You Don’t Count The Cost

 

By: Kenda

 

*Author’s Note – Many of the extended Simon family mentioned in this story are the creation of a Simon & Simon fan fiction writer named Christine Jeffords.  When I wrote this story in 1992, I wanted to remain consistent with what had already been established within other fan fiction stories in terms of names and number of siblings for Jack Simon. The TV show specifically named only Ray Simon as a sibling to Jack; it was left unknown as to whether Jack had other brothers or sisters. Christine fictionalized that he came from a family of seven children. That’s a ‘fact’ I adopted throughout my years of writing S&S fan fiction. Thanks to Christine for her imagination where Jack Simon’s family was concerned.

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

 

 

With Christmas only three days away, A.J. and I were busy wrapping up several cases we were workin’ on. We planned to close the office for the week between Christmas and New Year’s, and enjoy a holiday vacation here in San Diego. This was our Christmas present to us. It was something we hadn't done since forming the partnership of Simon and Simon ten years earlier.

 

1990 had proven to be a good year for us as a business, as well as a good year for us as a family. The business was operating in the black for the third year in a row, and continuing to grow in client base. A.J. and I had worked hard to build a good reputation as private investigators, so I guess all those years of sleazy divorce cases and repo jobs were finally payin’ off. In the past few years, we had managed to get some lucrative contracts with several firms doing security checks for them on new employees. We had also snared contracts with some of the more wealthy citizens of San Diego to provide security at their private parties, among other things.

 

Not only had A.J. and I finally managed, through these contracts, to have more steady work than we had in the early years, we had also managed to start makin’ a pretty good living for ourselves.

 

We were by no means rich, but as A.J. put it, we were financially secure for a change. If nothin’ else, this last made our mom happy. Although in light of this, I think she also had to accept the fact that having two sons who were private investigators was going to be a way of life for a long time to come.

 

Obviously, financial security can go a long way in helpin’ to harmonize family relationships, and it had certainly helped ours. A.J. hadn't seriously yelled at me all year for any of the various treasures I had gotten at Surplus Sammy's, and had only been mildly annoyed when, in October, I had to hand over one of his favorite sweaters to Bruno in exchange for some phone numbers we needed.

 

Mom, A.J., and I had also sailed through the year without so much as a cold between us. Considering how accident prone A.J. and I can be, 1990 was a gold start year health wise for us as well.

 

As a matter of fact, the Christmas card Mom had received from our family doctor, who is also a close family friend, had a note in it sayin’ how much he had missed me and A.J. this year, and how we had ruined his plans to purchase a new Oldsmobile before the year ended. Mom didn't find that too amusing, but A.J. and I thought it was damn funny.

 

All these factors helped put me in true holiday spirit as Christmas approached. It was shaping up to be what looked like an old-fashioned Christmas. The kind you only see in a Norman Rockwell painting, or on a Hallmark card, minus the snow, of course. The entire Simon family was making an effort to get together this year at my Aunt Pat's house. She's my dad's youngest sister, and lives here in San Diego. Aunt Marion and her family were driving down from San Francisco. Dad's older brother, George, and his wife would be flyin’ in from Florida. Aunt Joan and her husband live here in San Diego, and Dad's eldest brother, Will, who’s been a widower for a couple of years now, would be drivin’ down from his home in Los Angeles. 

 

The biggest surprise of all, was that Uncle Ray had called Aunt Pat early in December and said he would be here as well. Although he wasn't planning to get in until Christmas morning, I was thrilled. Mom and I tried to remember the last time Ray was here at Christmas, and both of us thought I was about seven or eight. A.J. didn't remember him ever being here for the holiday, so I guess that would be about right. Quite a few of our cousins were planning to make it to Aunt Pat’s, too, and were bringing their families along. So with lots of little Simons under the age of eighteen, Mom had said it looked like Aunt Pat was gearing up for sixty people ranging in age from a couple of months old, all the way up to Uncle Will, who was seventy‑five.

 

These circumstances somehow motivated me to do something I had never done before in my adult life. Christmas shop before December 23rd. Actually, I was usually a Christmas Eve Santa, runnin’ around the afternoon of the 24th trying to find perfect gifts for Mom and A.J. But, this year I was done even before my brother, which is amazing considering he usually disgusts me by announcing sometime around Halloween that his Christmas shopping is done, and have I started mine yet? My usual reply is to tell him that there's nothing I can get him then, that I can't buy on Christmas Eve at K‑mart. This year I finally got to turn the tables on A.J. by tellin’ him on December 10^th that I was done shopping. Boy, the look on his face was priceless. He didn't know what to say. He finally gave me a sheepish grin and mumbled, "There's nothing I can get for you now, that I can't buy Christmas Eve at K‑mart." I told him he'd better be more original than that, or Santa would take his presents back.

 

Actually, my Christmas shopping hadn't involved a lot of time this year. A.J. and I went in together on a picture Mom wanted for the living room, and a gift certificate for a favorite jewelry store of hers. A.J. had been easy for a change. He lost the watch I gave him for his birthday back in 1981. Evidently the band had broken while he was scuba diving, although he wasn't sure. A.J. just knew that when he came out of the water the watch was gone. Although he didn't say too much about it, I could tell he felt bad. It was the only watch he ever wore, and it had been engraved with his initials, along with his birth date. I guess it would be considered kind of a personal gift, and that's why he felt so bad. Only my little brother could get sentimental over a watch.

 

Anyway, I'd gone to the same jewelry store where we got Mom's gift certificate and picked out a real nice watch for him that does just about everything but tell you the temperature of the person standin’ next to you. I had it engraved with his initials and the date of 12-25-1990, and also had them add, ‘Best Friend.’ It was gonna be a tight fit getting all that on there, but the jeweler thought he could do it.

