THE FORTUNE

 

By: Kenda

 

The reference to A.J.’s bungee jump in this story refers to the story, Geronimo!, which can be found under Stories From The Brothers’ Files in the Simon and Simon Library.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ducks were quacking on the canal as A.J. Simon opened his French doors and stepped onto the deck. Sunshine glistened off early morning dew as the promise of another beautiful July day dawned in San Diego.

A.J. savored the quiet of the neighborhood. It was a few minutes before six a.m., and as of yet, no one had ventured outside his or her home.   While still standing on the deck, A.J. gently stretched his leg muscles in preparation of his five-mile run.  New Balance running shoes, white socks, navy running shorts, and a red tank top, made for ease of movement. 

After bending and touching his toes several times, A.J. propped one foot up on the deck railing. He bent forward, bringing his head as close to his outstretched knee as possible. A.J. then repeated this pattern using his other leg.

Fifteen minutes later, A.J. had completed his pre-running routine. He’d felt the telltale pulls in thigh, calf, and back muscles that emphasized to the detective that now that he was in his forties, the stretching exercises he had once bypassed were necessities.

A.J. loped down the deck steps, stopping only long enough to hide a house key in a flowerpot, as he did every morning that he ran. The blond then jogged around the corner of the garage, picking up his pace when his feet hit the sidewalk.

Once A.J.'s body was comfortable with what he was doing, he fell into a stride that was neither too fast nor too slow, but rather afforded him a consistently paced fifty-minute aerobic workout.

As A.J. ran the familiar route through adjoining neighborhoods, he daydreamed about the current case he and Rick were working on. From there, he mentally planned his day, outlining in his head all of the things he hoped to accomplish at the office.

A car horn beeped, the sound bringing A.J. out of his musings long enough to wave at the female driver. Although A.J. didn't know the woman's name, they exchanged waves on the mornings he ran. He did know she lived in the big English Tudor just around the corner, and that she had two teenage sons whom he often saw coming and going from the house when he was on his way to or from work.

A little farther up the quiet, tree-lined sidewalk the blond was hailed with, "Morning, A.J.!"

 

"Morning, Greg!" A.J. called back to the man who was about to get into a Ford Taurus.

 

"How about a game of racquet ball next week?" 

 

A.J. turned to face his friend, while continuing his progress by jogging backwards. "Sounds good! Give me a call at the office this week and we'll set a date."

 

"Okay! I'll talk to you later."

 

"See ya,’ Greg! Have a good day!" A. J. called as he turned to run forward once again.

 

A.J. was three miles into his run and headed toward home. The detective entered the neighborhood he enjoyed the most on his route. All the homes were large with Spanish style architecture, their lawns immaculately groomed and brightened by flowers. This was an older section of San Diego with the houses having been built in the 1920s and 30s. A.J. rarely saw a soul moving about when he ran, so he assumed most of the inhabitants were older as well. Lucky retired people who no longer had to punch a time clock, A.J. would often think to himself.

 

A.J.’s stride increased with little effort as his body eased into its comfort zone with no conscious thought on his part. He turned and looked left when a yard fountain began to spout. Before the blond realized what was happening, the sidewalk greeted him.  He felt a sharp sting against his palms and knees as he landed chest down on cool concrete.

 

Like most runners who consider themselves to be better than average athletes, A.J.'s first instinct was to look around and make sure no one had seen him make a fool of himself. Satisfied that all the occupants of the neighborhood were still in bed, A.J. pushed himself to his feet. Blood trickled down both knees, and his palms were pink and tender.  As A.J. put his full weight on both legs, the left one collapsed from underneath him. The surprised detective found himself on the ground once again.

 

A.J. sat on the sidewalk rubbing his left leg. It felt like it was asleep, and A.J. couldn’t feel the touch of his fingertips against the skin. While the detective waited for the pins and needles sensation to subside, he scanned the sidewalk for the rock or crack that had caused him to fall. When he didn’t spot anything that would have tripped him, the blond shrugged the incident off. After all, this was hardly the first time in twenty years of running that he’d tripped and fallen.

 

A.J. stood and gingerly put weight on the leg. When it supported him without any problems, he took a few tentative steps. A.J. walked a few minutes to make sure nothing was sprained, and then began jogging once again. Within five minutes, his pace was back to where it had been prior to the fall. The only further thought A.J. gave to the incident came thirty minutes later when he was in the shower. The detective grimaced when he rubbed soap over the scraped skin of his hands and knees.

