Originally published around 1984-85 in a fanzine whose name and editor escape me. This is a "final draft". I can't find the final. It's been beta'd in an attempt to catch the OCR creative writing, but I'm sure I missed a few. Posted in Three Parts due to length.

Simon and Simon is owned by MCA/Universal.

SIMON AND SIMON
"Savage Circle"
by Linda S. Maclaren

Part One

The brilliant sun of mid-July warmed AJ Simon's upturned face as he slumped deeper into the passenger seat of the convertible and closed his eyes against the summer glare. In the driver's seat, Rick Simon grumbled under his breath at the abnormally heavy southbound traffic.

Rick was an impatient driver at the best of times, and this slow traffic interrupted the cool breeze of cruising speed. His forehead perspired beneath the straw western hat he habitually favored. His blue nylon bomber jacket had been relegated to the rear floor of the Chevy at the beginning of the trip, and he'd rolled the sleeves of his red-checked western shirt past his elbows in an effort to find some additional coolness. The sun burned hotly against his Levi-clad thighs, and even the floor of the car felt hot beneath his brown cowboy boots.

AJ was content to let the heat lull him into a comfortable half sleep. His thoughts drifted lazily, the warm sun reviving vivid memories of euphoric summers spent at the beach. The months spent surfing up and down the California coast had been intoxicating escapes from the darker shadows of the confusing world around him -his father's death, Rick fighting in Viet Nam, and his own search for personal identity after years of trailing in his brother's footsteps.

They were closer than most brothers, AJ reflected absently... even closer than best friends. Despite their different life styles and personalities, they were a unit, separate extensions of the same spirit, with a rare and wonderful relationship that no one, not even a parent, could bridge. AJ harbored a thousand childhood memories of Rick, most of them good. AJ, the kid brother ... Rick had always grumbled about allowing AJ to tag along on his exploits, but he had never flatly denied his permission. AJ knew young Rick secretly had adored his little brother and had hated to leave him behind.

There had been some bad times, too. As a child, Rick had gone through a period of fierce jealousy and protectiveness toward his younger brother. It seemed as if he'd been competing to play the father figure in AJ's life. And Rick had been a mixer, a lean bundle of nervous energy seeking an outlet. Constantly in trouble, mostly with school officials, occasionally with police, there were times when he'd seemed destined to become a criminal.

AJ, however, had idolized his big brother. He'd learned to lie convincingly at a very early age in order to cover Rick's more notorious exploits. He'd been privy to most of Rick's activities; he'd guarded those secrets jealously even under the stern and hurt looks from his parents. Those had been the worst times, when he'd known his stubborn silence had caused his parents anguish.

Of course, the ability to lie smoothly proved an asset in their current profession as private investigators. AJ -- blond, always clean and neatly dressed, youthfully handsome with innocent blue eyes and a guileless smile -- could lie with absolute conviction. This skillful art came more slowly to Rick, whose generally disheveled appearance as a child had led most adults to the instant assumption of his guilt. Still, to give his detractors their due, they usually had been right.

"What's so funny?" Rick asked sourly, his most recent tirade against some incompetent motorist barely uttered.

AJ hadn't realized held been grinning. "Oh, just thinking," he replied noncommittally.

Rick gave him a sidelong glance. "Oh?"

AJ knew he had to say something. "I was remembering when you and Tina Long had the argument at the drive-in, and she locked you out of the car. You tried to bribe me to open the door."

"You were taking bids, you little creep," Rick grumbled at the memory.

"She had more money than you did."

"That's because I'd sprung for the tickets ... and the gas ... and the hotdogs."

AJ delivered his clincher with typical carelessness. "Besides, she offered to teach me how to kiss."

Despite his best efforts, Rick couldn't hide his surprise. He glowered at the innocently smiling AJ, then returned his attention to the road as the Chevy drifted onto the lane divider bumps. "She what?" he demanded when he had the car firmly back in its own lane.

"I only said she offered."

"Uh-huh." Rick ached to know if AJ had accepted the offer, but he was too proud and too stubborn to ask. Hell, AJ couldn't have been more than thirteen at the time. Rick would never admit it, but he'd been just shy of his fifteenth birthday before held worked up the nerve to kiss a girl. Still, why did AJ have to remember all the embarrassing moments from Rick's youth? Rick never had a suitable comeback. During AJ's later high school and early college years, Rick had been away from the family, first in Mexico, then in Canada, finally in Viet Nam. It was part of the curse of the elder brother.

AJ let Rick stew all the way to the border. When they were finally through the checkpoint and on Mexican soil, he brought his thoughts back to the present. "Did Manuel say why he wanted to see us?" He had mixed emotions about the summons. Rick and Manuel were old friends. Rick had once worked for him. But Manuel dealt in stolen cars, and it was not a piece of Rick's past that needed reviving. However, the request for AJ's presence as well had been somewhat reassuring; he would be able to exert a stabilizing influence over his brother.

"Maybe he wants you to make good on your promise to date his daughter," Rick answered, but his heart wasn't really in the gibe.

AJ didn't know Manuel well enough to discount this off-handed remark completely. He had an alarming memory of Rick's promise that AJ would take young Anita Fernandez out on a date. His only recollection of Anita was of a girl in grubby coveralls with a spare tire slung over her shoulder as casually as if it had been a shoulder bag. It was not a memory conducive to fantasies of a romantic evening for two.

Then Rick added, "He said it was urgent." His tone was faintly worried. Manuel was not an alarmist. He would ask for help only under the most desperate circumstances. Why he had asked for help from Rick and AJ remained an unanswered question -- he had a small but hardened group of trusted employees who were perfectly capable of handling most of Manuel's 'problems'.

The Chevy left the main avenues of Tijuana and bumped over several dirt roads before arriving finally at the large metal shed where Manuel "customized" automobiles of questionable title. No one was about when they pulled in. Several dusty but otherwise presentable cars were parked in an orderly line; large signs on their windshields promised "poquito millo" and other outrageous claims. The scene lent an air of legitimacy to Manuel's operation, but AJ wondered who was being fooled by such a shallow cover. Clearly, sums of money were gracing the palms of local officials to insure Manuel's continued enterprise.

"Don't park near the other cars," AJ warned quickly.

