December 6th- Lies and Other Crimes Part One by DPPatricks

Chapter One

Thompson County Deputy Dave Lombard took one last unhurried cruise through the small town before he packed it in and headed home to his wife. The sheriff had told him to knock off for the night but, for some reason, he’d felt compelled to take this final tour. Not that anything ever happened in Thompsonville, other than the occasional domestic dispute or petty theft from the hardware store. But he took his responsibilities seriously since, when he logged out, only the other deputy, Stan, would be available to take care of any problems that might arise.

One sheriff and two deputies were, in most instances, enough to police the small county and smaller community, but Dave had been more uneasy than usual and something had kept him in his patrol car, making the rounds. When he’d stopped at the gas station’s pay phone and called his wife, Pam, to say he’d be a little late, she had said she’d wait up.

As he crossed the town’s main intersection, headed for the sheriff’s office, and his own wheels, he smiled. It happened every time he looked at the decorations the town council had hung on the light poles: large, sparkly, white cutouts of snowflakes. In addition, each of the storefronts had garlands and tiny lights displayed inside and out, giving off a nice holiday spirit. They were all on timers and would go off at midnight so he knew it wasn’t quite that late yet. Due to his persistent memory loss, Dave couldn’t remember any specific Christmases but he knew, somehow, that it was his favorite holiday.

Unexpectedly, at this late hour, a figure was sitting on the bench in front of the post office/general store. Dave knew the man was the foreman at the Thompson Pharmaceuticals warehouse but, since his memory-loss, he hadn’t renewed any acquaintance they might have shared. The guy’s name was Ken… something, and Dave knew he was engaged to Mr. Thompson’s daughter. Figuring this was as good a time as any to get reacquainted, he pulled over and stopped.

The figure rose when Dave stepped out of the car. Instead of approaching casually, however, as he had intended, Dave was halted by a wave of uncertainty, of vulnerability, clearly sent from this man. His cop instincts immediately on alert, he put a neutral expression on his face and walked forward, his right hand held out in a friendly manner, his left in the vicinity of the weapon holstered on his hip.

The man glanced toward Dave’s left hand. “I think I’m harmless, Deputy.” He smiled and extended his own right hand.

Dave assessed the dry-palmed, long-fingered grip and the beautiful smile; if the person in front of him was nervous about something, it didn’t translate to his handshake or face. “David Lombard. I must know you, but I can’t remember your last name.”

“Foley. Ken Foley. Yes, I’m sure we’ve met and I apologize, too. My memory’s not what they say it used to be.” Ken let go of his hand and gestured around. “What are you doing out so late, Deputy? Sidewalks are already rolled up for the night.”

Dave shrugged, instinctively liking the man. “I might ask you the same question. I seem to recall being told you’re the fiancé of Mr. Thompson’s daughter. What’s her name? Martha? Marla?”

“Marcie,” Ken provided. “And, yes, I am.” For a moment, he appeared nonplussed and Dave’s instincts went on full alert.

Ken was about his own age — late thirties — was an inch or two taller, had golden blond hair that, even in the dim illumination from the holiday lights, almost glowed. He was wearing a tailored blue shirt under a heavy buckskin jacket that was hanging open, despite the December chill, tan jeans and scuffed cowboy boots. His eyes were the most brilliant sky-blue Dave had ever seen. “Can’t sleep?”

Ken gestured to the bench and sat down. “Ever since the… accident, that’s one of the many things I don’t do very well.”

Dave sat next to him, understanding and sympathy flooding through him. He, too, had been the victim of a recent incident and still had difficulty controlling the onslaught of doubt, concern, and even fear that seemed to come on him at unpredictable times. “I heard about that.”

“Everybody in town probably has. It can’t be a secret. They say I rolled my car on the curve south of the river and spent three weeks in the Fresno hospital’s intensive care unit.”

“They weren’t sure you were going to live, right?”

Ken nodded. “It must have shocked the doctors when I came out of the coma after they’d already told Marcie and her father that I was almost certainly going to die.”

“Did ‘em good, I imagine.” Dave didn’t try to hide his grim expression. “Hate doctors myself.” He studied the blond again because he didn’t look like the type to make the kind of mistake the accident indicated: too much to drink, going too fast, trying to get a decent station on the radio; all the usual ‘excuses.’ “I can’t recall what they said about what caused the accident. Were you drunk? Running away from something? Chasing somebody?”

