The Power Of Love

 

By: Kenda

 

 

*The Power of Love is an intense adult drama.

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

            The man signaled the waiter by crooking two fingers.

 

            “Yes, sir?”

 

            “My friend and I would like wine with our meal.  The 1910 chardonnay.”

 

            The tuxedo clad waiter smiled.  “That’s a very wise choice, sir.  I’ll bring a chilled bottle immediately.”

 

            “Thank you.”

            The man’s companion arched an eyebrow.  The price of the wine that had just been ordered was excluded from the leather bound menu for a reason.  It was outrageously expensive, and not meant to be requested by someone for whom price was a concern.

 

            “That will make a dent in your pocketbook.”

 

            The smile of a contented cat danced across the man’s lips.  His companion, who knew him only as Wyatt, found it to be a fitting compliment to his pointed feline features.  Even Wyatt’s eyes were odd and cat-like, one a brilliant green, while the other a dull hazel streaked with flecks of gold.  The sandy gold hair on top of his head was shaved in a medium-length crew cut.  It was spiked straight up with hair gel, making one think of a kitten that had just bitten into an electrical cord.  The sides were buzzed to the skull military style, while the back fell long and full to his suit collar like a wide, bushy tail.   

 

            “Money is the least of my worries, Taylor.”  Wyatt said.  As though to emphasize that point, his right hand played with the band of the gold Rolex watch encircling his left wrist.  The gesture could have been an unconscious one, but his luncheon partner hardly thought so.  Everything Wyatt did was done deliberately, and for the benefit of his audience.

 

            The arrival of the wine interrupted further conversation.  The waiter uncorked the bottle and filled a globed goblet a quarter of the way.  He swirled the rich burgundy liquid three times, then handed the goblet to Wyatt.  The man took a long sip.  He passed it back to the waiter with a smile. 

 

            “Heaven.  Absolute heaven.”  Wyatt winked at his companion.  “Almost, though not quite, better than sex.”

 

            The waiter laughed politely at his patron’s joke.  He laughed at a lot of jokes throughout each working day that he didn’t find particularly amusing, simply because indulging his customers brought good tips.  The man refilled Wyatt’s glass, then filled one for Taylor.  The snow-white blond accepted it with a nod of thanks.

 

            “Your meals will be out shortly, gentlemen.  Is there anything else I can bring you before they arrive?”

            Wyatt shook his head.  “No.  This is fine.”

            The waiter moved off, leaving the pair to their private conversation.  The restaurant catered to wealthy men with busy schedules who bought, sold, and traded during their lunch hours.  It was rich with polished mahogany wood on the walls, and a floor so thick with ruby red carpeting that one felt like he was sinking in two feet of snow when treading across it.  Several sets of short stairways dotted the room’s main floor.  They led to levels that contained small alcoves for more secluded dining.  Like the alcove Wyatt and Taylor were sequestered in today. 

 

            Wyatt glanced down to the main floor below.  It was fifteen minutes after twelve.  The room was filled with black suits, briefcases, and the spicy odor of men’s cologne.   Conversation buzzed continuously like worker bees humming around a hive.  Here and there a woman sat eating while hashing out a business deal, but the fairer sex was few and far between.  At one point many years ago, when such things were still allowed, the Board Room didn’t permit women entrance.  Of course, that policy had long since been changed, but there still seemed to be an unwritten rule in place that kept most females away.  Or maybe they just didn’t feel comfortable in this place that was so obviously masculine with its dark wood, blue leather chairs, and imposing male waiters.  Whatever the reason, Wyatt didn’t think that was all bad.  A man had few sanctuaries any longer. A smart woman remembered her position in society.  There was nothing he hated worse than some power-hungry bitch in a suit.  The only place he wanted a hungry woman was in his bed.

 

            With a nod of his head, Wyatt indicated to a woman below them seated at a table with two men.  She was beautiful by anyone’s standards, with well-defined classic features, deep-set indigo eyes, and hair the color of Cherry Coke that cascaded past her shoulder blades in full, gleaming strands.

 

            “Bet ya’ fifty bucks the bitch is doin’ both a’ those guys. Even the black dude.”

            Taylor followed Wyatt’s gaze.  “Pardon me?”

            “That broad down there.  The one in the gray suit with legs like a gazelle.  She probably comes here at lunch to work out a deal, then seals it back at her office with her panties down around her ankles.”