"You afraid someone will come along and buy it?" Rick countered. AJ was afraid of just such a thing: the last time he'd brought the Chevy to Mexico, he hadn't seen it again for over a week. It had wound up in the hands of an old friend of Rick's, who'd driven it to Mexicali. Although the Chevy belonged to Rick now, AJ still fussed over it.

AJ cast it one last look of concern as he trailed after his brother to the shed. Rick rapped on the large metal door, which rattled noisily under his fist. "Hey, Manuel!" he shouted.

"Entre!" called the familiar voice of Rick's friend.

Rick opened the small door set into the larger sliding one, and they stepped inside. The sunlight slashed a brilliant strip across the dim interior of the garage. The light glinted dully off several automobiles parked in the recesses of the building, and a variety of equipment cluttered the floor. There was no one in sight.

Rick peered into the gloom. "Manuel?" His voice had an edge of tension, as if some sixth sense were alerting him to danger. AJ felt it too; he had an instinct for trouble just as pronounced as his brother's. In the stillness following Rick's call, he heard the steady drone of a big swamp cooler, felt the faint draft of cool air against his face after the heat of the sun, smelled the myriad scents of paint, grease and oil ....

A lamp snapped on, the click of the switch abnormally loud to their attuned senses. It sat on a desk near the far wall. The bright pool of light reflected eerily off the strained, white face of Manuel Fernandez. He was bound to a wooden chair behind the desk. The big bore of a .44 Magnum pressed against his temple was shockingly black, the figure holding it just a vague shadow behind the area of illumination.

"Hola, amigos," greeted the dark figure mockingly. AJ felt a sudden chill. Subconsciously, he must have recognized the speaker even as he consciously tried to put a name and face to the voice. His concentration was so heavy in that split instant that he missed the quiet approach of someone from behind. So did Rick, because the next thing AJ knew, his brother was falling against him, throwing him off balance. Rick was unconscious before he hit the ground, although AJ tried to break his fall even as he set himself to meet their attacker. From his crouched position beside Rick, he looked up an immediately recognized the man standing over him.

Part Two

Robin Davis was a tall, young man with curly, sandy brown hair. He had a cherubic quality which hid a sinister bent in his nature. Whether playing a video game or plotting a murder, he was a man who took joy in simple pleasures, a man who was almost always smiling. He was smiling now as he gently slapped a length of lead pipe against his palm, as if inviting AJ to take a swing at him.

AJ didn't accept the challenge even though there was a strong anger seething deep within him. It showed in the tautness of his jaw and the sudden glacial coldness in his eyes. He kept his gaze on Davis only for a moment, then dismissed him an inconsequential and stood to face the speaker behind the lamp.

"What, not even a hello, AJ?" the man asked, stepping into view. He put a hard, insinuating emphasis on AJ's name. This was Stoney, the other half of the car-theft team which had stolen Porches for a San Diego dealership until Rick and AJ had put them out of action. Funny, but AJ could not recall the man's real name, which had been used during the trial. They'd met him as Stoney, and Stoney he remained.

They studied each other for a long moment, AJ expressionless and cautious, Stoney with an anticipatory gleam in the maniacal depths of his dark brown eyes. He was a psychopath who somehow managed to hide his savage impulses beneath a thin veneer of normalcy. The veneer had slipped once before: when he'd tried to kill AJ and Rick.

Now, he appeared to be back for another try.

"I thought you were still in prison," AJ remarked coolly, his thoughts and emotions firmly under control.

Stoney feigned surprise. "Prison? Haven't you heard of good behavior, man? It was our first offense. They kicked us loose in six months." Stoney glanced toward the unconscious Rick. "Too bad we had to knock him out," he remarked sadly. "I would've liked to see his face when he recognized me."

AJ didn't bother offering comment. Stoney was primed to talk, so there was no point urging him on.

"But I couldn't take chances with him." Stoney smiled slightly, but AJ refused to acknowledge the implied insult. Stoney sighed. "Well, we got a long ride ahead of us, so we might as well get started."

AJ heard Robin come up behind him and turned alertly. But Davis held a length of rope instead of the pipe.

"Be nice," Stoney warned, "or I just might have to blow ol' Manuel's head off."

AJ offered no resistance, and Manuel took the opportunity to ask, "Where are you taking them?" He was a handsome man in middle age, with a smile capable of charming the hardest hearts. But he wasn't smiling now.

Stoney glanced at him. "You don't need to know, Manuel. Let's just say they're taking a one-way ride into the desert." He kept his tone reasonable, but menace lurked just beneath it. "You made a big mistake when you helped them even after you knew they were PI's. But we got no quarrel with you, Manuel, okay? You got too many friends north of the border ... and besides, we might have to do business again sometime, okay?" AJ thought he detected something else in Stoney's voice -- a tinge of apprehension, perhaps? Was Stoney afraid of Manuel?

Satisfied with his rope work on AJ, Robin bent over Rick and tied him just as tightly. Rick was still unconscious, but just to make sure, Robin kicked him hard in the ribs for a response. In a flash of anger, AJ tried to butt him with his shoulder, but Robin just gave way and sent AJ sprawling to the dusty concrete floor of the garage.

Manuel's jaw tightened, and Stoney noticed. "Hey, you ain't thinking you'd like to help them again, are you, muchacho?" he asked, nervousness giving falsehood to his bravado. "You just remember, we know where to find you -- and your family. Comprende?"

Manuel looked at him for a long time, his expression never faltering. "Yes," he said quietly. It was not a voice of resignation, merely of finality.

AJ felt another chill in the muggy warmth of the garage. He knew with absolute certainty that even if he and Rick died today, Stoney would not have long to savor his deed. Manuel would not live in the shadow of Stoney's threat; he would protect his family. Therefore, Stoney and Davis would die. Manuel's answer had not been an acknowledgement of understanding, but a statement of decision.

AJ had just heard a death sentence pronounced.

Stoney hesitated a moment, as if he'd sensed a bit of the menace, but Manuel didn't look dangerous bound helplessly to the chair.

Stoney finally grinned and nodded to his partner. "Take 'em outside."

Not killing Manuel was Stoney's first big mistake of the day. AJ fervently hoped it would not be his last.

