Part Eleven

When AJ awoke again, sunlight was streaming in through a small, curtained window near the bed. His head still throbbed, but not with the same intensity as before. The buzz in his ears had faded a bit, too. He could recall a somewhat fitful night of drifting in and out of awareness, but he remembered Anita always there to comfort him and lull him back to sleep. She was there now, curled in a chair beside the bed, her eyes closed.

She seemed to sense his wakefulness. Her eyes opened and focused on him immediately. "Good morning," she greeted.

"Good morning," AJ replied, surprised at how much easier it was to think and speak since talking to the doctor the night before.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks." He even found the strength to smile, though the movement made him aware of the stitches in his face. 'I must look like hell,' he concluded to himself, then realized he was probably very lucky to be alive at all. "Thank you for staying up all night with me."

She smiled. "It was nothing," she assured him.

There was a brief silence while AJ thought. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name."

A brief shadow crossed her face but was quickly gone. "Anita Fernandez."

AJ felt chagrined. She'd told him her name last night. "I take it we know each other?"

"We met only briefly a long time ago," Anita answered, as if this were excuse enough for his forgetfulness.

But AJ frowned. "How long ago?" he asked.

"About eight months -- " she cut off with a grimace. "I am sorry. You did not realize how much of your memory was gone." AJ suddenly became aware of the sound of voices arguing in another room, and this distracted him from the shock of Anita's reply. He realized he'd been hearing the voices for some time, but he hadn't paid attention because the words were in Spanish. But he recognized Rick's voice. By concentrating, he was able to pick up a familiar word or two, though he could make little cohesive sense of it.

Anita noticed his concentration and tried to distract him. "Are you hungry?" she asked. "Doctor Hererra said you were not to have food or water today, but he says the IV will help to keep your strength up and replace needed fluid."

AJ hadn't noticed the IV before, but his unbandaged eye followed the tube up to the coat rack from which the bottle of solution was suspended. Glass, he noted absently. He'd thought everyone was using plastic containers these days.

He looked at Anita, his expression troubled. "They're arguing about me."

"It is nothing, do not be concerned," Anita urged him.

"What are they saying?" he persisted. When she did not answer him immediately, he simply kept his gaze steady, his expression curious and beseeching. It was a look that had crumpled hearts far stronger than Anita's, and it didn't fail him now.

Anita finally nodded and sighed. "Rick has much anger held inside him over what happened to you. Last night, he paced the floor for many hours, unable to sit or rest for more than a few minutes at a time."

"Why is he angry?"

"I do not know," Anita replied truthfully. "I only know a little of what happened, and it is not for me to talk of it." She paused to consider her next comment, then admitted, "I think he is angry with himself. He blames himself for what happened. It is a difficult anger to dispel."

AJ gave a short, careful nod. He was very familiar with Rick's hot temper; but his silent, inner rages were by far the most disturbing. Rick would seem like a caged animal, trapped within himself, ready to explode with self-destructive energy at any moment. "And the argument?"

"Rick wants to leave the house, but my father forbids it." Anita shook her head unhappily. "He knows Rick will go into town and get into trouble. In Tijuana, Rick might end up hurt, or in jail, or worse. My father wishes to spare him this." Tears made her eyes shine with vulnerability. "They have nearly come to blows over this already. Only the presence of my father's men has prevented a fight."

"I'm sorry," AJ said softly. "Maybe I can talk to him." The voices in the other room had finally fallen silent, much to his relief.

Anita smiled slightly. "It is not necessary, AJ. My father has already convinced him to stay inside the house,"

AJ was skeptical. "Since when did Rick ever listen to common sense? How did your father manage it?"

Anita was momentarily reluctant, but there was no point holding back anything this late in the discussion. "My father has promised that if Rick leaves the house, he will throw you into the street. I don't believe he would really do it," she hastened to add, "but Rick is not so certain. After all, my father has risked much by helping you, and if Rick gets into trouble, it would only cause more problems for him."

AJ realized how effective Manuel's threat would be. Rick would never risk calling his bluff. "I hope this doesn't come between their friendship," he commented softly, then felt pleased to have remembered the friendship at all. His memory seemed to be returning in cautious snatches.

"My father understands," Anita assured him. "As for Rick -- I don't know."

The long conversation had tired AJ enormously. He felt himself slipping out of awareness. His last thought before he succumbed to sleep was that his memory had to return quickly, not only for his own sake, but so that he could help Rick come to terms with whatever demons were haunting him.

Part Twelve

The next time AJ woke, the room was in semi-darkness. A small, shaded lamp on a bedside table added illumination. As with every other time he'd wakened, he paused to take inventory of his injuries: his headache had lessened even more, as had the annoying buzz in his ear; however, his body hurt worse than before. Apparently, his injuries were stiffening. He felt as if he'd been hauled through a mangle -- backwards.

He became aware of steady breathing nearby and looked toward its source. Rick was asleep in the chair usually occupied by Anita.

He studied his brother in the dim light, Rick's face was haggard with strain and marked by several bruises. "Rick?"

