A.J. was pleasantly surprised when Rick's buddy, Carlos, showed up at the bar in a rather inconspicuous Volvo station wagon, not a hideous jalopy he'd half expected. Rick had retrieved the pack of cigarettes and the duffle bag he'd packed for the weekend from his power wagon and asked Carlos to take and stash his pickup in one of his hideouts. The plan they had devised was to get a loaner from Carlos and keep moving for a few days while figuring out what was going on and who was behind it. They had no intention of becoming a couple of sitting ducks. They were dying to see what was in the crumpled pack of cigarettes, but that had to wait until they were alone at a secure location. Carlos gave them an address in the University Heights neighborhood where the brothers could crash for a night or two.

Rick and A.J. piled into the Volvo and hit the road eagerly. About five minutes into the trip, they decided it was safe to inspect the cigarette pack. With one hand on the steering wheel, Rick tossed it to his brother. A.J. counted the remaining cigarettes in the pack—there were three left.

"Are these just regular cigarettes? What do you think?" asked A.J. carefully removing the first one.

"Worse than my brand."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Wrinkling his nose, A.J. took a close look at the cigarette for a moment or two and shoved it under Rick's nose.

"Does this smell funny to you?"

"Hey, get it out of my face!" Rick yelled swatting A.J.'s hand away.

"Well, does it?"

"No. Just terrible."

"Then why'd you smoke it?"

"When you gotta smoke, you gotta smoke."

A.J. shook his head as if to say, Oh, the things I put up with. The second cigarette was no different. As he pulled out the last one in the pack, his heart began to beat a little faster with anticipation. It was wrapped with a small piece of paper sealed with clear adhesive tape.

"Rick, I got something!" A.J. shouted excitedly as he broke the seal and unfolded the paper.

"What is it? Some kinda message?" asked Rick giving a sideway glance to the passenger side.

"I think so." A.J. squinted trying to read a couple of short lines.

"A.J."

"Hmm…?"

"Take off your shades, for Pete's sake!"

"Oh, yeah…" A.J. had forgotten all about the sunglasses. Without them, he had no problem reading the message. The elation he'd felt initially was short-lived though; he furrowed his brow as he read it aloud, "Too sick so parkin port D. Lure on twos won for Teepee."

Rick frowned. "What the… It doesn't make any sense. Sounds like an excuse note."

A.J. nodded in agreement. "A very poor one at that. Like the kind you would have forged when you were still in school."

"It must be some kinda code."

"Well, obviously, but what's it for?"

"And who's trying to pass this message to whom…?"

They rode in silence for a while lost in their own thoughts.

Rick slowed the station wagon to a stop and shifted the gear to P. A glance at the house in front of them made A.J.'s jaw drop.

"Are you sure this is the right address?"

Checking the address scribbled on his palm, Rick nodded, "Yeah. Don't you like it?"

The house was a tad too small to be called mansion but certainly expansive and had beautifully manicured gardens.

"How did Carlos find a place like this?"

"Don't underestimate my buddy, A.J. He has connections."

Rick proceeded to one of the rose beds by the front door and picked up one of the rocks from the ground.

"Artificial?"

"Yeah, what else is new?" Rick took out a key from the not-so-secret compartment inside the fake rock.

A.J. walked up to the front door waiting for Rick to unlock it, but his brother was heading for a different direction.

"Rick? What're you doing?"

"Oh, checking on the wiring."

The answer didn't bode well with A.J. "Because…?"

"We don't wanna trip the alarm, do we?"

The whole setup was too good to be true, A.J. had known right from the start, but he still couldn't help whining. "We're committing a B&E?"

"Beggars can't be choosy." Rick sounded he was quite comfortable with the rooming arrangement. "'Sides, we're not exactly breaking in—we got a house key."

"Oh, please, be sure to mention that to our arresting officers!"

Despite his loud protest, A.J. knew their options for accommodations were severely compromised. They could not use their credit card to check into a hotel or motel if they didn't want to leave the paper trail. Between them, they didn't have enough cash to rent a decent room, and they wouldn't be able to go near their bank for the next several days at least because any bank transaction might alert the unknown individuals who were after them. Lying low in the skid row was even worse—there were eyes and ears everywhere. Given a chance, the denizens in the underbelly of the society would turn you in for a nickel. And the last thing you wanted to do was to show up at the residence of your family member or friend unless you didn't mind putting them in harm's way. Resigned, A.J. trudged into the house following behind his brother.

Rick turned on his flashlight before A.J. closed the door behind him.

"Rick? Why'd you pack a flashlight for a trip to…?" A.J. broke off in the middle of the sentence. "No. Wait. Don't answer that. I don't wanna know..." There was only so much one could take in one day.

S&S S&S

"Okay, Mom. I'll give you a call when we get home... I'm sorry I can't make it this Sunday, but I'm looking forward to our next dinner together, and so is Rick. I'm really sorry I woke you up in the middle of the night, Mom… Love you too. Bye-bye." A.J. put the phone receiver back on its cradle and sighed. He hated lying to his mother; even a little white lie, like being out of town on a new assignment so as not to worry her, nagged his conscience.