AJ hadn't followed in his brother's shadow for many years now. His strengths and weaknesses were his own. He made his own decisions and acted on them. But Stoney, in spite of being a cocky son of a bitch, was being cautious. AJ knew he had to be patient, bide his time until Stoney let his guard down and gave him an opening.

Davis opened the metal door, then dragged Rick outside. Stoney gestured with the pistol. AJ struggled to his feet and followed obediently. He didn't look at Manuel or say anything to him. He wanted Stoney's attention all to himself; no sense inviting Stoney to change his mind about his decision to leave Manuel alive.

The air outside was hot but fresh after the stuffy interior of the garage. Davis dragged Rick to a pickup truck parked beside the building. AJ had noted it briefly on their arrival but hadn't given it further thought.

The tailgate was down. Davis tumbled Rick's limp body into the back and threw a heavy canvas tarp over him.

"He'll suffocate like that!" AJ protested.

"Then he'll miss all the fun, won't he?" Stoney sneered.

Davis unbuckled AJ's belt and tugged it free, nearly toppling AJ in the process. Grinning with delight, he used the belt to secure AJ's ankles. "None of that damned karate this time," he gloated, recalling their last encounter. Then he tipped AJ back into the truck bed and raised the tailgate.

Stoney climbed into the truck bed. He grabbed the helpless AJ by his shirtfront and hauled him into a sitting position against the wheel well, then found a somewhat more comfortable place for himself against the cab. The pistol dangled loosely in his hand. David climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. The truck bounced off down a narrow dirt track.

After a few minutes, it was clear Davis knew where he was going. He followed a series of rutted paved and dirt roads which skirted the fringes of the border community. Run-down hovels dotted the sun-baked countryside. They passed a few vehicles, but all were heading in the opposite direction.

Stoney smiled lazily, but his alertness never wavered. He seemed to be inviting AJ to call for help.

AJ, on the other hand, felt no such compunction. For one thing, his Spanish was limited at best. Rick was the proficient one -- he'd taken the language in high school, then learned its practical applications during his employment with Manuel and later as a roughneck for a Mexican wildcatting outfit. But even if he'd been conscious, Rick probably wouldn't have called for help. This was a neighborhood where you minded your own business. No one would come to their aid.

The countryside turned to barren desert. Rolling hills of scrub brush and cacti stretched away in all directions. Civilization sprawled just a few short miles behind them, but this desolate, sweltering void might well have been another planet.

The edge of the wheel well dug fiercely into AJ's back as the truck jounced along the road. His hands were pinned uncomfortably behind him. Rick was unmoving beneath the heavy tarp. The hot sun beat down on AJ's uncovered head; he thought it must be like an oven beneath the canvas.

He tried to think of a way out of their predicament. Things looked pretty hopeless at the moment. He and Rick seemed destined for unmarked graves in this God-forsaken corner of Mexico...resolutely, he thrust the notion aside. Maybe Manuel would get free in time; providing, of course, he could figure out where they were being taken. Still, Stoney and Davis seemed to have a specific destination in mind, and it was unlikely they would have a place secret from Manuel, who would know everything that went on in Mexico concerning his field of expertise -- stolen cars.

He glanced at Stoney, and their gazes locked. Something in Stoney's eyes made AJ forget the scorching sun and the imminent threat of death. A cold knot gripped his stomach, and he forced his eyes to look away again.

"Hey."

Reluctantly, AJ met Stoney's eyes again. The ex-con grinned at him. "I been sitting here thinking about things, you know?" he asked rhetorically. "About those months in prison. I learned a lot there." There was a feverish glint in his eyes. AJ fought down a rising sense of panic. "I'd never done real time before, you know? So I never knew what it was like inside." He was no longer talking to AJ, but rather to some distant point on the horizon. "You get used to it, though. No choice. Do or die." His eyes snapped back to AJ, and his voice went cold with sudden hate. "I thought about you a lot, Blondie." AJ couldn't drag his gaze away from the savage intensity in Stoney's eyes. A few minutes before, he had been contemplating the possibility of death; now, the realization of Stoney's intent filled him with an even greater dread.

Suddenly, Stoney grabbed for him. AJ tried to butt him with his head, but he was helpless to fight effectively, nor could he quell the rising panic inside him. He felt all reason slip away as he writhed desperately to get away from Stoney's clutches.

"No!" The cry tore like a plea from his throat, shaming him in its desperation.

Stoney only laughed at him, enjoying the struggle against his bound and helpless prey. He threw his victim across the mound of Rick's body, and AJ's head struck the metal hump of the other wheel well. It stunned him for the merest moment, but a moment was all Stoney needed. He grabbed a handful of hair on the back of AJ's head and used it as leverage to force AJ's head down between the wall of the truck and Rick's trussed body. AJ was draped helplessly across his brother's body, Stoney sitting across the back of his legs, pinning him down. Even though he knew it was a lost battle, AJ couldn't stop struggling. His breath came in ragged sobs; sweat soaking his body and his clothes, ran into his eyes to sting and blind him. The sweat mingled with his helpless tears of rage and frustration. A jumble of terrified and incoherent thoughts assailed him, the most unreasoning: 'Don't wake up, Rick! Please, don't wake up!'

Part Three

Rick had the distinct but incorrect impression that he was suffocating as he struggled back to consciousness. Gasping for breath, he jerked to full awareness with a start as his head rapped painfully against the floor, which oddly seemed to be bouncing beneath him. He finally realized he was lying on the hard wood bed of a pickup truck. His ribs kept slamming against it as the truck rattled over the bumpy road. Though he couldn't see from underneath the heavy tarp, he was breathing enough dust through the rotted floorboards to know they were traveling on a dirt road. The sun against the tarp was agonizingly hot, and he perspired freely in the stifling heat.

He was lying on his right side against the splintered wood, his hands tied tightly behind him and cramped by the truck's side wall. He's lost his hat somewhere, a fact that triggered a vivid recollection of the sneak attack at Manuel's garage.

A heavy weight lay across his hips; it took him a moment to realize the weight was a body ... a violently struggling body.

"Hey, what the hell's going on?" he shouted, trying to buck the weight off him. He couldn't move much, but his yell was enough to gain Stoney's attention. The canvas was pulled back a little, and Stoney leered down at him from a few inches away. Rick was startled to recognize his captor, but he hid it behind a fierce scowl. "You dumb son of a bitch -- " he started, but Stoney cut him off.