 

            Taylor gave his companion nothing but a small smile.  “Perhaps.  Then again, perhaps not.”

 

            “Aw, Taylor, they’re all that way,” Wyatt laughed.  “Or at least they should be, huh, buddy?”

            Taylor didn’t deem a response necessary.  He quickly looked away when the woman flicked an upward glance in his direction.

 

            “Let’s talk business.”  Taylor shifted in his chair, turning his back on the people below.  “What do you have for me this month?”

 

            Wyatt eyed the plain gold band on his companion’s left ring finger.   The leather of his four hundred dollar Italian loafers softly creaked as he, too, shifted position.

 

            “Pardon me for being so blunt, but if I didn’t know better, Taylor, I’d think you were a fuckin’ queer.”

 

            “Oh really?  Why is that?”

            “Because we’ve been doing business together for almost a year now, and never once have you let me set you up with a lady when you come to visit me.”

 

            Taylor held up his left hand.  “I’m happily married.”

 

            “Oh, come on.  No one’s that happily married.”

            “I am.  But regardless, I didn’t fly all the way out here to talk about my personal life.  Or yours either, for that matter.  You know what I came here to discuss.”

 

            “Taylor, Taylor, Taylor,” Wyatt sighed with playful drama,  “haven’t you ever heard the old saying?  All fun and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

 

            It was as Wyatt was laughing at his own joke and reaching for the bottle of wine, that Taylor slipped an unseen hand into the pocket of his suit coat.  He flipped the switch on the small but powerful tape recorder.   He could faintly feel the vibrations of the whirling cassette against his thigh.   “My name isn’t Jack, and I’ve been accused of worse things than being dull.  So how about if we talk business.”

 

            “Okay, okay, have it your way.   Business it is.”

 

            Wyatt folded his hands, rested them on the table and leaned close. Taylor copied the posture.  When Wyatt spoke his tone was carefully hushed, but no matter, the tape recorder would pick up even the slightest whisper. 

 

            “I’ve got everything for you with the exception of the AK-47s.”

            “But that’s what my client desires most.”

 

            “I know that.  But I couldn’t get them this time.”

 

            Taylor’s features hardened.  There was no mistaking the fury contained in the tight sigh he released.   “Last time it was the Berettas, now the AK’s.  If you keep disappointing me like this, Wyatt, I may be forced to take my business elsewhere.”

 

            “No, no.  We don’t want you to do that.”

            “Who’s we?”

            “You know I can’t give you that information.”

 

            “Perhaps you should.  Perhaps if I talk to your boss, I’ll be able to stress to him the importance of the people you continuously upset.”

 

            Wyatt’s eyes flashed angry lightening streaks of green and gold.   “First of all he’s not my boss, he’s my partner.  And secondly, it’s not our intention to upset anyone.  The complete deal just didn’t come through this time.”

 

            Taylor leaned back in his chair.  He rested his chin between his thumb and forefinger, lost in thought while staring out at the bright San Diego sunshine.  It was a far cry from the dull winter sky and slushy snow he’d left behind at home in Maryland.

 

            Wyatt retained the pose he’d struck when they first began to talk.  He wasn’t aware that the sudden jiggling of his legs was shaking the table ever so slightly.  Or that his companion caught the way he nervously tugged at the cuffs of his black Armani suit coat. 

 

            Taylor kept his eyes focused on the window and hid his smile.

 

            A little nervous there, huh, Wyatt, old pal?    Afraid I’m gonna back out on the deal leaving you and your...partner, stuck with a hundred grand worth of illegal firearms.

 

            Taylor drew the anxiety out until their wine began to slosh in the glasses in a result of Wyatt’s movements.  His lips were set in a grim line when he turned to face the man. 

 

            “All right.  I’ll take what you have.  But tell your partner to can the bullshit.  I don’t like being chased all the way out here only to go home with half of what I was expecting.  My client will like it even less.  If it happens again, I’ll turn to other sources for my needs. “

 

            “It won’t happen again, I promise.  We’re working with some new guys.  There’s been a few glitches in the system.”

            “Then I’d advise you to work those glitches out and work them out soon.”

 

            Wyatt smiled like a cat who had just swallowed a canary.  He thought of the weighted body he’d dumped in the bay at two o’clock that morning after first putting a bullet in the man’s head.  He reached out a hand and patted Taylor’s arm right before their food arrived.