 

I couldn't wait to see A.J.'s face when I gave it to him. I knew the first thing he'd do after all the gifts were open was read the instructions that came with the watch, and in about thirty minutes know how every feature on it worked. He drives me nuts that way. He's been like that since he was a little kid. Whenever we got a new game for Christmas, I’d be ready to dive right in and learn to play it as we went along, but not A.J. As soon as he was old enough to read, the entire family had to sit at the table and listen to the step-by-step instructions before we could start. My dad used to laugh at us - A.J. so serious and organized over some stupid game like Sorry, and me fidgeting with the dice and game pieces ready to strangle him because I wanted to start playin’.

 

The gift I was most anxious to give, though, was the one I got for both Mom and A.J. As I said, I had been feeling real good about the way things had been goin’ for all of us in 1990, and the way things had been goin’ for the business the last few years.

 

Several years back I had started putting money away with the intention of taking Mom and A.J. on a cruise when we hit our tenth year of business. By the time we went on the cruise it would technically be our eleventh year of business, since the tickets I had purchased were for the last week in February 1991. There hadn't been any other time it was going to work out for the three of us in '90, so as summer was ending I decided to be nosy about their plans for early in the new year, and see if I couldn't find a week we could all go and surprise them. I hadn't intended for it to necessarily be a surprise, or a Christmas present, but the more I thought about it, the more I knew that if I told A.J. he'd insist on payin’ for half of it, and I didn't want that. This was something I wanted for Mom and him. Therefore, A.J. thought he and I were going to BA.J.a fishing the last week in February, and Mom thought she was baby‑sitting A.J.'s plants, watching Rex for me, and picking up our mail. Only Abby knew the truth, ‘cause I had already arranged for her to do the things Mom thought she was going to do.

 

This was such an out‑of‑character, organized plan for Rick Simon that I figured I'd have to revive Mom and A.J. with smelling salts after they opened the little box that held the tickets. Yeah, this Christmas was really lookin’ to be special.

 

It was shortly before nine on December 22nd when I arrived at our office and did the usual early morning jobs. For me, that generally involved pouring myself a cup of coffee and reading the paper. I was expecting A.J. sometime around nine‑thirty or ten, since he had to stop and check on another job we had going.

 

A guy we had grown up with was the manager of a local discount store, and at Christmas time he had to deal with an influx of shoplifters. Jeff hired A.J. and I the two weeks prior to Christmas to ‘police’ the store. We had done this every year since going into business. It was a job that usually involved two long weeks of standing on your feet for ten to twelve hours at a time, while observin’ too many over‑tired little kids and giggly teenagers. It was also the kind of job that, after the couple of years we'd just had, A.J. and I woulda’ had no qualms about dropping, except Jeff was a friend going back to when A.J. was five years old, so saying no was pretty impossible.

 

Therefore, we didn’t say no exactly. A.J. suggested we hire a couple of college kids to take the bulk of the patrol since we had other cases going. He figured out what we could pay a couple of guys, and still end up with money in our pockets as well. Jeff was agreeable to the whole thing, so I suggested Carlos's son, Diego, who was a sophomore at U.C.S.D., and A.J. thought of a young cop we knew that worked for Abby, who always moonlighted at various jobs around Christmas time. They were both working out great, but A.J., being A.J., stopped by the store every morning to check in with Jeff, and to talk to Diego or Bob to make sure things were going okay.

 

We had to meet Abby at ten‑thirty that morning to wrap up another case if luck was on our side. We had been hired, on and off, by the San Diego Police Department to work on some cases they didn't have the manpower for

themselves. Abby and several other department heads who knew us had gone to bat for us when this was brought before the city council and police commission.

 

Like all big city police departments, the San Diego department didn't have the resources to be everywhere they needed to. Abby had proposed to us, and then to the higher‑ups, a plan involvin’ A.J. and me working for them at times when they’re short of people. Since some cops view P.I.’s as nothin’ more than private citizens with a license to carry a gun, this was a controversial issue for a while. After much discussion, A.J. and I agreed to do our part for the S.D.P.D. without guns. The work we would be doin’ for them didn’t exactly require heavy artillery, so it was no big deal to us. Normally, I woulda’ told them to screw it, that I didn't need their job that bad, but Abby had done enough favors for us, however reluctantly, so A.J. and I felt we owed her one.

 

Mostly the work involved stakeouts and nosing around the streets asking questions. Stuff, as I told A.J., "A rookie cop could do with his eyes closed." The upside to all this though, was that the pay was pretty good. Plus we were gettin’ to know more people within the police department, and making contacts on the streets, which in our business, is always a plus.

 

Because of all this, we had recently spent our time driving around warehouses throughout San Diego tryin’ to break up a burglary ring that had been goin’ strong the whole month of December. The warehouses were storage facilities for various discount stores, and for the most part, electronic equipment was kept in them. The buildings were being hit at all hours of the day and night. There didn't seem to be a pattern, only that the warehouses were in relatively isolated areas, and everything being taken was easy to sell on the streets. TV’s, stereos, VCR’s - the kind of stuff that, at Christmas time, is in big demand. Abby was helping out in Burglary during December ‘cause of personnel shortages, so she had A.J. and me drive around observing these warehouses at various hours of the day and night. Three weeks of this, and neither of us had seen anything.

 

Our break came when one of the cops at the station took a call from what sounded like an adolescent boy giving him the address of a warehouse, and a time it was supposed to be ripped‑off on the 22nd. Abby called me at home on the night of December 21st to ask if A.J. and I would be interested in following this up with her the next day. I knew we would, so agreed to meet her at ten‑thirty the next morning. The last thing she said to me was, “Tell the golden boy not to dress like he's going to his junior prom. Jeans and a T‑shirt would be appropriate." I laughed, and when I finally reached A.J. later that evening, I passed the message along to him. He sounded annoyed when he commented, "So Abby thinks she needs to tell me how to dress for a stakeout?" I didn't say anything. I figured the two of them could fight it out the next day.

 

The door opened to our office at ten that morning, and A.J. walked in dressed as Abby requested. Or at least as close to it as A.J. Simon could manage. His jeans looked new, like all his jeans seem to, and his T‑shirt was actually a blue polo shirt with a ‘little critter’ on the left side of it, as Town would say.

