Chapter 6

 

            Long before his household was stirring on Saturday morning, A.J. was up and gone.  He'd kissed the slumbering Lauren as he slipped out of bed at five a.m.  She'd kissed him back, raising her tousled head off the pillow to direct in a froggy voice,  "Have a good time.  And don't forget to take the brownies I made.  You know your brother and his sweet tooth."

 

            The blond man didn't wake his stepsons to tell them goodbye.  He'd done that the evening before when he'd seen them off to bed, while reminding Shane and Tanner they'd be together again the following week when the boys returned for their visitation with their mother.

 

Like A.J. had predicted, he and Rick had been busy with cases the remainder of the week and couldn't have found time to discuss Pellman Creek's proposal even if they'd wanted to.  When the blond man brought up Lauren's suggestion of a weekend fishing trip so they could talk over the FBI agent's visit, the elder Simon gave a preoccupied shrug and an indifferent,  "Sure.  Why not?" which indicated to A.J. just how heavily Cordell Franklin was weighing on Rick's mind.

 

             You didn't make a commitment to fish with Rick Simon without knowing he expected you to be ready to set sail at sunrise.  The houseboat chugged out of the marina at six that morning.  By nine, Rick was putting down anchor in the middle of the ocean far from any other boats.  By fifteen minutes after nine, the brothers were casting their lines into the water.

 

            For A.J. fishing had always been a way to relax in the sun while enjoying the vastness of the Pacific and the cool breezes she so generously provided on a hot summer day.  Rick was the one who made a true sport out of angling.  He knew more about what type of bait to use for what fish and what lures worked best than A.J. would ever care to know in a lifetime.  Therefore, for every two fish the blond man managed to hook his brother hooked ten.  But, no matter.  The brothers had never made fishing a competition.  Without ever voicing it, they both recognized these short excursions as times that quietly reaffirmed their bond as two men whose friendship and loyalty to one another dated back to childhood.

 

            A.J. tried a few false starts at conversation that morning.  When his attempts were met with no more of a response than an occasional, "Uh huh," he, too, fell silent.  When Rick reeled his line in for the last time at four that afternoon, A.J. followed suit.  He wondered what his brother was doing when Rick brought the anchor up and started the boat's engine, but didn't ask.  The lanky detective piloted the vessel in the direction of a secluded cove he and A.J. had long ago stumbled across.  When he killed the engine again and released the anchor A.J. realized this was where Rick planned for them to spend the night.

 

            Rick was no more talkative while he scaled and gutted fish, and then cooked them on the Weber grill, than he had been throughout the day.  Grilled potatoes and sweet corn rounded out the meal making clean up simple.  Dessert was the brownies Lauren had baked the night before. 

 

            Late evening rays of sunshine streaked the sky pale pink as Rick lowered the gangplank for his dog.  Rex bounded onto the narrow strip of land they were moored next to that jutted out into the ocean.  The balding man stood at the railing a moment.  From behind his sunglasses he watched his dog explore at the water's edge before disappearing into a thicket of shrubbery.   When the detective turned around he saw A.J. walking toward him carrying two lawn chairs in one hand and two cold beers in another.  Without saying a word, Rick took one chair and one beer and climbed the short set of steps to the upper patio, A.J. at his heels.  The two men seated themselves, looking out over the water.  They were halfway through their drinks before Rick spoke about the subject matter that had brought them here in the first place.  Typical of the eldest Simon brother, even after a day of pensive silence, he came right to the point.

 

            "I've been thinkin’ a lot about Creek's visit.  About the things he said.  About what he told us regarding Cord.  I wanna take the job, A.J."

 

            "For the right reasons?"

 

             If you included the freelance jobs they used to take in Florida, the Simon brothers had worked together for over two decades now.  Rick didn't have to ask A.J. what that pointed question meant.

 

            "Yeah, for the right reasons."  Rick took his sunglasses off, folded them and put them in his shirt pocket.   He rubbed a hand over weary eyes before speaking again. 

 

"I hope to God I can prove to Creek that Cord is innocent of everything the feds suspect.  I wanna prove it more than I've ever wanted to prove anything in my entire life.  Cord...he was one of the good guys, A.J.   He probably came home the least effected by Nam of anyone I've ever known."

 

            "But as you said yourself the other day in our office, a lot of water has passed under the bridge since you last saw him.  Sometimes people change."

 

            "You're right.  Sometimes they do.  But I can't imagine what woulda' happened that would turn Cord into the cold-blooded killer Creek makes him out to be.  I don't believe it.  Not for one minute do I believe it."