 

            “Don’t worry about it, Taylor, the problem’s been taken care of.”          Wyatt flicked out his red cloth napkin with the flourish of a victorious bullfighter, then laid it across the lap of his designer suit.  “Yes indeed, the problem has been taken care of.”

 

 

Chapter 2

 

            Charley O’s, across town from where the two men dined, was everything The Board Room wasn’t.  Bright with clean white walls, pale pink and beige were the predominate accent colors in the wallpaper and pictures.  No levels of varying heights offered alcoves for privacy. If you wanted that, you had to hurry to beat the lunch crowd and hope for a booth in the back.  Tables that sat four dotted the wide floor space.  Busy waitresses weaved in and out of the tables like skilled stunt drivers.  The women would laugh at the notion of tuxedoes. Instead, all were clad in white slacks, white tennis shoes, and pink sweatshirts that had Charley O’s stitched across the front in baby blue lettering.  Workmen, and a few women, sat at the coffee counter in uniforms that represented everything from the police department to the gas company.

 

            Rick and A.J. paused a few feet into the doorway.  They scanned the bustling area, and were just about to tell the hostess they needed seating for three, when someone hailed them from a corner booth. 

 

            The woman stood halfway up, waving a hand.  At five feet six inches tall she possessed a trim, athletic build.  Her thick hair was platinum blond, hanging to her jaw line in a blunt pageboy cut with bangs covering her forehead.  Her fair coloring was offset by bright eyes the same color blue as the sky on a cloudless day.  Over the din she called, “Rick!  A.J.!”

 

            The brothers headed toward their cousin, freeing the hostess to take care of the people behind them.

 

            The booth Linda Ecklund was seated in was wide and shaped like a crescent moon.   Rick slid in on her right, planting a kiss on her cheek.

 

            “Hi, sweetie.”

            A.J. slid in on his cousin’s left and kissed the cheek that remained untouched by his brother’s lips.  “Hi, Lindy.”  Between their coloring, and the fact they both heavily favored the Simon side of the family, A.J. and the woman could have passed for brother and sister. 

 

            “Hi, guys.  How are you?”

 

            A.J. smiled.  “Fine.”

 

            “As ornery as ever,” Rick replied.  “A.J. I mean.  Me, I’m just my usual charming self.”

 

            Linda laughed at the teasing Rick had rained on A.J. for as long as she could remember - and at the look of mock disgust A.J. threw his brother that had also been going on since childhood.

 

            Linda, or Lindy as her father had christened her shortly after birth, was the eldest daughter of Jack Simon’s sister Joan.  She had a brother a year older than Rick, and two sisters younger than A.J., one by two years, the other by three.  Linda herself fell in-between the private detectives in age.  As a child she’d played with, and fought with, Rick and A.J. just as much as she’d played and fought with her own siblings.  Though she still resided in San Diego, Linda rarely saw her cousins outside of the family reunion held each July, and when her holiday obligations allowed, the Christmas Eve party A.J. faithfully hosted each December.  But that didn’t mean she’d ever lost the warm feeling she carried inside for both men. 

 

            Talk among the trio centered on family gossip while they studied menus, then, placed their order.  Rick and A.J. shared glances after the waitress left.  In that brief exchange they agreed to allow their cousin to lead the course of the conversation.  She had called them at the Simon and Simon office the previous afternoon, sounding on the verge of tears.

 

            A.J. had answered the phone on the second ring.           “Simon and Simon Investigations.”

 

            “A.J., it’s Lindy.”

 

            A grin lit A.J.’s face and brightened his voice.  “Lindy!  Hi!”

 

            The blond had indicated for Rick to pick up the phone on his desk.

 

            “Hey, kiddo,” Rick greeted into the receiver.  “Long time no see.”

 

            “Hi, Rick.  Listen, guys, I’m calling from work so I can’t really talk.  What I need is to schedule an appointment with you.”

            “An appointment?”  A.J. echoed.   “Is this business?”

            There was an unsteady quiver behind Linda’s tone.  “Yes, A.J.  Yes, it is.”

            “Can you tell us what it’s about?”  Rick asked.

 

            “I…not really.  I don’t want anyone to overhear.  The bottom line is, I think I need to hire you guys to do a job for me.”

            A.J. sat forward in his chair.      “What kind of a job?”  

