Can I Trust You With My Heart

 

 

By: Kenda

 

 

Can I Trust You With My Heart was inspired by the aired episode, Nuevo Salvador.  Can I Trust You With My Heart disregards the events depicted in my Simon and Simon novel, Precious Cargo, and is instead a ‘stand-alone’ novel. 

 

 

~~~~~~

 

 

Monday, October 26th, 1992

 

 

     He sat apart from the others, huddled miserably into a thin jacket that didn't begin to fight the damp air blowing in off the bay.  The zipper was broken, forcing the shivering man to hold the jacket together with numb fingers. A bone jarring coughing spasm left his undernourished body aching.  He knew he was sick, maybe even seriously so.  But he had no money for medicine, and no one to turn to for help.

 

     Sometimes he wondered if things had always been this way.  If he had always lived by his wits on the streets.  He thought not. He thought that at one time he had belonged to someone. To a family.  He seemed to think people had actually cared about him when he was cold and sick and hungry.  But when he tried to recall their names or their faces, he couldn't.  Everything about him, who he was and where he came from, was one big blank.  A big empty spot that seared his soul like a hot branding iron sears the skin of a helpless calf.

 

     When the coughing subsided he laid his head back against the rough brick of the abandoned building. He pulled the jacket even more tightly around his shaking body.  He had found it several weeks back when the weather had first started to turn cold in a garbage can behind someone's house.  He was forging for food, but had been just as happy to run across this light blue jacket, even though the zipper was broken and the front stained with grease.  He wondered if he'd get lucky enough to find a winter coat.  A hat and gloves to go along with it would be heaven.  He didn't know where he was or what month it was, but by the nip in the air in the mornings now he instinctively knew it was going to get a lot colder before warm weather reappeared.  He didn't suppose the worn out tennis shoes on his feet were going to provide much warmth either once the temperatures started to drop.   The sole of the left one was ripped and flapped against the street like a leather thong when he walked.

 

     He observed the other homeless people like himself sitting together in groups of three's and four's.  Most were men, but there were a few women here and there, and even a handful of forlorn children.  But he didn't belong to any of them either.  As clear as he could remember, he didn't belong to anyone.

 

     And deep down inside he cried for himself, while wondering who he was, where he was, and how he'd come to lead such a miserable existence.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

Thursday, October 29th, 1992

 

     Four weathered and tattered men sat around a battered wooden milk crate, playing a game of cards and sharing a bottle of cheap whiskey.  One nodded toward a solitary man with shaggy hair and a scraggly beard wearing a light blue jacket.

 

     "Hey, looky there," Shorty said.  "He's back."

 

     Another of the card players glanced over his shoulder.

 

     "Who?  Oh, him.  Yup.  He shows up ever few days and juz kinda sits there and watches everbody."  The man gave an exaggerated shudder. "Gives me the creeps."

 

     A dried up prune of an old man by the name of Will asked, "Who is he?"

 

     "Don't know," Shorty shrugged.  "He don't talk."

 

     Will cocked a bushy gray eyebrow.  "Don't talk?  'Cause he can't?  Or 'cause he won't?"

 

     "Beats me," Shorty replied.  "Alls I know is he never says a word.  No one knows anythin' about 'im.  Not his name, not his story, nothin.’  Not even Malachi.  And if Malachi don't know, then I don't a' reckon none of us ever will."

 

      Will studied the loner in the dim light cast off from a nearby street lamp.  "Well, if you ask me, he ain't one of us."

 

     Shorty studied the hand he'd been dealt.  "Whatta ya’ mean he ain't one of us?  'Course he's one of us.  He's sleepin' in an alley, ain't he?"

 

     "No," Will shook his head.  "He's different.  He don't belong here.  He...at one time I bet he was somebody."

 

     The remainder of the card players laughed.

 

     "Somebody?  Like who?  The Prince of Wales?"

 

     "Or maybe the King of Germany!"

 

     "Germany don't have a king, stupid."

 

     "Whatever.  Then the King of...of...of whatever countries have kings."

 

     Will didn't allow himself to be intimidated by his friends. 

"You guys laugh your asses off for all I care. But I can see it in his eyes - the pain and the confusion."

 

     One of the men leaned across the small crate.  "Hey, Will, look into my eyes and tell me what you see."

