THE UNDERLYING PROBLEM

by Barbara Arthur

The characters of Simon and Simon don't belong to me. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Comments are welcome at Babart@globalsite.net

Part One

I stood for several minutes just inside the doorway watching Rick dance with a blond who was obviously much younger than his forty four years. I guessed her to be around twenty five, but of course I didn't know, and it didn't matter. I wasn't here to guess the age of my brother's dancing partner. You didn't travel thousands of miles to do that, and I had just finished quite a long journey.

The music was from the fifties, and it was as American as Mom's apple pie, although this wasn't America and Mom was nowhere in sight. I had only a few hours earlier boarded a cruise ship off the shore of Ireland. Many hours before that, I had boarded a jetliner out of San Diego where I had, indeed, been visiting my Mom. I knew my brother was to take this cruise from his home in Scotland. I knew it because he had told Mom so on the telephone a week or so ago, and she had relayed the news to me.

I had been reluctant to relay any news of my taking this cruise to either Mom or Rick. I didn't want Mom to know, because she would have surely attempted to dissuade me, and Rick, well, I really didn't know what his thoughts would be since my brother and I had not spoken in five years.

The music stopped. I watched as Rick guided the blond to a table in the combination dining room-ballroom. They sat down, Rick politely pulling out a chair for the lady. Deciding I might as well find somewhere to sit down and have dinner myself, although it wasn't my dinner time or even close, I moved to where the maitre'd could see that I was waiting for a table.

"A table for one, Sir?" the man asked.

"Yes, please."

"Right this way, Sir," he said and started walking.

I followed, but when my guide began heading in the direction of my brother and the blond, I reached out and touched the fellow on the arm. "I'd rather sit over on the other side of the room, if you don't mind," I said. "I'm a bit eccentric, you see."

"Very well, Sir," the man said. I assumed mine wasn't an unusual request for he seemed not to give it much thought. Instead, he changed directions, me in pursuit.

I now had my back to Rick and I felt relief flood me. I had been afraid he would see me, and I wasn't ready for that. I know that sounds weird. I had put myself on a cruise where I knew he would be, then placed myself in a dining room after assuring myself he was among those in the room. Surely, I expected to be noticed by him eventually. Yes, I did expect to be. But not then, not yet. I wasn't ready.

The waiter seated me in a perfect spot to view Rick, yet not be seen by him. His back was mostly to me and he wouldn't naturally swing into a position where he would see me. I did, though, have a good side view of him. A menu was left in front of me. I tried to concentrate on it. Might as well enjoy the food, A.J., I said to myself, and you might as well enjoy the cruise. At least for a while.

I decided on an entree of lobsters and turned my attention back to Rick. He and the blond were ordering their meal. I wondered briefly what he was eating these days since he had become one of the rich and famous. Surely not chili dogs and beer. I smiled to myself. Probably so. Rick was Rick. And then it hit me again as it had so many times in the last years. No, Rick was not Rick anymore. Rick had betrayed me. Ruined my marriage and my career.

The orchestra began playing again. This time, the music was of the light jazz variety. I knew Rick liked to dance to it and wondered if he would leave his table again with the blond now that they had ordered. My answer came almost as soon as I had the thought. Yes, he was assisting the young woman to her feet and leading her out to the dancing area.

As I observed, I began to feel melancholy. It wasn't the way I wanted to feel on this trip. I wanted to keep the anger stirring in my gut. It would be necessary if I was to carry out the deed I'd boarded this cruise to do. A.J. Simon, a murderer? No one would believe that, at least no one who knew me well. I was counting heavily on that, for it was my ticket, I believed, to getting away with killing my brother.

Yes, I planned to kill Rick Simon. He deserved it, I'd convinced myself. Seeing him now, though, for the first time in five years, except on television, I was wavering already. I willed myself to remember what it was he'd done to me. If not for his book, the book which had made him famous, I would still be married to Janet, still be a successful attorney in Seattle with an eye toward running for office. No, I must not waver. Rick deserved my wrath, deserved to die for what he had done to me. My food came, delivered by the waiter. Fine. I would eat and work on my resolve. Rick and his blond quit the dance floor and went back to their table, also, it appeared, to eat their dinner.

The lobster and wine were delicious. I ate with gusto, all the while observing as my brother did the same with what appeared from a distance to be some sort of a pasta dish. I hoped he was enjoying it as, if all went according to plan, it would be his final meal. The orchestra continued to play. I ate and watched. There was no hurry. All of my anxiety vanished. I was no longer melancholy, but I didn't seem to harbor any hate either. I was in a peaceful state. I would eat, then wait for Rick to leave the dining room. I would follow and then----

TWO HOURS LATER

My head ached like I could never remember it aching. I rubbed my temples as I leaned my elbows on the table in the Captain's quarters. The room was not large enough for all of the people who had been asked to gather there. There was the Captain, of course. He was in charge of everything on the ship, including attempted murder investigations. There were two members of his crew present, both of them security officers. Also invited was the blond who had been my brother's dinner date. And, along with myself, there was the victim of the attempted murder, my brother, Rick.

There was someone missing from the gathering, and as I rubbed my temples and wondered if the Captain would be so kind as to get me an aspirin, I could see that person plainly in my mind.