His brother's eyes snapped open instantly, and his whole body started with surprise. He looked at AJ in immediate concern. "AJ, you all right?"

"Yeah, I guess I shouldn't have woken you. You look terrible."

Rick smiled slightly. "Don't be so free with the insults until you get a good look at yourself."

"Bad, huh?"

"About like you'd look after fifteen rounds with Clubber Lang," Rick returned with a hollow attempt at lightness. "Kinda yellow and purple blotches all over, with a few yards of artistic stitching for good measure. Doc says there won't be much scarring, though."

"That's reassuring," AJ retorted wryly. He paused, studying his brother's face and not liking what he saw. Rick's eyes held a haunted desperation. "Rick, what happened?"

Rick's gaze slipped away guiltily. "Doc said not to tell you till he's asked you a few more questions. He wants you to remember on your own."

"I've already remembered so much," AJ protested,

Rick's eyes fixed on him grimly. "Yeah?"

"I remember the hang gliding was late last year, and this is July. I've remembered a lot of the details to fill in those months. I just don't remember coming to Mexico and getting hurt. Rick, you've got to help me." The last statement was a plea.

Rick sighed with uncertainty. "What's the last thing you remember now?"

"We located Mr. and Mrs. Halliwell's missing daughter," AJ replied promptly.

"Day before yesterday," Rick approved, "You've remembered most of it."

"Rick, that's not an answer. I need to know what happened."

There was a note of desperation in AJ's voice, but Rick was saved from relenting by the arrival of Anita. She held a tray with glasses of milk and a platter of cookies.

Rick stood up abruptly. "Talk to you later, AJ," he said quietly.

Anita protested. "Rick, I've brought us some milk and cookies."

"Thanks, maybe later." Rick was already moving past her out of the room.

"Rick." AJ's voice stopped him, and he turned back reluctantly. His eyes were focused at some point on the floor. "Did you call Mom?"

Rick's eyes lifted to meet his gaze, and he nodded, "I called her this morning," he answered, not adding that he'd made the call only after being fairly assured AJ was going to live.

"Did she sound worried?"

"No. I told her you'd gotten into a fight and needed to rest a day or two. I managed to convince her not to come racing down here."

"Do you think that's being fair to her?" AJ asked quietly.

"Hey, I did what I thought was best," Rick countered, his anger flaring resentfully. "You call her and tell her whatever you like." He left without giving AJ a chance to respond.

Anita sighed and placed the tray beside the lamp. Without a word, she checked AJ's bandages and made certain the bed covers were snug. AJ watched her, trying to meet her eyes, but she avoided a direct look until she was finished,

AJ tried a smile, but it hurt too much, so he settled for a more bedraggled look. "I need some answers," he said softly, letting just the proper note of pleading into his voice.

She grinned abruptly, kissed the tip of her finger and touched it lightly to the end of his nose. "You have a beguiling charm, Andrew Jackson Simon, so I shall say nothing further to you. You will be talking to yourself, so you might as well go back to sleep."

With that, she plopped into the chair and picked up a book from the end table. Angling it to catch the lamplight, she read with absolute concentration, resisting every one of AJ's verbal ploys to get her to speak. Frustrated, he realized he had very little alternative but to follow her advice, but he pride had suffered a blow. 'It's probably all the bruises and bandages,' he told himself reassuringly as he slid into the pain free haven of deep sleep.

Part Thirteen

It was morning before he opened his eyes again. If anything, his bruised muscles hurt worse than ever, but the ache in his head was nearly gone. He was alone in the room, which he took as a good sign, since he was certain he would not be left unwatched if his condition were still serious. He heard voices in the next room, in normal conversation this time, but the sounds were too faint to pick out a familiar word. He gave up and tried instead to concentrate on remembering what had happened to him. All it did was make his headache come back again.

Rick came in a few minutes later. He seemed pleased to find AJ awake. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I just went four quarters with the Chargers," AJ confessed.

"You're improving then," Rick concluded. He fidgeted for a moment, then said, "AJ, I'm sorry about what I said last night."

"Me, too," AJ replied. "You were right, and I was wrong." Rick appeared abnormally relieved by AJ's admission. "It wouldn't accomplish anything to drag Mom down here."

Rick nodded. "I'm going home today," he tossed in casually.

"Okay, me too."

"Not a chance," Rick returned firmly. "Doc says you need at least a week in bed."

"A week?" AJ groaned at the thought. "When will you be back?"

"In a few days," Rick promised. "I want to get us some fresh clothes." He held out his left arm, and the shirtsleeve on the borrowed shirt pullback about four inches. "Manuel's stuff doesn't fit too well." He winced at his own lame attempt at humor and let his arm fall back to his side. "Besides, I've got to figure out how to get you back across the border. And someone needs to look in at the office, not to mention talk to Mom and Janet and everybody else in the world who's wondering what the hell happened."

"That includes me," AJ reminded him.

The look of tormented desperation shadowed Rick's eyes for a moment, then vanished. "Not right now," he said quietly.

