Miami Bound

 

 

By: Kenda

 

 

 

Miami Bound is a sequel to the story, The Reasons Why.  The Reasons Why can be found under The Sixities: Alive And Well, in the Simon and Simon Library.

 

Thank you, Kara, for your suggestion of a sequel to The Reasons Why.

 

This story follows the time-line mentioned in the aired episode Revolution Number 9 1/2 , where it’s indicated through a conversation with Ray Simon about Little League baseball, that A.J. was a boy of nine or ten years old when Jack Simon died.  Several years later, the aired episode, May The Road Rise Up, led the viewer to conclude A.J. was only four years old when his father died. So, as with many TV shows, occasionally there was an inconsistency here and there that allows the fan fiction writer open interpretation.

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

     He'd forgotten how humid southern Florida could be.  Even in January.  But then, he hadn't been here in what - five years now?  Not since Grandpa Simon had passed away.

 

     Twenty-four-year-old A.J. had left his mother's home on December 26th, bound for Miami.  Because of its high mileage, he'd sold the white Mustang convertible that he'd bought used while still in college.  He'd replaced it with a brand new convertible Mustang, though this one was light blue.

 

     The young man had a lot of time to think as he made the solitary drive across the country.  In a way, he was leaving everything behind he had worked for.  He’d graduated with honors from law school the previous June, and had then passed the bar exam with flying colors.  If it were up to his mother, A.J. would already be working for Michael Wells, a successful San Diego attorney, and long time family friend.  But it wasn't up to his mother, and A.J.'s life seemed bent on taking a different path.  One even he hadn't envisioned for himself until recently. 

 

     A.J. had worked part-time for a private detective throughout his college years.  When he had first taken the job at age nineteen, his only two goals were to make money for the upcoming school year, and to learn everything he could from a business that offered him experiences in various aspects of the law. 

 

     It took A.J. a long time to acknowledge to himself that without intending to, he'd fallen headlong in love with the career that would eventually prove to be his life's calling.  By the time he graduated from college, he was having second thoughts about going on to law school.  His sights had been set on that ambition for so long though, as had his mother's, that he quietly made the decision to go ahead and complete his education.  He thought that maybe the excitement of law school, and the future career it promised, would soon outweigh the often unstable life...and income, of a gumshoe.  A.J. had hoped for his sake it would.  If not, he sure didn't look forward to the day he had to break that news to his mother.

 

     But, for as good of a student as A.J. was, and for as promising of an attorney that his professors claimed he'd someday be, he chose to continue working for Neil DeBell as a private investigator upon graduation.  And he probably would have continued to work for Neil until his apprenticeship was up, and he got his investigator's license.   Possibly he would have continued to work for Neil long after that, and eventually taken over his small operation.  Neil had mentioned it on several occasions, though the former police officer had fourteen years to go yet before retirement and social security benefits.  And that future might have been fine with A.J.  Neil was a great guy.  He'd learned a lot from him.  A.J. was easily able to picture himself going into partnership with Neil, with a long-term goal of the business someday being his own.

 

     Except for one thing.  Rick.

 

     A.J.'s older brother had been back from Vietnam for two years now.  And in those two years, he'd almost completely turned away from the family he'd once been so much a part of.  He'd stayed at their mother's home for just three weeks upon his return from overseas, before hitting the road on his Harley Davidson Chopper.  Neither A.J. nor Cecilia had seen him since. 

 

     Rick had traveled the country at first.  He went wherever his bike took him...and wherever he could pick up an odd job for a few weeks before moving onto the next town, or county, or state.  Much to the relief of both A.J. and his mother, Rick had finally settled on Pirate's Key eight months earlier.  He moved into the small home he and A.J. had inherited from Grandpa and Grandma Simon.  The elderly couple had retired there from San Diego back in 1957.   Grandma had passed away in 1968.  Grandpa had followed suddenly and unexpectedly in '69.  The house had sat empty in the intervening years until Rick moved in, swept out the cobwebs, set a few mousetraps, and began calling it home.

 

     And now Rick was the reason A.J. made this solitary journey to Florida.  He was worried about his older brother.  More worried than he could ever remember being in his entire life about anyone he loved.  Rick hadn't made the effort to come home for Christmas...for the second year in a row.  He hadn't even offered a worthwhile excuse - more or less just said he didn't want to.  Okay, maybe Rick hadn't put it quite that bluntly, but he might as well have.  And in doing so he had hurt their mother terribly.  Though for some reason, A.J. knew that was not Rick's intention.  Somehow he knew that whatever was going on inside Rick, was keeping him from being close to those he held dearest to his heart.  That somehow Vietnam, and what Rick had experienced there, had caused him to cut himself off from the family who loved and missed him.