 

‘Well, I guess ya’ don't quite look dressed up enough for the prom," I told him with a smirk on my face. "How are things going with Jeff?"

 

A.J. stood across the desk from me scanning the headlines on the newspaper I had just laid down.

 

"Fine, they caught two more shoplifters yesterday. Jeff’s pleased with both of them. Oh, Diego said to tell you his feet hurt, and that he's not sure if he should thank you for this opportunity or not."

 

I chuckled at that. I knew how bad Diego’s feet were probably hurtin’ after almost two straight weeks of that kind of work.

 

"He’ll thank me when you pay him on Christmas Eve. That’ll make him forget all about his feet."

 

"Yeah, I'm sure you're right. And, I also told him how grateful I was for his help. I explained to Diego how you're getting much too old for these types of jobs. I told him you needed to save yourself for the important stuff, like getting the newspaper and picking up doughnuts on the way in."

 

“Oh, you’re a laugh a minute,” I told my brother as we headed outta the door.

 

We met Abby in the parking lot of the police station and got the address of the warehouse from her. We continued there in my truck, while she and Hanrahan took a different route in an unmarked car. One other cop was headed there, too, in an unmarked vehicle.

 

We all arrived within ten minutes of each other. After seeing no activity, we parked the cars behind several buildings and entered the warehouse with the key Abby had obtained from the owners. That part of the city was nothing but rows of storage facilities and warehouses. We went inside to look the place over, and to wait to see if the tip panned out.

 

Supposedly, this job was going down around noon, which, as A.J. said, made sense if the people involved were assuming anybody workin’ in the warehouse would break for lunch about then. There were three dozen rows of shelves stacked high with boxes. I slipped into a row on the right side of the building toward the front, while Abby took the row directly across from me on the left. John Hanrahan was on the left as well, but in a row toward the back of the warehouse. The other cop with us, a big guy named Carl, was crouched down behind some boxes not that far from Abby, but near the big metal sliding doors. He could move a door just far enough back in its track to be able to peek out and have a limited view of any activity going on in front of the building.

 

During prior break-ins the locks on the front of the sliding doors were always smashed to gain entrance. Since most of these buildings had side‑entrance doors, it was surprising that entry wasn't gained that way. It would be pretty simple to pick the lock on those doors. That was one reason, aside from the youthful sounding caller the previous evening; that we were pretty sure we were dealing with a bunch of kids, and not professionals.

 

Abby had directed A.J. to the back of the building. The side entrance door opened into the row he was assigned to. If the perpetrators scattered, we figured our various locations gave us a good chance of grabbing a few of them. If it was kids we were dealing with, it usually only took catching one or two in order to get the names of the others involved.

 

We waited in relative silence for a half hour. It was ten minutes after twelve when Carl quietly told Abby a van was pulling up in front of the building. We got back into position behind our boxes and shelves. The last thing I saw was the back of A.J.'s blond head as he turned for his hiding place.

 

I could hear the lock on the sliding doors being smashed with what sounded like an axe. It took them five minutes to get the lock off. The big doors were rolled open, allowing sunlight to flood the center of the building.

 

The first thing I saw from my vantage point was two freckled face kids of about thirteen who looked like they should be singing in their church choir, not ripping off a warehouse. A van backed in and four more boys spilled out, but these guys looked quite a bit older than the first two. Probably closer to eighteen or nineteen. The driver opened the back doors on the van and instructed the others to start loading it up. Abby let them get eight boxes on before she stepped out from behind the row she was in.

 

“Boys, police!  Hold it right there.”    

 

We all stepped out at that point. The kids froze for a moment. Before any of us realized what was happening, the kid who had been driving reached his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a gun. He was so quick and smooth about it that I saw the gun first. I never saw his movement at all that I can remember.

 

He fired a couple of shots as soon as he pulled the gun out and we scattered. It was then that the cops pulled out their guns. Of course, A.J. and I didn't have ours, as this was one of those simple cases a rookie cop could handle with his eyes closed. None of us had anticipated encountering a seventeen-year-old with a five hundred dollar a day cocaine habit, and the attitude that he wasn't going to be caught no matter what the cost.

 

Several more shots were fired, but from where I was I couldn't see what was going on. I decided since I wasn't armed I'd better stay put until I could decipher exactly what was happening. I knew A.J. was smart enough to be doin’ the same thing so, at the time, I wasn't worried too much about him.

 

A minute passed from the first gun shot until I heard John Hanrahan on his walkie‑talkie calling for back up.

 

"Officer down, we need an ambulance at our location! Repeat, Officer down at our location!"

 

My heart sank at John’s last sentence. As I cautiously came out from my hidin’ place I was expecting to see Carl laying on the ground. I suppose that was an odd expectation, but I didn't know Carl that well, and I did know Abby well, so my mind automatically told me, Stuff like this doesn't happen to people you know. Especially right before Christmas.

 

Boy, I couldn't have been more wrong. When I finally got to where I could see what was goin’ on, I discovered the injured officer wasn't an officer at all, but instead, my brother. And he was definitely someone I know well.

 

I hardly glanced at the kid with the gun who was now layin’ face down on the warehouse floor. My only focus was on the form I could see sprawled out at the back of the building. As I ran the length of that warehouse all I could see were A.J.'s tennis shoes and pant legs. Abby and Hanrahan blocked my view of his upper body. They knelt on either side of him with their backs to me. Even as I came on them and knelt next to Abby by A.J.’s chest, I couldn't tell how serious it was or where he was hurt.

 

It wasn't until I glanced down at Abby's hands that I knew. She had her palms pressed against his left side. I saw the blood soaking A.J.’s shirt and seeping out from between her fingers. Neither John nor Abby had coats, but I was wearin’ my field jacket. I stripped it off and folded it several times to form a makeshift pressure bandage. I started to put it over Abby’s hands with the intention of holding it there myself, but she kept shaking her head.

 

"No, Rick, I'll do it. I'll do it, Rick. Talk to your brother. Talk to your brother, Rick!"