Ken lifted both shoulders. “I don’t remember. I didn’t even wake up enough to know anything at all until I was back here in the clinic. Doc Morris, Sheriff Wharton, Marcie, and Mr. Thompson have told me what happened. Actually, I’ve been trying to piece my entire past back together from what people have been telling me.”

“Two amnesia cases in the same small town at the same time?” Dave shook his head. “What are the odds of that, you think?”

Ken looked confused. “I don’t understand what you mean?”

“Coincidence, that’s probably all it is. But I hate those as much as I dislike doctors.” Dave pushed his resurfacing anxiety aside.

Ken was looking at him as if trying to see through mist. “I do remember Marcie saying something about one of the deputies having a hard time recently. Was that you? Got yourself shot?”

Absent-mindedly, Dave drew his weapon and held it loosely in his hand. He had no idea why he’d done it and, for some reason, didn’t want this relative stranger to know how unsettled he suddenly was. Rather than re-holster the gun though, he simply held it in his lap. “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna shoot ya.” He grinned around his discomfort, wanting to put this person at ease.

When Ken appeared to relax again, Dave went on. “I’ve been told I was in Stockton a couple of months ago, just minding my own business, when I walked into an armed robbery in progress at a Seven-Eleven.” He felt himself tensing up and took a deep breath. “Long story short, I supposedly got the perps disarmed and handcuffed together but only after one of them had taken a shot at me and creased my skull.” He blew out the breath and re-holstered his weapon before tracing a long groove on the side of his head with the fingers of his left hand. “I don’t remember any of it. Doc says it’s a kind of amnesia but he doesn’t seem to think I’ll ever get my memories back.”

“None of them?” Ken was plainly shocked. “I thought that was rare and I was the only one.” He looked intently at Dave. “That’s weird.”

“I agree.”

After a few moments of silence, the lanky blond shook himself and glanced at his watch. “Since I have to be at the warehouse at six, I guess I’d better get back to Marcie.” He stuck his hand out. “It was good to officially meet you, Deputy.”

Dave gripped the hand. “Dave.”

“Ken.” Getting to his feet, he seemed reluctant to part company. “Well… I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

Dave stood up and found himself smiling. “I think you can count on it. It is a pretty small town.” He watched the tall, lean figure walk away with a feeling of loss he didn’t quite understand. Deciding he’d make sense of it later, he got in his car and headed to the station.

Pamela was waiting for him when Dave got home. She hadn’t turned the heat down for the night and was wearing her flimsiest negligee over almost-non-existent panties. Unfolding her sensuous body from the armchair in the living room, she glided across the floor and manhandled him out of his fleece-lined jacket as soon as he’d shed his hat and holster onto the coat tree. “Geez, I thought you’d never get home!” She fastened her mouth to his as she wrapped her arms around his neck, hopped up and twined her legs around his waist.

Dave staggered back a step under her assault but managed to keep his balance. Never quite comfortable with her forwardness, he tried to laugh when he managed to come up for air. “Am I that late?”

She pointed to the bedroom. “In there. Now!” As he carried her, she began unbuttoning his shirt. “And why are you wearing so many clothes?”

He batted her hands away gently and deposited her on the side of the bed. “It’s called a uniform, Pam. Your father frowns on his deputies going around town in the nude.”

She scooted her butt to the head of the bed and leaned against the wall, her mouth posed in a patently seductive moue. “Well, get out of it quick, lover, ‘cause I’m hot to trot.”

Dave walked to the chair where he usually piled his clothes. “You didn’t have to wait up.”

“You want me to entertain myself, Deputy? Use one of my numerous dildos?” Her laugh sounded ugly. “When I’m in the mood for a real fuck, baby, rubber, glass, and plastic just don’t cut it.”

He could feel her gaze drill into his back but didn’t rise to the bait. The last of his clothes took their place on the chair and he turned to her.

She was playing with herself through the slit in her panties while the fingers of her other hand caressed her lips. The look she was sending him was undoubtedly meant to be alluring. “Like what you see, darlin’?”

He approached the bed, suddenly terribly weary. “I’m really tired tonight, Pam. Let’s make love in the morning, okay?”