I would never forget what the man looked like if I lived to be very old, although I had never before, until two hours ago laid eyes on him. I would never forget what he looked like even though I would not be seeing him again. The man was dead.

The Captain, whose name was Gethers, spoke to me again. I say again because in the two hours since the horrible incident occurred in the dining room, Captain Gethers had addressed me many times. I seemed to be the center of attention, and why not? After all, I was the one who had shot and killed a man on board his ship.

"All right, Mr. Simon," Captain Gethers began, "Let's go over it one more time, shall we?"

"We've been over it a dozen times as it is, Captain," I said. "I have told you how it happened."

"Tell us again," one of the security men spoke up. As Gethers was a rather short, plump man, this fellow was tall, with dark piercing eyes. I'd met his type many times, of course. He made his living at law enforcement because he enjoyed bullying people around.

My brother then said. "Yea, A.J., tell us again. Try the truth this time."

"I am telling the truth, Rick," I said, and meant it. I forced myself to meet his eyes. It was difficult to do so, for I was afraid mine would betray things I didn't want him or anyone in the room to know. Yes, I was telling the truth. I had shot a man because he was about to shoot my brother. I had reacted instinctively, reacted just as I had for so many years when Rick and I were working together as private investigators.

"Your brother doesn't seem to believe you, Mr. Simon," said the security fellow whose name was Hawthorne. "It does seem a bit shaky, your story that is."

"Yea, shaky," said Rick with that chuckle he so often used. It was strange to hear that chuckle again.

Rick said no more and Hawthorne took it from there. "You came on this ship under the name Bernard Higgins, Mr. Simon. Why did you not use your real name?"

"I've told you that," I sighed.

"I believe I would like to hear it again," he said.

"Yea, me too," Rick chimed in, glaring at me with not a hint of compassion. "You've always been proud of your name, as far as I know. Why not use it on a cruise?"

"I should have, no doubt," I said sincerely. I could be sincere, because I did wish I could have boarded the ship under my own name. Of course, since I had been planning to murder my brother, there was no way I wanted my name on the ship's passenger list. I had planned to do the deed, then get quietly off at the next sign of shore. I had been so sure I could get away with it. Now, I was caught in a trap. "I wanted to remain unknown because an ex client of mine is searching for me. He has made threats on my life."

This story was not a fabrication. I did have an ex client who had not been happy with my work in Seattle who had publicly threatened me. I did not take it seriously, but these people didn't know that, and it was all I could think of as an excuse for using an alias. My brother wasn't buying it. He knew me too well.

"A.J., you wouldn't run away on a cruise, using another name, just because some guy threatened you."

"Sorry, Rick, you're wrong," I responded, grinning at him. "You can be wrong, you know? And, besides, you don't seem very grateful. I saved your life tonight."

"That, little brother, is the problem," Rick said. "I don't think you did save my life. I think the dead guy was trying to do that."

"That's definitely the way it was," the blond with my brother entered the conversation. Her name was Brenda and she was the fly in the ointment, so to speak. At the time of the shooting, she had spoken up immediately to say she had seen my gun pointed at Rick's back before I had fired at the fellow who was now deceased. She was lying, but the irony of it all was almost more than I could cope with. She continued to speak now, re-telling it as she had earlier. "I saw this man, Rick's brother, pull out a gun and point it at Rick. Then there was all of the shooting, and the other guy ended up dead."

"I believe you, Brenda," said Rick.

"She is wrong!" I yelled. "I did not pull my gun until I saw the man I shot pointing a gun at you, Rick! I shot him to save your life! That's all there is to it! Yes, I was using an alias, and yes, as you have so conveniently told the Captain here and his crew, we have been on the outs for several years, but I wouldn't shoot you, Rick, and you know it!"

My brother scowled at me, but said nothing. Hawthorne glared at me and did say something.

"Your brother seems to think you might have reason to want him dead. He says you are very angry with him, and have been for quite some time. Is this true, Mr. Simon?"

I willed myself to relax. The truth would always win out, or so I liked to think. I was telling the truth. I had not, as yet, aimed a gun at Rick when the other man did so. All I had to do was answer the questions and soon enough, they would tire of asking them.

"Rick and I have not spoken to each other in five years, Mr. Hawthorne. I have been angry with him, yes, but I did not shoot at him tonight or any other time. I was eating in the dining room and saw the other man point a revolver at Rick. I pulled my gun and shot him to save Rick's life. I did it instinctively, and that is the truth. "

"Brenda saw it otherwise, A.J.!" Rick bellowed. "And, besides, you knew I was going on this cruise. Didn't you? Mom told you, didn't she?"

Another corner to wiggle out of. I had to come up with a plausible reason for being on the same cruise with Rick. I certainly couldn't say it was to enjoy a companionable vacation with him. Not when I'd already admitted we were on the outs. "Yes, she told me."

Hawthorne spoke again. "And so you came on a cruise with a brother you don't ordinarily speak to, one you are angry with. He didn't know you were coming on the trip, and you said earlier your Mother didn't either. And on top of that, you boarded under a name not your own. Pretty odd, wouldn't you say, Mr. Simon?"

My head was splitting. "I suppose it would seem so," I told him, and then listened while he repeated more of what had been said since the shooting.

"And if that isn't odd enough, you then become involved in a shooting involving your brother. You shoot a man you say was about to shoot your brother, but a witness claims otherwise."