 

Finally, I let her take it. It wasn't until much later that Abby told me she wouldn't let me hold the bandage myself for fear that if A.J. bled to death on that warehouse floor I would somehow hold myself responsible. I don't know if she's right about that or not. I try not to think about it much. The whole situation was a nightmare. I don't need any false scenarios added to my memories of that day.

 

Hanrahan got up and ran outside to one of the vehicles. He came back with a blanket that was part of the first aid package in all S.D.P.D. cars. I felt a little better once A.J. was with it. I had no doubt my brother was in shock. He was pale, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. I had seen enough severe gunshot wounds in Vietnam to know this one was bad, real bad. I had noticed a visible change in A.J.'s coloring and breathing just in the sixty seconds it took John to get the blanket and come back. A.J. seemed to be getting whiter and whiter. I was scared he'd bleed to death before help ever arrived. Abby finally broke into my numb thoughts by shouting.

 

“Talk to A.J., Rick. Damn it, Rick! Talk to him!"

 

At the time, it seemed like I was in a film being played on slow motion. I was only acting, not reacting. I didn't even have the presence of mind to wonder why it was so important to Abby that I talk to someone who was obviously unconscious. Weeks later, I would recall her tellin’ me to do this, and then remembered having read somewhere that doctors think even patients in deep comas can hear what the people around them were saying. I guess Abby must have read the same article.

 

Anyway, I finally did as she told me. I bent close to A.J.’s left ear and put my hand on his head.  “Hang on, A.J.  Hang on. Help is on the way. Everything's gonna be okay. Just hang on, little brother."

 

I said those few phrases over and over.  I looked down his body to see blood staining my jacket and heard A.J.’s breathing become more ragged. I started yelling.

 

“Damn it A.J., don't you dare give up on me here! Don't you give up! I'm tellin' you, A.J., you’d better hang on!"

 

I must have sounded furious, and in some ways, I guess I was. Furious at the thought that A.J. might die in a stinking warehouse, shot by some punk, without ever regaining consciousness. Without him knowing I was there with him. Without him hearing me say good‑bye. Without him hearing me say all the things that should be said to the kid brother I love.

 

After what seemed like an eternity I heard sirens in the distance. I began prayin’ real hard that one of those sirens belonged to the ambulance, and that A.J. would still be alive when it got there. I was vaguely aware of Abby and Hanrahan talking and working together to keep pressure on A.J.'s wound, as well as Carl returning from wherever he had been. I know Abby was talking to A.J., too. I think she kept telling him to hang on, to stay with us, but I don't really know for sure. Between talking to him myself, praying, and focusing on his pale face, I was fairly oblivious to everything else that was goin’ on around me.

 

The paramedics had to nudge me out of the way. A soon as they took over for Abby she stood behind me and put her arms on my shoulders. She tried to get me to stand up and move out of the way. I glared at her over my shoulder.

 

"Leave me alone, Abby. I'm not going anywhere."

 

I moved to kneel at the top of A.J.'s head. I laid my palms against the sides of his face. They had an oxygen mask on him now, which relieved me somewhat. It had been hell for me to hear him struggle for breath.

 

The paramedics contacted the hospital and soon had an I.V. of some kind goin.’  I understood enough of what they were saying to know A.J. was losing a lot of blood. I told them right away what his blood type was, and that he was allergic to penicillin - this last more out of habit than anything else. Penicillin certainly wasn't the miracle drug for the circumstance we were facing now.

 

As the paramedics worked on A.J., he began to regain consciousness. His eyelids fluttered, and I could feel him trying to move his head between my hands. I scooted over to his right side a little, still kneeling by his upper body.

 

When A.J. opened his eyes I knew he was only half conscious. His eyes were dull, and had that cloudy look you see with someone who's heavily sedated, or has just been awakened from a deep sleep. He didn't focus on anything. He eyes moved back and forth for a few seconds until I called his name.

 

"A.J. A.J., I'm right here. It’s Rick, A.J. I'm right here with you. You're gonna be okay. The paramedics are helpin’ you. You'll be goin’ to the hospital in a minute."

 

A.J. looked at me when I started talking to him. He blinked his eyes several times, the movements so slow and heavy that I didn’t know if he was able to focus on me or not.  I knew by looking at him that he was in a lot of pain. I could see it on his face. I reached down and squeezed his right hand, shocked to discover how cold it was.

 

”A.J., I'm right here. You're doin’ fine. Just hang in there for me, little brother. We'll be going to the hospital soon."

 

A.J. tightened his fingers where they rested within my palm, and still acted like he was having trouble seeing me. He seemed scared, and I didn't blame him. I was pretty damn scared myself. I squeezed his hand again while assuring him I was there with him.

 

His mouth moved beneath the oxygen mask and I heard a faintly mumbled, "Rick?"

 

"A.J., don't try and talk. It’s Rick. I’m right here."

 

Up until that moment I had been sure A.J. knew I was there, but as soon as he voiced my name in a whispered question I was afraid he was so out of it that everything I had been sayin’ wasn't registering. He in a lotta pain, and seemed confused. I never remember feeling as useless as I did at that moment. There was an overwhelming feeling that even something so small as saying, "A.J., I'm here," wasn't helping my brother.

 

When the paramedics were ready to transport him I followed the gurney to the ambulance. As they put A.J. in the back I started to climb in behind him, only to be stopped by one of the paramedics.

 

"Sir, I'm sorry, you can ride up front, but not back here."

 

Abby and Carl were on either side of me. Abby, who knows my temper, said, "Rick, come on. You can ride with me. We'll follow the ambulance to the hospital."

 

I almost told them all to shove it and was gonna force my way in that ambulance with A.J., when I realized I would only be making a bad situation worse. The paramedics’ attention needed to be on A.J., not on me. Therefore, with one final look in the back at my brother, I turned and followed Abby to her car. John took my truck keys from me and told me he’d bring the vehicle to the hospital. My truck wasn’t my biggest concern at that time, but it was an appreciated gesture. The first of many appreciated gestured to be offered Mom and me over the next few weeks.