 

            "But what if you discover it's true?"

 

            Rick sucked in a deep breath and then let it out in a heavy sigh.  "If I discover it's true, then I'll have no choice but to turn the guy in.  No matter what my personal feelings are for him, no matter what memories I have of him and our friendship, I can't allow the things to happen Creek is predicting.  That kinda' devastation...I've seen it, A.J.  Firsthand.  I know what a bomb can do to a person.  The mall he targets could be the one our mom's doing her Christmas shopping at.  The school he targets could be the one Lauren's boys attend.  If Cordell Franklin is the person the FBI claims him to be then he has to be stopped."

 

            Rick paused to drain the remainder of his beer.  "But what about you?"

            "What about me?"

 

            "What are your thoughts about taking this case?"

 

            "Similar to your own.  Because Franklin's an old friend of yours I hope, for your sake, that you can prove the feds wrong.  But if they're right…well, if they're right then Franklin could hurt a lot of innocent people.  You and I sat in the office and watched the news reports coming in from Kansas.  We saw the firemen carrying bodies of dead children from that daycare center.  At that moment I couldn't believe something like that could happen in our country.  I remember hoping I never lived long enough to see it happen again.  Now Creek's telling us it not only could happen again, but in a much greater magnitude and right in the city we call home.  In some ways it's hard to fathom, but in others, it's not.  And that's what scares me."

 

            Rick looked out over the water.  His voice was low and quiet.  "Yeah.  It scares me, too, A.J.  It  scares me, too."

 

            A.J. allowed a measurable silence to linger before speaking again.          "Rick, have you thought through the dangers of this?  If Franklin finds out you--"

 

            "He won't."

 

            "You can't be certain of that."

 

            "I know I haven't seen the guy in twenty-six years, but I guarantee you he won't doubt me.  He trusted me that much."

 

            "Yes.  Trusted.  As in the past tense. You don't know for certain the same holds true this many years later."

 

            "Semper Fi, A.J.,"  Rick reminded.  "Semper Fi."

 

            Semper Fi, the motto of the United States Marine Corps.  Latin for ‘Always Faithful.’  A.J. well knew the old saying; there's no such thing as a former marine. He knew Rick was banking on Franklin's past loyalty to him as his commanding officer to override any potential suspicions the man might have.

 

            "So I take it you have a plan?” the blond man asked.

 

            "I do.  I'm gonna tell Cord I work for Carlos.  Just in case he does put a tail on me, I'll drive to one a' Carlos's garages every day, leave my truck parked there, go in the back door, only to come out the side door to a car Carlos has waiting for me.  That way I can get to our office without anyone being the wiser."

 

            A.J. nodded.  It should work.  If Franklin had concerns Rick wasn't who he said he was and tailed him, any suspicions should be put to rest within a few days of seeing Rick drive to one of the automobile garages Carlos owned, park his truck and go inside.  Rick was too good of a detective to be followed once he slipped out the side door and made his escape in a vehicle that wasn't his own.

 

            "I've still gotta clear it with Carlos, but I don't foresee it bein' a problem."  Rick pinned his brother with a hard gaze.  "But what about you?"

 

            "What about me?  Like I told Lauren the other night, the chances of my true identity being discovered by Franklin are almost nil."

 

            "That's true.  If I didn't think so, believe me, we wouldn't be takin' this job considering your wife has a baby on the way.  But that's not what I meant."       

 

            When Rick didn't elaborate A.J. asked,  "What did you mean then?"

 

            "I mean this tutoring thing.  Are you okay with it?"

            "Why wouldn't I be?"

            "I don't know."  The lanky man shrugged one shoulder, his eyes dropping to the deck.  "I just thought maybe...you know, that given the nature of things it would bring back bad memories."

 

            "Rick, look at me."

 

            When Rick's eyes met his brother's A.J. continued.  "First of all, from what Creek told us Joey's disabilities have been present since birth.  That's quite different from suffering a head injury due to an accident like I did.  And secondly, no, tutoring him won't bring back bad memories.  If what I learned ten years ago at the rehab center can be of some help to the boy, then just maybe this case will have some bright, shining moments."

 

            Rick tossed his brother a crooked smile.  "Forever the optimist."

 

            "Someone in this family has to be."

 

            "So we're both in agreement?  We're takin' this case?"

 

            "We're both in agreement.  I'll call Creek on Monday morning and tell him."