"You weren't serious, right?" Rick looked up at his brother from the couch that he had staked claim to.

"About what?"

"You really like having dinner at Mom's?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"What about her boyfriend-of-the-month?"

"Not so much, but she's not seeing anyone right now, if you care to know."

"And her meatloaf?"

A.J. opened his mouth to answer the question but changed his mind.

"Look, it's not the food she serves that matters. We're family—we should enjoy each other's company."

"O-ooh, like we're doing right now."

Rick smiled his 'gotcha' smile when his brother chose to take the fifth.

A.J. sat down heavily on the overstuffed armchair.

"Okay, the break's over. Let's get back to work, shall we?"

"No, let's not." Rick objected tiredly. "Come on, A.J. We've gone over this gibberish a hundred times and got nothing to show for. It's getting late. Why don't we get a good night's sleep, get a crack at it with fresh eyes first thing in the morning?"

A.J. seemed somewhat tempted by Rick's idea. He had a dark circle under the right eye, his face drawn. The bruise around the left eye was several shades darker than before. It reminded Rick of the homicide victim's postmortem lividity he'd seen in some autopsy photos, and he quickly pushed away the unpleasant mental image.

"Just look at you—you look like hell."

"Thanks for reminding me."

"Oh, it's not that. What I mean is, you're half a step away from crash and burn."

A.J.'s resolve wavered for a brief moment, but in the end, he slowly and stubbornly shook his head.

"No, you go ahead and get some rest. I wanna stay up a little longer. Okay?"

Rick let out a deep sigh and decided to give it a rest. He had known since they had been young boys that, behind the wholesome boy-scout façade, the Simon family's stubborn streak ran deep within his brother as surely as it did in him.

"Okay, if that's what you want."

A.J. nodded wearily.

"Just give me a holler if you find anything, alright?"

"Okay."

Rick spent next twenty minutes or so pretending to be asleep on the couch hoping that A.J. would follow suit, but after a while, he surrendered to fatigue and let sleep take over his mind and body.

It had been a long day, long and particularly hard day, and A.J. desperately needed R&R, but he doggedly hung on. He had gone over every single word in the message found in the pack of cigarettes so many times, he could recite the whole thing forward and backward. With the eyes closed, the chin resting on the palm of his hand, he started to mumble once again, "Too…Sick…So…"

He fell silent as if he had fallen asleep. Then his eyes flew open.

"Too-Sick-So, Too-Sick-So," breathlessly he repeated with mounting excitement. "Rick! Rick!"

A.J. darted to the sofa where Rick lay asleep and shook him wildly.

"Huh… WHAT?"

"The code! The code! I think I got it!"

Rick stared vacantly at his brother while his sleep-addled left-brain sluggishly decoded the latest linguistic input.

"You break the code?" Still groggy and half asleep, Rick sounded like he was on a seven-second delay.

"Yes! Yes, I did! Or, at least the first part of it! It's so simple! It wasn't a substitution code at all. Why didn't I see it sooner…"

A.J. was talking so fast, all the words seemed to run together as one. Overwhelmed by all that yammering, Rick slapped his hand over his brother's mouth.

"Damn it, A.J.! Slow down! SLOW. DOWN. Comprendes?"

All wired and wide-eyed, A.J. nodded enthusiastically. As soon as Rick's hand came off his mouth, however, he started babbling again fast and furious.

"Too-Sick-So, Too-Sick-So…"

"Aaagh!" Rick was ready to shut him up one more time, but A.J. caught his hand just before it landed back on his face.

"No, no, no! Listen to me, Rick! Just listen to my voice!"

He began reciting the same three words over and over like a fervent prayer. Rick's eyelids started to droop, but then he, too, heard it. When his eyes snapped open, the last vestige of sleep was gone. A.J. finally quit chattering; he was grinning like a mad man.

"Two-Six-O," whispered Rick in awe.

"Two-Six-O," repeated A.J. nodding vigorously.

"It can't be an area code, or prefix…" Rick was thinking aloud now.

"…because the next word is 'parkin.'" A.J. finished his brother's thought and sentence.

"260 Park… It's a street address!" Excitement crept into Rick's voice as well.

Once they realized that a syllable or consonant of some word in the code was detached from its origin and combined with its neighboring word, the rest of the puzzle fell into place almost by itself.

"260 Park. Import Dealer on Tues—that's Tuesday. One forty P—as in p.m." Rick, who was now wide awake and fully alert, couldn't conceal his amazement when he finished deciphering the code.

"By George, we've got it!" A.J. shouted with joy, emulating Rex Harrison as best as he could.

S&S S&S

The euphoria the Simon brothers had experienced didn't last long. A.J. reclaimed his post in the armchair, threw his head back and stared into space.

"So, we have a certain address, date and time, but we still haven't figured out the who and why part."

"Well, we could drive over to 260 Park Avenue and case the joint…"

"No!"