 

Although Abby and I were right behind the ambulance the entire way, by the time we got to the hospital A.J. was already in a trauma room. I was immediately pressed for information on his medical history, insurance company, and all the usual questions asked when someone is admitted to the hospital. I was just finishing up with the clerk when Abby approached.

 

"Rick, I think one of us should call your mother. Then I'll send a patrol car to pick her up."

 

I shook my head. "No, I'll get her.”

 

Yeah, right - like I was in any condition to drive at that moment.  Obviously, Abby knew I wasn't.

 

"No, you and I are going to stay here,” Abby insisted. “It’ll be quicker to have a patrol car get Cecilia. Do you want to call her, or do you want me to?"

 

In all the years I had been forced to make unscheduled trips to the emergency room with A.J., I had never not been the one to call my mother. I hated myself right then for what I was about to say, but I knew this time I just couldn't do it. I knew I just wasn't gonna be able to tell Mom what had happened to A.J. without upsetting her. The tone of my voice would have given me away before I had a chance to say more than, “Hi Mom." It would be impossible to sound nonchalant about this particular situation. I had a feelin’ we were in for a little more than a few stitches here.

 

"Do you mind, Abby?  Could you call her? I just...I can’t right now.”

 

Abby laid her hand on my upper arm. "I don't mind. Come and sit down over here. I'll be right back."

 

As I sat down on the couch she led me to, I called after her, "Abby, try not to upset her, okay? There'll be time enough to tell her how bad it is when she gets here."

 

Abby nodded. "I won't upset her. I'm going to dispatch a car before I call her so she won't have long to wait and be tempted to drive herself."

 

I smiled my thanks and realized, not for the first time, what a good friend Abby was to A.J. and me, even though we often didn't see things eye to eye. At times I felt like my relationship with her was somewhat like that of a brother and sister. A brother and sister who had spent a good deal of their childhood tryin’ to kill each other, but a brother and sister nonetheless.

 

Abby returned in a few minutes to sit beside me.

 

“I got a hold of your mother.  By the time I hung up, the patrol car was there. She should be here in ten or fifteen minutes."

 

“Was she upset?" I asked while staring at the door A.J. was behind.

 

“A little, but I was pretty vague. I told her A.J. had been hurt, and that you weren't calling her because you were filling out hospital forms and giving the necessary information. She was okay with it until I mentioned I was sending a car for her. She knew something was up then, and demanded that I tell her what was going on.”  Abby sighed. “You know your mother, Rick."

 

I sure did.

 

“What'd you tell her?"

 

"That A.J. had been shot, but that we didn't know how bad it was yet and not to worry."

 

I knew from the nature that phone call, and Abby sending a car to pick Mom up, she was gonna arrive knowing things weren't good.

 

"Thanks, Abby. I shouldn't have pushed that off on you, but I--"

 

Reaching over, Abby squeezed my hand briefly. "Hey, forget it. That's what friends are for."

 

As we waited for Mom to arrive, the activity in the emergency room was increasing. First Hanrahan came in to hand me my truck keys and get further instructions from Abby, then two detectives appeared to question Abby and get details about what had transpired. I was glad I hadn't seen enough of anything to be questioned. I don't think I could have dealt with it right then. More medical personnel were rushing into the room where A.J. was, and I remember havin’ this absurd vision of people hanging out the windows. I didn't see how they could fit one more person in there.

 

In the midst of all the chaos, I turned to Abby and questioned, “Where's the kid who did this to my brother? Where'd they take him?"

 

Abby looked at me with a funny expression on her face before saying, "He's dead, Rick. Carl shot him."

 

I looked at her for a few seconds and then turned away. I could feel my jaw muscles clench as I stared straight ahead.

 

"Good. I don't even care. I'm glad the little bastard’s dead. If he wasn't, I'd kill the sonuvabitch myself."

 

Abby didn't say a word, but then, what could she say? She knew I wasn't just saying that in the heat of the moment. She knew I meant every word of it.

 

A doctor came out of the trauma room, introduced himself, and told me they would be rushing A.J. to surgery. He was still losing a lot of blood, and they didn't know for sure where it was coming from. He spoke briefly to me about the massive blood loss, and said this was not the best time of the year for someone to need blood since many of the regular donors don't show up during the month of December. When I informed the guy that A.J. and I share the same blood type and that I was more than willing to donate whatever they would take from me. The doctor told me that would help, and that he would have someone see me in a few minutes. My spirits weren't lifted any when he ended the conversation with, "I've got to get ready for surgery, Mr. Simon. We don't have time to waste."

 

I did halt him briefly by asking what A.J.'s chances were of pulling through this. I felt like I was being examined under a microscope then. I think he was sizin’ me up to see if I could accept what he said next.

 

"I can’t quote you odds. It doesn't look good right now, but we'll know more in a little while. Someone will be with you shortly to let you know where you can wait."

 

He turned away from me and hurried down the corridor. I stood there, angry and numb all at the same time. Our conversation couldn't have lasted three minutes, and I sure didn't feel like I knew any more now than I did when A.J. was first brought in. The fact that he was shot and bleeding heavily wasn't exactly news to me. I was in bad need of some answers to a lotta questions. Unfortunately, it didn't look like anyone had the time to give them to me.

 

The doctor hadn't been gone a minute when the trauma room door swung open and A.J. was wheeled out. He still had the oxygen mask on, and now had three I.V.s, including one with blood. His clothes had been cut off, and he was covered from the waist down with a sheet. Where his torso was bare I could see nothing but bandages soaked with blood. When I looked at A.J.’s face it was as white as the sheet covering him.

 

He was wheeled past Abby and me so fast I didn't have a chance to do anything but look. I intended to follow to see if I could talk to him for a second, even though I was pretty sure he was unconscious, but I didn't get the opportunity. For at that moment who should appear in the corridor, but my mother.

 

Oh, great. Perfect timing. So much for breaking this to Mom gently.