 

            "Fair enough." 

 

            Darkness was gathering around the brothers when Rick stood to whistle for Rex.  As he passed A.J.'s chair his younger brother's voice caused him to pause.

 

            "Lauren asked me to tell you one thing."

 

            "What's that?"

 

            "She wants you to make sure you've fully considered the potential dangers to yourself.  She doesn't want our child growing up without an Uncle Rick...and neither do I."

 

            Rick didn't laugh or make some flip remark like A.J. half expected him to.  Instead, there was a significant silence as though he was absorbing the blond man's words.  When he walked on by A.J. he gave his little brother's shoulder a reassuring pat. 

 

            "Don't worry 'bout me, kid.  Ain't nothin' bad gonna happen to Uncle Rick."

 

__________________

           

            Joey Franklin laid in his bed staring out the French doors to his left.  He never allowed his father to close the curtains over the glass.  This time of night was just made for gazing up at the constellations.  When they lived in Ohio, Joey's mother would often take him out to the back yard on a night like this.  A clear, cloudless night when the sky seemed so close the illusion was such that you could reach right out and hold the big dipper in your palm. But Joey's mother was dead now, and no one else in his family was interested in stargazing. 

 

            Despite the late hour, this was Joey's favorite time.  He liked the quiet that settled around him like a soft blanket.  In the dark, he wasn't different from anyone else.  In the silence of the night he could clearly hear the thoughts in his head his disabilities didn't allow him to give voice to.  He heard floorboards squeak down the hall and wondered who else was awake.  When his bedroom door opened he instinctively closed his eyes.  He had no idea why, but it's something he'd been doing ever since that night his mother didn't come home.

 

            Joey felt his father's presence in the room.  He could picture the man staring down at him with the same sad smile he'd worn on his face ever since Joey could remember.  The same sad smile Cordell Franklin always wore whenever he looked at Joey, his firstborn.  The smile was different when Joey's father gazed upon Logan.  It was happy then.  Full of pride.  It seemed to say; This was the son I was dreaming of all along.  This is the child of my heart.

 

            Joey didn't open his eyes again until he heard his door close.  He heard the front door open and close next, then the sound of his father's Ford Expedition coming to life.  He could almost time to the second how long it would be before he heard Logan get up and scamper to the bedroom on the other side of the house.  Five minutes.  Exactly five minutes after Dad left, the creak of bedsprings sounded, then came eager feet hitting the floor.  Joey smiled.  They thought, because of his disabilities, he didn't know what was going on in his own household.  But that was okay.  In a small way it gave him a secret power over the rest of them.

 

            Joey's respirator hissed and whirled, pushing oxygen into his lungs.  He looked around the massive room that was his.  The house Dad had bought here in San Diego was considerably larger and far more luxurious than the home they'd had in Ohio.  The main rooms were big and open and flowed into one another without the presence of walls.  The windows were long and wide, giving one an uninhibited view of the outdoors.  Joey had to admit it was great to finally live in a place where nothing hindered the movement of his wheelchair.  Joey knew his father had bought this house with him in mind, but still, he'd trade it all in a second if only he could have his mother back.  If only he could return to that cluttered little room he and Logan had shared back when they were close.

 

            He absorbed the silence of the night, thinking of another night a little more than two years in the past.  He remembered being awakened by the soft brush of lips on his forehead.  By the time Joey's eyes had opened his father was bending over the sound asleep Logan, kissing his forehead as well.  Their dad silently left the room without turning back to look at them.  After the door closed, Joey remembered glancing at the clock radio that sat on the nightstand between his and Logan's beds.  The green numbers read eleven forty-four.  He had followed the sounds of his father's footsteps to his parents’ bedroom next door.  He heard their closet open, then the heavy plunk of boots being dropped on the carpeting.  He could almost visualize his dad sitting in that old chair in the corner of the room, bent over lacing up his military style black boots.  Quiet footsteps sounded in the hallway, then the back door that led out of the kitchen and into the garage was opened.  They didn't have the thirty thousand dollar Expedition back then, nor the seventy thousand dollar conversion van custom-made for Joey's needs.  Mom drove the second-hand van they used to transport Joey and his medical paraphernalia, while Dad drove an old rusted Thunderbird they could barely afford to keep running.