“No. Not okay.” Quick as a flash, she grabbed his hand and yanked him down, flattened him onto his back, and mounted his hips. One hand wrapped around his flaccid cock while the other raked enameled nails across his chest. He wasn’t sure, but it felt like she might have broken the skin. She twined her fingers into his chest hair and tugged, hard. “You like it rough, remember, lover?”

Looking up into her fiery, hard stare, he had no earthly idea why he might have married this woman. “No. Actually, Pam, I don’t have any such memory. Are you sure?”

She threw her head back and laughed while her practiced hand stroked him to stiffness. “A wife is always sure, baby.” She leaned down and captured his mouth again in a savage kiss before she reared up and jammed herself down onto him. “Now, cowboy, give me the ride you’ve been saving.”

He tried one last time to derail this runaway freight train. “Pam, I don’t think this is going to work. I’m really tired.”

“Oh, you’d better make it work, Davey Boy. I waited up for you and now you’re going to repay me for my wifely devotion.”

Is that what it is? Dave wondered, feeling his cock responding in spite of himself. Wishing he’d stayed at the station and slept on the cot in the cell, he resigned himself to trying to satisfy his rapacious wife.

Foley poured a cup of coffee from the fresh pot and stared out the window at the brightening eastern treeline before he took the mug to the kitchen table and sat down. The fat ceramic Santa Claus in the center, packed with homemade cookies, didn’t give him the contented feeling he thought it should.

“You’re awfully quiet this morning, honey, is something wrong?” Marcie put a plate heaped with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast on the table in front of him.

Distractedly, Ken glanced at his watch before digging in. “I’m just a little tired, hon. Stayed out longer than I expected last night.”

Sitting down across from him with her cup of hot tea, she laughed, dunking the bag a few times. “I tried not to fall asleep but I guess I conked out. What time did you get in?”

“About twelve, I think.”

“Someone in this tiny company town catch your eye?”

Her voice sounded a little suspicious, a little wary, but Ken passed it off. He wasn’t used to reading her expressions or tones yet, and he was having trouble with his own feelings. The conversation he’d had with the deputy had left him both comfortable and fretful — a strange combination. He’d experienced an instant camaraderie with Dave that he couldn’t remember ever having had with anyone else; certainly not anyone since his accident. But both of them having amnesia was disturbing, to say the least. As far as he was concerned, the less said to anybody about last night, the better. “Not really. It was just such a beautiful night I didn’t want to come inside.”

She sipped her tea and he knew she was studying him as he ate. “You’d tell me if anything was bothering you, wouldn’t you? I mean, we tell each other everything, right?”

He forced himself into the role he knew he should be playing: the intended husband of this smart, lovely young woman. “Of course, sweetheart.” He took his empty plate to the sink, washed and rinsed it, and put it on the rack to dry. Swallowing the last of his coffee, he did the same with the cup. “I’ve been thinking about the Christmas festival’s first rehearsal tonight.” He filled a Thermos with the rest of the pot of coffee and turned the machine off.

“What about it?” Her voice was definitely edgy now.

He turned around and leaned against the counter. “I’m not really sure. But I don’t feel as if I’m suitable for the role you say I always play.”

She got up and came to him, slipping her arms around his waist. “What do you mean, not suitable? You look wonderful in the robes! You’re so tall and… well… regal.”

He felt himself blushing. “It’s just that… I still don’t remember anything, Marcie. If I’m to play a wise man convincingly, shouldn’t I have some sort of memory of being a good person?”

She laughed brightly but he thought it had a brittle edge. “You sound like you’re worried about forgetting your lines.” She punched him playfully in the stomach. “You have no lines, Ken. Nobody does. It’s a pageant! You don’t have to be Oscar-material.”

“When I put the costume on tonight, maybe it’ll jog something loose.”

She leaned up and kissed him lightly. When she spoke, her voice was softer. “Whether it does or doesn’t, you are a good person, Ken. Believe me, I wouldn’t be marrying you otherwise.”

He tried to accept her verdict. “Okay, if you say so.” Quickly, he disengaged himself and picked up the Thermos. “Go back to bed, hon. You know you don’t have to make me breakfast in the mornings. The cafeteria at the factory is always open by the time I get there.”

She stood where she was, her arms folded across her chest, as if cold. “I like doing it.”