_________________________

 

Three weeks after A.J.’s fall, the Simon brothers were sitting at their desks eating a Chinese take-out lunch. Rick tossed his cardboard container, balled up napkin, and plastic silverware into the garbage can, then reached for his fortune cookie. He unrolled the slip of paper he found within the dessert.

 

"You are soon to face a challenge." Rick glanced at his brother. “Now what kind of a stupid fortune is that?"

 

"The kind you get in a cookie you pay twenty cents for," A.J. quipped.

 

"I'm serious here, A.J. This is a dumb fortune. It's more like a prediction than it is a fortune.”

 

"Fortune, prediction, they're one and the same," A.J. said while tossing his own garbage away.

 

"Nah, there's a difference," Rick debated.

 

"Your problem is that you want all of your fortunes to say things like, ‘You are soon to meet a beautiful woman,’ or ‘You are soon to become a wealthy man.’”  

 

"And what's wrong with that?"

 

A.J. picked up his fortune cookie and took the paper out of it. "You're a shallow man, Richard Simon." 

 

"I am not shallow! "I just prefer the simple things in life, that's all. A good football game on TV, cold beer, a country song, and a halfway decent fortune in my fortune cookie."

 

A.J. didn't reply to his brother, but instead laughed at the words printed on the small piece of paper he held in his hand.

 

"What? What's yours say?" 

 

A.J. smiled.  "Oh, nothing." 

 

Rick leaned forward in his chair. "A.J., come on. What's it say?"

 

"You'll never believe me."

 

"Yes, I will. Come on, tell me."

 

With a chuckle in his voice, A.J. read, "You will soon meet a wealthy, beautiful woman with whom you will have a long term relationship."

 

"It doesn't say that," Rick scoffed. "Quit goofin’ around."

 

A.J. stood and walked to Rick's desk. He dropped the open slip of paper into his brother's outstretched palm. "See for yourself."

 

Rick read the paper.  The only thing he said to A.J. in regards to it was a disgruntled, "I think they got our cookies mixed up at that place. I think you got my fortune."

 

"No, no, no." A.J. snatched the paper away from Rick and put it in his shirt pocket. "I'm certain this is my fortune. I intend to keep my eyes open all day looking for the gorgeous woman with the big bank account."

 

"Great,” Rick grumbled. “So all I end up with is ‘you are soon to face a challenge.’" Rick grumbled.

 

"Look at the bright side, Rick. Maybe the challenge you are soon to face involves being nice to your brother and his beautiful, wealthy, sexy young wife."

 

"Keep dreamin,’" Rick snickered. "Besides, your fortune never said anything about this woman being young and sexy."

 

"It said beautiful, so that means young and sexy, too." 

 

"I think you're taking liberties with your fortune there, pal," Rick commented as he rose while changing the subject. "I suppose we’d better get goin’, huh?"

 

"Yeah," A.J. agreed as he walked over to flip the answering machine on. "I hate serving subpoenas."

 

"Ah, A. J., where's your sense of adventure?"

 

"It left me five years and multiple black eyes ago. Every time we serve one of these damn things I either get punched, or the guy takes off and I have to chase him over a succession of back yard fences."

 

"At least you're prepared for it today," Rick commented as he looked over A.J.'s casual dress of red polo shirt, blue jeans, and New Balance running shoes.

 

A.J. headed for the door.  "I'm never prepared for it."

 

"You know, little brother, I think Father Time is creepin’ up on you. You never used to talk like this." Before A.J. could make a snappy retort, Rick added, "Speaking of Father Time, why are you limping?"

 

"I'm not."

 

"You are, too."

 

"No, I'm not."

 

"A.J., I'm walkin’ right behind you and you're limping.” Rick shut and locked the office door. “You might be gettin' so old that your eyesight's goin’, but mine's fine. You're limping. Why?"

 

A.J. continued his progress toward the elevator while favoring his left leg. "It's nothing. My leg's asleep, that's all."

 

"Oh," Rick replied. "Well, you'd better wake it up before you have to give chase this afternoon."

 

A.J. closed the elevator gate while emphasizing, "I’m not chasing anyone this afternoon, Rick. I'll be perfectly content to lean against the car and watch you give chase."

 

As the elevator began its decent Rick's prediction of, "It'll never happen, A.J.," echoed in the shaft.