 

            Joey recalled thinking his father leaving the house was odd.  Their mother was gone on a rare evening out.  She had met some old high school friends for dinner in the next town and was due back within the hour.  Because of Joey's problems, the boys normally weren't left alone.  Especially not without their father telling them where he was going.  Joey drifted off to sleep, assuming his dad had gone to the all-night mini-mart for milk or bread, or something else they'd run out of that they'd need for breakfast in the morning.  He woke up when he heard his father return at one o'clock that morning.  He listened to see if he heard his mother's voice.  If perhaps she'd returned while he was sleeping.  But no murmur of conversation came from his parents’ room, only silence.  When he woke again the police were at the front door telling his father that Mom was dead. 

 

            His father came in their room sobbing. He woke up Logan and gathered him in his arms.  He bridged the space between the beds by placing a hand on Joey's shoulder.  Tears streamed down his face as he told them that Mom had been found murdered along the road just a few miles from home.  The van's fan belt was snapped in two, leading the police to believe the vehicle had broken down and the woman had decided to walk home, only to meet with foul play. 

 

            Grandma and Grandpa Franklin showed up a few minutes later and took charge of the boys.  While Grandpa dressed him, Joey heard the police talking to his father out in the living room.  When one officer asked Cord Franklin if he had been home all night he answered, "Yes, I was here with my boys.  My oldest son is severely disabled.  One of us – my wife or me – one of us always has to be here with him."

 

            When the officer asked if there was anyone who could confirm the fact that Cord had been home throughout the evening, the man nodded and called for Logan.  Because Logan had never woken up after going to bed, he had no reason not to tell the policeman what their father had already stated.

 

            The disabled boy listened to all this from his bedroom while Grandpa put his diaper on him.  Though he had plenty to offer, it hadn’t come as a surprise to Joey when no one asked him any questions.

           

Chapter 7

 

            Two weeks had passed since Doctor David's house call, and little Brooks was still sick.  Summer vacation was supposed to be the best time of the year as far as Troya was concerned.  It wasn't fair that Brooks had an illness Doctor David couldn't treat.

 

            Troya and Tiffany still went to the beach almost every day, but not with Mommy or Daddy.  They were too worried about Brooks.  Sometimes they went with Grandpa Dalton, but more often than not Aziah took them, which was no fun at all.  Not that Aziah wasn't nice, but she was afraid of the water.  Troya tried to teach her how to swim once, but she sunk like a stone and said it was because she was too fat that she went right to the bottom.  Aziah's fear of the water meant she hardly allowed Troya and Tiffany any freedoms.  There were all kinds of rules you had to follow when you went to the beach with their maid.  The girls had to wait a half hour after eating to enter the water, they weren't allowed to splash each other, they couldn't play hide and seek beneath the surface of the rolling waves, and they couldn't go in any deeper than their knees.  They never had to follow rules like that when Daddy took them to the beach.  Troya prayed every night that Brooks would get better soon so things could go back to the way they used to be.

 

            Mommy and Daddy were fighting a lot now, too.  Grandpa said it was because they were tired and concerned over Brooks.  Troya thought there was more to it than that, but didn't know how to put into words what she had overheard several nights in a row long after her parents thought she was asleep.

 

            "For God's sake, Hillary, can't you at least attempt to make yourself look presentable?  I haven't spent thousands of dollars with Victoria's Secret to have you come to bed looking like an old scrub woman!"

 

            "And just what do you expect after I've spent the day rocking a sick child, not to mention tending to the needs of two other children?"

 

            "Oh right.  Tending to their needs by sending them to the beach with the maid!  No wonder you're worn out."

 

            "Don't get sarcastic with me, Troy.  You're not helping matters.  Why won't you listen to David?  Why won't you let us take Brooks to a children's hospital in the States?"

 

            "Look, I told you when we first met that I was an old-fashioned type of guy.  A woman has her place in the household, and a man has his.  Mine is to make decisions for this family.  Whether or not you like those decisions is of little consequence to me."

 

            "But what about your son?  Are those decisions of little consequence to your son?"

            Troya heard a smacking sound, then Mommy started to cry.  She opened her bedroom door a tiny crack and peered out just as Daddy charged by.  After she heard the front door slam shut, Troya scurried down the hall to her parents’ room and knocked on the closed door.

 

            "Mommy?  Mommy, are you okay?"

 

            She could tell her mother was crying when she replied,  "Yes, Troya.  Yes...Mommy's fine.  Go back...go back to bed, sweetie.  I'll be in to kiss...to kiss you goodnight in a little while."

            "Mommy?  Mommy...are you sure you're okay?"

 

            "Yes, Troya.  Now do...do as I say, please."