He leaned in and kissed her again quickly. “And I appreciate it.” He held the Thermos up. “Especially the coffee.” He worked his face into a smile. “The stuff they make at work is terrible!”

“So I’ve heard.” The return smile she gave him looked a little forced but he was probably imagining things.

The ten-minute walk didn’t give him nearly enough time to think about everything tumbling around in his head. It was difficult getting used to his job — again; no matter how hard he tried, nothing came naturally, or seemed to be anything he’d ever done before. Clyde Thompson, his boss and the head of Thompson Pharmaceuticals, Marcie, even his co-workers told him not to let it bother him. He was the best foreman they’d ever had, and a valued member of the small community.

“Then why don’t I feel as if I belong?” he asked the squirrel that was sitting in the path. The squirrel, probably part of some sort of conspiracy, didn’t answer.

At rehearsal that night, Dave was glad to see Ken. “Ah, someone I don’t have to struggle to remember.” He reached for the warehouse foreman’s hand and shook it firmly.

“My sentiments exactly.” Ken’s agreement sounded heart-felt.

Dave looked around at the townspeople donning their costumes for the annual pageant. His own dull, unadorned robe, made from coarse brown material, bore no resemblance to the velvet and braid draped over his new friend. He fingered the rich sleeve on Ken’s arm. “Why is it I get the burlap and you get the royal treatment?” 

Ken’s expression carried uncertainty. “Maybe because I’m supposed to be a king and you’re a simple carpenter?”

“Is that what Joseph was?” Dave shook his head. “I guess I should have known that, shouldn’t I? I don’t remember if I’m religious but I should have known that.”

Marcie and Pam showed up at that moment and each put a hand through an appropriate elbow. “Come on, Dave,” Pam cooed. “Mel wants to make sure our costumes look okay. He says we’ll all need new ones next year.”

Dave looked at Ken. “See you ‘round the manger.” He watched as Marcie nudged Ken toward the other two ‘wise men’ who were guzzling beers.

“Here’s Ken, fellas,” Dave heard her say. “Don’t let him get lost now.” She leaned up and kissed her intended. “I’ll see you after rehearsal, sweetheart.”

Pam tugged on Dave’s elbow and led him toward Mel, the ‘director’ of this, to Dave’s way of thinking, over-blown production.

At the edge of the gathering, Sheriff Dan Wharton and Clyde Thompson watched the foreman and deputy being separated by the two women. The sheriff, still wearing his uniform and weapon, leaned toward the patriarch of the town’s founding family. “They’ve become friends?”

Thompson’s face was unreadable but Wharton felt the older man’s concern as he shrugged. “Apparently.”

“Is that wise?”

Thompson looked at him, the air suddenly frigid between them. “How do you propose to keep them apart?”

Wharton didn’t have an answer. “No idea. But we’d better think this through again. The doc says, as long as they both keep getting their doses, they won’t remember anything, but –”

“Pam and Marcie will make sure,” Thompson broke in. “Our daughters know what would happen if either one of them begins to get his memories back.”

“How long are you figuring on letting this little charade continue?” Wharton glanced back and forth between his deputy and Thompson’s warehouse foreman.

“Just as long as I want it to, Dan.” Thompson’s voice was icy. “Until I’m satisfied that they’ve suffered enough.” 

The sheriff stared at Thompson as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “What makes you think either of them is suffering now?” He looked back at the pair. “They’re free as a bird, have good jobs, and the run of the whole town.” He almost snarled the next words, “Starsky’s fucking my daughter.”

“A role she begged for.” Thompson’s voice held no sympathy at all. “And, as she’s told me herself, one she’s very much enjoying.” His tone shifted to that of a confidence. “That girl has a mean streak in her a mile wide. You know that, right?”

Wharton swallowed hard. “Always has.” He dragged his thoughts back to the subject at hand. “How are these two suffering, though, Clyde? I don’t see it.”

“They’re lost. They have no idea who they are and, for self-possessed, successful cops like them, that has to be pure Hell. I want to wallow in the irony a little longer.” Thompson crossed his arms, apparently quite satisfied with himself.

“Wish you’d just let me kill them. Be a whole lot easier.”

“You’re too simplistic, Dan. My way is so much more subtle. Hutchinson’s already showing signs of the strain and Marcie says he’s not sleeping well.”