"I'm having a little fun with your brother," Stoney said calmly. "You just lie there quiet, and maybe you won't get some of your own."

Rage exploded within Rick without warning. With a bellow of effort, he tried to launch himself at Stoney despite the helplessness of his position. His only reward was a hard backhand from his captor, which bounced his head off the floorboards again. When his head cleared, he was staring at the enormous bore of the Magnum. Stoney grinned at him. "You keep still," he advised, "or I just might have to really hurt your little brother."

Rick choked back the bilious taste of frustration as Stoney disappeared from his vision. Mercifully, the tarp did not fall back across his face, but it was scant relief. His tried to concentrate on loosening the ropes binding his hands. AJ's weight defeated him. His hands were going numb from loss of circulation, and soon they would be useless even if he managed to free them.

AJ had stopped struggling. He lay across Rick, helpless and exhausted. Rick could feel the trip-hammer beat of his brother's heart through the heavy canvas. AJ was shivering, but certainly not from cold. Abruptly, Rick realized that AJ was sobbing with hopeless anger.

Rick screamed his own rage. "You bastard!" he hurled at Stoney. "I'll kill you -- !" He heaved with all his strength to free himself from the ropes and his brother's weight. Stoney hit him with the barrel of the pistol. The blow wasn't enough to knock him unconscious, but it certainly dazed him for several seconds. The strong, metallic taste of blood filled Rick's mouth as he cut the inside of a cheek on a tooth.

Part four

Stoney appeared satisfied with the results of his little game. He leaned across AJ. Their eyes were only inches apart, Stoney's heavy-lidded and bright with excitement, AJ's wide and fearful as he stared up at his tormentor, even though he had to strain his gaze sideways to do so.

"Remember how you conned me into talking?" Stoney spat in his face. "Consider the debt paid."

AJ collapsed in relief, gasping with released fear and tension. He couldn't help himself, even as he hadn't been able to help his unreasoning panic earlier. After a moment, Stoney released him and returned to his seat against the truck cab. AJ struggled into a sitting position against Rick's legs. This effort was almost too much for his already exhausted body, and he slumped wearily, too numb even to think.

Part Five

When Rick got his senses back, he realized the weight was off his hips, though he felt something against his legs. He raised his head just enough to look at AJ, noted the bonds on his wrists and ankles. AJ was conscious, staring vacantly at a spot on the floorboards with an expression that chilled Rick even under the tarp. It was a look he had seen in Viet Nam, the look of dazed, shell-shocked soldiers whose minds had simply switched off as a last defense against horrors they could no longer comprehend. AJ's clothing was stained with sweat, other spots caked dry with dirt and salt. Sweat traced tiny rivulets through the heavy layer of dust masking his face.

Rick wanted to say something, but he didn't dare for fear of drawing Stoney's attention back to his brother. Instead, he glanced toward the target of his hate, and saw Stoney grinning at him.

"You looking at me?" Stoney sneered mockingly, using AJ's own words from another time and place.

Rick nodded once, slowly, his expression totally devoid of emotion. When he spoke, his words were simple, flat, without inflection. "I figure I'm looking at a dead man," he said calmly.

Stoney's grin faded to anger. The quiet certainty he heard in that voice gave him a faint stirring of fright, and he responded by viciously backhanding Rick across the face. "Shut up!" he ordered. "The only dead men here are you two."

Rick tasted a fresh flow of blood inside his mouth, but he showed no outward reaction to the blow. He noted with relief that AJ had been aware of the exchange, though he did not respond to Rick's half-smile of encouragement. Instead, AJ looked from Rick to Stoney, then back at the floorboards. His expression was grim.

Rick lowered his head to the floorboards. He silently vowed to conserve his strength; maybe Stoney was right, but Rick wasn't going to make it easy for him.

Part Six

Rick figured he must have passed out somewhere along the ride, because he returned to awareness just as he was being hauled unceremoniously from the back of the truck. He gained his feet a little shakily but didn't fall. The air actually seemed cool after the oven-intensity under the canvas tarp.

AJ stood beside him, his shoulders hunched and his eyes downcast. Davis untied AJ's legs while Stoney kept guard with the Magnum from a comfortable five yards away.

Rick looked at the big metal barn that was the end of their final journey. The ramshackle building was losing its battle against the forces of the relentless desert.

"Welcome to your final resting place, gentlemen," Stoney said with great formality, enjoying the moment. Rick looked at him with flat disinterest, and AJ merely glanced up with an expression of acute boredom before letting his gaze drop toward the ground again. Rick couldn't tell if AJ was assuming the role to deny Stoney even the smallest satisfaction, or if he really had withdrawn from the present.

They were shoved toward the door. The interior of the barn was as uninspiring as the exterior. The floor was dirt, heavily layered with fine dust blown through the numerous cracks in the wall and roof. The dust rose in clouds around them with each step. Wooden support beams formed a skeletal structure to which the exterior corrugated sheets were nailed. Inside, the beams remained exposed. Several old pieces of machinery and miscellaneous auto parts lay scattered around. They gleamed dully in numerous shafts of sunlight streaming through the cracks; their finish was remarkably preserved by the dry desert heat.

Rick heard a grunt of pain and spun around to see AJ on his knees, his head bent forward as the barrel of the Magnum dug into the base of his neck. Stoney had his knee in AJ's back as added leverage. He grinned at Rick. "You gonna do like I tell you, or do I blow Blondie's head off?"

No answer was necessary.

"Good. Robin, tie him to that beam over there." Stoney indicated a direction with his head, and Davis led Rick to a half-fallen wall where a 4x4 crossbeam joined a heavy upright. He shoved Rick against the upright, then used AJ's belt to lash his legs to the post before untying his hands. Rick debated briefly about taking Davis right there, but with his ankles already secured, he was badly off balance. He would never be able to get free and jump Stoney in time to save AJ from a bullet. Chances for survival were getting slimmer with each passing moment, but so far, Stoney and Davis hadn't made any mistakes. Davis used a pocketknife to cut the length of rope in two, then tied Rick's outstretched arms to the crossbeam. The ropes cut painfully into his already chaffed and bleeding wrists.