"Because the doc told you not to, or because you can't?" AJ pressed, concern and confusion evident in his voice.

There was a long pause from Rick during which he appeared to quell some inner turmoil, "I'll be back soon," he promised, turning quickly to leave the room.

When Rick was gone, AJ felt frustrated and annoyed. Hererra's recent visits had assured the doctor that AJ was well on the mend, his memory intact save for the time immediately preceding his ordeal. The ominous IV dangling overhead had been removed the day before. Confident the worst was past, Hererra had given his permission for AJ to be told about what had happened to him. Only nobody was talking. Anita apparently didn't know, and Manuel felt it was not his place to confide the facts. With Rick's departure, AJ had lost his source for learning the truth. He thumped the bed in frustration with his fist. He had to get his memory back soon -- he just had to!

Anita came in with a tray of food, which she placed on the end table. "Are you ready for something a little more substantial than soup?" she asked, referring to the first relatively solid meal AJ had eaten the previous evening.

AJ eyed the plate suspiciously: a little sliced chicken, some dry toast, and a bowl of something that looked like more of last night's soup. "I must be sick," he ventured at last. "I suddenly have a craving for one of Rick's chili cheese dogs."

Anita chuckled as she helped him sit up in bed, "Perhaps tomorrow, if you still feel like it," she replied, She set the tray in his lap and sat down in the chair. "Can you manage all right?"

AJ tried using the knife and fork, and was pleased with his success. He took small bites because his whole face hurt when he chewed. He suspected he was going to need a few visits to the dentist before his teeth quit rattling around. At least, his abominably high health insurance premiums would finally pay off ... before the rates went up again or his insurance company cancelled altogether. He tried to focus on less depressing thoughts.

He looked at Anita with embarrassment. "I remember Rick and your father coerced me into asking you for a date." He paused, thinking. "I guess we didn't go. If we did, I don't remember."

Anita shook her head. "We didn't."

"The first time I saw you, you were dressed in coveralls and had a spare tire slung over your shoulder." AJ smiled faintly at the memory. "I guess it panicked me a little."

"That's all right. "

"No, what I mean is, I'd really like to take you out."

"It isn't necessary," Anita insisted.

"I know it isn't, but I want to. Now that I've gotten to know you a little better ... well, I guess I'm not scared any more.

Anita blushed. "Rick has my father's phone number here and at the garage. You can call me."

"I will," AJ promised, and he knew this was a promise he would keep.

Part Fourteen

Rick's first stop in San Diego was his mother's home. As he pulled into the guest-parking slot in front of the elegant condominium, he felt a stab of resentment. He always felt like a guest here, in spite of his mother's efforts to make it otherwise. This was not his home. Home was a big, rambling house just a few miles away. A rusty basketball hoop still hung over the garage. He'd broken his arm falling from the big tree in the back yard on two different occasions. He'd rebuilt his first car engine in the roomy garage, and had been caught sneaking out second-story bedroom window at two in the morning while on restriction.

Then again, he reflected gloomily, what did a guy who lived in an old fishing boat in his brother's yard know about home? Still, he knew. Home was a place of memories, an anchor when life threatened to pull him adrift. To someone who almost literally made his bed wherever he happened to find himself, home was a place of roots.

Now the house was gone, in the process of being sold. It had been impractical for Cecilia Simon, a widow with two grown sons, to live there alone. The yard work alone required hours of attention, even with a gardening service, and both Rick and AJ had frequently been too busy to help out. Rick admitted the practicality of the sale, but he'd never realized how deeply he'd be affected by it. Maybe this was the first time he'd really felt a need for home. Janet Fowler, a close friend, had once accused him of thinking he was Peter Pan; he would never grow up. Maybe home was Never-Never Land.

Whatever, this place, with its allotted parking stalls and manicured lawns, wasn't it. With a sigh, Rick climbed out of the car. He tossed his hat, recovered from Manuel's garage, onto the seat. He was careful not to aggravate his injured shoulder; the drive up from Tijuana had been agonizing.

He was nearly to the front door when he saw his mother returning from the swimming pool with several friends. Again, he felt a brief stab of resentment: his mother, playing the singles scene, leading a carefree, active life. Rick inwardly cursed himself. He'd been happy to see his mother dating and enjoying life again since his father's death. Why the hell was he behaving like a spoiled twelve-year-old now?

Cecilia saw him, bid a hasty farewell to her friends, and hurried to join him. She stopped a few feet away to give him a critical once-over. "Well, you don't look too bad," she conceded, her worry fading. The analysis out of the way, she gave him a quick hug and opened the front door to usher him inside.

"I'll make some coffee," she said, leading him to the kitchen.

As he settled at the breakfast bar, she asked, "How's AJ?"

"He's okay," Rick replied as offhandedly as possible. He wasn't very adept at lying to people who were close to him.

Cecilia looked at him sharply. "What happened?"

"An old case. Couple of guys got out of jail and came looking for us. It got a little sticky, but Manuel bailed us out."