I nodded. "That's pretty much the way of it, it seems."

"Well, Mr. Simon," said Hawthorne, "I'm afraid we are going to have to keep you locked up until we can turn you over to the authorities on shore."

"Why!" I reacted harshly, my insides churning. "You have no evidence against me, except this young woman here's word. She's wrong! I did not intend to shoot my brother!"

"You can tell that to your lawyer, Mr. Simon. You have a right to call your attorney from on board ship. We won't be docking in England until tomorrow. Then, you'll be bound over for questioning."

In short order, I was left alone in a holding tank on the ship. It was small, hot, and very uncomfortable. I really didn't care at that point. I needed time to think and this was as good a place to do that as I could ever find. I sat down on the hard surface of what would be my bed for that night. I pushed the replay button and watched the evening just passed over again. I went back to when I had noticed myself slipping into the peaceful state of mind.

At that point, I was watching Rick and the woman I now knew as Brenda finish their meal. My plate was empty except for the lobster shell. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the waiter returning, I supposed to inquire if I cared for dessert, and then something else caught my eye. A man, nearly even with Rick's table, was walking along alone and very slowly. Why he caught my attention I don't know, except, I suppose, my training as a P.I. came to the fore and told me something was wrong.

The man was fairly young, had dark hair, and wasn't tall or short. He wore a dark colored suit and a multi colored tie. As I watched him, he stopped quickly, pulled a gun from under his suit jacket and pointed it directly at Rick. I reached for my gun and fired. He fell backward and the weight of his body collapsed an empty table. There was, of course, much screaming and scurrying around in the dining room.

After seeing that I had hit my target, I automatically ran over to the fellow I had shot, my gun still in my hand. I reached the victim just as his intended target, my brother, did. It was then that Rick noticed me.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, glaring at me amid the crowd of people now gathered around the fellow on the floor.

It was then that the blond, Rick's dinner date, Brenda, pointed the first finger of suspicion my way. "This man was going to shoot you, Rick," she said. "And then he shot this other guy instead."

I wasn't concerned at that point, because I felt certain a host of folks had seen what occurred, and I would be quickly cleared of any suspicion the woman's words might cast on me. I watched Rick to see if he was inclined to believe her. He continued to look at me with a chilling stare, as he responded to Brenda. "This man is my brother, Sweetie. And I don't doubt for a minute what you say."

I felt the need to defend myself. "Well, you'd better doubt it, Rick. This guy on the floor here was about to shoot you. I shot him to save your neck."

There was a change in Rick's expression, but it lasted only briefly. His eyes softened slightly until Brenda touched his sleeve and told him, "Honestly, Rick, I saw the gun in his hand. He was going to shoot you, I just know it. Probably, this other man was going to fire at your brother before he could shoot you, your brother saw him and fired at him instead."

I was astounded at the turn of events. First of all, my own plan had obviously been ruined. Who this man was that had come along to kill Rick just as I was only a short time away from doing the deed, I didn't know. It occurred to me I should have allowed him to shoot and not acted so impulsively, but it was too late to worry about that. I had eliminated someone who also wanted Rick dead.

By that time, Captain Gethers, Mr. Hawthorne and the other security people were on the scene.

The Captain asked, "Would someone care to tell us who shot this man?"

Medics had also arrived and had asked that people move back away from the fallen man. I could see the guy clearly and was certain he was dead. I answered the Captain. "I shot him."

"I see," said Captain Gethers curtly, then turned to Hawthorne, "Take his gun."

The security officer held out his hand, and I wasted no time in handing him my gun. This wouldn't last long, I told myself. Rick continued to focus on me. He now had his arm wrapped around Brenda. When Hawthorne had my weapon firmly in his grasp, he asked, "Anyone know the victim's name?"

Absolutely no one stepped forward to supply a name for the dead man. I had evidently shot someone who was alone on the ship. Well, that made sense. Like me, he'd probably boarded solely to commit a crime. He wouldn't want companions along to impede his progress. Captain Gethers then spoke directly to me. "Did you know the deceased, Mr.----Could you please tell us your name?"

I hesitated. Remembering that I had used an alias, I was in a real bind. If I gave that name now, Rick would go ballistic. Damn him, anyway! "My name is Andrew Jackson Simon. I'm from Phoenix. I'm an attorney. This is my brother here. He was about to be shot, and I fired to save his life. I was having dinner at another table. Perhaps you should try to learn who the dead man is and why he wanted to kill my brother."

I laid down on the hard bed and continued to recall the chain of events after the shooting. Gethers and Hawthorne had questioned me a few minutes and then had taken us, Rick, Brenda, and myself, to the Captain's quarters. There, of course, a check of the passenger list had been made and my name did not appear. Brenda kept to her story and Rick grew more and more agitated and convinced his date was telling the truth and I was not.

No witness in the dining room claimed to see exactly what had occurred. That was strange to me. How was it that Brenda was so certain I had been pointing a gun at Rick and not another single soul had noticed anything? I was in real trouble, but my head ached so bad I couldn't concentrate. I closed my eyes. Maybe if I got some sleep, I could think clearly.