 

            “I’d rather talk to you about it in person.”

 

            “All right,” Rick had agreed after he caught A.J.’s nod.  “How ‘bout if we meet for lunch tomorrow.  A.J.’s treat.”

 

            Linda chuckled.  “Okay.  But not A.J.’s treat.  My treat.  Do you guys know where Charley O’s is at?”

            “Sure,” A.J. said.  “We know the place.”

 

            “Great.  It’s right around the corner from my office.  I’ll meet you there at noon.”

 

            “Oakey dokey,”  Rick said.  “We’ll see ya’ then.”

 

            “See you tomorrow, Lindy.”

 

            “Bye guys.  And thanks….thanks a lot.”

            What exactly their cousin was thanking them for neither detective knew.  They pondered the possibilities aloud for a few minutes, then, returned to their work, knowing they’d have answers to their questions the following day.

 

            Linda sat between them now, leaving nervous finger smudges on her water glass. 

 

            “I suppose you’re both wondering why I called you.”

            Rick gently extracted the glass from the woman’s hands and set it in the center of the table.

 

            “You’re gonna spill that if you don’t quit playin’ with it.”

 

            Linda smiled.  “That’s what I’m always telling my kids.”

 

            “Good advice,” Rick nodded.

 

            The woman’s fingers found her paper napkin next.  A.J. stopped her before she could tear it to shreds.

 

            “Are Rick and I going to have to take everything off this table before you’ll talk to us?”

            Again, the woman smiled.  “I’m sorry.  It’s just...well now that I’ve asked you here I feel rather foolish.  I mean; it’s probably not that big of a deal.  I suppose I’m overreacting and you’re going to think my concerns are silly.”

 

            Rick’s eyes flicked to A.J., then back to their cousin.  Her head was bent and she wouldn’t look at them.  He began to wonder if she was having trouble with her new husband.  Maybe she suspected him of having an affair.  God knew Rick had heard worse over the years.  It was always harder when it was family though.  When you shared a history with, and really cared about, the person coming to you for help.

 

            A.J.’s thoughts were similar to Rick’s.  “Does this have anything to do with Mark?”

            Linda looked up.  The smile that dominated her features at the mention of her husband’s name spoke of nothing but overwhelming love.       “No, no it doesn’t.  Mark and I are very happy.”

            For reasons unknown to the Simon brothers, Linda and her first husband, Greg, had divorced two years earlier.  Ten months ago, in April of 1987, she’d married Mark Ecklund, an employee at the small manufacturing plant Linda’s parents owned, and that her mother still ran despite her father’s death three years before.  The detectives had only met Mark once, and knew very little about him, but he’d seemed nice enough. 

 

            The woman took a deep breath.  “Like I said, you’re probably going to think I’m being silly.  A neurotic mother who can’t allow her children to grow up.”

 

            At least now the brothers knew Linda’s concern was centered around one, or both, of the children she’d had with Greg Nash.  Rick guessed Heather had to be about six years old now.  He couldn’t imagine what type of problems that sweet wide-eyed angel could be giving Linda.  Greg and Lindy’s oldest child, Brendan, was around twelve, Rick thought.  Because the boy had inherited his looks from his mother and his Grandma Joan he was, ironically enough, almost the spitting image of A.J. at the same age.  A good kid as far as Rick knew; involved in wholesome activities both in and out of school.

 

            “Lindy,” A.J. said quietly,  “neither Rick nor I are going to think you’re silly regardless of what you tell us.  You said something about the children.  Is everything okay with them?”

            “I wish I could say yes, A.J.  Hell, I wish I could say no.  But the truth of the matter is, I’m not really sure.”

            “What do you mean?”

 

            “It’s Brendan.”

 

            “What about Brendan?”  Rick asked.

 

            “I’m so worried about him.  I...he’s suddenly taken to doing things that are completely out of character for him.”

            “Like what?”  A.J. inquired.

 

            “Like skipping school for one thing.  And dropping out of all his extracurricular activities for another.  He quit the Boy Scouts, he quit the soccer team he played on, he dropped out of the school science club...and his grades.  His grades are sinful.  He’s always been an A student, but now his report cards are full of D’s and F’s.  When I try to talk to him about it, he shrugs his shoulders and walks away from me.  Brendan’s always taken such pride in his schoolwork.  Has always strived to bring home straight A’s and be on the honor roll, but now he doesn’t seem to care that he’s failing every class he’s in.”