Cecilia accepted his meager explanation, though she sensed there was more to it. Only when she had poured coffee and sat down beside him did her concern surface. "You look tired, Rick. Are you all right?"

Rick grinned. "Me? Sure. A little bruised, maybe. Stiff."

"And AJ?"

"Doctor wanted him to rest in bed a few days in case he'd bruised something internally."

Cecilia believed him because of how well she knew her children. In a fight, they always backed each other up. For this reason, any injuries were probably about evenly distributed between them. "When are you bringing him home?"

"In a few days."

"Will you bring him here?"

Rick shook his head. "No, he'll probably want to go to his place." He finished his coffee and stood up. "I have to go rescue Janet from Marlowe, Mom," he explained, kissing her on the forehead. "Don't worry about AJ. He'll be fine."

"I worry about both of you," Cecilia retorted anxiously, knowing there was more Rick wasn't telling her but not certain how to draw him out. Rick looked tired, so haunted and full of anguish in spite of his reassuring smile ... as if the spirit had gone out him. "Be careful."

"Always," Rick promised. "And don't worry. AJ's gonna be fine." He left quickly, certain his mother was about to try a new tack.

The Chevy's seat was hot after sitting in the sun, and he winced as he sat behind the wheel. He put on his hat and sunglasses, then backed out of the parking slot and headed for Janet's apartment.

She lived in one of the more exclusive buildings overlooking the bay. It hadn't always been so, but Janet was now an assistant district attorney; she could afford the expensive luxury.

He was forced to park half a block away, and grumbled with annoyance as he retraced his steps to her building.

She hailed him from poolside as he crossed the patio. Everyone seemed to be sun worshipping, he mused. After Mexico, he preferred the thought of a heavy overcast and drenching rain.

As usual, Janet had a flock of male admirers gathered around her. There was no denying she was beautiful: long, slender legs, a figure to make de Milo re-evaluate his concept of perfection, and a classically lovely face framed by soft brunette curls. Rick found himself wondering absently why he had never actively pursued her. Maybe the fact that they had absolutely nothing in common except a mutual love for AJ had something to do with it. Then he wondered why Janet and AJ had ended their engagement so long ago. He reflected he was probably responsible for that, too; Janet had probably figured it was tough enough having him as a friend, never mind as a brother-in-law.

"Rick, you look terrible," Janet said as he joined the group by the pool.

"One more person says that, I'm gonna have to hide in your closet," Rick shot back. On reflection, he added, "Come to think of it, that's not a bad idea."

Janet grinned, politely dismissed her suitors, and got up to take him to her apartment. Her admirers, all bronzed young executives, probably wondered what she possibly could see in a lean, urban cowboy whose clothes tended to give permanent press a bad name.

Rick certainly had to admit Janet knew how to fill out a bathing suit better than most women. Pity she wasn't into string bikinis.

Marlowe, Rick's large, brown dog of unspecified lineage, greeted him with an enormous bark and a wagging tail that nearly toppled a large, potted philodendron before Rick got him under control. The assault didn't do his shoulder any good, either, and he was glad Janet headed straight for the kitchen and was unable to see his sudden paleness as a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

"Want a beer?" she called.

"Sure," he answered, getting a firm grip on the dog and lowering himself gratefully onto the sofa. Marlowe seemed disappointed in Rick's lack of response to his welcome and curled up at his feet.

Janet delivered a can of Coors for him and a Coke for herself, sat down beside him and demanded, "What happened?"

Rick told her the same thing he'd told his mother, which didn't amount to much. Janet knew vague generalities when she heard them. "Rick, are you giving me a load of bull or what?"

Rick rubbed Marlowe's ears. "Janet, you're an officer of the court. There's not a whole lot more that I can tell you."

"Oh, there's a neat evasion," she retorted angrily, hurt by Rick's refusal to tell her the truth.

Rick was silent for a long time as he scratched Marlowe's head and tried to find the words he needed. "It's something I can't talk about," he admitted haltingly after a bit.

Like Cecilia, Janet knew better than to push him further. Intuitively, she knew he was blaming himself for whatever had happened. She hoped it wasn't true. She loved him as a friend; he had many good qualities, most notably his loyalty. He had risked his life to save hers; it meant something to count him as a friend. But he was also irresponsible, stubborn, short-tempered and prone to moments of child-like disregard for the consequences of his actions. His antics had put him in danger on more than one occasion, and AJ was usually the one faced with the task of coming to his rescue. Furthermore, Rick's actions sometimes put AJ in danger as well, and this made Janet furious. If Rick's lack of foresight had endangered AJ and caused his recent injury, Janet knew her own temper would get the better of her. She would find it difficult to forgive Rick. But she would. She always had -- for AJ's sake.

And she was worried about Rick. He seemed tired, distant... older somehow. Maybe events had finally forced him to confront his lack of responsibility. Somewhat irrationally, she hoped not, because the very traits of immaturity that made her sigh with exasperation were the same traits that made him so endearing.

"When will I be able to see AJ?" she asked finally.