They had offered me an opportunity to call an attorney. I had declined. As I attempted to drop off to sleep, I wondered why I hadn't telephoned someone. I needed help. I needed help badly. I had been going to kill Rick----

I jumped up from the bed. What was wrong with me? Perspiration was now dripping from my face. Reality was setting in. I was likely to be accused of murder. How did it happen? Why had I wanted to kill my own brother? I tried to concentrate, but my head ached worse than ever. Rick! My God, I surely wouldn't have carried out my plan! I loved my brother! We were estranged, yes, but never in this world would I consider shooting him.

My stomach churned. The small room seemed to be smaller than it was when I first arrived. Something was definitely wrong with me, something beyond, I quickly decided, the trouble I was in for killing the stranger. Bile came up in my mouth. I was going to vomit. I moved to the corner of the room, as far from the bed as I could, leaned over, and lost the contents of my stomach.

Feeling a touch better after I had vomited, I moved back to the bed. Averting my gaze from the mess in the corner, I considered my plight and what to do about it. For some reason, I had been intent upon getting on the cruise with Rick. For some reason, I had made the decision to kill my own brother. How could that be? Oh sure, I was angry at him, so angry I had taken steps for the last five years to make sure our paths never crossed.

Rick had written a book which he called fiction. He'd worked on it while we were still partners in our private investigation firm known as "Simon And Simon" in our hometown of San Diego. I hadn't taken seriously the possibility he could ever get it published. After all, Rick wasn't a writer by trade, didn't go to college, had never studied journalism. I supposed his work would not be up to the standard that a publisher would want. I was wrong.

The book, published by a small firm in Los Angeles, had skyrocketed. It told of how a young man grew up in Southern California, a young man who lost his father when he was a teenager, but still had a fine mother and a younger brother. It told of how wild that young man was. It described his escapades while riding with a motorcycle gang across the United States. It described very seriously his service in Vietnam. In other words, it was Rick's autobiography, except the hero was given another name, as were his mother and brother and friends.

To Rick's credit, the book was well written. I had no problem with it up to the point I have described. It was classic Rick, witty, yet hard hitting. As the pages turned, though, he began to tell of his work with the younger brother, which, of course, was me. He began to make the younger brother out to be a prude, as a person too particular, a person who was too interested in the finer things in life, a person almost to be pitied, if he wasn't so laughable. And, he made him out to be a coward.

The younger brother came across in the book as incompetent next to the hero. He was perceived by the reader as a poor P.I., one always being rescued by his older sibling. Then, Rick broke the brother act up. In reality, he and I had actually called it quits along about the same time. I had married Janet, the girl I had been engaged to several years earlier, and I had gone back to law school and received my law degree. We moved to Seattle and I hung out my shingle, while my wife, also an attorney, practiced in the King county district attorney's office.

The book went to number one on the best seller's list. A movie was made. When my clients, indeed, when Seattle, learned I was the younger brother portrayed in the book, I became the butt of jokes and so did my wife. My aspirations for a political career went south in a hurry. Rick, to his credit, came to Seattle to try to clean up the perception a bit, but he was wealthy by then, and couldn't resist making a joke of it all. He would say it was all in fun the way he had portrayed my character, that I was a smart fellow, a nice fellow, etc., and then he couldn't seem to stop himself from turning right around and giving the impression he hadn't been joking after all.

I was finished in Seattle. My marriage was also finished, because Janet had always been leery of Rick and his relationship with me. She could not resist the I told you so business. I grew quickly tired of it and we split. I moved to New York for a while, but didn't like the East Coast. I then decided to go home to San Diego. That didn't work, because being close to Mom made me unhappy. It wasn't that she took Rick's side, but that she seemed to believe I was taking it all too seriously. She said I should be happy for my brother's success. She kept trying to set up meetings between us. I moved to Phoenix. It was from there I had been visiting Mom when I learned of the cruise Rick was to take.

What, though, had caused me to take it in my head to plan a murder? I sat on the hard bed and attempted to recall when such a notion had first taken root. It surely must have been during my visit to San Diego, because that's where I had learned of the cruise Rick was to take. I had not stopped perspiring, and I felt the need to vomit again. There seemed to be missing hours, maybe even days, as I tried to recall my time in my mother's home, the home where my brother and I had grown to adulthood.

Within a matter of minutes, I was forced to step over to the corner of the room to upchuck once again. This time, since my stomach was mostly empty, I suffered from the dry heaves and thought I was surely going to die. I needed help. I needed help in more ways than one. As always in my life when I needed help, I thought I needed Rick Simon.

It had been a long time since such a longing for my brother had engulfed me. Being married, practicing as an attorney, a profession Rick and I didn't share, while being totally away from him had made me nearly forget his existence at times. He, after his writing success and the movie deal, moved out of the country to a Scottish castle. I was thrilled he had not, as far as I knew, written anything else to further embarrass me. Despite my problems with finding a location where I wanted to live and my breakup with Janet, I felt completely independent of Rick and was happy about it.

I had seen Rick tonight, been in the same room with him. His revulsion at the sight of me had been easy to see. He disliked me as much as I had thought I disliked him. I say thought, because at the moment, I knew it wasn't true. I knew I loved him and needed him as much as ever. How could I get to him, explain what had happened, ask for his help? First, I needed to get it all straight in my own mind. Then, I would try to get out of the holding room.

Rick----

I couldn't sleep. Hell no, I couldn't sleep! Who could sleep when their own brother had tried to kill them! Of course, A.J. claimed otherwise, claimed it was the guy who ended up dead who had been trying to kill me. I didn't think so. Brenda saw the whole thing unfold. She said A.J. had been pointing a gun my way before any shooting began. I believed her. I hardly knew her, but I believed her.