"Hey, don't you look downright religious?" Stoney approved when Davis was done. "Wish I'd thought to bring a hammer and some nails." He tossed the pistol to his partner. "Hold it to his head." Rick felt the muzzle of the weapon against the base of his ear, but did his best to ignore it.

Satisfied with his preparations, Stoney hauled AJ upright and untied his hands. AJ stood quietly, head downcast, although he was tense, wary of what was going to happen next. Stoney walked calmly around him twice, as if inspecting a side of beef. AJ didn't move, but his eyes followed Stoney's progress as much as possible. Rick felt his whole body tauten with tension. What the hell was Stoney up to?

Finally, Stoney stopped in front of AJ, who slowly raised his head and looked squarely at him. They remained like this for a long time, then Stoney abruptly backhanded AJ with enough force to stagger him a step. AJ's eyes blazed with anger, but he remained warily still when Stoney wagged an admonishing finger at him. "Know the rules, Blondie. You take a swing at me, Robin over there blows your brother's head off."

AJ looked toward Rick, his eyes sick with desperation. Rick gave him the closest thing to an encouraging shrug as he could muster under the circumstances. They were just going to have to tough it out until they got a break. Had situations been reversed, Rick didn't think he could hold his temper against Stoney, but AJ had more tenacity. Still, Rick would have given anything to spare his brother the suffering yet to come. Beside him, Davis watched with stupid delight, his weight shifting from foot to foot in his excitement. The Magnum, however, never wavered from its target.

Stoney slapped AJ again.

And again.

It developed into an evenly measured tempo as Stoney slowly vented his hatred. AJ's face was bruised and bleeding from the blows. His ears rang, his eyes blurred with tears. Anger boiled inside him, and his whole body shook with the effort to contain it. His chest and abdomen tightened into knots of tension. He was beginning to doubt his hold on sanity when Stoney hit him with enough force to knock him down. The blow was a surprise, and AJ shook his head to clear the fog.

"New rule," Stoney hissed at him, his breathing heavy from exertion and excitement. Sweat soaked his body, but his eyes still held the bright, insane shine of his hatred. "Your brother lives only as long as you keep getting up."

Davis gave an explosive little cough of pleasure. Rick knew with sickening certainty that this had been a well-calculated plot all the way. Clearly, Stoney must have carefully orchestrated his actions during those long months in prison. It was perhaps the most effective way to torment them both before the final, perhaps even merciful, end. Rick would have endured a hundred beatings to spare AJ this one, but to be forced to stand by in total helplessness was more than he was emotionally equipped to handle.

He yelled savagely at Stoney, calling him every dirty name he knew. Though the outburst seemed spontaneous and driven by emotion, Rick really hoped to draw Stoney closer to Davis, where AJ might have a chance to jump them both. Stoney might dismiss AJ disdainfully as the kid brother, but Rick couldn't think of anyone held rather have beside him in a pitched battle, especially when it came to sheer grit and stubborn determination.

But Stoney just grinned, not taking Rick's bait.

AJ also was surprised at the insidious effectiveness of the plot. And at the moment, he couldn't think of a way out of their predicament, especially since Stoney hadn't moved during Rick's outburst. Determination finally overcame his frustration, and he set his mind to the task of biding his time.

And getting up ... every time.

It was a long, brutal ordeal. AJ suffered in silence, carefully climbing back to his feet every time Stoney knocked him down. The blows and kicks were savage. His kidneys and abdomen suffered as Stoney became more vicious in his attacks.

Down once again, AJ looked up at Stoney and realized with some satisfaction that Stoney was finally getting mad. "Come on and fight me, damn it!" Stoney raged at him. AJ calmly but unsteadily regained his feet.

It was altogether too much for Rick, who was nearly hoarse from yelling savage curses at the unheeding Stoney. His one all consuming desire was to spare AJ any further agony. The chances of attaining his goal never entered his fevered, irrational thoughts. From somewhere deep within himself, he gathered his strength. It was determination that went beyond mere strength to tap the very core of his spirit. He used it all in one mighty effort to free his arms from the crossbeam holding him helpless. It was an incredible application of sheer willpower against a seemingly immovable object. In his blind rage, Rick by-passed all the built-in safety circuits in his body. He felt the muscles in his right shoulder strain and begin to tear from the exertion. The 4x4, somewhat rotted with age but sturdy enough, actually splintered under the assault, but it was inevitably muscle which gave way first. Pain assailed Rick, brought a cold, clammy sweat to his suddenly deathly white face. A feeling of nausea threatened to make him vomit. His right arm went cold and numb down to his fingertips. He didn't even have the strength left to make a fist, much less try to break through the rest of the beam.

"Jesus, you almost made it," Davis said in a voice tinged with wonder and fear. Rick didn't even hear him. He was too busy trying to keep from passing out. The thought of his knees buckling and bringing his weight down on his arms was almost enough to make him panic. But even more overwhelming was the bitter taste of failure. He'd put everything he had into his effort, and all that remained now was the formality of death. He looked back at his brother, and the sight shocked him into willing the end to come quickly.

The younger Simon was almost unrecognizable. His face was bloody and battered, both eyes swollen half shut from the blows.

Part Seven

AJ's entire body was racked with agony, and he had to use every bit of strength and willpower just to climb back to his feet each time. He reeled drunkenly, not even fully aware any longer of his punishment from Stoney. He just knew he had to get back on his feet. It simply had to be done. The reason no longer seemed important.

Rick called to him, his voice filled with desperation. "AJ, stay down. For God's sake, stay down!"

AJ stubbornly shook his head and dragged himself back up. Stoney's next blow was deliberately calculated to knock him into Rick. AJ went down against his brother's legs. "AJ, it's over," Rick pleaded with him. AJ groped for a handhold, found a grip on Rick's belt and used it to pull himself up. He leaned against his brother for a long moment, looking at him but not really seeing him, his eyes too filled with pain and shock to focus. Stoney knocked him down again right there, gaining great sadistic pleasure from Rick's helplessness.