"I'll bring him home Wednesday," Rick answered, grateful for the change of subject. "Maybe you can drop in Thursday. Depends on how well he travels."

"Shouldn't he be in the hospital?" she asked, concern again getting the better of her.

"Probably," he agreed, "but he can't go into a Mexican hospital, and I don't know how I'm going to get him back across the border yet. In a week, he still won't be strong enough for me to risk smuggling him across in the back-end of a truck, so we'll have to come straight through the checkpoint. He'll have to act normal and healthy, or there'll be too damned many questions." He sounded frustrated and faintly overwhelmed. He'd never had trouble crossing the border in secret before, but this was AJ he was talking about... a badly injured AJ. It made things more difficult.

"Look, if you run into trouble, give me a call," Janet told him. "I'll do whatever I can to help."

Rick grinned briefly. "There won't be any trouble," he promised, "but thanks for the offer." He swallowed the last of his beer. "I'd better get going. Thanks for looking after Marlowe ... okay if I bring him back before I leave?"

"Of course," Janet said, smiling. "He's always a welcome house guest here."

Rick thanked her and said his good-byes. As Janet closed the front door behind him, she frowned with worry. Rick was behaving so strangely, and he'd been favoring his right arm. Something terrible must have happened to change him so drastically. Her concern for AJ grew to almost panic proportions.

Part Fifteen

AJ awoke to the silence of the Fernandez home at night. He lay there for several minutes, taking the usual inventory of his injuries. Everything seemed to be on the mend.

During the first few days of his bed rest, his bodily systems had shut down, apparently a natural step toward healing. With his return to a diet of solid foods, his body had grudgingly gone back to work. The upshot was that he had to go to the bathroom.

This was not wholly unexpected, but on the last occasion, Doctor Hererra had been paying a visit. Though AJ had wanted to attempt a trip to the bathroom, the doctor had adamantly refused and had schooled AJ in the use of a bedpan. The effort had been frustrating and demeaning in AJ's opinion. At least there had been no blood in the urine... one small triumph.

This time, AJ was determined to go down the hall to the bathroom. Hererra was not here to stop him. Anita was asleep in her customary place on the chair. AJ wondered if he could move quietly enough to slip past her. He pushed back the bed covers and carefully levered himself into a sitting position. Muscles protested, but the pain was bearable. Encouraged, he swung his legs to the floor and slowly pushed himself to his feet. The room wavered momentarily, and he felt uncustomarily weak, but otherwise, he seemed to be functioning.

The mild dizziness soon passed, and he tried a tentative step.

So far, so good.

Feeling slightly guilty, he moved as quietly as possible so as not to waken Anita. It was a sign of her tiredness after the long days of tending to him that she did not even stir as he opened the bedroom door and ventured into the hall.

Though he moved with the slow, shuffling steps of an old man, AJ felt triumphant to be mobile. The ache of over-stressed muscles was familiar now, and there were no acute pains to suggest anything other than a slow but progressive recuperation.

He was halfway to the bathroom when a wave of dizziness washed over him. He stumbled, caught himself with effort, and leaned against the wall for balance. Hererra had told him the dizziness was caused by a disruption in his inner ear. He wished it would go away quickly. The accompanying cold sweat and nausea were unwelcome side effects.

An angry voice hissed at him from a nearby doorway. "You crazy fool! What do you think you're doing?" Manuel hurried to him and took his arm.

"Bathroom," AJ whispered back.

"You should stay in bed," Manuel insisted.

"Bathroom," AJ repeated firmly.

"Anita will probably have both our heads for this," Manuel remarked as he helped AJ hobble the last few yards.

"I can manage now, thanks," AJ told him. "Good night."

Manuel muttered something it was probably just as well AJ couldn't understand. Once inside, AJ managed to tend to business without too much difficulty. As he started for the door to begin his return trip to the bedroom, he was shocked by the sight of himself in the mirror. He stopped, leaning on the sink, and stared in horror at the mass of bruises and stitches masking his face. A heavy bandage still swathed his head, but his right eye had been unbandaged the day before; it looked like the granddaddy of all shiners, and the eye itself was horribly bloodshot. 'Well,' he thought grimly, 'it probably could have been worse.'

'It.' He paused for a moment, staring at his battered reflection in the mirror. Some detective! He had lain in bed for three days, surrounded by clues, but too stupid to appreciate them. Of course, he'd quickly figured out he'd been beaten. A traffic accident or other mishap would have resulted in more random injuries, not the methodical punishment done to his face, abdomen and kidneys, But now he looked for other clues. He studied his hands -- no bruised or swollen knuckles. He had been unable to fight back. Held? Maybe. Tied? Certainly ... his wrists still bore the burns from the rope. So, he'd been deliberately tied and beaten to a pulp, then apparently shot in the head ... and left for dead? Whatever had happened, there had been ample time to do a thorough job. Nothing about his injuries suggested haste.