 

     Things had gone from bad to worse in recent months.  No longer did Rick pick up the phone and call home.  And more often than not if A.J. or Cecilia called him it was obvious he was drunk.  When that wasn't the case, Rick’s abrupt manner made it clear that he simply didn't want to talk to either his mother or brother.  And as far as letters went, well they were nonexistent, too. 

 

It came to a point that A.J. didn't know how many more sleepless nights he or his mother could take as they lay awake in their rooms worrying about Rick.  It was then that A.J. knew he had to do something.  Knew he had to see his brother...be near his brother, and not just for a two-week vacation, but rather for as long as it took.  Permanently if need be...and if Rick would have him. 

 

     So the blond made his plans.  First he talked to Neil.  The man hated to see A.J. go, but understood his reasons.  He knew how much the young man loved his brother.  Neil called an investigator he knew in Miami by the name of Myron Fowler.  In ten minutes time he had a job lined up for A.J. at Fowler's Peerless Detective Agency. 

 

     "The guy's a gruff old pain-in-the-ass," Neil had warned A.J. honestly.  "But he's the best in the business.  The best.  You'll learn more from him in a week than you could learn from most guys in six months."

 

     The next hurdle A.J. had to jump was telling his mother of, not only his plans to continue working as a private investigator, but also of his plans to move to Florida and the reasons behind them.  She had balked at first, been down right angry actually.  But once she had calmed down and thought through all he had said, she sent him off with her blessing.  She was so concerned about Rick.  She knew if anyone could help her eldest it was his beloved baby brother. 

 

     Cecilia hid her tears as she waved goodbye to her youngest that December morning.  She had no idea how long he'd be gone - a week, a month, or a year.  Maybe he'd settle in Florida permanently, as Rick seemed to have done.  Cecilia wasn't sure she could go on living in San Diego without at least one of her boys nearby.  But for now that's the way it was going to have to be.  Rick needed A.J. more than she did.         

         

 

Chapter 2

  

 

     It was late Wednesday afternoon, the second day of January 1974, when A.J. arrived on the outskirts of Miami.  He'd taken his time driving this past week, even stopping along the way to visit a college buddy who had relocated to Texas, and a cousin who had moved to Louisiana.  He wasn't scheduled to report to work at Peerless until Monday morning. 

 

     A.J. didn't have the foggiest notion as to what type of a reception he'd receive from the older brother who had no idea his sibling was in the process of moving to, and taking a job in, Miami.  Keeping that in mind, A.J. decided to stop at a motel and reserve a room. 

 

     Though it was nothing fancy, and painted an ungodly shade of pink, The Flamingo Inn was just what the young man was looking for.   Clean, cheap, and quiet.   After registering with the desk clerk, A.J. pulled his car up in front of the lime green door numbered 10.  He stayed only long enough to unpack his car and place a call to his mother.  He let her know he'd arrived safely, and told her he was on his way to see Rick. 

 

     A.J. was headed back outside, when on an afterthought, he turned around and reentered the room.  He walked across the gold shag carpeting to where he'd left his two suitcases next to the bed.  He quickly pulled out a change of clothing before walking into the bathroom to pick up his shaving kit.  

 

     Who knows?  The blond man thought as he placed everything in the back seat of the Mustang.  Maybe Rick will be more receptive to my surprise visit than I think.  At least I'll be prepared if I do end up staying at the house with him tonight.  It would sure beat driving back here.

 

     It was an hour drive from Miami to Pirate's Key.  Because he stopped for supper, it was two hours before A.J. was crossing the narrow isthmus that would get him from the mainland to the small island. 

 

     As Simon family history went, it was rumored that two hundred years earlier a pirate by the name of John Weston Simon, Black Jack as he was more commonly known, commandeered the small key for his own.  Thus the name, Pirate's Key.  Whether that old folklore was true, or was just a tall tale Grandpa Simon had enjoyed regaling the grandchildren with, A.J. didn't know.   He did know that at one time the entire key, all five square miles of it, had belonged to the Simon family.  Over the years the majority of the land had been sold off.  Grandpa had always laughed and said it was because the Simon siblings, going all the way back to Black Jack and his brother, Sir Francis, were notoriously known for not getting along.  At least not getting along well enough to all live together on a tiny island.  Supposedly the handsome, aristocratic, Sir Francis had been murdered by his ruthless older brother, though A.J. himself didn't put a lot of credence into that particular part of Grandpa's story.