This was all just too much. Here I was with some great chick on a cruise and a dam breaks, sending a wall of trouble crashing down on me. Really, I wasn't in any trouble. The authorities, the Captain and his security people, had my little brother in a holding tank and tomorrow he would be turned over to the law. That was fine with me. Then, why couldn't I sleep?

One reason I couldn't seem to drop off was that Brenda, the young and gorgeous gal who had agreed to accompany me on the cruise, had pleaded exhaustion after the evening's fiasco and would not spend the night in my room. Since the cruise only lasted three days, I had definitely planned to have her with me every night.

I stared at the ceiling. The ship lurched now and then. The waters must be getting bumpy, I thought. Maybe Brenda would get frightened in her room and come to mine. Yes, we had both reserved a room, even though we'd planned, or at least I'd planned, to spend our nights together. I wondered if she had decided to stay away because she was afraid something else might happen, afraid all of a sudden that being close to Rick Simon would continue to spell trouble.

You would think that once you made it big financially, you could enjoy life and not have your happiness interrupted by people trying to kill you. I had certainly counted heavily on having fun for the rest of my life. No troubles, no worries. To be honest, that's the way it had mostly been since I wrote the book. Me, a writer! I still couldn't believe it after several years had passed. And to top that off, a movie was made. I was also still a private investigator down deep, and something told me tonight was just the beginning of a whole new set of problems.

I sat up and put my feet on the floor. Damn! I wouldn't allow trouble in my life. They could lock A.J. up for all I cared. He wasn't the brother I'd known and cared about all of those years before he took such umbrage with my portrayal of him in my book. Went totally and completely daffy, did A.J. Simon. You'd think I'd permanently injured him, stabbed him with a knife, shot him in the back, put him out of the running for a good life, and all because I had a little fun with him in a book of fiction. Yep, that's what it was. Fiction, pure and simple. Oh sure, some of it was close to the truth. Most of it, to be honest, was a pretty on target account of my life. It was just that when it came to writing about A.J., I decided to have a little fun. But did he think it was funny? No way. And when the book was published and sold like gang busters, our relationship was kaput. I still could hardly believe it when I thought about it. And I tried not to think about it.

I'd enjoyed these last few years, even without my brother in my life. So, A.J. had decided to kill me? How was I going to break this to Mom? Over the years since we stopped speaking, our mother had made many covert and some quite overt attempts to get A.J. and me together. I was willing, but he wanted no part of it. She loved us both. Her heart would be broken.

A while ago, the security officer, Hawthorne, had paid a visit to my cabin. He informed me the identity of the dead man was still in question. They had narrowed him down to being a man who had come aboard using the name Delbert Anderson. No such person could be traced, according to Hawthorne, to the address he had used. Was he, like my brother, using an alias? What the devil was going on here?

Who was the guy who ended up dead? Why did he have a gun on board this ship? Why did A.J. for that matter? I didn't carry a weapon much anymore and never gave a thought to bringing one along on the cruise. I was out of the business of protecting myself and others. Not A.J., and evidently not this fellow using the alias Anderson.

Despite not wanting to be, I was troubled by Brenda's being so certain of how the shooting occurred. No one else in the dining room seemed that certain. In fact, no one claimed to have seen either man, A.J. or the man calling himself Anderson, pull a gun. How could my companion be so sure? Could she be wrong? Could my brother be telling the truth? If so, why did Anderson want to shoot me? Who was he? Were he and A.J. really in cahoots?

I got up and paced my cabin. The ship was really rocking now. I had to hold on to objects in the room to keep my balance. My mind was a jumble of ideas. If A.J. didn't mean to harm me, why had he come on the cruise? He hadn't told Mom he was coming. He admitted as much in the Captain's quarters. No, there was no use to try to find excuses for him. He was somehow involved, but how was the other guy involved? Why was he using an alias? And why couldn't I just lay down and go to sleep, allow the authorities to take care of it? Because I didn't trust them to come up with the right answers, that's why. Having decided that, I dressed and headed for the Captain's quarters.

I knocked hard on the door of the cabin I'd spent time in earlier. I waited. Beginning to believe no one was going to answer, I was working out my next plan of action in my mind when the door opened. Captain Gethers stood there in his pajamas and robe. He appeared to be having trouble comprehending why I was there.

"Yes, uh, Mr. Simon? Can I help you?"

"I hope so, Captain," I told him. "Listen, I'm not happy with this deal that happened earlier."

"No, well, I can understand that, but everything is under control right now. We have your brother in the holding tank where he can do no harm. Tomorrow, he'll be off of the ship."

"I don't mean that exactly," I said.

"Why don't you tell me what you do mean, Mr. Simon? We want to keep our passengers happy."

His tone of voice set my nerves to jangling. "Keep us happy? One, maybe two people were planning to take a shot at this old balding head tonight, Captain. I need to know if I'm safe."

He smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. I decided I didn't care for Gethers. Of course, that was really of no matter, because I was sure he was only doing his job, worrying about the reputation of the liner he worked for. He responded to my concerns. "Of course you're safe, Mr. Simon, but if you would like a security officer assigned to watch your cabin, it can be arranged."