This time, AJ took longer to get up. He clawed his way inch by bloody inch up Rick's jeans, managed to get to his knees by clinging to Rick's waistband again, then jerked to his feet with almost superhuman effort. The four of them were there in a tight tableau -- AJ holding desperately to Rick and clearly incapable of taking advantage of the opportunity to jump Stoney and Davis simultaneously; Stoney leering at them with undisguised pleasure, Davis devouring the scene from Rick's side. Stoney was exhausted now, his breath whistling in his lungs, but his eyes held a tinge of something -- awe or perhaps respect -- for AJ's courage. But this didn't stop him. This time, he didn't bother to hit AJ; he simply pried AJ's grip loose from Rick's shirt and let him fall again at his brother's feet. Then he backed off to watch AJ's efforts once again.

AJ tried, but there just wasn't anything more to give. His pitiful efforts to get up were like those of a fatally injured animal too dumb to realize it was dead. Without realizing it, Rick started to cry, his own pain forgotten as he ached for his brother sitting helplessly at his feet.

Finally, AJ just quit trying. He leaned against Rick's legs, his eyes closed, his mind and body numb with fatigue and pain. He didn't think about death. He didn't think about anything.

"I guess that's it," Davis said. He sounded disappointed.

Stoney, himself almost too exhausted to continue, gave him a scathing look. "Then kill him," he said quietly.

Davis licked his lips in nervous anticipation, then drew back the hammer on the Magnum. Rick heard it lock. The end of the barrel was still pressed against his ear. He stared directly at Stoney, his face devoid of expression. This was where it would end. It wasn't so much the thought of death, but the sense of defeat ....

With an almost animal whine of despair, AJ came up off the ground. Desperation gave him strength he otherwise lacked. He slammed into Davis, who was jarred backwards. Rick felt the bullet whip past his ear, creating a vacuum which felt very much like abrupt decompression. It seemed an eternity later when he finally heard the enormous blast of the pistol. Rick couldn't see behind him, but he could hear them grappling for control of the weapon, two men locked in a deadly embrace. Stoney was too exhausted to comprehend this incredible turn of events. He'd barely taken a step before the Magnum exploded again.

Rick was certain AJ had been shot as his brother staggered back against him and collapsed. But AJ held the Magnum, at least for a moment. Weakness made him drop it. He stared at it dumbly. Even Stoney took a long moment to come to realization, then he dove for the revolver. This jarred AJ back to partial awareness, and he tried to block Stoney's lunge. They rolled away from Rick, the dust enveloping them.

Stoney came up with the pistol. He staggered to his feet and faced AJ, who was on his knees less than a yard away. Stoney was shaking with shock and anger. "You killed him, you bastard!" he screamed hysterically at AJ, his voice hoarse and cracking with emotion. He aimed the big Magnum at AJ's face, but his arms shook so badly, he had to use both hands to steady the heavy weapon. "You killed him!" he repeated, choking back a sob.

Rick suddenly realized Stoney was trying to work up the courage to pull the trigger. He'd been counting on Davis to perform the actual act of murder. Rick knew if he could just say something to penetrate Stoney's shock, maybe they would live after all.

But AJ didn't see what Rick saw. He went at Stoney with the element of surprise on his side. Stoney fired in panic, but AJ didn't stop. The clutched, reeled together, and this time, it was AJ who came up with the pistol. He turned it on Stoney with clumsy hands. Stoney backed up in horror, his arms outstretched, beseeching mercy.

AJ fired.

The first bullet took Stoney in the chest and staggered him backward several feet. Miraculously, he stayed on his feet, though the slug must have blown out bone and muscle in its passage, a certainly fatal wound. The second bullet penetrated his abdomen, folding him in the middle. He went down like a rag doll. The last two shots, fired in sheer reflex, buzzed harmlessly through the air where Stoney had been standing, and slammed through the metal rear of the barn before expending themselves in the desert beyond.

AJ swayed precariously, the whole side of his head and face drenched with blood that continued to pump freely from a gaping gash near his right temple.

Rick found his voice at last, fear giving it renewed strength. "AJ, come here." AJ didn't respond. He just stood there, swaying, the gun still held out in front of him, his eyes staring at nothing. Rick had a grim picture of AJ bleeding to death where he stood, and of himself dying of dehydration tied to the damned crossbeam. "AJ, help me," he pleaded. "I can't get loose."

The cry for help penetrated AJ's clouded mind. The gun dropped forgotten at his feet, and he staggered over to his brother. The amount of blood pouring from the wound was terrible to see. It flowed freely down his face and neck and had already soaked the upper portion of his shirt. He fell against Rick and grabbed the crossbeam for support. That he also grabbed Rick's injured shoulder didn't help.

Rick choked back a scream of agony. "AJ, help me with the rope," he muttered through clenched teeth.

AJ looked at him dumbly. "Th' wha'?" he mumbled through split, swollen lips.

Rick forced a threatening firmness into his voice. It was a tone he'd used during their childhood years, his 'do-it-or-else' tone. "AJ, damnit, untie the ropes!"

AJ fumbled at the knot for a few moments, although the blood running into his already battered eyes effectively blinded him. It was more luck than anything else that the knot came free just as he collapsed from weakness. Rick couldn't hold him with his injured arm, but he was able to ease his brother's fall enough so that AJ was sitting against him again instead of lying in the dirt. He straightened and cursed the slowness of his numb fingers as he worked the knot at his left wrist. Done at last, he yanked the belt binding his ankles and dropped quickly beside AJ. In an instant, Rick had torn his own dirty, sweaty shirt from his body and folded it into some semblance of a bandage. Cradling a mumbling AJ against his chest, he laid the bandage firmly over the head wound, applying pressure in spite of AJ's moan of protest. He held his brother tightly, rocking him like a baby but totally unaware of the action.

Stillness descended like a shroud, but Rick gradually became aware of many sensations in the near silence. Dust motes danced lazily in the hot shafts of sunlight streaming through the holes in the roof. The heat was cloying, stifling in the closeness of the old building. The smell of dust mingled with the metallic stench of blood. Hundreds of flies, drawn by the carnage, buzzed hungrily around the shattered corpses.