 

     As A.J. drove down the gravel road that would lead him to Rick's home, he noted that the tiny island hadn't changed at all since the last time he'd been here.  The small business district, if one could call it that, was the same.  A ramshackle building in need of paint served as an old-fashioned general store, gas station, and post office.  The three-businesses-in-one had been owned and run for the past forty years by Eldon Winslow, and his wife Lena.  Eldon had also made a living as a fisherman until he'd lost one hand to a shark that had inadvertently gotten tangled in his net.

 

     The houses A.J. passed on occasion were spaced far apart from each other and secluded by overgrowth.  All were within a few hundred yards of the water, and build up high on stilts to protect them from flooding during the hurricane season.  Like Grandpa Simon's old house, they all had a dock that led out to the ocean. 

 

     The key's children, of which there weren't more than twelve, attended school on the mainland.  The boat that brought in the morning mail and supplies, took the kids to the mainland on it.  Their parents took turns ferrying the kids home in the afternoon, either by boat or car.

 

     As a boy, A.J. had always loved visiting the key.  He and Rick had romped, and roughhoused, and roamed freely without the parental restrictions imposed on them at home in San Diego.  After all, short of falling in the water and drowning, there wasn't much harm that could come to a kid on an isolated island.  Rick had always said he'd love to live here someday.  A.J. didn't think he'd quite want to go that far.  Even at the tender age of nine, A.J. knew it was just a little too desolate for his taste.

 

     The January sun had long set when A.J. pulled onto the dirt lane that would lead to his grandparents' old place.  He was glad the key hadn't been blessed with rain lately.  Had it, the dirt lane would be pure mud, and A.J. would have had to hike the last half mile to the house.

 

     The Mustang's lights momentarily swept over the front porch.  In that moment, A.J. caught sight of his brother slumped in an old wicker chair.  Rick's posture didn't change as A.J. killed the engine and climbed out of the car.  A.J. didn't know if Rick wasn't aware he had a visitor, or if he just didn't care.

 

     As A.J. walked toward the porch, a dog began to bark.  The animal rose from where it had been laying by Rick's feet and loped down the stairs, barking the entire time. 

 

     "Cool it, Marlowe," Rick ordered gruffly.

 

     The big dog that, upon closer observation A.J. guessed wasn't much over a year old, calmed down on Rick's command.  He seemed content to sniff A.J.'s open palm, then allowed the blond man to stroke his head several times.

 

     Because blackness of night had settled over the key for good, A.J. couldn't clearly see his brother's face as he mounted the stairs.  Nor could Rick see his.

 

     "Somethin' I can do for ya', mister?"  Rick slurred.

 

     It was then that A.J. caught a strong whiff of alcohol. 

 

     "Just thought I'd stop by for a visit," came A.J.'s even reply.

 

     Rick snorted, while squinting into the darkness.  "Ya' know somethin' real weird, mister?  Ya' sound juz like my baby brother when ya' talk."

 

     A.J. stepped up onto the porch.  A dim light was on in the living room. It faintly shined through one of the windows. It's soft glow allowed A.J.'s features to come into clearer view.

 

     Candidly, A.J. responded,  "That's because I am your baby brother."

 

     "Well...shit," Rick drawled amiably.  "How the hell are ya,’ A.J.?"

 

     Although A.J. hadn't been sure what type of greeting to expect, none of the scenarios he had gone over in his mind prior to his arrival even came close to this.     

 

     "I'm fine, Rick.  I'm just...fine."

 

     Rick looked down at the big yellow dog that had returned to his side. 

 

"Marlowe...thiz here's my little brother come ta' visit us all the way from San Diego."  Rick looked up at A.J.  "A.J., thiz here's Marlowe."

 

     "We've already met."

 

     "Oh...ya' have?"  Rick slurred.  His face screwed up in puzzlement.   "When'd ya' meet 'im?"

 

     "Just now.  In your driveway."

 

     Rick laughed at the joke only he found amusing.  "Oh, yeah.  Thaz right."  The older man rose on unsteady legs and pulled another wicker chair over from the far corner of the porch.  He took a handkerchief out of the back pocket of his blue jeans and made an uncoordinated production of dusting off the little used piece of furniture.