 

     Will gave the lonely stranger one last long look before brushing the teasing and mockery aside. 

 

"Knock it off, wiseguys, and let's play cards."     

 

 

Chapter 2

 

Saturday, November 7th, 1992

 

     Rick Simon sat on the couch in the living room of his houseboat.  His dog, Rex, lay next to him.  As if sensing his master's deep deep sorrow, Rex placed his head on Rick's knee and gave the man a soulful look.

 

     Rick smiled softly and reached down to caress the dog's head.  He turned his attention back to the TV screen, and watched the eleven-month-old baby toddle across the room to his big brother.  When the baby had almost reached his destination he tripped and fell forward.  He let out a shrill laugh of delight when the older boy caught him and hugged him close.  Off camera you could hear a woman's voice praising, "Thank you for catching him, Rick.  You're such a good brother."

 

     Rick saw his six-year-old self turn toward his mother's voice and beam at her compliment.  He watched as his little brother squirmed out of his arms and ran with uncoordinated steps to a large ball sitting across the room.  A.J. bent down and picked it up.  He wobbled unsteadily a moment and almost toppled backwards onto his diaper-clad bottom.  Rick could hear his father's laughter in the background, as well as his own, as they observed the baby's antics.  A.J. regained his balance, and with a toothless grin, tossed the ball to Rick with all the dexterity his chubby arms would allow.  Their father filmed a few minutes of their game before the sequence moved on to A.J.'s first birthday, and then Christmas 1950.

 

     Rick had watched the tape often enough to know it by heart.  The birthday parties, holiday celebrations, family gatherings, and the first day of school recorded year after memorable year, the passage of time and the growth of a family marked faithfully by Jack Simon's movie camera.  After his death Cecilia had taken over the duty of archiving her sons' lives through their teen years.  First Rick's high school graduation, then A.J.'s.  A goodbye party for Rick held in the Simons' backyard the night before Cecilia and A.J. saw him off to boot camp.  And then A.J.'s college graduation ceremony four years thereafter. 

 

     Rick rubbed his red-rimmed eyes and turned away from the screen.  The home movies that had once been such a joy to view now brought nothing but pain.  A pain so sharp and deeply penetrating Rick didn't know how to begin to abate it.

 

     "Rick...Rick?"

 

     Rick jumped at the sound of the voice behind him.  Even Rex hadn't detected their visitor's presence.

 

     "Sorry, man.  Didn't mean to scare you."  Downtown Brown slid the patio doors open wider and stepped inside.  "I knocked, but I guess you didn't hear me."

 

     Rick reached for the remote control and hit the pause button, effectively freezing the action of Christmas morning 1950 for the time being.  He rose and rounded the couch.  "Hey, Towner."

 

     Town stepped into his old friend's open arms, readily reciprocating the hug he found himself enfolded in.  "Hi, buddy," he quietly greeted.  "How ya' doin'?"

 

     Rick stepped out of Town's embrace.  He couldn't meet the black man's gaze when he shrugged and stated half heartedly, "I'm doin' okay."

 

     Town surreptitiously studied the detective.  Rick had lost even more weight since Town had last seen him two months earlier.  The dark circles under his eyes, and the bloodshot lines that streaked the whites, gave clear testimony as to how little sleep Rick was getting each night.

 

     "Can I get you something?"  Rick offered.  "A beer?  Soda?"

 

     Town crouched down to pet Rex, who had jumped off the couch to come greet their guest.  "A beer would be fine.  Thanks."

 

     Rick pulled two cold bottles of Budweiser out of the refrigerator and rummaged around in the silverware drawer for the opener.  "Where's Temple?  You didn't drive down here by yourself for the weekend, did you?"

 

     Town gave Rex a final pat on the head before rising.  "No, she came with me.  I left her at your mother's house.  I stayed long enough to say hi to your mom before coming over here.  You and I are supposed to pick the ladies up at seven."

 

     "At seven?  Why?"

 

     "Because Temple and I are taking the two of you to dinner, that's why."

 

     Rick rounded the counter with the beer bottles in hand.  He gave one to Town while leading the man into the living area.  With a nod of his head he indicated for Town to take a seat.  The policeman settled himself in the easy chair, while Rick retook his former place on the couch.  Rex plopped at his master's feet. 