And where had Rick been? His brother's face had been slightly marked, but not so seriously as to suggest a beating. Had he also been tied, awaiting his turn to be assaulted? Had he been conscious, forced to watch, or mercifully unconscious? If Rick had been a helpless bystander, AJ figured it explained a lot about Rick's attitude. Rick had the protective instincts of the big brother; he would feel guilty if he failed to protect AJ. Though AJ knew such guilt feelings were unreasonable, he also knew Rick would suffer them nonetheless.

The rationale was all well and good, but it didn't help restore AJ's memory. The amnesia frightened him more than anything. He knew it extended beyond the physical trauma. What could have been so horrific as to make him expunge it from his memory?

His thoughts, as usual, had come full circle. There was nothing left to do but hobble down the hall -- on hands and knees if the dizziness struck again -- and go back to bed.

Manuel was waiting for him in the hallway, Leaning against the wall, eyes half closed, he tried without success to stifle a yawn as AJ appeared.

"I thought I said good night," AJ muttered.

"I think you did," Manuel agreed, "but I'm half asleep." He took AJ's arm to help support him down the hallway.

"I heard you and Rick arguing the other day."

Manuel shrugged. "He was angry at the ones who hurt you. He was angry with himself because he could not prevent it. I was a convenient target. I understood."

"You've done so much for me -- "

"No, it is nothing." Manuel seemed embarrassed by AJ's gratitude.

"You and Rick must be very good friends."

Manuel grinned broadly. "Rick is a wild one! Unpredictable. You can be certain he will never be on time for anything. But when you are in trouble, he will always come and be ready to help. I value his friendship very much."

AJ had heard such testimonials before. He'd known these things about Rick for years. "How was he when he worked for you?"

Manuel chuckled. "A maniac! Aye, the stories I could tell!"

"I'd like to hear them."

"And perhaps I will tell you one day. Now, it is time for both of us to return to our beds. Good night, AJ."

"Good night, Manuel." AJ leaned against the door to his bedroom and watched Manuel go back down the hall. For the first time since he'd been injured, he no longer felt a sense of urgency to recovery his memory. Whatever it was, he would come to grips with it when the time was right. And so would Rick; they'd handle it together.

As he turned to enter the bedroom, he suddenly thought about something else: a bath. He had the uncomfortable realization he was starting to smell like something Rick had left too long in the refrigerator!

Part Sixteen

The Simon family doctor was the stereotypical image of the kindly country physician. He was a cynical, outspoken proponent of preventive medicine who had been spouting the advantages of a healthy diet long before such things became fashionable. A half- million dollar home on Mission Bay spoiled the image of the benevolent country GP, but Rick figured most of the wealth had come from patching up the Simon brothers since early childhood, so he felt he had a stake in the doctor's continued prosperity.

Of course, Rick had other reasons for continuing to see the regular family doctor long after he was old enough to make his own choice: first, Doctor McCabe never over-booked his patients; there was never more than one other patient in the waiting room. Second, and perhaps most important to Rick, Doc McCabe hated golf. For this reason, Rick figured he could trust the doctor to keep his regular office hours no matter how glorious the weather.

Naturally, Doc McCabe was in. Rick's didn't have an appointment, but this didn't keep him waiting longer than thirty minutes as the staff tightened the schedule to accommodate him.

"Rick, your shoulder reminds me of one I saw on a quarterback who'd been sacked by the entire defensive line," McCabe remarked idly, ignoring Rick's moan of protest as the bandages were tightened around his injury. "Now, I want to get some x-rays and then admit you to the hospital for surgery as soon as possible."

"What?" Rick exclaimed in horror. "What surgery?"

"To fix the ligaments holding the muscle to the bone," McCabe explained patiently. "Though you still have some mobility in the arm, we need to check the extent of the damage." Noting Rick's dismay, he added, "There's a chance surgery may not be indicated. It all depends."

"On what?"

"The x-rays." McCabe sighed. "Who did this to you?"

"I did it to myself," Rick admitted reluctantly.

"Self mutilation is a new approach for you, Rick," McCabe commented admiringly.

Rick didn't have an appropriate comeback. How could he explain he'd had a wrestling match with a 4x4 and lost? "Look, Doc, no x-rays, no hospital, and no surgery ... at least not yet."

"How did I know you were going to say that?" McCabe remarked without surprise. "I suppose you won't let me immobilize the arm either?"

"No, I need it." Rick grimaced as McCabe gave the bandage a particularly violent tug before fastening it in place.

"Look at you," McCabe complained. "The pain has you half out on your feet. How do you expect to function?"

"No choice," Rick returned firmly. "Doc, I got a question for you."

"Go ahead, I still don't charge for friendly advice."

"It's confidential."

McCabe shrugged. "Everything is these days."

Rick tried to phrase his comments carefully. "AJ's been hurt in Mexico. He's still down there, under a doctor's care, but I have to bring him home soon. He might still need to see a doctor,"

"Uh-huh," McCabe grunted. "I take it there is some question of legality involved?"

"You're required by law to report gunshot wounds."

McCabe's casualness vanished. "AJ's been shot?"

"I asked if you had to report it."

"Well, yes -- I do."