 

     "Have yerself a seat there, Aaay Jaay," Rick drawled slowly as he plopped his butt back in his own chair.   "I suppose ya' want to rest up some 'fore ya' head back home."

 

     A.J. sat down. "Head back home?"  He questioned, trying to see just how much his brother's alcohol laden brain was assimilating.

 

     "Yeah, head back home.  To San...San..." Rick leaned forward and questioned with drunken intensity,  "Where is it we're from, A.J.?"

 

     If the situation hadn't been so sad, A.J. would have laughed at the comical expression on his brother's face.  Instead, he supplied helpfully,  "San Diego."

 

     Rick smiled, quite pleased with himself.  "Yeah.  Thaz right.  San Diego.  'Fore you head back home to...to...to San Diego."

 

     "Rick...I'm not going back to San Diego tonight."

 

     "No?  How come?"

 

     "Well, because it's a twenty-three-hundred mile drive for one thing."

 

     Rick laughed a silly drunken laugh that was totally unfamiliar to A.J. 

 

"Oh, yeah.  Two thousan’ three hun’red miles," Rick echoed, while carelessly tossing one leg over the side of his chair.    "Guess that would be kinda far fer ya' to drive in one night.  Well, you might as well stay here with me and Marlowe then."

 

     "Do you mean that?"  A.J. questioned cautiously.

 

     Rick leaned forward to give his brother's knee an affectionate pat, almost toppling his chair over in the process.  "Whoa,"  he stated as he weaved back and forth before righting himself.  " ‘Course I mean it.  I've been missin' you somethin' fierce, A.J."

 

     A full thirty seconds passed before Rick questioned for clarification, "Ya' haven't been around much lately...have ya'?"

 

     A.J. gave a soft, sad smile.  "No, Rick.  I...I haven't been around much lately."

 

     Rick fished about the side of his chair until he came up with a bottle of Jack Daniels.  "I didn't think so.  I mean...I don't remember seein' much of ya' recently.  That's probably why I've been missin' ya' so bad." 

 

     Rick began to laugh again at the way this sudden revelation made perfect sense to him.  He tipped the bottle up and took a long drink.  He wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve, then held the bottle out to A.J.

 

     "No, thanks."

 

     Rick moved a clumsy hand to pet his dog.  "See there, Marlowe.  A.J. ain't much of a drinker.  Never was.  But then he don't have nothin' to drink over.  The Golden Boy's always had things his way."

 

     A.J. bristled at his sibling's words, and the bitter tone behind them, but didn't say anything.  Rick went on talking to Marlowe as if his brother wasn't present.  And with as drunk as Rick was, it was possible that to him, A.J. was no longer present.

 

     “Yep.”  Rick ran his hand over the big dog's head.  "He was Dad's favorite.  And Mom's too.  Her baby.  Always will be Mom's baby.  That'll never change.  Her special boy."

 

     "Rick--" A.J. started to say, but was ignored.

 

     Rick tipped the bottle to his mouth once more.  He didn't so much as wince when the hard liquor burnt the back of his throat. 

 

"He was always taggin' along behind me, Marlowe.  Always wanted to be juz like me."  Rick lifted an index finger and wagged it in the darkness as if making an important point.  "Ya' know, I could never figure that out.  Why in the world would that kid wanna be like me?  I waz always screwin' everything up.  Always in trouble with Dad.  A big disappointment to Mom.  Not exactly the kinda big brother a little guy should look up to.  But he did, Marlowe.  That crazy kid always looked up to me.  And hell...I let 'im down so many damn times.  But no matter what, he loved me.  No matter how many times I let 'im down, the kid still loved me." 

 

     "Rick," A.J. beckoned softly.

 

     Rick's eyes slowly blinked before he turned his attention to the familiar voice. 

 

     "You never let me down."

 

     "I've let lots of people down, Aaay Jaay," Rick countered drunkenly.  "Hundreds of people.  Hell, maybe even thousands."

 

     "Rick--"

 

     "Don't cha' see?  I was never good enough.  Just never good enough.  Those guys...my buddies, they got killed 'cause of me."

 

     A.J. leaned forward in his chair.  "What guys?  Who are you talking about?"

 

     Rick waved one hand in the air, as if gesturing to a far off place.  "Those guys depended on me.  They looked up to me.    But they died, A.J.  They died.  Every single one of 'em.  They frickin' died 'cause I wasn't there for ‘em."

 

     It was dark, but not so dark that A.J. couldn't see the tears that had begun to trickle down Rick's face.