 

            When her mother finally came in to say goodnight she didn't turn any lights on, but Troya felt the warm spot on her mother's cheek against her own when the woman bent to kiss her.  The next day she thought that spot looked red like it was sunburned, even though her mother had tried to cover it with makeup.

 

            Troya wandered the house alone now as she often did these days.   Mommy was busy trying to get Brooks to take some water.  Though he'd taken his first drink from a cup when he was nine months old, Troya's mother was using a bottle with the child again.  He'd grown too weak in recent days to maneuver a cup or glass to his mouth.  Troya watched from the doorway of Brooks’ room as he turned his head away from the bottle's nipple and whimpered. 

 

            Aziah had Tiffany in the kitchen with her baking cookies, and Daddy was on the phone in the living room, talking business with Grandpa Dalton. Troya wandered into her father's study without him seeing her. She paused for a minute at the long, open windows that jutted out over a cliff, her eyes tracking the movement of the ocean far below.  The vast blue body of water seemed to go on forever with no end, making an odd feeling of loneliness ache in the little girl's heart.

 

            Troya's bare feet sunk into plush carpet the color of sun-bleached sand as she idly made her way around the room.  She loved to come in this room with its tall bookshelves and big oak desk.  The paddles of the overhead ceiling fan turned in slow circles, creating a permanent breeze in the large room.

 

            The girl sat down at her father's desk, enjoying the way it felt when his big leather chair engulfed her tiny body.  It was like being wrapped in his arms all safe and warm and happy.  Before Brooks got so sick, Daddy used to let her play on his computer.  Sometimes she'd write pretend letters for him. At those times he always said she was the best secretary he ever had. But lately Daddy was too preoccupied for even that bit of fun.

 

            The eight-year-old's eyes scanned the screen in front of her.  She could tell her father had been in the middle of typing an e-mail message to someone when her grandfather phoned.

 

            "Dear Uncle Sam," the little girl read aloud.  "The package you requested is on its way.  It will arrive in San Diego on the fifteenth via the usual route.  When you are in need of more, let me know." 

 

            When Troya heard her father hang up the phone she slid out of his chair.  He picked her up as he passed and plunked her in his lap.  It seemed like forever since he'd given her any attention.  She snuggled into his chest, grateful for these few minutes they could have alone. 

 

            "Do you want to send my e-mail for me, Lady Troya?"

 

            Troya didn't let on as though she'd just been sitting there reading her father's e-mail.  She knew that was wrong.  Like violating someone's privacy.  Instead, she simply nodded her head and pivoted in his lap to face the keyboard.  Without any guidance from her father Troya used the proper commands to send the message on its way. The quiet time the little girl was hoping to steal with her father came to an abrupt end when the telephone jangled and Aziah appeared in the doorway wiping her flour-covered hands with a dishcloth.   

 

            "Mr. Andrews, the phone is for you.  A Ms. Baker."

 

            "Thank you, Aziah.  I'll take it in here.  You can hang up the kitchen phone when you get back there."

 

            "Yes, sir." 

 

            Troya was lifted off her father's lap and deposited on the floor.  He gave her bottom a light swat.  "Go on now, princess.  Go play with your sister."

 

            The girl lingered in the room, hoping the conversation would be a short one.  She wanted to ask Daddy if he'd take her and Tiffany to the beach today.  When he picked up the phone on his desk and greeted his caller, Troya saw the big grin on his face.  The grin that only Mommy used to get. 

 

            "Allison?  Hi!  It's great to hear from you, love."  The man's eyes fell to Troya. "Hold on a moment, please."

 

            Troy put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone.  "Troya, run along now.  Daddy's taking a business call." 

 

            Troya did as her father told her, but not without throwing a dark glare at the phone that he didn't see.  She didn't know who this Allison Baker lady was, but Troya resented the fact that the woman made her daddy smile.  He hadn't smiled in weeks now.  Not since Brooks had gotten so sick again.  It didn't seem fair that this stranger could do what Troya and her mother couldn't - make Daddy happy.

 

            Later that evening Troya's household was once again occupied with other concerns, leaving her to her own devices.  She disappeared into her room and pulled out her writing tablet.  Since school was over until September she didn't really have to write to that boy, Shane, anymore.  But though she was loath to admit it, they had grown to be friends.  Writing to Shane gave an outlet to her fears and concerns.  The island she lived on was small, and gossip thrived here. For just that reason, from a very early age she and Tiffany had been told to be careful not to repeat things they heard at home.  She hadn't even shared with Neesha all the things that were going on in her household.  But Shane was safe to talk to.  After all, who was he going to tell?

