Miami Blues 2
By J.D. Rush

He glances over his shoulder in time to see Jimmy enter the emergency room's doors, then turns back to me.  "Okay, that's my cue.  I'll be back in five minutes."  Carefully holding my face in his hands, he looks me deep in the eye, and fairly pleads, "Promise me you won't do anything stupid while I'm 
gone.  Please."

I nod for a third time.  "Promise."

He plants a quick kiss on my forehead.  "Five minutes," he assures me once more, and he's out the door.

They become the longest five minutes of my life.  I try to concentrate on the beautiful music, try to let it calm me, but each time I close my eyes, I only see  Langly--young, handsome, funny, smart, energetic, sexy Langly. 

Gone.  All gone.

True to his word, Frohike isn't gone more than just a few moments.  He runs back to the van out of breath, his arms filled with goodies.  Dropping his burden to the floor, he hands me a steaming cup.  "Here ya' go, John.  Drink up--it'll warm you up."

I have to give a small smile--hot chocolate.  Frohike knows me so well. Seeing my reaction, he allows himself a tiny smile in return.  "It's only from a machine, but better than nothing, right?"

"Thanks, Mel," I sigh, as I sip at the dark nectar.  Waving my free hand at the items he deposited, I question, "What is all this stuff anyway?"

"Just. . .necessities," he answers evasively, while digging out a clean white towel.  "C'mere."  I lean forward as he rigorously rubs it through my hair. Once done, he pulls out some clean hospital scrubs, and helps me struggle into them.  "Sorry, no boxers, guy, but look--booties!" and he slips them over my ice-cold feet.  Once I'm dressed, he shakes out a dry, clean blanket from the pile, and drapes it around me.

I'm not sure if I want to know how Frohike managed to grab all this stuff, and I feel bad that he has resorted to stealing for me, but I'm so grateful to have some dry clothes.  My eyes begin watering up again at the extent of the love and friendship and devotion this man was demonstrating for me--something I could probably never repay him for. 

"Mel. . .?" I start, haltingly.

"Yeah, buddy?" his voice full of tenderness.

A couple of stray tears insist on falling.  "Thank you.  For everything.  I. . . I appreciate everything you've done for me." 

Familiar, calloused fingers brush the tears away, and he gently cups my face.

"Anything for you, John," he whispers, softly.  "Anything at all.  If I could bring him back, I would--just for you."

"I know."  I sip at my drink, focusing on the sweet, familiar taste as it slides down my throat.  I've always loved the taste of chocolate--nothing could beat it.  Except for the taste of a Hershey's Kiss on Langly's breath after he had raided the candy dish again.  All the flavor, without all the calories. 

Damn it! Is everything always going to remind me of Ringo? 

"Johnny. . .you okay in there?" Frohike asks, anxiously.  "You got quiet there all of a sudden."

"I was just thinking of Langly," I admit, truthfully.  "You know, I never even got the chance to say goodbye?  My God, Mel!  My last words to him were 'Check the cans!' "

He's busy rubbing my cold feet through the thin little booties, warming them up.  But more than that- - he's reassuring me with his touch that he's there for me. "I know, kid, I know," he says, sympathetically.  "And I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

That puzzles me.  "Why is it your fault?  Langly was the one who wanted that assignment.  He INSISTED on being out there in the water."

"No, no. . .this whole fucking trip," he spits out.  "If I hadn't dug up that information on Yves, told you of my suspicions, we wouldn't even BE in Miami."

"Mel, *I* was the one who insisted we come down here.  If anyone's at fault, it's me."  I tip the cup and finish the last of the hot chocolate, wishing for more.  Wishing I could savor the taste of it as it lingered on Langly's lips and tongue again.  "If only I could tell him I love him. . .just one more time," I sigh wistfully, to no one.

But it's not to be.  Jimmy is walking slowly back to the van, his head down--and he's alone.  As he crawls in behind the driver's wheel, Frohike asks, needlessly, "Any luck?"

"Nope--no one saw any one who looked like Langly come through here tonight. Sorry guys."  He turns around to look at us, just as Frohike is slipping on another pair of booties over the first pair. I notice for the first time his eyes are red and bloodshot.  Seems I wasn't the only one crying over our lost
friend. "How ya' doing back there, John?"

I look down at Frohike, and give him a sad smile.  "Better.  Or at least, drier." 

"So, what's next?" the young man wanted to know.