 

They wheeled A.J. right by her. I think it took a few seconds for it to register with Mom that this person being rushed to surgery was her youngest son. Mom had a blank look on her face for a second, but then started to run after the gurney calling his name. That action finally got me moving. I ran down the hall until I caught up with her. I stopped Mom by wrapping my arms around her.

 

She pushed against. "No, Rick, let me go! Let me go to A.J.. Let me go to him. Let me go, Rick!"

 

I held her against my chest. "Mom, stop it now! You can't go to him.  You can’t. They have to get A.J. to surgery right now."

 

She finally quit struggling and sagged against me. "Oh, Rick, I never thought it was this bad. I knew it was serious when Abby called, but, oh my Lord, not this bad. Not my baby."

 

We held onto each other for a few minutes with me offering what comfort I could.  A nurse approached us and said we could go to the fourth floor and wait there.

 

“Someone will keep you informed as the surgery progresses,” the woman promised.

 

The next five hours were the longest of my life. Every forty‑five minutes a nurse would come to tell us that A.J. was holding his own and was still in surgery, and that was the extent of the information we received.

 

Abby stayed with us the entire time, filling Mom in as to what had transpired in the warehouse that afternoon and answering all her questions. I was grateful to her since I wasn't up to a review of the events of the day at that moment. Other than the hour I was gone to give blood for A.J., I spent most of those five hours pacing the floor or staring straight ahead at the wall. Except for the times when I would sit for a few minutes and hold Mom's hand, I tuned her and Abby out, my thoughts only on A.J..

 

I told Abby several times to go back to the station, but she wouldn't. I knew for every hour she was with us, that would mean one more hour at work for her later that evening typing up reports and answering questions. Since A.J. and I were technically private citizens, and the jobs we were supposed to be doing for the department routine ones, I figured she was in for a lot of hassles and headaches from the hierarchy. I was pretty sure Abby stayed at the hospital with us, not only because she was a good friend of Mom’s, but also because she felt responsible for what had happened. I found out several weeks later from Mom that I had guessed correctly. Abby carried a lot of unnecessary guilt on her shoulders over this incident for a long time.

 

While Abby waited with us she made use of the public phone mounted on the wall between the restrooms. She came back to tell us that a large number of officers from the station were coming down to give blood for A.J. in case he needed it.

 

“A.J. and I are O negative, Abby,” I told the woman. “That’s kinda rare.  You might wannna tell them that before anyone makes a trip down here for nothing.”

 

“It won’t be for nothing,” Abby assured me. “If A.J. can’t use the donated blood, then someone else can. They want to do something to help your brother, Rick. Right now, this is the best way they feel they can go about it.”

 

Mom started crying then, and I got pretty choked up, too. The shooting had only occurred two hours prior to this, and to think that these people thought so much of A.J. that they would do this really touched us.

 

About four hours into the surgery, what I knew was inevitable happened.  Abby came back from another phone conversation and told us that the media was going to break the story on the eleven o'clock news for sure, and possibly go with it as early as five, which was only about twenty minutes away at that time. Abby suggested that if there were any relatives or friends who should know, we'd better plan to make a few phone calls since she figured they'd use A.J.'s name as well. Mom and I had previously decided not to call anybody until the surgery was over and we knew more. Now we had to change our game plan.

 

Mom called Aunt Pat, and then she called her brother Larry, who lived in L.A. They both insisted on being with us. Uncle Larry was going to get in his car and come down right then. Mom had to do some fast talking to convince both of them not to. She told them there wasn't anything they could do, and that she might need them more in a few days. Aunt Pat left it that Mom would call her later in the evening to update her on A.J.’s condition, and Mom made her promise for not to call anybody else on the Simon side since they were all headed into San Diego over the next couple of days for our Christmas celebration. Mom felt they could be told when they arrived, and that we'd know more by then anyway. Uncle Larry was going to call Mom's other brother, who lived in Oregon, and try to get a hold of Mom's younger sister, who had left that morning from San Diego's airport to spend the holidays in Ohio at my cousin's.

 

Mom made Larry promise not to let anyone change their holiday plans, and told him she’d call him back later that evening. After she hung up the phone I suggested she call Edie or Margaret and let one of them know. From there, I figured they could let others in Mom's social circle know who might be likely to see the story on the news and be upset. These phone calls were hard for her, especially since the only reply she could make to everyone's questions about A.J.'s condition was to say we didn't know anything yet.

 

Shortly after five‑thirty I stopped my pacing long enough to see two doctors headed down the corridor toward us. I was surprised to recognize one of those doctors, our family doctor, Bob Barton. Bob shook my hand and gave Mom a hug while answering the simultaneous question Mom and I asked, "How is he, Bob? How’s A.J.?"

 

"Rick, Cece – A.J.'s still with us. He’s hanging in there."

 

I didn't think those sentences sounded too promising.

 

Bob introduced us to the doctor who had come with him as Lloyd Rafferty.  He was the surgeon who had operated on A.J., and was also the same guy I had talked to briefly in the emergency room. For the first time, I noticed how tall the guy was. He had to have been close to six foot seven. He towered over my tiny mother as she stood to shake hands with him. I'd say he was about fifty, and had a hairline in an even sorrier state than mine. He was quite a contrast to our family doctor. Bob was seventy years old now, and stood five foot nine inches tall. Where Doctor Rafferty was on the skinny side like me, Bob has an athletic build yet for a guy his age. He still rides his bike a few miles each day, and he still plays tennis regularly. As a matter of fact, Bob had been the one who taught A.J. how to play tennis when my brother was thirteen. He and A.J. meet every once in a while to play a few sets. Despite his age, Bob's got these bright, piercing blue eyes, that can still look right through me when he's patching me up after some ‘damn fool stunt’ I've pulled, as he puts it. He's also got a mop of reddish blond hair yet, with only a little gray interspersed throughout it.

 

Because of Bob's coloring and build, he and A.J. have been mistaken for father and son more than once. Bob always teases A.J. and me when that happens, saying it's a fate worse than death to have people think you've fathered the Simon boys.