" No, no, I don't think so. What I would really like to do is talk to my brother. How about arranging that for me?"

Gethers studied me curiously before speaking again. "You don't feel safe, yet you want to visit with the man who was going to shoot you?"

A warning bell rang in my brain. I had been so gung ho to attach A.J. to the shooting earlier, I had not paid much attention to the finer details. Now, something important occurred to me. Why had Gethers and his men been so quick to accept the theory put forth by my traveling companion? Why weren't they willing to listen to A.J.? Of course, I had joined in on the chorus to place the blame on him, but he was a respectable person, a former P.I., an attorney now. Why didn't they at least question him more before hauling him off to the holding tank? I couldn't explain why A.J. was using an alias, and maybe he was guilty, but I needed to know more. "Yea, I want to visit him. There's a guard there, isn't there? I can call for help if I need it?"

"Yes, of course, but I'm not sure it's a good idea, I---"

Gethers hesitated. I could hear a telephone ringing in his quarters. He turned toward it. Just then, the ship lurched dramatically, causing me to fall against the wall outside his door. I heard him answer and say, "Yes, yes, it is getting rough. I'll be right there."

The Captain returned to the doorway. "I'm sorry, Mr. Simon, but I must take charge of the ship's controls now. The sea is too rough for anyone else to be responsible. Perhaps, if it calms down, we can take this up later, your visiting your brother, that is."

There was no doubt about the rough sea and I certainly wanted the best hands on the controls, so how could I argue? I couldn't, I decided, and said so. "Yea, okay, fine. You go ahead."

The door shut after Gethers gave me a weak smile. I stood there a minute, trying to think. No one would be out and about attempting to walk around tonight. I could go to the holding tank and somehow get in to talk to A.J. Sure, I could. I didn't even know where the holding tank was. Well, I'd never let a little thing like that stop me before. There must be some way to find out.

I found the way fairly easily. All I had to do was visit the bar and talk to the guy fixing the drinks. It was late, no one was about because of the unsteady footing. He was glad to talk. He'd seen the movie made from my book, and wanted to share any information he could give me. The holding tank, he said, was quite a walk from the bar. He turned out to be correct about that. I thought I would never get there, but I managed. Now, all I had to do was convince the guard to let me talk to A.J.

The security guard was sick as a dog. When I reached the holding tank, he was standing outside the door. His face was green, and I do mean green. "You don't look so good," I said. "Why not let me take over?"

It was a long shot at best. Surely, the guy wasn't too sick to realize I wasn't one of his comrades. I planned, when he put up an argument, to tell him I was new and we just hadn't met yet. That was a long shot too, of course, but I was prepared to try anything to get past him. As it turned out, he was too sick to care. "Sure," he mumbled and staggered off.

"Hey, you have some keys I need!" I yelled to him.

"On the desk inside," he yelled back.

"Thanks," I said, not believing my luck.

I opened the door and entered a small cubby hole of an office. Sure enough, there were a set of keys on the desk. I picked them up and looked around for the door which would take me to A.J. I found it quickly. It was locked and it took me a while to find the correct key on the chain. When I did, I entered. The first thing I saw was vomit in the corner of the room.

The sight wasn't pretty and, what with the rocking and rolling of the ship, it nearly caused me to add vomit of my own, but I looked away from it quickly in order to save myself from doing so. My eyes fell on A.J. sitting on a bed. His head was in his hands and he obviously didn't realize he'd been joined by his sibling. He did realize someone had entered, though, because he said, "I need to talk to Hawthorne. Will you get him for me, please?"

"I don't think Hawthorne wants to come out on a night like this," I said.

A.J.'s head jerked up at the sound of my voice. As his eyes met mine, I studied him carefully. Here was a guy I had always loved dearly. I wasn't one much for admitting such things, but it was true. The thought of him trying to kill me hurt me worse than angered me, although I had put on a good show of anger earlier when we were in the Captain's quarters. A.J. held my gaze now for a good thirty seconds and then said, "No, I don't suppose so. Feels like things are getting rough out there. What brings you out?"

"Couldn't sleep," I answered. "Thought maybe you'd like to tell me what's really goin' on."

"Ask your girlfriend," he said, dropping his head in his hands again. "She seems to know all about it."

"Yea, well, she's holed up too, right now, so suppose you tell me why you wanted to kill me."

"I didn't, or, at least---"

He stopped speaking and my heart sunk. "Go on, A.J. You were planning to kill me tonight, right?"

"It happened just like I told you, Rick. What are you doing here, anyway? Why aren't you with Brenda?"

"Leave Brenda out of this, will ya?" I barked. He seemed to be focusing on her eye witness account, something which had made me uneasy. "She saw what she saw."

"Well, she didn't see me pointing a gun at you. She didn't, because it didn't happen."

"Who was the other guy, A.J.?"

"I never saw him before. I don't know him. Look, Rick, I need help. I was going to try to send for you. I have to tell you something."

"So, tell me," I said. I hoped for a casual tone and achieved it. Inside, I didn't feel casual. What did he mean, he needed my help?

He raised his head again and began speaking. "I'm telling you the truth, Rick. The man was going to shoot you. I shot him. It's that simple---as far as it goes."

"Meaning?" I prompted.

"Meaning, I did intend to kill you. I boarded this cruise to do that very thing."