 

     Rick took two swigs of cold beer, then settled the frigid bottle between his blue jean clad thighs.  "I hope you two didn't drive all the way down from L.A. just to take me and Mom out for supper."

 

     "So what if we did?  Is there any crime in us wanting to spend the afternoon and evening with two close friends that we don't get to see often enough?"

 

     Rick smiled softly in appreciation.   He knew fully well that was only a small portion of the reason why the police lieutenant and his wife had made this spur of the moment visit. For eight months earlier Rick Simon's world had come apart at the seams. 

 

His brother had vanished without a trace.

    

_________________

 

 

     It had been the second weekend in March.  Rick had puttered around the boat that Saturday morning, then went grocery shopping.  He stopped to shoot the bull with Carlos for an hour before returning home. After putting his groceries away, he took Rex for a long walk and a game of Frisbee on the beach.  When they got back to the houseboat Rick had just enough time to shower and shave before leaving to pick up his girlfriend, Nancy.  The couple were meeting a group of friends at the bowling alley, and then going out for a late dinner afterwards.   

 

     Rick didn't return home that evening, instead accepting Nancy's invitation to spend the night with her.  He lightly kissed the sleeping woman as he crawled out of her bed early the next morning.  He would have liked to linger longer, but was well aware of the dog he had left on the houseboat, who would by now be in bad need of a bathroom break.

 

     Rick let himself in his home a few minutes after seven that Sunday morning.  Rex danced at his feet in enthusiastic greeting before bounding out the open door. 

 

     Rick walked into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee brewing.  He took note of the blinking light on his answering machine and reached a hand out to rewind the tape.  He opened a cabinet door to retrieve a cereal bowl and a box of Cheerios while he listened to his messages.  The first one was from Surplus Sammy in regards to the arrival of a new video surveillance camera Rick had ordered that A.J. knew nothing about.  Rick was still puzzling over how he was going to gently break the news to his brother of that twelve hundred dollar expenditure, when the second message played.

 

     "Rick?"  A feminine voice inquired,  "This is Dianna.  It's six-thirty on Sunday morning.  I'm looking for A.J.  Is he with you?  If he is, would one of you guys please call me?  If he's not...well, if he's not, please call me as soon as you get this message, Rick."

 

     Rick frowned.  He tried to recall if A.J. had mentioned anything of his weekend plans as the brothers left the office together on Friday evening.  He couldn't remember anything specific being said.  He had just assumed some part of A.J.'s weekend would be spent with the girlfriend he'd been steadily dating for two years.  Just as it was generally a given Rick would spend a good portion of his weekend with Nancy, whom he'd been seeing for about the same length of time.

 

     Rick grabbed his address book out of a kitchen drawer and looked up Dianna's number.  To begin with he was confused as to why she might think A.J. was with him at six-thirty on a Sunday morning.  And he hadn't liked the way she sounded.  Not exactly upset, or at least not upset at A.J., as much as she sounded worried and unnerved.

 

     Dianna picked up the phone on the first ring.  "A.J.?"

     "No, Di, it's Rick.  What's goin' on?"

 

     "A.J.'s not with you?"

     "No.  Is he supposed to be?"

 

     "Well...I'm not sure.  I thought maybe he was.  He was supposed to pick me up at seven o'clock last night.  We had seven-thirty reservations at the Harborside Dinner Theatre.  We were supposed to eat and see a play.  But at six he called and said something had come up and that he was going to be late."

     "Did he say what it was?"

 

     "That's the weird thing, Rick.  He didn't.  And that's not like A.J.  When I asked him what he had to do he said not to worry and that he'd call me later.  He sounded...upset, Rick.  Almost frantic.  Like he had to be some place in a hurry.  Before I could get any more of an explanation from him, he hung up."

 

     Though Rick could already guess the answer to his next question, he asked it anyway.  "Did you try callin' him this morning?"

 

     "Yes.  I've been trying on and off since ten o'clock last night.  I've left a half dozen messages on his answering machine, but have yet to hear from him."

 

     "I'm certain everything's okay," Rick assured with false confidence.  "Don't worry.  I'm gonna get in the truck and drive over to his place and see what's goin' on."