 

Both doctors ushered us to the couch, and after we had introduced Abby to them, Doctor Rafferty began explaining A.J.'s condition to us.

 

"Mrs. Simon, Mr. Simon, the bullet entered the upper left portion of A.J.’s abdominal cavity and lodged in the spleen." As he said this he pointed to the upper left part of his body, right below his rib cage, indicating to Mom and I where the damage was done. "The spleen carries out several important functions. It dismantles worn-out red blood cells, and recycles parts for new blood cells. It also acts as a filter to remove foreign material, including germs, from the blood.  The spleen also makes antibodies, and is therefore a part of the body’s immune system. Because of these factors, the spleen is filled with blood, and that's why A.J. experienced such a large blood loss. We've removed his spleen, which has stopped the hemorrhaging. There didn’t proved to be a way to stop the bleeding, or remove the bullet, without taking the spleen, too."

 

I think the expression on my face must have matched the ones I saw on my mother's and Abby's - kind of blank shock. I was under the assumption that spleens are kind of important things. I didn't quite put them in the same category as tonsils and an appendix.

 

Mom looked at both doctors and then asked Bob, “What's all this mean, Bob? What’s all this going to mean for A.J.?”

 

"A.J. can live without his spleen, Cecilia. Occasionally, a person is even born without one. Neither Doctor Rafferty nor I know of any serious side effects caused by one being removed, other than the patient being more susceptible to colds, flu, and other normally minor viruses.  A.J.'s spleen being removed is not our biggest concern right now. As Lloyd told you, the spleen is an organ that is full of blood. A.J. could have easily bled to death before we ever got him to surgery. In fact, he almost did. That's how close it was. A.J. has lost a tremendous amount of blood. That he's still with us is a small miracle in itself."

 

When he paused there I jumped in. "Just what are we up against, Bob? What’s A.J. facing here?"

 

Doctor Rafferty answered me. "The thing we're up against, Mr. Simon, is that your brother has lost massive amounts of blood and that’s very hard on the body. He was in shock when he arrived here, and has now been through five hours of surgery. We had a hard time getting the bleeding under control, which is why we were in surgery so long. When we are faced with an injury as severe as A.J.'s we also have the additional worry of infection." He paused a moment before wrapping up his heartwarming speech with, "Right now, I can't make any guesses as to what A.J.'s chances are. It could go either way at this point."

 

I wasn't satisfied with that answer.

 

"You must have some idea as to what my brother's chances are. You must have some thoughts as to whether he’s going to live or die." I put my arm around Mom's shoulders. "My mother and I wanna to know. We need to know what we're facing here."

 

      "Mr. Simon...Rick, right now if I had to quote odds, I'd give them at fifty‑fifty. That’s about all I can say at this point. Your brother's been severely injured, and all the things I mentioned before, the shock, the blood loss, and the surgery, have taken their toll on him."

 

"Rick, Cecilia,” Bob said, “we’re not lying to you. We’re telling you everything we know right now, and as much as I hate to say this, things aren't extremely promising at this point. But, A.J.'s got several factors going for him. Number one; he's still with us, and he’s stable at this time. Number two; prior to the shooting he was in terrific shape. We know he's an avid exerciser and doesn't smoke, nor does he drink in excess. He takes care of himself, and that’s to his benefit right now. For all he's been through, his heart rate has continued to be strong." Bob paused there, his gaze taking in both Mom and me. "The most important thing, though, is this family. The three of you are close. You have a lot of love for each other. A.J. knows that. He knows he has your love and support. Sometimes...well, sometimes that can be more important than any medicine we have to offer.”

 

I gave a slight nod of my head and then asked, “What happens now?”

 

“We’ll be closely monitoring A.J. There's always the chance the bleeding could start up again during these next two or three days, therefore we'll be keeping him sedated so he stays quiet. They'll be moving him into Intensive Care shortly if they haven't already. You’ll be allowed to visit him for ten minutes each hour, though I can make arrangements for some rules to be broken so you two can stay with him longer than that provided you stay out of the nurses’ way.”

 

Mom and I smiled our thanks. Bob had done a lot for us already by just being there. He was a friend of my dad's from as far back as their high school days, and had been our family doctor since he went into practice when I was four. He had delivered A.J., and had always remained close with our family even all these years since my father had died, so I knew this situation had to be difficult for him, too. Bob had retired three years ago, but found he missed working, so now helped out in the emergency room a couple of days a week. He also sat on the hospital board; a position he had held for the last ten years. Someone on the staff who knew A.J. notified Bob of what was going on, and he had been with my brother ever since they had started surgery.

 

Doctor Rafferty excused himself in order to check on another patient.  Both Mom and I shook hands with the guy and thanked him for everything he’d done for A.J. so far. Bob led us to Intensive Care, patiently answering our questions and calming our fears as we walked. Abby went with us to the I.C.U. floor, but since there wasn't much else she could do, and I knew we'd be pushing it to try to get her in A.J.'s room as well, I told her she might as well go. She looked beat, and I knew she had a long night ahead of her yet. When Mom agreed with me Abby said her good-byes.

 

“Cecilia, please call me if there’s a change in A.J.’s condition.  I don’t care what time it is.  Otherwise, I’ll stop by sometime tomorrow morning.”

 

Mom and Abby hugged one another, then Abby got back in the elevator and headed for the lobby.

 

Bob took us to A.J.’s room. Or what passes for a room on the I.C.U. floor. It didn't have a door, but did have a big picture window that faced out on a centrally located nurses’ station. Although Bob had already told us what to expect when we saw A.J., it still came as a shock. It seemed like he had tubes going into every part of his body. An I.V. went into each arm, and there was also blood going into another line that was inserted in the bend of his left elbow. He had a nasal tube in, which Bob said aided in suction, and he also had oxygen prongs in both nostrils. There was a tube at the end of his incision that drained into a small suction bottle. Although I couldn't see it, I knew there was a catheter in, too, that ran up to his bladder.