"Well. . .there's another hospital a few miles from here," Frohike replies, watching me the whole time with those wise, soulful eyes.  "It's worth a shot."

+++++++++++++++++++

For the past couple of hours we have driven around, visiting every hospital and health care clinic within a 50-mile radius of the marina--it's pretty unlikely that Langly would have been transported beyond that.  But it's all been for naught.  No one fitting his description has been admitted at any of them.

The sun is starting to come up, and we are all running on fumes--the van included.  We've done everything possible to find Ringo, except for one.  I glance up at Frohike, who is fussing with my blanket, trying to wrap it tighter around me.  I know he can read my face, and knows what I am thinking;
he runs his hand through his hair and sighs deeply.  "Are you sure, John?" he inquires, wearily. 

"I'll go. . .with or without you," I tell him, boldly.  "I have nothing left to lose."  He looks away, and I know I've hurt him with my words, even though I never meant to.  "Mel--I realize you're only trying to protect me, protect us all.  But I have to know the truth." 

I can sense him wavering, so I pull out the big gun.  "You said you'd do anything for me, Mel.  Did you mean it?"

He lifts his eyes to meet mine.  The pain and sorrow I've been feeling is reflected right back at me.  Frohike had always treated Langly like a son, and this loss couldn't have hurt him more if Ringo had been his own flesh and blood.  A strong, coarse hand caresses downs my cheek as he mouths, 
"Anything."

"Frohike?"  Jimmy's voice cuts into the peaceful, somber moment.  "We're almost on 'E' up here.  What do you want me to do?"

My old friend fixes his gaze on me, and I give him a quick nod to let him know my mind was set.   He nods back in understanding before crawling up into the passenger's seat.  I can hear him as he explains to Jimmy to stop at the 
nearest gas station, then we are heading back to the motel.  Once there, Jimmy is to be dropped off, and Frohike and I would continue on to the authorities on our own, leaving our young partner out of any crime we may be implicated for.

I realize how hard it is for Frohike to say that.  He's so concerned with protecting me and Jimmy, but I need some closure, if only that they find Langly's body and we can give him a proper burial.  Thank God Mel has been so strong through all of this, keeping his level head. . .I'm not sure I would have made it tonight without him.

Of course our young partner isn't happy with our plan in the least, but he doesn't have much choice.  It's one thing for me and Frohike to be putting our butts on the line--we weren't about to have Jimmy involved if at all possible.  Langly was our friend, and this was our fight.  Jimmy was too young to just throw his life away, and we were not going to allow it.
 

8:13 A.M.

Jimmy pulls into the spot in front of our room at the Gatorland Motor Court. 

Mel and I leave him to reluctantly unpack the van as we head back to the room

for a quick change of clothes before heading off to our executions.  By now, I'm so exhausted, I barely have the strength to carry my ruined, dripping-wet suit let alone get the key in the door and turn it. 

Again, Frohike comes to the rescue, performing the simple task for me.  As he pushes the door open, he lets out a screech that makes me jump out of my shoes, and starts my heart beating like a jack hammer.

"LANGLY!!"

At the sound of Ringo's name, I shove past Frohike to see what--or who---is in the room.  And there, laying on one of the beds, chowing down on an Egg McMuffin, is my very-much alive lover.  He looks up at us, a confused 
statement on his face.  "Hey guys. . . where've you been?"

Before I can stop him, Frohike has leaped at Langly, grabbing him by the front of his Dead Kennedys shirt and yanking him off the bed.  "You sonuvabitch!  We've been looking all over Miami for you, you selfish bastard!

How DARE you do that to us?  To your boyfriend?  You goddamn, mother. . ." The anger boils away as quickly as it formed and he crushes our friend close to him, bawling, "Don't you EVER do that again, kid!  You scared 10 years off
my life."

Now that the crisis is over, it's Frohike's turn to fall apart.  Well, he earned it--he held it together when Jimmy and I needed him most, something I will always be thankful for.  Langly's looking at me, over our smaller friend's head, and asks, "What the hell is wrong with Frohike?  And why are 
you in doctor duds?"

I'm still in shock to discover that my lover is not dead after all, and can barely answer him.  "It's a long story.  Frohike. . .he thought. . .we ALL thought. . .you were dead."

"Dead?" he echoes.

"Yeah.  We saw you fall off that boat.  And then you disappeared.  We thought you had drowned."