“Starsky’s like dog with a bone,” the sheriff muttered. “He buries it while he’s working but, when he’s off duty, digs it up and worries over it.”

“They were both so… arrogant at the trial.” Thompson was nearly vibrating with what Wharton knew was repressed hatred. “I want them taken down as many pegs as I can manage.”

“They had every right to be arrogant,” Wharton pointed out. “They had the goods on our sons.”

“I know but –”

Wharton figured he was walking on thin ice but he overrode the denial. “I still think your high-priced mouthpiece screwed up when he tried to imply that Starsky had mob connections.”

“He used that ploy over my objections,” Thompson said. “I should never have allowed it.”

“And then to have him attempt to introduce the fact that Hutchinson had been suspected of his wife’s murder…”

“You’re right,” Thompson admitted. “I see it, in retrospect, but didn’t at the time. And I didn’t expect the backlash. I watched the jury’s faces as the judge told him, in no uncertain terms, that lies and false innuendo wouldn’t be allowed in her courtroom. That’s when they turned against us.”

“I think you’re wrong there, Clyde. The evidence is what turned them against us. That, and the unshakable testimony from those two.”

“Everything was blown out of proportion.” Thompson was beginning to sound whiny. “So what if a few street kids died? They were nothing, worse than nothing! A drain on society.”

Wharton knew he was taking a chance but he couldn’t remain silent after that statement. “Their mothers might not have thought so.”

“It never should have been anything more than a brief investigation and then an unsolved case. Cliff and Darrel defied me and I’d have dealt with them. It didn’t have to end up in court.”

“With Starsky and Hutchinson involved it did.”

“Which is exactly why they’re here now, in the palms of our hands. So that we can extract our revenge.” Thompson’s next look chilled Wharton to the bone. “And then kill them. Just like you want.”

Wharton had been willing to snuff both cops but keeping them alive while tormenting them was getting to him. He knew he’d allowed himself to be persuaded into this madness but was beginning to fear that he’d be joining his son in the state penitentiary before too much longer.

Chapter Two

As Dave and Ken lifted their costumes’ robes over their heads and handed them to Stella, the morose wardrobe mistress, Dave turned to his new friend. “Do you shoot?”

Ken’s face turned utterly blank. “Excuse me?”

Dave thought Stella froze for a moment, a look of what resembled near-panic in her eyes, but it was gone almost immediately; he disregarded it as his imagination. She gathered their garments to her ample bosom and walked away. Dave put a hand lightly on Ken’s back and wandered with him through the disrobing cast. “Guns. Handguns, rifles, shotguns…. Do you shoot?”

Ken stopped in his tracks. “I have no idea.”

Dave urged him onward with a gentle nudge. “Why don’t we find out? Pam tells me she and Marcie are going down to Fresno tomorrow to do some shopping for Christmas, and your wedding. Neither of us works on Sunday, right?”

Ken nodded. “Right.”

For some unknown reason, as they approached their respective ladies, Dave lowered his voice. “There’s a gun club behind the bowling alley. How ‘bout eight o’clock?”

Ken matched the quiet tone. “I’ll be there.”

Pam moved to Dave’s side and snaked her arm possessively around his waist. “What took you two so long? I gave Stella my robes hours ago and Marcie and I’ve been waiting!”

Ken draped his long arm across Marcie’s shoulders and addressed Pam’s irritation with kindness. “Stella’s a tyrant, Ms. Wharton, you know that. She didn’t want anyone dropping costumes anywhere except directly into her arms. Gus and Jimmy got tangled up in their skirts.”

Pam snickered. “They would.” Tightening her arm around Dave’s waist, she smiled sweetly at Ken. “You really need to get over this formality you seem to be clinging to since the accident, Kenny. We’ve known each other forever! Marcie’s my best friend and I’m her Maid of Honor. Please, call me Pam.”

Even in the near-darkness, Dave saw the color rise to Ken’s cheeks. “Yes, ma’… uh, sorry… uh… I mean, Pam.”

Wanting, for some reason, to spare his friend any more embarrassment, Dave turned Pam toward their car. “I’m bushed, honey, let’s head home.” He glanced over his shoulder to where Ken and Marcie were walking away. “See you, Foley.”

Ken looked back and nodded.

To be continued…