 

__________________________

 

Dear Shane,

 

My brother Brooks is still very sick.  I'm reely worried about him.  Mommy and Daddy are worried too.  They fite a lot.  I wish they wood stop yelling.  I want things to be the way they used to be when we were happy.

 

 I  helped my daddy send an e-mail to his Uncle Sam today in San Diego.  I didn't know Daddy had an Uncle Sam.  He never talks about his family.  I'll try to find out Uncle Sam's last name.  Maybe you know him.   I think Uncle Sam is going to help Brooks.

 

Your friend,

Troya

 

P.S.  You're so lucky that your stepfather and your Uncle Rick (yes, I think it's okay to call him that even if he is reely your step uncle.  Step uncle sounds funny, don't you think?)  Anyway, you're lucky that they took you and Tanner to SeaWorld.  I don't know what SeaWorld is, but it sounds like fun.  I wish Brooks wood get better so we could go back to having fun at my house.       

 

Chapter 8

                                   

            A.J. Simon rang the doorbell of the sprawling single-story home that belonged to Cordell Franklin.  It had been two weeks since Pellman Creek's first visit to the Simon brothers' office.  Now that the job was accepted, it was time to get to work.

 

            A.J. half turned on the wide concrete wheelchair ramp as he stood waiting for someone to answer the front door.  He briefly wondered how a man with a disabled child, who had spent most of his adult life working in a factory, could afford such a sumptuous home in this upper middle-class neighborhood.

 

            It was nine o'clock on a Monday morning and the area appeared desolate. A.J. supposed anyone who had to be to work or school was gone by now, leaving the surrounding homes empty or attended to by stay-at-home-moms. 

 

            An automatic sprinkler system kicked in next door.  A.J. watched droplets of water shoot from the ground, and could faintly hear the hiss of the mechanism as it went about its work. 

 

            "A waste of water, wouldn't you say?"

 

            The blond man swiveled, smiling.  "That's just what I was thinking."

 

            "It drives me crazy, you know?  You can hardly sit down and watch the news without being bombarded by stories on the importance of our environmental resources.  Yet these hoity-toity suburbanites plead ignorance to such a cause and go right on running their sprinklers, filling their swimming pools, cranking up their air conditioners, and driving their cars two blocks when it would have done their fat behinds good to walk the distance in the first place."

 

            Before A.J. could make a reply the woman blushed and brought a fine-boned hand to her mouth.   Her accent was faint, and only a trained ear would have picked up on it, but A.J. immediately pegged her as a Texas native.  Her voice had a slight gravel quality to it that the blond man would later discover was quite prominent when she laughed.

 

            "I'm sorry.  I have a tendency to shoot my mouth off without thinking first.  It's a problem my mother's been warning me about since I was a kid.  And here I don't even know you from Adam."

 

            "Well, I'm not Adam," A.J. teased with a grin.  "I'm Dan Williams, Joey's new tutor.  This is the Franklin residence, isn't it?"

            When picking the name he was going to use for this job, A.J. kept in mind what Agent Creek had said about Cord Franklin being smart and having a sixth sense where law enforcement officials were concerned.   Therefore, he didn't choose any of the aliases he'd used throughout his years in the P.I. business, and made sure to avoid, as well, any combination that was a part of his own name, such as Andrew or Jackson. 

 

            The woman smiled up at A.J. and held out her hand.  "Dan, nice to meet you.  Joey's been anxiously awaiting your arrival.  I'm Cassandra Kenner, his nurse.  But call me Casey.  Everyone does." 

 

            After his long ago experiences with the fictitious Dagmar Finster, the woman standing before him was definitely not what A.J. had pictured when he'd tried to form a mental picture of Joey Franklin's nurse.  Missing was the starched white uniform, prim nurse's cap, white hosiery, and cat eye glasses.  Instead, with her laughing blue eyes and the sprig of freckles that dotted her nose, she looked more like a bubbly teenager hired to keep Joey entertained for the day as opposed to the thirty-something FBI agent she was.

 

            A.J. subtly studied the slight woman.  Her black jeans couldn't have been bigger than a size four.  She wore a baggy baseball jersey in neon green that proclaimed her loyalty to the Anaheim Angels, and had her tawny curls pulled up in a ponytail.  Neon green high top tennis shoes completed her outfit and were laced with bright yellow strings.