 

     "I tried, A.J.  I really tried," Rick pleaded in a tone that sounded like he was begging for A.J.'s forgiveness.  "I remember thinkin' that if I'd just gotten there five minutes earlier, I coulda saved 'em.  If I'da been with 'em I coulda protected 'em.  Maybe it wouldn't have happened."

 

     With that, the bottle slipped from Rick's hand to land with a thud on the porch.  It fell over on its side, whiskey slowly leaking out and seeping into the floorboards. 

 

     Rick leaned forward in his chair and hid his face in his hands.   His shoulders shook with the force of his drunken sobs. 

 

"It's my fault, A.J.  It's my fault.  I don't deserve to ever have anyone look up to me again.  I don't deserve to be alive.  How I wish to God I had died that day right along with 'em.  I can still hear them...hear their screams.  Oh, God, A.J.  What am I gonna do?"

 

     A.J. slid out of his chair and knelt in front of his brother.  Without thinking about whether or not Rick would accept comfort from him, A.J. folded the sobbing man into his arms.  Rather than push him away, however, Rick leaned more heavily into his younger brother.  He cried until the alcohol in his system left him no choice but to pass out in A.J.'s arms. 

 

 

Chapter 3

  

 

     Dawn was just starting to break when Rick Simon rolled over in bed with an audible groan.  The inside of his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton.  He licked at his dry lips, only to taste stale whiskey. 

 

     When his stiff limbs would allow it, Rick lifted himself up on his elbows.   Funny, he didn't remember staggering to bed last night.  The last thing he remembered was being out on the porch talking to Marlowe.  He looked down at the floor to see the dog slumbering heavily on the brightly colored throw rug. 

 

     As Rick pushed the blanket back he took note that he hadn't stripped down to his boxer shorts before climbing in bed.  That in itself was odd.  No matter how drunk Rick was, he somehow always managed to follow his normal nocturnal habits.  Yet he was still wearing his jeans and work shirt, though evidently had managed to remove his deck shoes and socks.

 

     Something else that was odd, now that Rick stood and took notice, was that he hadn't turned down the bed.  By the way the old, white chenille spread was wrinkled, it was evident that he'd slept on top of it all night.  The blanket that had been covering him had come out of the linen closet.

 

     Man, I musta really tied one on last night.  Rick padded painfully to the bathroom.   His head pounded in rhythm with his footsteps.   I sure don't remember gettin' that blanket outta the closet. 

 

     Rick felt somewhat better after standing under the hot shower for ten minutes.  He slowly dried off, brushed his teeth, downed three aspirin, and shaved.  The only telltale sign now left of last night's binge was the blood shot eyes that greeted him when he looked in the mirror. 

 

     Rick walked naked back to his bedroom where he pulled on a clean pair of boxers, cutoff shorts, and a T-shirt.   He put his deck shoes back on minus the socks.  It only took him a few minutes to straighten up the bedspread, fold and return the blanket to the closet, and deposit his dirty clothes in the hamper.  

 

     As he worked a feeling of uneasiness crept over Rick.  The

same feeling he had in the shower twenty minutes earlier.  He'd had those dreams again.  Those unsettling dreams about Vietnam.  Yet, were they dreams?  This time it seemed like he'd been talking to someone.  Someone other than Marlowe, that is.  And then to top it off, he'd dreamed A.J. was here. 

 

     Rick hadn't let himself think, really think of his mother and brother, in a long time now.  He decided it was best to keep it that way, as he headed for the kitchen.  It made his heart hurt too much to do otherwise. 

 

     The bedroom Rick now called his had been his grandparents’.  Right next-door was the tiny bathroom.   The bedroom and bathroom both opened into the living room.  Grandma and Grandpa's furniture still sat in the room, in the exact same places each piece had sat when Rick was a boy.  Granted, it all looked a bit worse for wear.  Time...and twenty-five grandchildren, will do that to furniture.  It didn't matter to Rick though.  All he needed was a comfortable sofa to recline on after a long, tiring day on the ocean.  The old battered couch that sat in front of the stone fireplace served that purpose. 

 

     The fireplace was the only way Rick had to heat the house.  A person didn't need much more than that this far south off the Florida coast.  On the off chance that one of those rare nippy nights invaded the area, when more warmth was needed than the old fireplace could provide, Rick had an electric space heater in his bedroom.