 

     "But, Rick," Dianna's voice rose an octave, "how can everything be okay?  Where could he be?  And why wouldn't A.J. tell me what was going on?  Why wouldn't he tell me why he had to break our date?"

 

     "I don't know, Di.  But I'll find out.  Just...try not to worry.  I'll call you as soon as I know something.  Maybe...well maybe he got a call from one of our clients.  We do have several jobs goin' on right now.  Maybe he ended up pullin' a stakeout or something."

 

     "But wouldn't he have at least tried to get a hold of you?  Wouldn't he have left a message on your machine if that's what he was doing?"

 

     Yeah, he would have, Rick's mind acknowledged.  That was not the response he made, however.  

 

"Maybe not.  Or maybe he tried to call me, and when I didn't answer he figured I was with Nancy so didn't bother to leave a message.  Until I talk to him I don't know."

 

     Dianna's tentative reply of "Okay," was small and full of fear.  "But you'll call me?  As soon as you know anything, I mean?"

 

     "I'll call you," Rick promised.  "I"ll even do better than that.  I'll have A.J. call you."

 

     Rick could hear the tiny smile that remark got out of A.J.'s girlfriend.  "Thank you, Rick."

 

     "Just don't worry, darlin.’  I'm sure there's no need to.  One of us will call you in a little while."

 

     Fifteen minutes later, with Rex in tow, Rick pulled into A.J.'s driveway.  He peered in the garage window as he passed and immediately took note of the absent Camaro.  He used his key to gain entrance into the house.

 

     "A.J.!"  Rick shouted from where he stood in the middle of his brother's kitchen.  "A.J.!"

 

     Though he had already guessed a search of the house would prove to be an effort in futility, Rick did just that.  More to steady his own nerves than anything else, he called A.J.'s name as he went from room to room with Rex at his heels.  As was normal for his brother, each room was in impeccable order.

 

     Rick stopped short when he came to the doorway of A.J.'s bedroom.  A charcoal gray suit and white dress shirt were neatly laid out on his queen size bed along with a tie.  As Rick stepped into the room he could see a dresser drawer had been left wide open.  He walked over to find it contained blue jeans and polo shirts.  He moved on to the master bathroom.  A wet towel had been wadded up in a haphazard ball and left lying on the vanity top.  Next to the towel sat A.J.'s electric razor.  The sliding shower doors were wide open.  Beads of water still clung to the ceramic tile that lined the walls of the tub, and the cap had been left off the shampoo.

 

     None of the disarray was like Rick's brother.  Thinking back to everything Dianna had relayed to him on the phone caused Rick to deduce that whatever had come up to prompt A.J. to leave the house in such a rush had come up while he was in the shower, or just after he’d stepped out of it.  The dress clothes so carefully laid on the bed indicated to Rick that A.J. had been getting ready for his evening with Dianna.  The open dresser drawer and the wet towel left in the bathroom caused Rick to guess A.J. had made a quick change of plans. 

 

     But why? Rick had pondered.  Why didn't he at least leave a message on my machine?  We've always made it a point to check in with one another when something comes up regarding a case.   

 

     Rick walked back into the bedroom and headed for A.J.'s nightstand.  He opened the drawer it contained, only to find it devoid of what he was looking for.  A.J.'s gun.  Whatever it was that caused A.J. to leave the house in such a rush had given Rick's brother reason to believe he had a need to be armed.  Rick shut the drawer and picked up the hardcover novel resting on top of the stand.  It fell open to the place A.J. had left off and marked with a bookmark - chapter eighteen.  Rick stared down at the pages a moment, then shook his head in frustration.  He wasn't going to find any clues here.

 

     Rick headed back down the stairs.  The only place he could think to start was to head to the office and look up the phone numbers of the three clients they presently had cases for.  Hopefully it was as he had assured Dianna, that A.J. had gotten a call from one of those clients in need of his help.  Rick couldn't quite figure out why, however, if that were the case, that A.J. would have sounded frantic and upset on the phone when he spoke to Dianna. But possibly the woman had just misread his tone. 

 

     The ringing of the telephone made Rick run the rest of the way down the stairs and through the den to the kitchen.  He snared the hand piece before the answering machine could click on.   

 

"A.J.?"

 

     "Rick?"

 

     "Mom?"