"Even if it happened in Mexico?"

"Rick, I -- "

"Even if the Mexican police aren't aware a crime has been committed? If nobody knows except me, AJ, and a few others who won't talk?"

McCabe sighed with indecision. "Bring him in to see me," he said at last.

"And you won't report it?"

"You didn't confirm it was a gunshot wound. Maybe, in a few days, I won't be able to tell."

Rick sighed with relief. One obstacle had been overcome. "Thanks, Doc."

"Don't thank me yet," McCabe replied testily, his old self once again. "If AJ requires hospitalization, all promises are off."

It was the best Rick could hope for. "All right."

McCabe scribbled something on a prescription pad. As he handed it to Rick, his expression was ominous. "I'm prescribing a painkiller for you." Rick took hold for the slip, but McCabe did not let go of it. "I know you're probably going to take too much, or drive after taking it, or swallow it with beer or something equally stupid, so I'll tell you right now -- don't."

"I won't," Rick promised, tugging at the slip. McCabe did not let go.

"Normally, I wouldn't think of giving you this," the doctor continued, "but I know you have too many street contacts. You'd probably pick up the wrong drug or something. It's the only reason I'm doing this."

"I'll be careful," Rick assured him, tugging more firmly at the paper.

McCabe wasn't ready to give up yet. "Mess with me on this one, Rick, and I'll read your entire medical history to your mother," he swore with grim finality.

"You would," Rick grumbled, yanking the paper free. He tucked it into his shirt pocket and flexed his bandaged right arm. There was still pain, but the bandage offered some support. More importantly, he could still use the arm. "Thanks again, Doc."

"When are you bringing AJ back?"

"Later this week."

"Be more specific and make an appointment to bring him in," McCabe ordered, ushering him out the door. "Now go. I have patients waiting who are willing to listen to my advice, free or otherwise."

Rick went.

Part Seventeen

During the next two days, Rick busied himself with numerous tasks. He washed and waxed the Chevy to a showroom finish and cleaned the interior until it was spotless. Then he repeated the steps on AJ's Camaro. He cleaned AJ's house from top to bottom in preparation for his brother's return. There wasn't a speck of dust or a dirty dish to be found. He paid all the bills at the office, though bookkeeping was not his strongest skill, and replied to the few messages on their answering machine. He stocked the refrigerator with AJ's favorite foods.

The heavy work made his shoulder ache constantly, but he tried to ignore it. Each night he fell into an exhausted sleep, courtesy of Doctor McCabe's magic painkillers.

Only Cecilia and Janet seemed to realize just how atypical this behavior was for Rick. Constructive activity was not his style. Furthermore, he refused their offers of help and continued to work with dogged determination until everything was as perfect as he could make it.

Satisfied all was in readiness, he did something he was certain would meet with AJ's approval: Rick put his name on the waiting lists for slips at several of the marinas in the area. He would finally get his boat out of AJ's yard.

If he had stopped long enough to think about it, he might have realized just how strangely he was behaving. But he didn't. He would not admit just how desperately he needed AJ's approval right now. He only knew nothing could be wrong with the cars, the house, or the business -- everything had to be perfect. He wouldn't analyze the reasons why.

Part Eighteen

On Wednesday, Rick packed a small suitcase for AJ and took extra care with his own appearance. Sporty but casual, nothing too dressy, nothing too expensive. The way a person might dress for an active day at the Tijuana racetrack. Nothing to make the border guards suspicious. He'd already dropped Marlowe at Janet's the night before, so he filled the Power Wagon with gas, ran it through a car wash to make it gleam with respectability, and headed south with the late morning sun.

Tension was still heavy within him. That morning, he'd gone around the house like a regular fussbudget, putting the finishing touches on everything. The place was immaculate. Now, driving toward the border, he was determined to present a cheerful façade for AJ.

Driving the big four-wheel-drive Power Wagon was a chore. Every time he shifted gears, his shoulder protested. But he did not take one of the pills Doctor McCabe had prescribed for him. It was not because he had given his word, or that he knew McCabe would fulfill his threat to reveal the more embarrassing aspects of his medical history to his mother. He was simply determined to avoid doing anything stupid. Maybe he was out to prove he wasn't the fool he kept cursing himself for being.

Whatever the reason, he endured the agony all the way to Manuel's. He had to rest a few minutes in the truck to regain his composure before he found the strength to go to the front door.

Anita answered his knock and smiled with delight. "Rick, I've never seen you so dressed up before," she exclaimed with approval. "You look wonderful."

Rick grinned in embarrassment as he stepped into the coolness of the house. "Thanks. You look pretty good yourself for someone who's been playing nursemaid all week."

She gave a mock curtsy. "Thank you, sir."

"AJ awake?"

"Awake and chafing to go," Anita replied wryly. She studied Rick for a long moment, as if debating with herself.

"What?" Rick prompted.

She shrugged resignedly. "I don't think he feels quite as well as he's pretending."

Rick nodded. "Thanks. Where's Manuel?"