 

 

_________________________

 

At one-thirty that afternoon, the Simons stood outside a massive brick home in a ritzy neighborhood, ringing the doorbell. Rick and A.J. exchanged amused glances as the beginning of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony sounded. The music ended when a small, lean brunette man of about thirty answered the door.

 

"Adam Burke?" A.J. inquired of the man he knew to be a successful jockey.

 

"Yes? What can I do for you?"

 

Before anymore could be said, the man caught sight of the folded up court document A.J. had pulled from his back pocket. Just as A.J. was about to say the formal words of "Adam Burke, you've been served," the jockey gave the blond a mighty shove, then fled across the front lawn and down the sidewalk.

 

A.J. was already pushing himself up off his butt by the time Rick got to his side to offer assistance.

 

"I told you I hate serving subpoenas," A.J. growled as both brothers took to the chase. A.J. was four steps ahead of Rick, but remained six steps behind Adam Burke as the three men ran through the neighborhood.

 

At least this time I don't have to scale any fences with junkyard dogs awaiting me on the other side, the blond detective thought as he hurtled a tricycle, Rick following at his heels. Four Big Wheels, three red wagons, two scooters, and one small poodle later, A.J. was almost close enough to reach out and touch the object of his chase.

 

Just as the blond extended his right hand in an effort to snare Adam Burke's shirt collar, A.J.'s left leg went out from underneath him. He tumbled head over heels, landing on his face in the grass.

 

Before Rick could stop himself, he fell over the top of his prone brother. The toe of Rick’s right cowboy boot caught A.J. hard in the ribs. Rick heard A.J.'s, "Oooomph!" as the breath was knocked out of the blond. Rick ended up sprawled face down beside his brother in some stranger’s front yard.

 

The oldest Simon recovered first. He pushed himself to his hands and knees while scanning the area for Adam Burke. It didn't come as a surprise to Rick that the man was long gone. Rick then turned to find his sibling still lying on his stomach.

 

Rick crouched by his brother’s side.  "A.J., you okay?" 

 

A.J. groaned as he slowly rolled over while clutching his ribs.  “Yeah...yeah, I’m okay.”

 

"I didn't break one of your ribs, did I?"

 

“No...no.  I’m fine.”

 

"Are you sure?" 

 

A.J. grimaced and nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."

 

"Okay. Then are you ready to get up before the old lady that's starin' at us out her living room window calls the cops?"

 

A.J. cocked his head enough to see an elderly lady was giving the Simon brothers the evil eye from behind the safety of a bay window. Not wanting any further trouble, A.J. used his palms to push himself to a sitting position. Without asking, Rick grasped his brother beneath the left armpit and pulled A.J. to his feet.

 

Rick tightened his hold to keep them both from falling again as A.J. 's left leg went out from underneath him like limp spaghetti.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

"Nothing," A.J. answered, trying once again to put weight on the leg.

 

Rick kept a firm grip on A.J.’s arm.  "Are you sure you didn't hurt it when you fell?"

 

A.J. didn’t to reveal to Rick that he fell in the first place because of the leg - because it had suddenly felt as loose and flexible as a piece of worn-out elastic.

 

"No, I didn't hurt it. It's fine."

 

To emphasize that fact, A.J. pulled away from Rick once he was certain that he wasn't going to all again.

 

“Wasn't that the same leg you were limpin’ on an hour ago?"

 

A.J. hesitated before admitting, "Yes."

 

"What's the problem with it?"

 

"I...I hurt it running a few weeks ago. Twisted the knee, or pulled a muscle, or something. Don't worry about it."

 

"Maybe you should make an appointment with Joel and have him look at it."

 

"It's fine," A.J. replied. "Come on, let's go before Tokyo Rose in there sends out an all points bulletin to the neighborhood watch brigade. Besides which, we need to hunt down the jockey who runs almost as fast as the horses he rides."

Rick followed behind his brother and took note that A.J. had a hand pressed to the small of his back.

 

"Forget him,” Rick dismissed. “We'll catch up with him tomorrow."

 

The hand dropped as A.J. turned. "I don't want to forget him, Rick. We're only being paid a hundred bucks to deliver this stupid thing. I don't want it to turn into a two day job."

 

"Okay, have it your way," Rick conceded after he was satisfied that A.J. was walking normally again, and showing no ill effects from the recent fall.

 

Within minutes the incident was pushed to the back of Rick's mind as he was forced to increase his pace in order to keep up with his brother. When A.J. spotted Adam Burke bent over and catching his breath on the next block, he took off running. 