 

     To say it was a confusing beginning to a conversation was an understatement.  There was a significant pause as Cecilia Simon tried to figure out if she'd dialed her oldest son's phone number by mistake.

 

     "Rick?"

 

     "Yeah, Mom, it's me."

 

     "You're at A.J.'s?"

     "Yeah.  Why?"

 

     "Oh...nothing.  I just thought maybe I dialed...well, never mind what I thought.  I was going to call you as soon as I got off the phone with him anyway.  But as long as you're there you can tell your brother for me."

 

     "Tell him what?"

 

     "Now I don't want either one of you to be upset, honey.  I'm perfectly fine.  I wasn't home when it happened."

 

     "When what happened, Mom?"

 

     "The break-in.  I was out with Doug yesterday afternoon and evening."

 

     By Doug, Rick knew his mother meant Douglas McKenna, the lawyer she was engaged in a semi-serious relationship with. 

 

     "Doug brought me home around two this morning and that's when we discovered someone had broken into the house and ransacked it."

 

     "Was anything taken?"

     "That's what's strange, Rick.  Absolutely nothing is missing.  No money, no jewelry, not the TV, VCR, or microwave.  But every drawer and closet has been turned inside out, and practically every piece of furniture overturned."

 

     "Are the police still there?"

 

     "Just Abby.  She's getting ready to leave, too."

 

     "Mom, I'll be right over.  Don't let Abby go.  I need to talk to her."

     "What about?"

 

     "Just don't let her leave, Mom."

 

     And that was the beginning of a number of odd coincidences and unexplained happenings that all centered around A.J. Simon's disappearance.

 

 

_________________

 

    
     Rick looked across the room as Town drained the last of the beer in his bottle.  When all the logical places to look for A.J. had been exhausted that Sunday back in March, the police recorded him as an official missing person.  Someone from the station called Town up in L.A. to let him know what was going on.  Four days later he took a week of vacation and showed up on Rick's doorstep to aid the detective in his own private search for his brother.  What few leads the men had, evaporated as quickly as water against hot asphalt on a sunny day.  The only thing they had to go on was the phone call A.J. made to Dianna at six p.m.  Abby sought information from the phone company and did determine that a call came into A.J.'s house at 5:48 that evening.  Rick's fear in regards to his brother's fate was only heightened when he learned the call had been made from a pay phone.  Rick, Abby, and Town could only guess that phone call was the reason behind A.J. so abruptly changing his plans with Dianna.

 

     Rick fiddled with the half full bottle that rested between his thighs.  He finally sat it on the coffee table and pushed it aside.  "I still think there's got to be some connection between Mom's house being ransacked, that phone call to A.J., and A.J. leavin' like he did.  I just wish to God I could figure out what it was."

 

     Town simply nodded in agreement.  He and Rick had been over this a hundred times in the past eight months.  Maybe even a thousand.  His instincts as a twenty-two year veteran of the police department told him that indeed, those three things were connected in some way.  Unfortunately, there just hadn't been enough clues left behind from which to draw any firm conclusions.  Whoever ransacked Cecilia's house was a professional.  He'd disabled her home security system, something Town was well aware happened in only two percent of home break-ins.  The average burglar didn't have that kind of knowledge, nor did he want to expend that kind of time.  But this guy wasn't an average burglar.  Nothing had been taken.  Yet by the conditions of the rooms, it was quite apparent that the person, or persons, had been in Cecilia's house for a lengthy period of time.  Why was their only intent to create utter chaos? 

 

      Rick had a theory about all this, but it was a weak one at best.  While none of Cecilia's neighbors had observed anything suspicious going on around her house that afternoon or early evening, one very elderly man thought he remembered seeing A.J.'s Camaro in the driveway about six-fifteen.  Unfortunately, he had no idea how long the car was there, nor was he even certain it was Saturday night that he had seen it. It wasn't unusual for the neighbors to see either Rick's truck or A.J.'s car in their mother's driveway at various times throughout the week, so the man hadn't paid much attention to it.     

 

     "I still think I'm on track with my original theory," Rick stated as though he could read Town's mind.  "Someone called A.J. and told him Mom's house had been broken into.  The same someone who has the answers as to A.J.'s whereabouts."

 

     "Rick, you can't know that for sure."