"At the garage. Would you like me to call him?"

"No, I guess we'd better just clear out. Thank him for me, will you? And tell him I'll be back soon to thank him in person. You, too, darling," he added. "At the very least, we owe you a night on the town."

Anita looked delighted at the prospect. "Then come back soon."

"We will," Rick promised, then headed toward AJ's room. He stopped at the door in utter amazement. Behind him, Anita giggled.

"Don't say anything," AJ pleaded.

Rick was too bemused to laugh. "AJ, you look ridiculous!"

Anita's giggles dissolved into laughter.

AJ sighed in embarrassment. He was sitting up in bed and looking remarkably strong after his rest. Though a week's growth of beard and the tracks of stitching were clearly visible, the bruises were totally hidden by a heavy layer of pancake makeup. It gave his normally robust skin a rather pasty pallor. "You said we had to fake the border guards," AJ said defensively as Rick's amazement gave way to a grin. "Anita claims to have some experience in the area."

"Yeah?" Rick chuckled. "Just be sure to say something so the guards won't mistake you for a cadaver."

"Thanks a lot," AJ retorted sourly.

"Unfortunately, there was nothing we could do about the beard or stitches," Anita said.

"That's okay," Rick replied. "Thanks."

"I sure hope you brought me some clean clothes," AJ said, carefully levering his body around to sit on the edge of the bed.

Rick unpacked the suitcase for AJ's inspection while Anita made a strategic withdrawal. AJ dressed slowly with Rick's help. It was an arduous task as AJ tried to avoid a strain on any of his injured muscles, but there was pain in spite of his efforts. Except for a few unescorted trips to the bathroom and one very cautious, self-administered sponge bath, he hadn't done anything in the way of exercise, and the normally simple task of getting dressed was almost too much.

Rick slumped unhappily beside him. "Damn, this isn't going to work," he muttered.

"Let's just get it over with," AJ urged him. "I'll be okay."

Rick looked at him for a long time, then nodded. "Okay."

He helped his brother up, took the suitcase carefully in his right hand, and offered his left in support as they left the room. Anita waited for them in the living room. Her concern for AJ was immediately apparent. "Perhaps he should stay another week."

"Not a chance," AJ protested. "You've been really terrific, but I don't think I could stand another week in bed."

"What do you think you're gonna be doing when we get home?" Rick countered.

They went out into the hot sun and started for the truck. Rick stopped, muttering a few well-chosen curses as he realized the big step up into the cab would be difficult for his brother. "I should have brought one of the cars," he said, an angry edge to his voice.

AJ looked at him oddly. "It's all right, Rick. We'll manage."

Rick helped him climb up into the truck cab and fastened the seat belt around him. Then he closed and locked the door before going around to the driver's side. AJ watched his ministrations with bemusement.

Anita waited for Rick by the driver's door. "Take care, Rick," she urged him.

Rick gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "We both will," he replied. "Saying thank you doesn't seem to be enough," he added awkwardly. "But I guess it'll have to do for now."

"You're welcome," Anita replied, then waved as they drove away.

When they were approaching the border, Rick handed AJ a large, touristy sombrero. "You gonna be okay?"

AJ winced as he angled the enormous hat to cover his bandaged temple. The brim hid most of his face as he slumped into the seat. "Fine," he replied, but there was a strain in his voice.

Rick's last maneuver was to scatter some old racing slips, a parking permit, and a copy of a local paper turned to the racing section across the dashboard.

The Mexican border guard waved them through with barely a second glance. However, the American guard looked particularly suspicious to Rick as he came over to scrutinize both truck and occupants.

"Got anything to declare?" he asked without a trace of the politeness common to most of the Border Patrol.

'Terrific,' Rick thought. 'The guy ate too many chili burritos for breakfast.' "No," he replied with what he hoped was the correct tone of casual respect. He jerked a thumb toward his brother. "Unless you count him. I declare he had too many enchiladas for lunch."

AJ raised his hand in a decidedly derogatory gesture, and the guard chuckled in spite of himself. "Okay, go on through."

Rick breathed a sigh of relief when the truck finally picked up speed on the I-5. AJ took off the sombrero gratefully and dropped it onto the seat. To Rick, he looked terrible. "AJ, you okay?"

AJ managed a grin. "Are we there yet, Mom?"

Rick returned the grin. "Speaking of Mom, she wants you to go to her place."

"Uh-uh," AJ objected. He spotted a service station. "Hey, pull in here, will you?"

Rick immediately did as asked. "What's the matter?"

"I think I'd better get this gunk off my face. Anita gave me some stuff she said would do the trick."

"Can't it wait -- ?"

AJ sighed. "You know Mom's going to outguess us and be waiting for us at my place. I sure don't want her to see me looking like the ghost Bill Murray missed."

"You're right," Rick agreed after a moment. He pulled up to the restroom door and parked. "You need a hand?"

AJ felt terrible. The bouncing ride in the truck hadn't helped any, and this was the longest time he'd sat up since his injuries. "I just might," he admitted.

Continue on to Part Three