 

The jockey didn’t have the energy to flee the detectives this time.  He held out his hand and accepted the subpoena with an air of resignation.

 

A.J. patted the man on the arm. “Have a nice day.”  He turned and joined his brother on the sidewalk, the two detectives jogging the rest of the way to the Camaro.

 

 

_________________________

 

At eleven o'clock on Saturday morning, A.J. was in his mother's kitchen. The detective had removed his tennis shoes and was standing with one foot resting on the Formica counter top by the edge of the sink, while the other foot rested on the top step of a four step utility ladder.

 

The light over Cecilia's sink had stopped working one evening several weeks earlier. At first the woman had thought that the bulb had burned out, so using the same ladder A.J. was now standing on, she changed it. When she flipped on the light switch and still had no light, however, Cecilia knew there was more wrong than she could fix. Thus, the reason A.J. was helping her today.

 

A.J. had already been to the basement and shut off the electricity to this part of the house. His mother stood on the floor by his side, handing up items from the toolbox as he requested them.

 

"I'm sorry I didn't get over here sooner, Mom. How long ago did you say it quit working?"

 

"Oh, about three weeks ago."

 

"You should have reminded me or Rick that you needed one of us to take a look at it. I forgot all about it after you left the office that day. The only reason I thought of it was because the light bulb over my sink at home burned out on Thursday night."

 

"Don't worry about it, honey," Cecilia assured. "If it had been that important I would have called you or your brother. I was planning to stop by the office on Monday just to remind both of you that I still needed help. I figured if I offered to feed Rick, I'd get him here sooner or later."

 

A.J. chuckled as he studied the wires he held in his left hand. “That usually works.”

 

"Mom, hand me the pliers, please." A.J. held his right hand down toward Cecilia. "No, not those. The needle nose ones with the yellow handle."

 

A.J. and his mother carried on a continuous stream of conversation while he worked. The only time that pattern was broken was when A.J. would ask for a tool and Cecilia would hand it to him.

 

The yellow ruffled curtains that hung at the open kitchen window over the sink once again billowed around A.J.'s legs with the summer breeze.

 

“Do you need me to take those curtains down?”

 

"No, they're okay." A.J. studied the problem at hand. "I'm almost done here anyway. Within a couple of minutes you should have a working light again. Can you hand me the small, straight head screwdriver?"

 

"Sure can," Cecilia replied, her head already bent over the toolbox that was sitting on the counter in front of her.

 

The woman had no idea what was happening when the ladder pushed against her leg. She looked up o see A.J. toppling backwards off the countertop.

 

Cecilia's youngest landed with a heavy, ‘Thud!’ on the hardwood floor, while the ladder hit the stove with three successive clatters on its way down.

 

"A.J.!" 

 

A.J. was sprawled on his back, his blue eyes wide open with surprise, shock, and pain.

 

Cecilia knelt by her son.  "A.J., are you all right?"

 

It took A.J. a few seconds before he managed to get out, "Yeah... yeah, I'm okay, Mom." To prove that point A.J. began pushing himself to a sitting position.

 

Cecilia stopped that action with a firm hand to the center of A.J.'s chest. "Don't you move," she ordered. "I want you to lie there until we know nothing's broken. I’m going to call for an ambulance."

 

"Mom, nothing's broken," A. J. said with a hint of exasperation. "And don't call for an ambulance. There's nothing wrong with me."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Yes, I'm sure," A.J. reiterated from his position on the floor, then teased lightly, "All that's being accomplished by me lying here like this, is that the headache I have is getting worse."

 

"What do you mean?" 

 

A.J. turned his head slightly while reaching up to finger a tender lump on the back of his skull. "You've got me lying on a rather painful bump."

 

Cecilia helped her son to a sitting position, then urged him to turn so he could lean back against the kitchen cabinets. "Let me see that," she ordered while gently, but firmly pushing A.J.'s head forward.

 

With his chin tucked into his neck, A.J. protested, "Mom, it's okay."

 

Cecilia parted the thick blond hair on the back of her son's head and probed the discolored lump. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

 

"Ow!"

 

Cecilia rose, heading for the refrigerator. "I'll make an ice pack for that."

 

A.J. began to rise, too, only to be told, "You stay put."

 

"Can I at least sit in a chair?"