 

            Conversation momentarily paused as the waitress brought drinks, a breadbasket and salads.  It resumed in-between bites of food.

 

            A.J. reached for a roll and a pad of butter.  “When did this behavior on Brendan’s part begin?”

 

            “Some of it began last summer, but the worst of it started after school resumed in September.”

 

            “He’s what?”  Rick grabbed a packet of breadsticks and tore open the plastic wrapper.  “Twelve now?”

            “Yes.”

 

            “So that means he woulda’ started junior high, right?”

            “Yes.”

 

            A.J. immediately picked up on his brother’s thoughts.  “Does that also mean he entered a new school?”

            “Yes.  He’s attending Southbay Junior High.  It houses seventh, eighth, and ninth graders.”

 

            “And I expect along with that comes a whole new set of friends,” Rick guessed.  “Possibly some kids who aren’t havin’ the best influence on him?  Maybe some boys older than himself?”

 

            “Yes,” Linda agreed,  “that’s part of the problem.  He’s hanging out with a couple of fourteen year olds, ninth graders, who he has no business spending time with.  I’ve tried to encourage him to renew his friendships with the boys he used to be close to.  His best buddies from grade school that he did everything with.  They go to Southbay, too.  All three of them are good kids who come from nice families.  I’ve been telling Brendan to invite them for a sleep-over and pizza party on a Saturday night, but he won’t have anything to do with the suggestion.”

 

            Rick speared a cucumber with a tine of his salad fork.  “It sounds like he’s gotten himself hooked up with the wrong kids.”

 

            “I wish the problem were that easy.”  Linda’s fork played with the lettuce on her plate before she finally pushed it aside untouched.  “But I think it goes a lot deeper than that.”

 

            “Deeper?”  A.J. looked up from his food.  “In what way?”

            “There’s been a lot of changes in our lives in the past year, as both of you know.  I believe Brendan’s having difficulties adapting to those changes.”

 

            “Are there problems between him and Mark?”  Rick asked.

 

            “I’d like to say no, but I suppose I’d be lying.  Mark has tried, really tried to be a friend to my son, but Brendan rebukes his attempts.”

 

            “What about Greg?”  A.J. asked.  “Does he stay in close contact with Brendan and Heather?”

            “Oh, I don’t suppose you guys would have reason to know.  Greg relocated to Billings, Montana almost a year ago.  Late last March.  He was promoted at work and sent there to run the home office.”

 

            “Which means Brendan doesn’t see him nearly as much as he used to,” A.J. surmised.

 

            “Correct, though I can’t fault Greg in any way.  He calls the kids once a week, never forgets their birthdays or holidays; he really tries to stay as involved as he can.  Brendan and Heather just spent a week with Greg and Rachel...his wife, last month.  During Christmas break.”

 

            “How’d that go?”

 

            “Not good.  Not good at all.”

            “In what way?”  Rick asked.

 

            “Greg had been promising Brendan for months that just the two of them would go skiing for a couple of days while the kids were there.  But then those plans fell through because the baby was ill.”

 

            “Baby?”  The Simon brothers asked as one.

 

            “Greg and Rachel had their first child in November.  A little boy named Alex.  He was very sick with some type of virus while Heather and Brendan were visiting.  I can’t blame Greg for canceling his plans with Brendan.  It wouldn’t have been fair of him to leave his wife alone with a sick baby and a little girl who’s not even hers.”

 

            A.J.’s empty salad plate was piled on top of Linda’s full one.  “Did Brendan say anything about it when he came home?  About the canceled trip, I mean?”

 

            Linda’s mouth formed a pensive frown.  “The only reply he gave when I asked how he liked his ski trip was a sullen, ‘We didn’t go.  Dad’s new kid was sick.  He’s got another son now, you know.’”

 

            “Ah,”  Rick nodded.  “I think we’re finally getting to the root of the problem.”

            “I’m sure that’s a lot of it.  I know it doesn’t help matters that Mark has a son as well.”

 

            “Does the boy spend time at your house?”  A.J. asked.

 

            “Yes.  And believe me, that’s another source of dissension for Brendan.”

 

            “How so?”