Sweat mingled with the dust on his face and dripped onto the tattered remains of his salt-caked tee, but still Rick waited. He knew the urgency of getting AJ to medical aid, but he also knew the first stage of the battle would be won or lost right here. If he couldn't stop AJ's bleeding, there would be no hope. His brother would bleed to death long before Rick could drive him to a hospital. So he waited, holding firm pressure on the wound as the blood soaked the dirty cloth and seeped between his fingers as if in defiance of his efforts.

He twisted sideways to grasp the edge of Davis' shirt, but was shocked to immobility at his first glimpse of the dead man. The bullet had entered through the side of Davis' nose, blowing it off and continuing in under the left brow, taking the eye and part of the socket with it. The exit wound was a gaping hole that included most of the top left of his skull. The right eye, undamaged, stared sightlessly toward the roof. A fly already squatted on the drying surface of the cornea.

Recovering from the sight, Rick tugged hard at the shirt, and part of it tore free. AJ groaned from deep in his unconsciousness as the movement brought renewed pain. Rick quickly folded a second bandage from the torn shirt and applied it on top of the first. AJ didn't stir again, his breathing fast and shallow in the quiet.

Rick didn't know how much time had passed, but he was startled to full awareness by a sound from across the barn: Stoney wasn't dead. Not yet. As Rick stared in horror, Stoney writhed in the dirt until his body flopped over fully onto its front. With his cheek in the dirt, he stared at Rick. Blood streamed from his sagging mouth and mixed with the dust. He tried to speak, perhaps a plea for help, but it died as a gurgle in his throat. Drowning in his own blood, Stoney died staring at Rick.

Rick shuddered, but felt not a moment of compassion. He gripped AJ more tightly, rocking a bit, and this time, AJ stirred in his arms.

"Rick?" The name was spoken weakly, the single syllable almost unintelligible through the swollen, blood-caked lips.

"Be quiet, AJ," Rick replied quietly. "Help's on the way."

"What happened?" Again, nearly unintelligible, but Rick got the gist of the question.

"You got shot."

"Oh." The fact didn't seem to bother AJ much. Instead, he lifted his right hand toward his eyes, but Rick stopped him gently.

"Don't mess with the bandage."

"Is it night?" AJ's voice was so dreadfully weak, but the question seemed desperately important to him.

"No, your eyes are swollen shut."

A long silence followed, and Rick thought his brother had slipped back into the merciful haven of unconsciousness. Then, "Rick, I'm cold. Is it cold?"

Rick choked back the fear clogging his throat. "Yeah," he answered softly. "It's cold." AJ was silent again, and Rick continued to hold him tightly. "The whole world is too damned cold."

Part Eight

Sometime later, the huge barn door swung outward and several armed men darted inside. They pulled up in horror at the carnage around them, then followed Manuel to Rick's side.

Manuel crouched down in front of Rick, his eyes filled with concern and compassion. Rick's own gaze was focused on nothing, but he stirred to awareness when his friend felt AJ's neck for a pulse. "He's alive," he mumbled.

"Yes," Manuel agreed. He checked the success of Rick's pressure on the wound. "The bleeding has stopped." He spoke quickly to one of his men, who dashed outside and returned with a first aid kit.

"No," Rick protested, resisting Manuel's efforts to remove his hand from the wound.

"Let us bandage it," Manuel insisted gently. Rick finally relented. The blood-soaked rags clung to the wound, and Manuel did not attempt to remove them. His man put a fresh bandage over the old and began to fasten it in place with gauze strips.

Rick shook his head slightly, as if forcing himself to concentrate. "We have to get him to a hospital," he said at last.

It was a long moment before Manuel spoke. "No."

Rick stared at him with sick, despairing eyes. "We have to get him to a hospital," he repeated, more urgently. Perhaps Manuel hadn't understood him....

"No, Rick, I am sorry. No hospital."

"My God." Rick choked back a sob of frustration. Unknowingly, he began rocking again, clutching AJ protectively to him.

Manuel touched his shoulder, but Rick furiously shrugged him off. "You forget we are in Mexico, my friend. A hospital would bring the police. There would be many questions."

"It doesn't matter," Rick insisted.

"I must think of my family, amigo," Manuel explained gently. "We will get AJ a doctor, but you must let me do it my way."

"Or what?" Rick challenged bitterly.

Manuel sighed. "I will do what I must to protect my family," he replied at last, the gentleness of his voice removing all threat from his words, though his meaning was still clear.

The despair in Rick's eyes died to defeat. Manuel silently grieved for his friend, but he knew what had to be done. "Come, we will take him to my home. And you need water. I have some in my car."

At first, Rick resisted the efforts to help him stand and release his grip on AJ. But he was too weak to struggle for long. There was a terrible throbbing in his head, and the nausea had returned. Within two steps, he was out cold. Manuel's men caught him before he fell.

They carried the brothers outside to the waiting vehicles. Two others remained behind to deal with the bloody horror that remained.

Part Nine

AJ awoke to an excruciating pounding inside his skull. It took him several minutes of gradually returning awareness to piece together the sensations: he was lying on his back in a bed with a pillow beneath his head, and his whole body ached, though the incredible throb inside his skull reduced the rest to insignificance. A loud buzzing filled his right ear; through it, he could hear the faint sound of voices, echoing through the long tunnel of consciousness. He couldn't understand what they were saying, and it was this fact as much as anything else that made him tentatively open his eyes. Absently, he realized only his left eye obeyed his command; the right was bandaged closed.

The glare from an overhead light made him wince, and the movement caused a new ache in his already wracking head. He groaned. Immediately, a pair of anxious faces peered down at him. One was a young Mexican girl of about seventeen, and the other was a man of about forty, also Mexican. At least AJ knew why he hadn't understood their conversation -- they'd been speaking in Spanish.

The man asked him a question, but it was the girl who translated. Her accent was soft and pleasant. "Can you tell me your name?"

"AJ Simon," he replied, trying to move his jaw as little as possible. His own voice echoed eerily inside his head. "Who are you?"

The girl frowned at the question. "This is Doctor Hererra."

The doctor asked another question. "Do you know where you are?"

"Mexico?" AJ ventured, taking a stab at the obvious.

The girl smiled briefly. "In the home of Manuel Fernandez, my father. I am Anita." She continued translating for the doctor. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

This question stumped AJ. Try as he would, he couldn't recall the events leading to this moment, though every portion of his body howled with conclusive evidence that, indeed, something bad had happened to him. And the girl had said 'Manuel Fernandez' as if it should mean something to AJ. A new thought brought a trace of urgency to his voice. "Is my brother all right?"