 

      Over the years that spanned my tours of duty in Vietnam, as well as all my travels in and out of the United States, I had thought I had seen just about everything there was to see. That day I realized I was wrong.

I had never had occasion to visit someone in the hospital as critically injured as A.J. was. It was hard to imagine that anyone in need of all this medical aid could still be alive. I found myself watching the rise and fall of A.J.'s chest just to reassure myself he was alive. Mom must have been pretty shocked by the sight of all this, too. She squeezed my hand hard as Bob found us chairs to sit in. Mom commented to me how horrible A.J.'s coloring was, and she was right. He wasn't pale anymore like he had been earlier. Now his skin had more of a waxy gray look to it. I can remember thinking briefly, He's not gonna make it. I know he's not gonna make it. Then chasing that thought away with, He's gotta make it. He's got to.

 

Bob stayed with us quite a while answering any questions we had as we thought of them, and introducing us to some of the nurses as they came in and out of the room. He made arrangements for Mom and I to more or less come and go as we pleased. Having your family doctor as a close family friend can be of great benefit in certain situations, and this was one of those situations. Special permission or not, I had no intention of leaving that room in the near future.

 

Bob went over with us the various complications that could arise, especially concerning the amount of blood that A.J. lost. Giving him too much blood could cause fluid to collect in the lungs, but losing the amount of blood he did causes a whole different set of problems. I remember questioning Bob on the blood A.J. was getting, worrying about AIDS. I had read of enough people over the last few years that were innocent victims of the disease through contaminated blood.

 

“Don’t worry, Rick,” Bob assured. “All donated blood is screened and test for the AIDS virus before it’s used. There’s no reason for you to worry in that regard.”

 

 

Yeah right, don't tell me there's nothing to worry about, I thought.  Right now I'm worrying about everything. I'm the big brother. I’m supposed to worry. I've had years of practice, and have actually gotten good at it.

 

I felt like we were in a no‑win situation. It sounded like we were damned if we do and damned if we don't. Bob mentioned again how we were lucky that A.J. made it this far. He told Mom she could count it as her Christmas miracle that A.J. hadn't bled to death before he arrived at the hospital. I hoped, then, that we were entitled to more than one Christmas miracle, because after seeing A.J. and being informed of the complications that could arise, I felt like we were gonna to need three or four miracles at least.

 

Bob left shortly after that with the promise to see us in the morning. Mom and I settled in for our vigil. Nurses came and went checking on A.J. Doctor Rafferty stopped by later in the evening for one final check on my brother, and Mom made several phone calls. She called Aunt Pat and a few others to update them on A.J. as she had promised. When she was done making her calls she came back from the phone that was located in the waiting area outside the I.C.U. doors.

 

“Aunt Pat and Uncle Jim are going to stop by tomorrow sometime.”

 

“That’s nice of them,” I said, as I glanced at my watch. "Are you ready for me to take you home? It's almost ten o'clock."

 

"I have no intention of going home tonight,” Mom said in a tone that wasn’t gonna allow for argument. “I'm staying with A.J. until they can tell us something more definite. Bob arranged it, so I'm here to stay." After a pause she asked, “Why?” Are you ready to go home now?"

 

She got me on that one, and she knew it. There was no way I was going anywhere. I also knew better than to fight her on this issue. Years of experience told me I'd lose anyway.

 

“Well, since we're both here to stay then, how about if I go get us some coffee and sandwiches?"

 

Mom agreed to that, so I left long enough to get us something to eat, although neither of us got much down in the end.

 

That night was pretty uneventful. Every time a nurse came in she would report to us that A.J. was holding his own. Mom and I dozed on and off in the chairs we were sitting in, waking up each time someone came into check on A.J. The nurses were fantastic. They patiently answered our questions, explaining exactly what they were doing whenever they were working with A.J., and askin’ me questions about him and our line of work, just general stuff like that. Mom and I stayed out of their way, and whenever it was necessary, went to the waiting area.  We were on our best behavior ‘cause neither one of us wanted to risk being told to leave. We knew we’d had been granted a special privilege by being allowed in with A.J. in the first place.

 

As the night wore on, A.J. seemed to be feelin’ some pain. He would moan softly, or turn his head slightly, or I would notice his eyelids flickering. I asked a nurse about it and she said although he was sedated like Bob had told us he would be, it was possible he was aware of some pain at times. That really bothered me. Things were bad enough the way they were. I didn't want him to suffer. Whenever A.J. would act like he was hurting, Mom and I would talk to him, letting him know we were there, telling him to stay with us, and hopin’ that the sound of our voices could be heard and were offering him some comfort. At that point there wasn't much else we could offer, which made me feel like I was lettin’ A.J. down, and which made a long night even longer.

 

____________________

 

 

The morning of the 23rd dawned bright and sunny, far different from my mood. My back immediately told me that I was past the age when a man should spend a night sleeping in an orange vinyl chair. A lab technician came in with two nurses, so since the room was overcrowded, Mom convinced me was should go to the cafeteria for some breakfast before the doctors made their rounds.

 

Breakfast was quick and silent. The only thing Mom said was how much it bothered her to know that A.J. was in pain. I knew it did. I saw it in her face the previous evening as she held his hand and talked to him. As hard as it was for me to see him in hurting, I knew, as his mother, it had to be twice as hard for her. I held out my hand to her and squeezed as she laid hers in my palm. I didn't know what to say that would make her feel any better. Looking back, I'm sure there wasn't much I could have said.

 

We got back to A.J.’s floor at eight‑thirty. Abby was sittin’ on the couch in the waiting area.  

 

"Abby, what are you doing here?” Mom asked as Abby stood up. “You should be home sleeping. You look like you're ready to drop."

 

Mom was right. Abby did look like she was ready to drop. It was obvious she hadn't gone home from the station yet since she still had on the clothes she was wearing the previous day. In that respect she fit right in with Mom and me as far as wardrobe went.

 

"I'm heading home now. I stopped by to check on A.J. and see how you two are holding up. You both look pretty tired yourselves."