 

     In back of the living room was the kitchen.  It was small, and the table and appliances were outdated, again being the same ones Rick's grandparents had used.  Nonetheless, it was clean and serviceable, and just what Rick needed.  The front porch ran the length of the house.  Another porch ran along the back and was screened in.  From there a person could get to the dock where Rick's boat was tied.     

 

     As Rick started pulling a package of bacon and a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator, that nagging feeling that something wasn't right prevailed.  He laid the items on the countertop next to the stove, then stood there for a moment in the quiet of the early morning.  A crane called somewhere in the distance, and he could faintly hear the sound of water lapping gently against the dock.

 

     Nothing unusual about that.  Those are the same things I hear every morning. 

 

     Yet that nagging feeling persisted, causing Rick to walk back into the living room and look out the front window.  Parked in his driveway was a blue Ford Mustang.  At first Rick was puzzled.  He hadn't heard a car drive up, and didn't know of anyone who drove a blue Mustang to begin with.  He stepped out on the porch for a closer look.

 

     California Plates! 

 

     Rick whirled around and rushed into the living room. 

 

     There!  That's what had been bothering him.  That's what he must have noticed subconsciously when he'd walked out of his bedroom a half hour earlier.  The door to the second bedroom, the one that was on the other side of the massive fireplace from Rick's and half hidden by the structure, was closed.   

 

     A.J.  Damn, it has to be A.J.!  It wasn't a dream after all.  He's really here!  

 

     Rick stood undecided in the middle of the room.  He was torn between running into that bedroom and hugging his brother for all he was worth, or yelling at him to get his butt back home to San Diego, while at the same time throwing him out on his ear. 

 

     It musta' been A.J. I was talkin' to last night.  There's no other explanation.  I musta' passed out and he put me to bed. 

 

     Rick didn't like that.  He didn't like it one bit.  He wasn't used to being vulnerable in front of anyone, most especially not in front of his kid brother.  That was half the reason he'd settled in Florida.  It was a continent away from the expectations...and smothering love, of his family.

 

     God, what did I say to him?  Rick frantically wondered.  What the hell did I say? 

 

     He thought he remembered crying.  And even if he didn't remember it, Rick knew when he and Jack Daniels got to visiting, he generally woke up with dried tears on his face. 

 

     Damn you, A.J. Damn you to hell and back!

 

     Before Rick had a chance to decide just what he was going to do about his unexpected guest, the bedroom door opened.   A tousled and barefoot A.J. shuffled out.  The blond man, clad only in pajama bottoms, was in the middle of a yawn when he noticed his older brother staring at him from across the room.

 

     The men's eyes met and held.  A.J.'s broadcast a depth of warm emotions.  Rick's were hard and cold.  Without so much as a hello, Rick turned sharply on his heel and stalked back into the kitchen.

 

     He's not quite as amiable to my presence as he was last night, the blond thought with chagrin before continuing his journey to the bathroom.

 

     Fifteen minutes later, a freshly showered and dressed A.J. appeared in the kitchen.  Rick didn't turn from where he was frying eggs at the stove, even when his brother had to reach around him to retrieve a coffee mug from the rack.

 

     A.J. sat down at the table, perfectly willing to put up with Rick's angry silence.   He sipped at the hot coffee while looking about the old room with nostalgia.  He was startled out of his thoughts by his brother's voice.

 

     "I don't remember issuin' any invitations." 

 

Rick's tone was distant and impersonal, as if the man sitting at his table was an unwanted intruder, and not the brother he had once been closer to than any other person on the face of the earth. 

 

     "You didn't," A.J. replied evenly to Rick's back.  "But this is my house, too.   Or at least that's what Grandpa's will said."

 

     Rick couldn't argue that fact with his brother, nor did he try.  Instead, he turned from the stove and carried his full plate, three fried eggs, bacon, and toast, to the table.   Marlowe lumbered in from the bedroom and settled at his master's side, ready to accept whatever morsels came his way.

 

     Rick ate several forkfuls of food before indicating with a jerk of his head to the stove.  "There's a couple more eggs and some extra bacon in the pan if you want it," the older man growled.  "I guess I'm not as hungry this morning as I first thought."

 

     A.J. hid his smile as he rose to fill a plate.  Obviously that extra food Rick was claiming he couldn't eat had been made for A.J. to begin with.  Rick's pride just wasn't going to allow him to admit it.

 

     Breakfast was completed in silence.  Rick rose to clear their plates, a gesture A.J. negated. 

 

     "You cooked," he stated, as he rose, too.  "I'll clean up."