"Rick is fine," Anita assured him quickly. "He is in the front room with my father."

Funny, AJ had the feeling he was supposed to know Anita. As to what had happened to him -- still nothing.

"Do you remember what happened to you?" the doctor persisted, his words translated through Anita.

"Not really," AJ admitted cautiously. "A traffic accident?"

As this was translated for Hererra, the doctor smiled for the first time. "Nice try," was his cryptic reply. Then he explained, still via Anita, "Actually, it is not unusual for a patient to experience temporary memory loss following a trauma to the head such as you've experienced."

"You mean I've got amnesia?"

Hererra waved aside the notion. "No, no, let us call it simply a temporary memory loss." Then, more casually, he asked, "But what is the last thing you remember?"

The effort required to think intensified the wracking throb in his head, but AJ was determined to master both the pain and his memory. "Hang-gliding," he responded at last, then cagily inquired, "Did I crack up the glider?"

"You tell me."

The doctor's lack of cooperative spirit didn't endear him to AJ's heart, but the answer to the question was really self-evident. "No. I remember we packed up the glider, grabbed a hamburger, and went home. I remember going to bed."

"When was this?"

"Last Sunday."

Hererra's eyebrows rose with surprise. "Indeed?" he commented thoughtfully.

AJ could feel himself slipping back toward the blissful haven of sleep, but he wasn't quite ready to let such an enigmatic statement go unclarified. "Indeed what?" he murmured.

"Oh, nothing to worry about," the doctor assured him. "It is just that today is Thursday, and I would not have expected your memory loss to be quite so extensive."

"Can I see my brother?" AJ asked wearily, certain Rick would fill him in on the details of what had happened. But he fell asleep before hearing Hererra's reply, which was just as well, since the answer was "no".

Part Ten

Rick scowled darkly at the living room wall and tried to ignore his own persistent headache. He longed for a beer, but Manuel was being stubbornly uncooperative. Instead, Rick sipped water (trucked in from the north for Manuel's gringo friends), while a cold, wet towel cooled the back of his neck. The nausea had settled to a tolerable queasiness, and the dizziness had gone altogether. Only the headache remained. Heat stroke, Manuel had called it.

Rick still wanted a beer.

He climbed to his feet when Hererra and Anita entered from the bedroom. The movement brought a wince of pain, which he hid quickly. Manuel joined them from the kitchen.

"How is he?" Rick demanded in Spanish with little attempt at civility.

Hererra studied the older Simon for a long moment, but he had too much patience to feel irritated by the rudeness. He sensed something burning inside Rick, and it was not racial prejudice. "I can make no promises. At this point, his condition is stable. Without proper x-rays and laboratory tests, there is nothing more I can tell you."

Rick digested this depressing news for a moment, his gaze fixed hard on the unperturbed Manuel. His frustration and anger were plain, but he said nothing.

"He is young and healthy," Hererra continued. "However, there has been some internal bleeding from the beating -- cursory examination suggests the damage is not extensive. But internal injuries are always serious -- there are so many complications that can arise from them.

"The bullet does not appear to have fractured his skull, though again, I would prefer x-rays to confirm this. Any head injury has the potential to become suddenly, even fatally, complicated. There appears to be some damage to his right inner ear from the concussion of the blast. If it does not heal on its own, surgery may be required, though it is nothing to worry about yet." Hererra's unspoken comment seemed to suggest that there was no point in worrying about AJ's hearing until it seemed certain AJ would survive the night. "I am confident the powder burns to his right eye will heal naturally and that his eyesight will be unimpaired. The sutures I have applied to the cuts on his face should leave minimal scarring." Hererra permitted himself a little smile. "I am quite skilled with needle and thread, as Manuel will testify." Rick did not respond to the attempt at lightness, so Hererra sighed and continued. "I must stress the serious nature of his injuries. You must be alert for signs of deterioration. If any of these symptoms occur, you must move him immediately to a hospital. To neglect the warning signs would be fatal. Anita knows what to look for. I would prefer to have him in a hospital at once, but because I understand the delicate nature of the situation, I have done what little I can. The rest is up to him."

Rick's anger dissipated to resignation as he listened to the doctor's depressing inventory of AJ's injuries. "Will he live?" he asked finally, his voice so quiet the doctor almost missed the question.

After a moment, Hererra replied gently, "Yes, I think so."

Manuel nodded, as if this confirmed it. "Thank you, doctor."

"Oh, there is one other thing which concerns me," Hererra continued.

"What?" Rick asked immediately.

"It is possible the memory loss he suffers has origins psychological as well as physiological. You see, a memory loss is usually associated with the time immediately preceding the trauma. In Mr. Simon's case, he cannot recall anything subsequent to hang gliding last Sunday."

Rick frowned. "He didn't -- " he blurted, then stopped.

Hererra sighed. "I see. When was the last time he was hang gliding?"

Rick thought back. "Before Christmas," he replied. "November, early December." At least eight months ago. No point in telling Hererra the brothers had become involved with Stoney and Davis the very next day after. No point in mentioning AJ had apparently blotted out every memory associated with the two car thieves, then erased the intervening months for good measure.

"Perhaps it will just take time," Hererra offered in reassurance. "Is your shoulder troubling you?"

"No," Rick lied. "Can I see him?"

"He needs rest," the doctor advised gently. "And so do you. Perhaps you may see him in the morning."

Rick slumped back into his chair. He was only half aware of the doctor's departure. Manuel stood beside the chair, and Rick slowly lifted his gaze to meet his friend's concerned eyes. Anita tactfully withdrew to the kitchen, but there really was nothing for the two old friends to say. Rick's eyes were haunted with the depths of his own guilt, and there was nothing Manuel could say to make things any better.

Finally, Manuel released a sigh. "I'll get you some more water, Rick."

"I'd rather have a beer," Rick returned after a moment.

"Is your headache gone?"

"Yes."

Manuel smiled slightly. "Excellent. We'll give it another hour or so. In the meantime, another glass of water."

Rick glowered at Manuel's retreating back.

Continue on to Part Two