 

"All right," Cecilia consented as she got an ice pack out of a drawer, and then began filling it with ice cubes from the freezer. Because her back was to him, Cecilia didn't notice A.J. lean on the counter top for a moment while he waited to see if his numb legs would hold him up.

 

By the time Cecilia turned around to make sure her son could get to a chair by himself, A.J. was already seated.

 

"Hey, that's cold!" the blond cried when the ice pack was held against the back of his head.

 

"It's supposed to be cold, A.J.," Cecilia stated dryly.

 

The detective reached up to hold the pack in place for himself. "Mom, this isn't necessary. It's just a little bump."

 

"A big bump," Cecilia corrected as she took a seat next to her son.

 

"Whatever. It's not necessary. I'm fine. I already told you that."

 

"Just sit here for a few minutes with that ice - if not for yourself, then for your mother's peace of mind."

 

A.J. couldn't protest that request, especially when he recalled the look of fear that had been on his mother's face when she had first knelt beside him after the fall.

 

"All right, I'll sit here for a few minutes. Then we're going to finish that light."  

"No, that’s not necessary. It can wait for another day."

 

A.J. held his ground. "Mom, I'm fine. Really. I'm almost done with the light. I might as well finish it while I’m here.”

 

Cecilia had no doubt this was one round she wasn't going to win. Changing the subject before their disagreement went any further, she asked, "How'd you fall?"

 

"I... my foot slipped, I think. The one I had on the counter top. I think I...moved or something to get at that bad wire, and my sock slipped on the edge there between the counter top and the stainless steel lip of the sink."

 

Cecilia accepted this explanation without further question. Twenty minutes and two aspirin later, A.J. was finishing up the project he had been working on prior to the fall. Cecilia stood close to her son the entire time, holding firmly to the ladder while never taking her eyes off A.J. until he climbed down for good.

 

Before A.J. went home that day, Cecilia once again had a working light above her sink. She talked her son into having lunch with her, so the two shared fruit salad, ham sandwiches, cookies, and lemonade out on the patio.

 

A.J. left shortly after that, though not before assuring his mother one last time that he was fine.

 

Cecilia kissed her son on the cheek, thanked him for his help, and watched him drive off in his Camaro. When A.J.'s car was out of sight, Cecilia went back into her house. She pulled a notebook and pencil out of a kitchen drawer, sat at the table, and began making a list of things she needed to do for the upcoming San Diego Women's Club Ball.

 

_________________________

 

Cecilia looked up from her list thirty minutes later upon hearing an insistent ‘rap, rap, rap,’ on the kitchen storm door.

 

The woman greeted her oldest with a smile while walking over to unlatch the door.

 

“Hi, honey.”

 

"Hi, Mom," Rick responded as he entered the kitchen.

 

"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

 

Rick bent, kissing his mother's cheek. "Oh, just my desire to gaze upon a beautiful woman...and get her new recipe for spaghetti sauce."

 

"Hot date tonight, dear?" Cecilia asked knowingly as she walked over to pour two cups of coffee.

 

Rick followed his mother, accepted the cup she handed him with a "Thanks," then leaned against the counter while sipping at the hot liquid. When Rick spoke again, it was in answer to his mother’s question.

 

"Yeah, Nancy's comin' over. And you know what they say about women and Italian food."

 

Cecilia feigned innocence.  "No, I don't. What is it they say?" 

 

"Well, uh, well...you know, Mom, Italian food's supposed to be romantic. It's...uh...supposed to set the mood."

 

"The mood for what?"

 

"Well...uh...well--"

 

Cecilia laughed at her son, who was blushing like a sixteen year old. "Never mind, Rick. I get the picture."

 

Cecilia opened a cabinet and pulled out her recipe box. She flipped through the index cards it contained until she’d found the one she wanted.

 

"I'm glad I tried this recipe on you boys last week. I found it in the food section of the paper some time ago."

 

"It was great. Even A. J. raved about it the next day at work."

 

"Well then, we know a recipe is a hit if A. J. raves about it."

 

Thinking of how finicky his brother could be, especially when it came to food, Rick agreed. "That's for sure. That's how I know it's worth tryin’ out on Nancy tonight. "

 

Rick took notice of the red toolbox that was still sitting on the counter top. He gestured toward the box with his right index finger.

 

"Do you have a problem you need help with, Mom?"

 

Cecilia glanced in the direction Rick was pointing.  "Oh...no. I guess I got so busy on my Women's Club project that I forgot to put that away."

 

"What were you using it for?"