 

     The older man reseated himself without protest.  Nor did he protest when A.J. refilled his coffee cup.  He leaned his lanky frame back in his chair and lit his first cigarette of the day.

 

     "How long is this little...visit of yours gonna last?"  Rick finally snarled over the sound of the running water at the sink.

 

     With his back to his brother, A.J. gave a casual shrug. 

 

"Oh...a while maybe.  I've got a job in Miami.  I start Monday."

 

     "A job?"  Came the surprised question. "Doin' what?"

 

     "Working as an investigator for Peerless Detectives."

 

     "The private dick place?"

 

     "Yes."

 

     "Does Mom know?"

 

     "Yes."

 

     "And she didn't say anything about it?"  

 

     A.J. smiled to himself as he looked out of the window over the sink.  "She had plenty to say about it, that’s for certain.  But there wasn't much she could do to stop me."

 

     "But you passed the bar," Rick pointed out.  "You're supposed to be practicing law.  Why the hell do you want to throw all that away?"

     As the last of the water drained down the sink A.J. turned to face his brother.  He wiped his wet hands on a dishtowel. 

 

"I'm not throwing it away.  It's just not right for me.  At least not now.  Maybe someday I'll go back to it.  But I've really enjoyed the work I've done for Neil these past few years, so decided I'd give it a whirl on a more permanent basis."

 

     Rick pinned his brother with an intense gaze.  "And Miami's the only place in this entire country where you can do that, huh?  How convenient."

 

     A.J. ignored Rick's sarcasm.  "No, I suppose it's not the only place in this entire country where I can do that.   But it is the only place with Myron Fowler."

 

     "Who's he?"

     "The guy who owns Peerless.  He's supposed to be the best in the business.  Getting a chance to work with him...well, let's just say it's like an aspiring baseball player getting the chance to work with Mickey Mantel.  It was an opportunity I couldn't turn down."

 

     Rick mumbled,  "I'll just bet it wasn't," before taking another drag from his cigarette.

 

     Rick finally pushed himself away from the table.  He shoved his matches and pack of Marlboro's in his shirt pocket.  He grabbed his hat from the hook by the door.

 

     "Come on, Marlowe," he hailed as he walked onto the back porch.  He pushed open the screen door and trotted down the stairs that led to the dock.

 

     Halfway to his boat, Rick realized he was being followed by someone other than his dog.  He turned around to confront his younger brother. 

 

"What are you doin'?"

     "Coming with you."

     The older man scowled.  "You don't even know where I'm goin'."

 

     "Doesn't matter," A.J. shrugged.  "I'll come anyway."

 

     "Well, maybe I don't want you to come," Rick imparted in a tone he hadn't used on his brother since they were kids.

 

     "And maybe you don't have a choice," A.J. shot back.

 

     The two men squared off, studying each other.  Rick's hands were planted firmly on his hips, while A.J.'s arms were steadfastly crossed over his chest.   Finally Rick gave a heavy sigh. 

 

"Oh, all right.  Come on then."  He tried to sound angry when he turned once more and headed for the boat.  "You're still the same stubborn pain-in-the-ass you were fifteen years ago.  I'd have thought by now you woulda’ gained some sense in that damn hard head of yours."

 

     A.J. smiled fondly at his brother's back, and the words that he knew, despite how they sounded, were filled with affection.

    

 

Chapter 4

 

 

     The sun was slowly sinking in the Florida sky when the weary fishermen returned to port that evening.  It had been a good day as far as A.J. was concerned.  Rick's nets were full, and had brought him a fair price at the market in Miami.  And although Rick had made very little conversation with A.J. throughout the day, other than to growl orders at him in regards to the fishing lines, the blond didn't miss the hint of pride in the older man's voice when he introduced A.J. to a couple of his acquaintances in Miami as, "My kid brother from California."

 

     While Rick fed Marlowe A.J. took a hot shower.  He was glad to wash the pungent fish odor out of his hair and skin, and to put on a clean pair of blue jeans and a polo shirt.

 

     Rick took his turn in the shower while A.J. snooped around in the cupboards and refrigerator.  By the time Rick entered the kitchen his younger brother had supper cooking on the stove.

 

     Rick began pulling dishes out of the cabinets.  "You didn't have to do that."

 

     A.J. flashed his sibling a brief smile, before returning his attention to the chicken he had frying.   "I don't mind." 

 

     Although dinner was eaten in silence, it was a companionable silence.  A good silence.  The silence of two men who had worked together in harmony throughout the long day, and who had been justly rewarded for all their hard labor.  It wasn't like the tense and uncomfortable silence that had hung over the breakfast table that morning. 