 

     "But Mr. Ogden saw--"

 

     "Mr. Ogden is ninety-two years old and half blind," Town gently reminded.  "And besides, he never has been able to say for certain it was Saturday night when he saw A.J.'s car.  Your mother herself said A.J. stopped by after work on Friday evening.  More than likely that's when Mr. Ogden remembers seeing the Camaro."

 

     Rick wanted to argue the point further, but he knew it would do him little good.  He and Town had overturned this stone more than once since A.J. had been gone.  Deep down inside Rick knew Town was probably right when he speculated Mr. Ogden actually saw A.J.'s car in their mother's driveway on Friday evening.  But if Rick admitted that to himself, or even out loud to Town, it would be like admitting defeat.  It would be like admitting that he might as well give up his search for his brother for lack of any other place to look.  And he just wasn't ready to do that. 

 

     The frozen frame on the TV screen kicked back into motion as the 'still' feature on the VCR reached its time limit.  Town watched with Rick for a few minutes as the Simon brothers' boyhoods played out before their eyes.

 

     "Where'd you get this?"  The black man finally asked.

 

     "Without Mom knowin' it A.J. and I took the old eight millimeter movies from her house and had them put on video cassette over the winter.  It was supposed to be her Mother's Day present.  But then...well, after everything that happened I just couldn't give 'em to her."

 

     "So you sit here by yourself day after day and watch them over and over again."

 

     Rick looked up at Town's sharp statement of reprimand.  "So what if I do?"

 

     "Rick...it's not healthy.  You know it's not.  The last thing you need to be doing right now is sitting here all alone watching old home movi--"

     "I'll decide for my ownself what's healthy and what's not!" 

 

     Rick's sudden eruption startled Town, the slumbering Rex, and even Rick himself to a certain extent.

 

     A long, uncomfortable silence prevailed in the room until Rick finally reached for the remote control, stopped the tape, then clicked off the TV.  He sighed heavily and laid his head back against the couch.

 

     "I'm sorry, Towner.  You didn't deserve that."

 

     "Forget it, Rick.  And I'm the one who should apologize.  You're right.  It's not for me to decide what's healthy for you and what's not.  Only you can know that."

 

     Rick brought his head up and looked across the coffee table at the black man.  In that instant Town saw nothing but unspeakable anguish in Rick's bloodshot eyes.  Unspeakable anguish, and unshed tears.

 

     "It's just that...that I'm so afraid this is all I've got left.  Just a shoe box full of his personal stuff and these old movies."  Rick shaded his eyes with his left hand.  That movement effectively hid his tears from the police lieutenant, but it couldn't keep them out of his voice. 

 

     "And it's just not enough, Towner.  It's just not...not enough."

 

     Because he understood Rick Simon almost as well as anyone could hope to understand Rick Simon, Town allowed the man the space and time he needed to silently grieve.  As emotion overtook him, Rick brought his right hand up to join his left in covering his face.  Town didn't miss the faint tremors that coursed through those hands like a gentle breeze causes faint tremors to course through hanging leaves.

 

     Cecilia had been correct when she told Town that she feared her oldest son was on the verge of collapse.  Not that Cecilia herself was doing much better, Town thought.  She had aged ten years in the past eight months, as had Rick. 

 

     Rick finally scrubbed his hands over his face before letting them drop to his lap.  The only trace of tears to be seen was in the overly bright eyes and the spiked, wet lashes.  Minutes passed before either man spoke.

 

     Rick's voice was husky and quiet.   "I dream about him almost every night.  Sometimes I'm in a maze and I know if I can get to the end of it I'll find him.  That somehow the end of that maze holds the answers I'm lookin' for.  But I never make it.  I just keep runnin' into one dead end after another like a mouse lookin' for that elusive piece of cheese."

 

     Town nodded in sympathy.  No doubt Rick's dream was his mind's way of acting out the frustration the elder Simon had been living with in regards to his fruitless eight month search for his brother.

 

     "And sometimes I hear him callin' me.  His voice is so clear, Town, it's like he's standin' right next to me.  He's callin' me, and I know he needs my help, only I can't find him. 

 

“And sometimes...sometimes I'm walking down a highway that seems to go nowhere.  Like a highway in the desert.  I'm stumblin' along, hot and looking for water, and I come across something layin' face down in the road.  At first I think...at first I think it's an animal, but as I get closer...as I get closer I see that it's a man."

