before entering his home.

 

     Rick looked in through the kitchen window, but could only see a faint light coming from the den. He didn’t spot A.J. in there watching TV, so assumed the blond was in the shower, or upstairs in his bedroom reading. Rick took a key to A.J.'s house out of his pocket and inserted it into the lock, only to discover the door was unlocked to begin with.

 

It's kinda strange that A.J. would leave the door unlocked if he's upstairs.

 

Rick paused a moment in the act of turning the knob, then shrugged his shoulders.  He walked in the kitchen, flipped on the light, and laid the rolled up sleeping bag on the floor.  His brows furrowed as he bent to pick up A.J.’s suit coat and tie. He’d never known his brother to throw clothes on the floor.  A.J. was so picky about the condition of his home that it was rare to find even a stray piece of mail laying around.

 

     Rick looked into the dark living room.  Three dining room chairs were knocked over, an easy chair on its side, and the couch was angled, as though someone had run into it.

 

     “Oh, Marlowe, what have you done now?”  The older man said while wondering where the naughty dog and his brother were. “Man, A.J.’s gonna be pissed at you when he sees the mess you’ve--”

 

     Rick’s monologue came to an abrupt halt as he walked into the living room to survey the damage. The man muttered, “Oh, my God,” when he caught sight of A.J. and Marlowe sprawled on the floor.

 

Rick ran the five steps it took him to get to A.J.'s side.  He knelt next his brother to feel for a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief upon finding one. Rick swiveled on his boot heels so he could reach the phone that resided on an end table. He punched in 911 and gave the dispatcher the necessary information.  When the call was completed, and Rick was certain an ambulance was on its way, he hung up the phone and ran to the kitchen.  He unrolled the sleeping bag and grabbing the blanket he had secured inside of it.

 

     Rick dashed back to A.J.'s side and threw the blanket over his legs and waist.  He unbuttoned his brother's torn and tattered shirt as gently as possible.  He reached up to turn on a lamp, then took in the bruises that covered A.J.'s midsection. He carefully probed A.J.’s ribs, frowning when he detected several broken ones. Rick put an ear over A.J.'s nose and mouth, and for a few moments just listened to his brother breathe. Although A.J. wasn't breathing as deeply as Rick thought he should be, he at least felt fairly positive that the broken ribs hadn't punctured a lung.

 

     As Rick pulled the blanket up to A.J.'s chest, he saw the bloodstain on the shirt sleeve of the blond's upper left arm. Rick unbuttoned the cuff of the shirt and rolled the sleeve up. A flesh wound from a bullet searing the skin was visible. Rick looked the arm over, then examined his brother’s right arm and both legs.  After doing so, Rick felt certain that A.J. had just been grazed, and that he hadn’t been shot anywhere else.

 

     It was after this initial first aid was given that Rick examined his brother's face.

 

"Oh, A.J., who did this to you, kid?" Rick questioned softly while examining the bruises and cuts around A.J.'s swollen eyes. Without moving A.J.'s head, Rick also examined the large gash that was high up on the right side of his brother's skull.

 

     "I'll kill 'em. I swear, A.J., I'll find the bastards who did this to you and I'll kill 'em."

 

     Rick turned his attention to Marlowe. He gasped as he laid his hand on the cold body of his beloved dog.

 

"Oh, Marlowe." Petting the dog's bloodstained coat, Rick whispered brokenly, "You poor old dog. You were such a good friend, Marlowe. Such a good, good friend."

 

     Rick turned to look at A.J., who was moaning weakly and lifting his right hand off the floor as though searching for something. It was then that Rick noticed the palm of A.J.'s hand was covered with blood. He lifted the hand, but didn't find any injuries - only dried blood and matted dog hair.

 

     "A.J., don't move," Rick instructed as he tucked A.J.’s arm beneath the blanket.

 

     A.J. rolled his head from side to side. Rick stopped the movement by placing his hands on both sides of the blond man’s face.

 

"A.J., it's Rick. Don't move, little brother. You lay here real quiet for me. The ambulance will be here in just a minute."

 

     "Rick?" Came the weak inquiry, as A.J. opened his right eye as far as he could and tried to focus on his brother.