There it was. A confession by my own brother that he had intended to kill me. "Well, that's clear enough. You were going to kill me, you say, but some other guy was about to beat you to it, so you killed him. Is that about it?"

"No!" he squalled, then shrugged. "Yes, it is, but yet it isn't."

"Make sense, A.J.!" I demanded.

He couldn't look at me. Instead, he studied the vomit in the corner. I glanced that way, then quickly averted my eyes. My stomach couldn't take it. "I wish I could make sense," he said. "That's where I need your help, Rick. I know I was going to kill you, but I don't know how I came to that decision. I can't remember much of anything that happened at Mom's."

I had to be careful here, I decided. No doubt, the kid was feeding me pure bologna. "A.J., you don't expect me to believe this crap, do you? You came on board to kill me, you're admitting it, but you're lookin' for some mentally ill explanation to get you out of it. Well, I'm not buying it."

"I wish you would buy it. It's the truth. But if you don't want to help, I'll just have to work it out some other way."

Don't allow yourself to be pulled into this, I told myself. He's hunting a way out , that's all. But---and it was a huge but, why would he make up this other part about actually being about to kill me, if it wasn't true? It only put him in deeper do do if no one believed him. I sighed. "Look, A.J., I'd better clean up this mess in the corner. Maybe I can find some seasick pills for you in the office out there."

"I'm not seasick," he said. "I did that before it got rough."

"Why didn't you call the guard to clean it up?"

He shrugged dejectedly. "Didn't feel like it."

"Well, since I'm on guard duty now, I'll see what I can do."

He glanced up at me again. "You're on guard duty! What does that mean?"

My turn to shrug. "It means I got rid of the guard and took over. I'm your guard until they catch me at it."

He wanted to grin and almost did. "What the hell are you up to, Rick?"

"Well, I told the guy I would relieve him. He was sick, so he didn't take the time to notice I wasn't an employee."

He did grin then. "Same old Rick."

"Yea, same old Rick," I agreed. "And if you were the same old A.J., you wouldn't be in this mess."

"If you hadn't written that book, I wouldn't be in this," he countered, pouting.

"Grow up, Kid, you're in trouble here!" I blasted him.

"It's true, Rick! Why did you say those things about me? You ruined my life, you know?"

"No, I don't know! Dammit, A.J.! It wasn't supposed to be taken seriously! It was fiction!"

"Sure, fiction! Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent!"

My brother and I had engaged in this argument many times before coming to the parting of ways. I mentioned that to him. "We've been over this before, A.J. Let's not go over it again. I'm goin' out and hunt something to tidy up a bit with in here. Don't go away."

He glared at me, but said nothing. I left him there and returned to the outer cubby hole. There was a bathroom and I found some paper towels. Dreading the cleaning up job, I hesitated before going back in. My mind provided me with an instant replay of my conversation with my brother so far. I should go back to my cabin, that's what I should do! He'd confessed. Well, more or less, he had.

He was still in the same rut he'd been in for years about my book. It had ruined his life, he said. What crap! Wasn't it? Okay, so I was going to have to really be careful here not to begin to feel sorry for A.J. The book wasn't meant to hurt him. If it did, it was his own fault. Even Mom thought that. I grabbed the paper towels. I wet some of them and kept some of them dry. I returned to my brother's cell.

The sight in the corner was no prettier, but it needed cleaning. I walked over to begin the task. A.J. had something to say about it. "Let me do that, Rick. It's my mess."

"I'm on duty, I'll do it," I countered.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him get up off of the bed. I got down on my knees and began soaking up the vomit. My stomach churned. I wasn't at all sure I could get the job done without adding to the mess. A.J. was next to me on his knees in short order.

"It's going to make you sick, Rick. Let me do it."

"No! Get back on the bed!" I blasted him.

He was a stubborn one, was Andrew Jackson Simon, and he was very determined to have his way. He grabbed for the towels. Who it was that was going to do the honors of cleaning up vomit had become a big deal all of a sudden. I was too engrossed in having my way to see the bottom line, that being that I was fighting to do something which was extremely distasteful, when someone else was offering to do it.

"Rick!" A.J. continued to argue. "I'll do it! It's my vomit!"

I started to mount a further objection, when the ship lurched violently.

A.J.----

I must have blacked out. I remember squabbling with Rick about who was going to clean up my vomit, and I recall being thrown backwards against the wall. I didn't have time to think about what was happening and then I was knocked unconscious by the impact with the wall. How long I was out, I'm still not clear about.

It took me a while to regain my senses when I came to. My main worry was that something heavy was laying on me. My eyes wouldn't seem to open so that I could find out what it was. Of course I now know that I was coming back to a conscious state very slowly. I also know that the heaviness was caused by my brother, for when I did, at last, open my eyes, the form of Rick Simon sprawled across me was the sight that greeted me.

My head ached. Oddly, I recalled then that my head had been aching all evening, or, at least, since the shooting incident in the dining room. Yes, I remembered everything about the evening almost immediately after returning to my senses, right up to the argument my brother and I were engaged in when, when what? I wondered. Evidently, the ship had lurched and we had been knocked unconscious.

"Rick!" I yelled in the ear of my brother. "Rick! Are you okay?"