A.J.'s reaction was almost violent. He sat up straight in the armchair, ready to tackle and physically restrain Rick if necessary, his nails digging deeply into the armrests of the chair like talons.

"You're not thinking this through, Rick. Someone is after you. We don't know exactly who, but ordinary people or the police don't send out goons to look for a person of interest. Everything points to one thing—organized crime."

"Yeah, maybe. But we can't stay cooped up in a hiding place if we want to work on this case."

"What's the matter with you? Haven't you been listening? You're a wanted man. Not by the police, but by some criminals who don't mind hurting innocent people. Somebody may be trying to draw a bead on you! Why can't you get that through your thick skull?"

A.J. was getting worked up, panting like Marlowe on a hot summer day.

"A.J., you better cool it. You're fallin' apart."

"Damn it, Rick! Don't patronize me!"

Rick bit his tongue; he didn't want to agitate his brother any more than this by arguing when he was being so uncharacteristically irrational and belligerent. A.J. was coming unglued right in front of his eyes. He got up from the couch and strode across the family room. He crouched down in front of the armchair, his face upturned to look straight into his brother's eyes.

"Patronize you? Hey, I don't even know what that means."

Rick tried to defuse the tension with some self-deprecating humor to no avail. A.J. just kept scowling at him like he hadn't heard a word he'd said.

"All I know is, you're too exhausted to think straight, but you're too scared to go to sleep because you think the boogeyman might carry me away while you're asleep."

The expression on A.J.'s face told him that he had hit the nail right on the head.

"It ain't gonna happen. No way, no how. You should know better than that. We're safe here for now. Come on, there's something wrong with the picture when Rick Simon becomes the voice of reason for his college-educated brother."

A.J. no longer looked piqued, just worn out.

"Get some sleep, A.J.," Rick's voice dropped to a mere whisper.

"I'm too tired to fall asleep." A.J. sounded like a petulant five-year-old refusing to go to bed past his bedtime.

"How can you tell? You haven't tried it yet. Now, close your eyes."

"It's not gonna work."

"Just humor me, alright? Close your eyes, A.J."

A.J. finally gave in. He leaned back in the chair with a thump and closed his weary eyes.

"You'd better not leave this house tonight, Rick."

"Quit worrying, for crying out loud. I promise you, I'll be here when you wake up in the morning. Okay?"

A.J. felt Rick's assuring hand on his shoulder. When Rick leaned closer, the stink of cigarette smoke that had permeated in his clothes hit A.J.'s nostrils, but he found it oddly comforting. As he drifted off, he thought of his father, who had passed away so long ago, and his favorite pipe for the first time in years. Just before he fell asleep, he thought he smelled—vanilla—the sweet scent he had always associated with his father's pipe smoking wafting in the air.

A.J. fought hard to ward off sleep as long as he could, but he didn't last five minutes. His breathing became deep and regular under Rick's watch. His knit brow became smooth once again in his sleep, and he no longer looked troubled. Contrarily, Rick felt rage starting to build up inside as he watched his brother doze off. He wanted to hunt down the men who had beaten up and scared the daylights out of his brother so that he'd be able to break every bone in their bodies, but most of all, he was furious with himself for dragging A.J. into the mess he'd created. This was not the first time he'd done so, for sure, and, yes, from time to time, he himself felt like smacking his kid brother around, but this was different. It was so insanely absurd that A.J. had to go through this emotional wringer, in addition to receiving a painful message on his behalf, just over a pack of cigarettes. A blunder this stupid and spectacular is oh-so typically Rick Simon—he could almost hear A.J. ranting, but he didn't need his brother to point that out.

Rick started pacing. Unlike his brother, he didn't like analyzing and dwelling on his emotions and what-ifs and might-have-beens. He wanted some action, but then again, careful planning wasn't his strong suit either. He knew there was no way he could go back to sleep, and that he couldn't possibly stay put twiddling his thumbs for the next several hours. Pacing didn't do him any good, so he dug out the black bag from the duffle bag and checked its contents, burglar's tools. Don't leave home without it—a random thought crossed his mind. Next, he inspected and cleaned his .44 Magnum just to stay busy. All the while, he knew—he needed fresh air and wanted to feel the pavement under his feet.

S&S S&S

Half an hour later, he was ready to leave. He had changed into dark clothes and donned A.J.'s black stocking cap. He walked quietly toward the front door and reached for the doorknob.

"Rick…"

Rick stopped dead in his tracks and held his breath. He remained still for several seconds dreading to hear A.J. speak again, but the house had returned to its previous quietude. He turned around cautiously to check on his brother. A.J. was still fast asleep under the blanket Rick had found in the linen closet upstairs. He was a talker awake or asleep—of all people, Rick should know. His face slack in his sleep, A.J. still looked a bit like the little towheaded kid Rick used to share his bedroom with. He watched his brother sleep a while longer. When he was sure that A.J. wouldn't wake anytime soon, he opened the door and slipped into the night to look for some answers and, perhaps, redemption.