 

            Casey beckoned with a wave of her hand. "Come on in.  Joey's been so bored since the state pulled his tutor, Miss Rathers, last week.  I'll tell you, it makes me so mad.  Those dudes in Washington fly all over the country on the taxpayers' dollar, and you can bet most of those trips aren't strictly for business. Yet the minute we need to use some of that money we've thrown their way all these years do you think we can get our hands on it?  Hell no.  Pardon my French, but it really pisses me off.  For every child like Joey who's finally getting assistance, there's fifty going without any type of help at all."

 

            A.J. had to admit the woman was good as he trailed her through the large home with its open rooms, high ceilings, and smooth, level floors.  She rattled on with a vehemence aimed at the government that would never lead a person to believe she was employed by that very government to begin with.  She literally bounced from the foyer, through the wide living room, and then through the airy kitchen, forcing A.J. to take long strides in order to keep up with her.

 

            "How much do you know about Joey?"

            "Pardon?"

            Casey pivoted, walking backwards while talking.  "Joey?  How much do you know about his condition?"

            "To be honest with you, very little.  Just that he has disabilities that have been with him since birth, and that he hasn't had much in the way of education."

 

            "That last part's true, but don't let it fool you.  He'd not stupid."

 

            "I never assumed he was."

 

            The woman smiled.  "You're okay, teach.  It's so rare to run across a person who hasn't formed preconceived notions about the handicapped."

 

            A.J. thought back to the time in his life when he was considered handicapped by most people who knew him.  "I learned a long time ago that only a fool forms preconceived notions about anyone they haven't met.  As the old saying goes, there's more to most of us than meets the eye."

 

            Casey gave the blond man a thumbs up and a wink.  "You got it, teach."

 

            A.J. could only shake his head in amusement when the woman jumped, twirled in mid-air, and turned.  She was like an energetic Peter Pan.  No wonder she was so well suited for her undercover role as a nurse for a young, disabled child.  A.J. imagined her to be fun and spontaneous, a bright spot in a little boy's otherwise dismal existence.

 

            As A.J. had just said, only a fool formed preconceived notions about anyone.  And yet he found himself feeling like the biggest fool of the day when he was introduced to Joey Franklin.

 

            The detective trailed Casey from the kitchen through the expansive dining area with its French doors that opened onto a patio.   They crossed a seamless threshold. emerging into a huge round room made up of nothing but windows.  A ‘California Room,’ as the locals would refer to it.  A sunroom as it might be referred to in other parts of the United States.   

 

            Joey was seated with his back to the doorway, facing a computer terminal. 

 

            "Joey really likes it in here," Casey explained.  She spread her arms, seeming to take in the outdoors with that one gesture.  "Of course, you can probably see why."

            "Yes."  A.J.'s gaze out the windows gleaned nothing but lush grass, trees, and flowers.  "It's a beautiful room with a beautiful view."

 

            The detective looked around.  One end of the room held two easy chairs, a coffee table, and a futon sofa.  The cushions on the furniture were dark red with deep blue stripes, lending to the masculine feeling that had prevailed throughout the house.  Again, A.J. wondered where Cordell Franklin had gotten his money.  Considering there was no longer a Mrs. Franklin, the blond detective had little doubt the home had been professionally decorated.  There was too much of a feel of organization to color and style in the layout of the furniture and the pictures on the walls for A.J. to believe Cord had done it himself.  Based on what Creek had told him and Rick about the man, the detective couldn't picture Franklin arranging the silk flowers that sat in the vase on the coffee table, or buying the expensive watercolor prints that hung on the living room walls.

 

            On the opposite side of the sunroom was a round table with four chairs, leading A.J. to believe the family took their meals out here on occasion.  The far end seemed to be set up as Joey's domain.  His computer sat on a desk that branched out in two directions.  Both ends of the desk contained shelves that held books, paper, games, watercolors, paste, and other school-like supplies.

 

            "There's actually a study on the other end of the house that Mr. Franklin had in mind for Joey, but since he prefers to be out here, this has more or less become his classroom.  I hope that's okay with you."

 

            "Why wouldn't it be?"  A.J.'s eyes rose to the twenty foot high ceiling and right through the wide sky lights that showed off a glorious square of baby blue. "This is great.  No tutor in his or her right mind would complain about a setup like this."

 

            A voice as mechanical and flat as a robot's sounded from behind A.J. and Casey. 

 

"The...last...tutor...complained."