 

     Whether he realized it or not, A.J. was already making progress.

 

     This time it was Rick who did the dishes while A.J. took Marlowe out on the front porch.  Rick joined them a few minutes later, sitting in the same wicker chair A.J. had found him in the previous evening.  The brothers conversed about things in general as darkness blanketed the key.  A.J. caught Rick up on all the family news and other happenings back home in San Diego.  The two called it a night at ten o'clock since Rick wanted to be out on the water at five-thirty the next morning.

 

     Rick never took notice of the fact that, for the first time in many months, he hadn't felt the need that evening to uncap his old friend Jack Daniels.

      

 

Chapter 5

 

 

     Friday was similar to Thursday. The brothers rose to start their day just as the sun was peeking its head over the horizon.   Once again the two men spent the day on the water emptying Rick's many nets before recasting them.  Conversation between the two flowed easier than it had the day before.  The snarls and growls Rick had readily thrown in A.J.'s direction on Thursday, began to be replaced with the lighthearted teasing and familiar banter that dated back to their shared childhood.   Without discussing it the brothers had as well, divided up the household tasks and traded off meal preparation and cleanup. 

 

     Once again the two men passed the remainder of the evening on the front porch.  Rick made no mention of A.J. leaving any time soon, and seemed to be under the impression that his little brother was there to stay.  It wasn't until noon the next day that A.J. told Rick otherwise.

 

     A.J. jumped out of the boat and tied it to the dock.  He and Rick had called it quits early, in part because Rick's catch was slim that day, and in part because the lanky man generally spent Saturday afternoons in Miami purchasing necessities that weren't available in the key's tiny general store.    

 

     Rick showered first, then relinquished the bathroom to his brother.   A.J. appeared bare-chested in Rick's bedroom doorway ten minutes later.

 

     "Can I borrow another one of your shirts again?"

 

     "Sure," Rick agreed.  "Help yourself."

 

     As A.J. crossed to the small closet in the corner of the room Rick questioned, "Where's all your stuff?  If you're movin' down here you musta brought more with you than two pairs of jeans and two shirts."

 

     "I did," A.J. acknowledged, as he buttoned up the front of one of his older brother's shirts.  "My suitcases are in a motel room in Miami."

 

     Rick pocketed his wallet and picked up some change from the top of the dresser.  He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his socks and cowboy boots. 

 

"What are they doin' there?"

 

     A.J. hesitated a moment before replying.  "I...I wasn't exactly sure if you'd let me stay here.  I got a room just in case."

 

     Rick looked up from his task.  He met his brother's solemn, almost reluctant gaze, with an intense one of his own.  When he spoke, it was to tease lightly, "As far as you stayin' here goes, you more or less indicated to me that I didn't have a choice.  If I remember correctly you pointed out that this was your house, too."

 

     A.J. turned away, smiling.  "Well...you know, you were here first.  Squatter's rights and all."    

 

     "Oh...I see." Rick brushed by his brother on the way out the bedroom door.  "Some lawyer you turned out to be.  You neglected to mention that."

 

     A.J.'s smile broadened as he shook his head fondly and followed his brother out to Rick's beat up '65 Chevy pickup. 

 

     "Come on, Marlowe!"  Rick called.  The agile young dog jumped up in the truck's bed as the brothers climbed in the cab.

 

     Once they hit the mainland, Rick weaved in and out of Saturday traffic until they were in Miami.  He stopped first at a hardware store, then drove a few blocks to a grocery store.  A.J. insisted on paying for the week's worth of groceries Rick deposited in the shopping cart. 

 

     When the two men climbed back in the truck Rick turned to his brother.  "What's the name of the motel where your stuff is at?"

 

     "The Flamingo Inn.  It's just a few miles from here."

 

     "I know where it is," Rick acknowledged, turning the truck in that direction.  "I've spent a few memorable nights there on occasion."

 

     A.J. arched an inquiring eyebrow at his sibling.  "Anyone special?"

 

     Rick gave a sly smile.  "Oh...they were all special, little brother.  Every single one of them."

 

     A.J. laughed, happy to hear that Rick hadn't completely left behind his old ways.

 

     For lack of anything better to do, Rick walked into the motel's office with his brother. 

 

     "I'd like to pay for another week's rent," A.J. told the desk clerk while pulling out his wallet.

 

     Rick laid a hand on his brother's arm to stop the motion.