 

     "Rick...don't."

 

     "It's a man," Rick went on as if Town hadn't spoken.  "I turn him over to see if I can help him.  And when I do...when I do, it's A.J., Town.  It's always A.J.  And he's always dead.

 

     "And I guess if I'm gonna be honest with myself, I have to face the fact that dream is tryin' to tell me what my conscious mind won't accept.  That A.J.'s dead."

 

     "We don't know that for sure."

 

     "But everyone thinks it.  You...Abby...and every other cop that has worked this case.  Not to mention our family and friends.  It's been eight months, Town.  I'm not stupid.  A grown man usually disappears for only one of two reasons.  Either he's running from the law, which rules A.J. out completely, or he's met with foul play."

 

     Town knew even a well-intentioned lie at this point would be a disservice.   "That's true," he reluctantly conceded, "but sometimes there's still a chance--"

 

     Rick's voice was so soft Town had to strain to pick up his words.

 

     "I have a feelin' our chances ran out long ago, Towner.  I have a feeling that's a fact both Mom and I are gonna have to face.  It's just the not knowin' that's hell.  Not knowing if he really is alive somewhere and needs my help, or if he's...beyond that.  Not knowing if it was quick...or if he suffered."  Rick hid his head in his hands once again.  "God, Town, I pray every night that whatever happened he didn't suffer.  I couldn't bear to find out he did."

 

     Town had heard these exact same words so many times in his long career.  Every time he spoke with the parents, or spouse, or brothers, or sisters, of a victim of foul play.  And every time he'd been forced to detach himself from their pain, because he had to in order to go on doing his job.  But this time Town couldn't do that no matter how hard he tried.  He'd been as close to A.J. as he was to Rick.  And that's what made it all so difficult.

 

     Town leaned forward in his chair and laid a hand on Rick's left knee.  He gave it a light squeeze. 

 

     "I know, Rick.  I know.  Because I couldn't bear to find that out either."      

    

 

Chapter 3

 

(6 Months Earlier)

 

May, 1992

 

     He tried so hard not to scream.  He bit his lower lip until blood seeped through his front teeth.  He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction they derived from his pain.  But he knew his stubbornness would ultimately do him no good.  They'd just keep on kicking him, and slapping him, and beating the already bruised and broken spots with their fists and booted feet.  They'd just keep on until he passed out.  And when he came, to he might find brief respite or he might not.  It just depended on what their orders were.

 

     He didn't know how long he'd been here, or even where he was other than in a basement of some kind that had no windows and a heavy steel door that was always bolted.  All he knew was that between the repeated beatings, and the lack of food and water, he was slowly losing his grip on reality.   He no longer knew for certain who he was. And the person he thought for so long would come to his rescue, was becoming a vague figure in the back of his mind as well. 

 

     Two floors above the captive a handsome man with dark hair and olive skin, walked out onto the sun-drenched patio of the expansive hacienda. He played with the thick silver band on his right ring finger.  The raised head of a black wolf stood up from the surface of the expensive ornament. 

 

     The man didn't turn around when the sound of boot heels lightly scraped the patio's cement surface.  He barely glanced at the burly man who joined him at the smooth white railing.  They both squinted as they looked out over the barren, bleached desert.

 

     The burly man finally shifted position.  He turned around and leaned his bulk against the marble railing.  "What are you going to do with him?"   

 

     The reply was so crisp and eloquently spoken that it made one realize English was not the handsome man's native language.

 

     "That is my concern."

 

     "You can't keep him forever, Eduardo.  The longer he's here...alive...the bigger the risk of someone finding him."

 

     "No one will find him."

 

     "But I was just thinking--"

 

     Eduardo spun around. His voice was tight and hinted a warning.  "I do not pay you to think, Baily."

 

     Carson Baily waited until the glint of rage left Eduardo's eyes.  He had long experience with the Agilar family.  He had worked for Eduardo's father, Androu, for twenty-five years.  And, as well, had worked for Androu's oldest son, Roberto, when Roberto had reached manhood and began to help run the family business.  But now both Androu and Roberto were dead.  They'd been killed five years earlier. Androu’s death had been caused by the brother of the blond man being held captive in the cellar.  The bullet that killed Roberto came from the rifle of the blond captive.  The blond captive Baily and three accomplices had kidnapped ago months back on instructions from Eduardo.