 

            "Miss Rathers," Casey supplied in a whisper.  "Joey didn't like her."

 

            "You...did...not...like...her...either."

 

            The words came slow and were spaced far apart, as though it took Joey a long time to give the computer's keyboard the necessary commands, but they were easy for A.J. to put together.

 

            Casey bounded over to Joey as the electric wheelchair began to turn.  She rubbed a hand through his dark hair.  "Oh you.  You know all my secrets, don't you?"

 

            Whether or not the sly smile on Joey's face was genuine, A.J. didn't know.  Nor was he certain if the nod of Joey's head was in response to Casey's question, or if it, too, was beyond his control.  His body sat sideways in the motorized wheelchair, slumped forward to the left and held in place by a sturdy plastic tray not that dissimilar to a highchair's tray.  Even from this far away A.J. could tell his spine was crooked. The deformity prevented Joey from sitting straight.  His bird-like arms seemed to be permanently bent at the elbows, his hands were bent at the wrists.  Every few seconds his arms would jerk as though a puppeteer was pulling hidden strings.  He appeared to have more control of his legs. Though they were covered with blue jeans, A.J. could tell they were stick-thin.  His tennis shoes rested on a tray like the one that held his upper body in place.  Glasses as thick as Coke bottles resided on his nose, and a permanent hole had been surgically cut into his throat.  The end of a respirator hose was taped to the hole, the respirator itself hung from the side of Joey's chair.  Around his head he wore a black band with electrodes and a silver pointer.

 

            Though Joey's back had been to them when he'd ‘spoken’ A.J. knew this pointer was the instrument that gave him the ability to communicate.  He'd seen something similar at the rehab center ten years earlier.  The computer Joey was using was not only made up of alphabet and number keys, but of keys with common images on them such as a dog and a cat, and keys with common words like 'the', 'and' 'for' and 'to.'  By moving his head, the only part of his body Joey seemed to have some control over, a sensor in the pointer would register what key had been indicated to and then translate the message into words.  The process was arduous and time consuming, but A.J. could only imagine what freedom it brought to those disabled people who had for so long been without a voice.

 

            Casey dropped her hand from Joey's head to instead put it around his shoulders.  She rubbed a gentle circle in-between his bony shoulder blades as though he was a child.  Only he wasn't a child.  The beard stubble on his chin made that obvious to A.J.  Because of his atrophied body his age was hard to guess, but the blond man estimated him to be anywhere from eighteen to twenty-one years old.  A far cry from the little boy A.J. had been expecting, whom he'd mentally pictured to be about nine.

 

            "This is Joey," Casey introduced.  "Joey, this is your new tutor, Mr. Williams."

            Without any hesitation, A.J. crossed the room.  "Joe, it's nice to meet you."  He held out his hand.  "And call me Dan, please."

 

            It took Joey a long time to grasp A.J.'s hand.  When he did it was more by chance than by any direction his brain had given the appendage.   Nonetheless, he felt a sense of pride when his hand was firmly grasped in his tutor's.  A.J. gave the hand a light squeeze and shook it twice.  Whatever vocalization Joey was trying to make came out in unintelligible grunts.  When his teacher released his hand Joey used his elbow to flick the switch on the arm of his wheelchair that would make it turn.  When he was facing the computer again he began searching out the necessary keys. It took a minute for the message to be spoken. 

 

            "Joe.  I...like...that.  I...am...Joe."

 

            Joey smiled up at A.J.  Again, the blond man didn't know if the smile was genuine or an involuntary movement, but he took it at face value and smiled back.  Casey glanced from her patient to her new co-worker.

 

            "It looks like you two are off to a good start so I'll leave you alone."

 

            After the woman had made her exit, A.J. grabbed a chair from the table.  He placed it next to Joey's wheelchair and sat down.

 

            "Okay, Joe, let's get our day together started.  Why don't you tell me about yourself.  What kinds of things are you interested in?  Do you have a favorite sports team?  A musical artist you like?  How about books?  Do you like to read?"

 

            Again, the young man smiled.  No one had ever asked him anything about himself.  No one other than his mother had ever looked beyond his disabilities and seen him as a person with thoughts, interests, opinions, feelings, likes, and dislikes.

 

            No one had ever shaken his hand before.

 

            But, most importantly, he was twenty years old, and no one had ever called him Joe. 

           

_________________________

                       

 

            Rick waited until three days after A.J. started employment as Joey Franklin's tutor before attempting to make contact with Cord.  The man had started his own business shortly after reloca