There was no response. I felt panicky and realized the irony of it. Only hours earlier I had been set to kill my brother, then shot someone else who was about to shoot him, and now I was worried because he might possibly be badly injured. I tried to work my way from beneath him. He wasn't making a sound. It occurred to me that, if he was injured seriously, or God forbid, dead, I might be blamed.

I struggled to bring things into focus. Think! I instructed myself. But I could not seem to. The events of the day had piled up and taken their toll on me. Before Rick arrived I had been in the process of trying to put things in perspective and had not been particularly successful. Now, my problems had multiplied.

Pushing up little by little, I managed to get free of Rick's weight. Just as I did, he moaned.

"Rick? Can you hear me? Are you all right?"

He came to then, and rapidly. "What the hell?" he said.

"We were knocked out," I told him. "I just came to myself. The rough waters, I guess."

He observed me so carefully, I began to feel uncomfortable, more uncomfortable, that is, than I already was. "Yea, rough waters," he muttered.

"You don't believe me?"

He turned his head from me. "Yea, I believe you. I remember now. I wonder how many others on the ship are hurt?"

I hadn't thought of that. I was living in a very small world at the moment, a world which consisted of Rick and myself in a small holding tank on board a ship. Other people didn't exist in that world right then. My brother's question broadened things for me a bit. "I don't know. We don't seem to be listing."

"No."

Total orientation was still not mine. I put my hand to the back of my neck, feeling a slight ache there. Something gooey could be felt. "Oh," I mumbled, more to myself than to Rick.

"What?"

"Blood, I think."

He moved toward me. "Let me see."

A fleeting thought crossed my mind that maybe he would do me harm, but then I dismissed it immediately. Why would he do me harm? I was already in trouble. If he wanted to, all he had to do was sit back and watch me try to wiggle out of it. I allowed him to look at the back of my head.

"It is blood," he told me, frowning. "You must have really bounced off the wall."

"Are you hurt?" I asked. "You were out cold. Maybe you have blood, too."

He grinned at me. "You got blood, I got blood, all God's children got blood---"

"Rick!" I admonished him. "That's not funny!"

"No, not funny," he agreed, beginning to rub the back of his head and neck. "And I don't think I'm bleeding, but I've got a hell of a knot there."

"Let me see," I requested.

He turned around so that I could view him from the back. I reached out and felt the knot. It was huge. "You need a doctor," I said.

"Nay. What we need is a first aid kit to fix you up. Get the bleeding stopped."

"First, you were going to clean up after me and now you're going to patch me up."

"Yea, that's what I'm gonna do. And while I do, you're gonna tell me more about this case of amnesia you have."

He stood up, or, I should say, attempted to. He got to his feet and then swayed so much he almost fell back on top of me. "You should lay on the bed," I said, "You probably have a concussion."

"I'm all right," he told me, stubborn. "Yea, I'm all right. As soon as the room stops spinning, I'll go look for the first aid kit."

Perplexed, I decided to argue further. "Rick, you could do yourself a lot of harm, if you have a head injury."

"That's funny, comin' from you, A.J."

I supposed it was. "Yes, but I mean it."

He didn't reply. Instead, he staggered out of the room, leaving the door open. I was still on the floor. I couldn't seem to get up and wondered if I had a knot somewhere on my head as well. I put my hand back there to feel, but came up with nothing but the oozing blood. Surely, a little blood wasn't stopping me from getting to my feet. The urge to vomit again was quickly a problem.

"Oh no," Rick said, when he returned to the room to find me upchucking again, or trying to. He had located the first aid kit.

"I'm a mess," I ventured to say. "Don't think band aids will make me feel better."

"You're the one with the concussion," he said.

"No. I was sick before this happened. Rick, there's something really wrong with me."

Once the words were out of my mouth, I knew they were true and I was suddenly terrified. I lay back on the floor and covered my face with my hands. I felt him kneel beside me. "Come on, Kid," he said. "Let me work on your head, stop that blood."

"Okay," I agreed and tried to sit up. I couldn't and Rick gave me a hand. He was still unsteady himself, so the process was quite awkward. Finally, though, I was sitting and he was kneeling behind me.

"Listen, A.J.," my brother said after a while. "This isn't so bad. I think I've got the bleeding stopped. How does your stomach feel?"

"Awful," I said. "Rick, someone has caused this, I just know it. Someone has given me something which made me want to kill you."

There, I had said aloud the thought that had been going through my mind since I had been in the holding tank. Rick was silent for a long time. I knew it sounded off the wall. I believed it firmly, though. My body and mind were not responding as they should. I was more disoriented than I should be from the blow to the head. I had been sick before it happened. Something was definitely wrong.

Rick spoke softly . "A.J., you gotta understand, I wanta believe you, I really do, but I have to be careful here. You admitted a while ago that you were planning to kill me. Do you remember telling me that?"

"Well, of course I remember telling you that!" I exclaimed. "And it's true! But the thing is, I wouldn't have made such plans on my own for anything in the world! I had to have had help."

My brother moved around to where he was in front of me again. "You are sayin' that somebody gave you somethin'?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. Pills, drugs, something."

"Tell me more about what you said before, about not remembering things."

I tried to concentrate. "I don't know how I came to the decision to get on this ship," I said, and it was true. "I was visiting Mom---"

Rick grinned that small grin so typical of him. "You don't think Mom drugged you, do you? I mean, I know she gets mad at me, but---"


PART TWO

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