 

            “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that Cory’s a bad kid.  As a matter of fact, he rarely gives me a problem.  But he stays with us every other weekend.  Brendan is forced to share his room with Cory at those times.  He’s nine-years-old, an only child, and has a bad case of hero worship aimed in Brendan’s direction.  I thought that would be good for Bren - to be looked up to by a little brother of sorts.  Unfortunately, he’s not reciprocal to it at all.  He’s constantly picking fights with Cory over the stupidest things.  He won’t let him touch anything in his room, or play with toys Brendan himself hasn’t played with in years.  For heaven’s sake last weekend I heard Brendan tell Cory he wasn’t to touch his Matchbox Cars.  When I reminded Bren he hadn’t pulled them out of his closet in well over three years, he just gave me a scathing look and said,  ‘Well they’re mine, not his.  I’ll decide who gets to play with them and who doesn’t.’”

 

            Linda leaned back against the booth with defeat.  “Needless to say, my new household has been less than peaceful lately.  As you can imagine, Mark’s patience is wearing thin.  He’s tried to stay out of my problems with Bren, but more and more he’s being forced to step in and impose discipline on him.”

 

            “Which Brendan resents,” Rick guessed.

 

            “Oh, yeah.  Big time.”

 

            “It sounds to me like Brendan feels as though he’s lost control of his life,” A.J. offered.  “I’m sure it’s been very difficult for him to adjust to, not only to a new baby brother, but a new stepbrother as well.  He was used to being the only boy in the family for a long time.  I’m certain part of the problem centers around his confusion as to where he now fits in.”

            “I’m sure it does, too, A.J.,” Linda said,  “but he’s old enough to understand none of that means Greg or I love him any less.  I’ve told him that time and time again, but it just doesn’t seem to be sinking in.”

            “He’s at a tough age,” Rick said.  “A boy twelve...well, he spends an awful lotta time provin’ to his friends he ain’t a kid anymore, while still feeling inside like he is.”

 

            “I know, but I’m really worried about him, guys.  Skipping school, bad grades... where is all of this going to lead?  If he doesn’t come to his senses, we’ll be in for nothing but trouble.  His teen years are rapidly approaching.  If I can’t enforce discipline on him now, how will I enforce it when he’s sixteen?”

            “Have you tried punishing him for his poor grades?”  A.J. asked.  “And for skipping school?”

            “Yes, he’s been grounded more this school year than he hasn’t been.  Nothing I do seems to faze him, however.  As soon as he’s won his freedom back, the old habits start up again.”  Tears shimmered in the woman’s eyes.  “I’ve tried to be a good mother.  I’ve always spent a lot of time with my kids, taken an interest in their schoolwork, friends, and activities.  I’ve tried to instill in Brendan that there’s a consequence for every action we take, for every decision we make, be those actions and decisions good or bad.  I’ve talked to him a lot lately about how skipping school can only lead to future problems for him.  I found a pack of Camels, of all things, in his dresser drawer last week.  I told him smoking cigarettes or drinking will only cause him more trouble.  I told him the choices he makes at age twelve, will undoubtedly become choices he regrets someday on down the road.  I reminded him of my father’s death from lung cancer.  I told him his grandpa made the choice to smoke as a young boy, long before he was mature enough to know the ramifications of that decision.  I reminded Bren of the price Dad paid for his two-pack-a-day habit.  He knows what the last year of Dad’s life was like.  He saw the cancer turn his vibrant, beloved Grandpa into a shadow of the man he’d once been.”

 

            “You said you talked to Brendan about drinking as well,” A.J. stated.  “Do you suspect he’s doing that, too?”

 

            “I don’t necessarily suspect it at this time, but I’m not naive, A.J.  I know it’s a very real possibility.  I also know it’s a very real possibility that if Brendan keeps skipping school, he’ll eventually be doing things that get him in trouble with the law.”

 

            Rick’s reply was grim and full of conviction.  “He will be.”

 

            “That’s why I want to hire you guys.”

            The waitress returned with their meals.  While ketchup, salt and pepper was passed around, A.J. asked,  “You want to hire us to do what?”   

 

            “First of all, to find out where it is he’s going when he’s not in school.  Secondly, maybe you could uncover some information about the boys he’s hanging around with.  You know, see if they’ve had any run-ins with the police.”

 

            The brothers nodded.  Though juvenile records are usually sealed, they had enough contacts within the police department to make gaining information on Brendan’s friends fairly easy.