 

     Some would say Carson Baily was a hired gun.  A henchman who disposed of undesirable persons or situations for a wealthy Salvadoran family.  And Carson supposed, in truth, they'd be correct.  But he'd been doing the job far too long to walk away from it now.  Besides, one didn't walk away from a position like his.  It wasn't an option.  Androu Agilar had made that clear many years earlier.  And for as much as Baily had respected Androu, and even Roberto, he had long ago come to fear Androu's youngest son, Eduardo.  Carson wasn't so sure Eduardo wasn't half loco.  He'd never met anyone so cold and calculating.  Never met anyone so devoid of feeling and bent on revenge.

 

     The intense afternoon Mexican sun caused Baily to seek shelter underneath the patio's overhang.  Just the few short minutes he'd exposed himself to the sun’s direct light had left his shirt clinging to him like a wet dishrag.  He dipped his six foot five inch frame to the side to avoid walking into a hanging plant.  When Baily turned to face Eduardo once again he no longer had to squint.  Even though the temperature was one hundred and twenty degrees, Carson noticed the Salvadoran didn't have so much as a bead of perspiration on him.  His black cotton shirt and pants were crisp and dry, and lacking even the slightest of wrinkles.  For some reason Satan came to mind as Carson Baily stood looking at Eduardo Agilar.   

 

     "I'm simply saying that I need to know what you're going to do with him," Carson stated.  "He can't take many more beatings.  If you intend for him to die, then so be it."

 

     Eduardo's smile was both evil and full of pleasure.  "Oh, I do not intend for our guest to die, Carson.  His suffering has only just begun."

 

     Carson didn't succeed in keeping the impatience out of his voice.  "But I just finished telling you he's not long for this world.  Not if you want us to keep working him over every few hours.  This has been going on since March.  Quite frankly, I'm surprised he wasn't pushin' up daisies three weeks ago."

 

     "That's the joy of Mr. Simon, Carson.  He has guts, as you Americans say.  I admire that in a man.  Unfortunately, in the long run his perseverance will do him no good.  By the time he leaves here I intend to see to it that he is nothing more than a babbling idiot."

 

     "Leaves here?"

     "Yes.  Leaves here.  Why would I want to keep him?  However, he cannot go until I have derived all the fun I can out of him. That may take the better part of the summer.  Maybe even on into the fall."  Eduardo shrugged.  "Only time will tell."

 

     "But you said he was leaving here.  Where's he going?"

 

     Eduardo chuckled softly.  "I do not know, Carson.  And that is where the fun really begins.  When the time comes you will dump our guest on the side of the road somewhere far away from here...and far away from San Diego."

 

     Carson Baily couldn't believe what he was hearing.  "But as soon as we let him loose he'll go to the cops.  He'll be able to tell them everything.  Who we are, where he was, how--

 

     Eduardo pushed himself away from the railing.  He walked over and placed a solicitous arm around Carson's shoulders.  "You overestimate Senor Simon, Carson.  While his stamina is to be admired, I will eventually break him.  Trust me, A.J. Simon will not know his own name when he is finally allowed to leave here.  Nor will he be able to relay what happened to him.  I shall see to it that his mind is scarred for the rest of his days on this planet."     

 

     Carson Baily still thought it was too much of a risk to take.  Who really knew what would happen once Simon's mind and body were given a chance to heal? 

 

     "Why not just kill him, Eduardo?  Just kill him and get it over with."

 

     "Kill him?  Kill him you say?  Oh no, Carson. That would be much too good for him.  And too good for his brother.  You see, Carson, A.J. Simon permanently separated me from my brother, and now I intend to permanently separate him from his.  And Rick Simon will suffer, as well, for all the pain he has caused me.  So help me God, Rick and A.J. Simon will pay for what they did to my family for the rest of their lives.  Rick Simon will pay by dreaming of his brother's face night after night in his sleep.  He will pay by wondering what happened to his beloved baby brother each and every waking hour.

 

     "And A.J. Simon," Eduardo smiled like a sly fox,  "A.J.  Simon will pay by wandering the streets of some strange city for the remainder of his days.  To anyone who bothers to notice him, he will be nothing more than another of the indigent homeless."