 

            “And then I’d like you to talk to him.”

 

            Rick’s hamburger halted midway to his mouth.  “To Brendan?”

            “Yes.”

 

            “Why us?”  A.J. asked.  “Why not Greg or Mark?  Or what about Trent?”

 

            Trent was Linda’s older brother.  The woman shook her head at all three suggestions.

 

            “Brendan’s not interested in hearing what his father has to say on any subject right at the moment.  As far as Mark goes, Brendan hardly gives him the time of day.  And Trent, well as much as I hate to admit this, I doubt Bren would recognize his uncle if he passed him on the street.   You know my brother, he’s always been a swinging single.”  Linda gave a mirthless laugh.  “Even when he was married.  He rarely sees his own kids, let alone spends time with mine.”

 

            Rick stabbed at a glob of ketchup with a French fry.  “But there must be a teacher, or coach, or some male figure in Brendan’s life who he looks up to.”

 

            “There is.  Two male figures in fact.  You guys.”

 

            “Oh, Lindy,” A.J. negated,  “come on.  You give us way too much credit.  We only see Brendan a couple of times a year.”

 

            “That’s true, but he’s always thought the world of you guys.  When he had to do that paper for school about two people who had vastly differing experiences during the Vietnam War, who did he interview?”

 

            Although Rick had a distinct feeling he and A.J. were about to be backed into a corner, he acknowledged with a mumble,  “Us.”

 

            “And when he had to write a paper about the ins and outs of owning your own business, who did he talk to?” 

 

             A.J. knew he and Rick were being backed into a corner, as well.  “Us,” he reluctantly admitted.

 

            “Then last year, when he had to write his sixth grade term paper on what he wanted to be when he grew up, who did he follow around for two days at their job?”

 

            “Us,” the brothers were forced to say in unison.

 

            “Yes, you guys.  That’s all he talked about for weeks afterwards.  It was ‘Rick and A.J. this’ and ‘Rick and A.J. that.’  Because of you guys, Brendan had his sights set on being a private investigator, or perhaps going into law enforcement in some capacity.  But now those dreams are crumbling before my eyes.  And whether Brendan realizes it or not, they’re crumbling before his eyes, too.” 

 

            The tears Linda had been holding at bay began to trickle down her cheeks.  “Regardless of how he views himself, in many ways he’s still a little boy.  Only twelve years old.  He’s too young to be throwing his life away, but I’m so afraid that’s what he’s doing.  You guys know better than anyone else what it’s like for a boy to grow up without a father.  You were just kids when Uncle Jack died.  I know Brendan’s circumstances are much different from yours, but in many ways, I suspect that’s how he feels.  Like he no longer has a dad.”

 

            Rick and A.J. exchanged long looks across the table.  Yes, they both well remembered the pain of growing up without a father.  They couldn’t disagree with their cousin.  They imagined, to a large extent, Brendan did feel as though he no longer had a man in his life he could look up to and emulate.

 

            A.J. handed the woman his napkin while catching the nod his brother threw in his direction.   “Don’t cry, Lindy.  Rick and I will talk to the boy.”

 

            Linda dabbed at her eyes with a corner of the rough white paper.  “Thanks, guys.  Thanks so much.  I know...well, I know this isn’t the kind of case you usually take.  I really appreciate you going to all this effort for me.”

 

            Rick put an arm around his cousin’s shoulders and pulled her head to his chest.  “Hey, no thanks is necessary.  Aside from the fact that you’re family, you’re also the little girl who, along with Elizabeth, picked A.J. up and dunked him head first in Mom’s fountain.  I’ll repay a favor to any gal who does that.”

 

            Despite her tears, Linda chuckled as she thought of their shared childhood, and another Simon cousin turned private investigator, Elizabeth Charles.

 

            “Yeah, Elizabeth and I sure picked on poor A.J., didn’t we?”

 

            “Yes, you did,” A.J. imparted, trying hard to hide his smile.  “And the two of you are just lucky I forgave you a long time ago.”

 

            Linda moved from Rick to A.J.  She accepted her blond cousin’s hug, and as with Rick, briefly laid her head against A.J.’s chest.

 

            “Don’t worry, Lindy,” A.J. assured,  “things will work out just fine.  After all, by asking for Rick’s help you’ve just obtained assistance from the most incorrigible teenager to ever walk the face of this planet.”