Chapter 1

 

My name is Lance Aldridge, and I suppose almost everyone knows a Sharon Jones. My Sharon was blonde, cute, energetic, and popular. She was cheerleader and prom queen. Sharon and the Sharon's of the world date popular boys.

High schools are stratified. There are the jocks on the one hand and the non-jocks on the other hand. Non-jocks include all other boys but particularly the boys who excel in school. Of course there is a wide spectrum between the scholars and the jocks.

Occasionally some lad manages to be both a jock and a scholar. That anomaly may practice football, basketball, or some other sport in the afternoons and play a game on Friday night or dribble with the best of them in the gym and ace the math test on Monday.

These unusual boys have their pick of with whom they will hang with. They are accepted in both camps but usually they pick the group where the most popular people gather. The popular girls only date the jocks or jock/scholars. To me, as a high school student, it seemed that the popular girls wouldn't be caught dead with anyone except the jocks. I found it easy to not like jocks.

It seemed to me I spent a lot of my time gazing at the girls who wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole. Gazing and lusting I should add. I was in that in-between group of students. I couldn't be considered a scholar by any stretch of the imagination. I was, what you might call, a near jock and an almost scholar. On the four-point scale I maintained a 3.0 average. I played intramural basketball and I ran track as a substitute runner. That means if everyone else on the track team fell sick, I would get in the game.

Sharon Jones was my dream girl. She was the girl I saw when I closed my eyes and beat my meat. I spent all four years of High school with her occupying most of my fantasies. It didn't change a thing when the rumors of her being easy came around. It didn't do anything to change my dreams when the photos of her naked or nearly naked got into circulation.

The photographs showed up our senior year. They were Polaroid pictures and they were of very poor quality, and it should be stated that the images I saw and the one I even managed to steal, didn't actually show her face. Like most of the other non-jocks there was little doubt in my mind that the dark and unidentifiable pictures were actually Sharon Jones.

That last year of high school, Sharon primarily dated two boys. Howard Kerns the captain of the football team and Brody Carter the quarterback. Because I was a near jock, I was in or close to places where Sharon and her dates were likely to be. The Cream Shack was one such place. It was a popular hangout after school and after games. The Cream Shack was a drive-in restaurant that cheerfully put up with a gang of high school kids with money to spend.

It was usual for the kids to park and it was highly unusual for any of them to stay in their cars. We usually stayed there only long enough to order whatever we wanted to eat or drink then get out and make the rounds. The Cream Shack served as a social gathering place and a place to eat. It also was a place for the boys to show off whomever they were lucky enough to get a date with.

From the first day of high school until graduation, Toby Goddard was my best friend. Toby and I helped one another through that scary time between discovering girls and actually approaching one. Toby got his driver's license first but I had access to a vehicle so it was a good pairing. We spent a lot of time and gasoline cruising around the Cream Shack.

Stags were always welcome and the Cream Shack served as a shopping mall for other singles. Carloads of girls would orbit the Shack while carloads of boys watched, waved, motioned for or otherwise did a mating dance. If the girls were parked, the boys did the orbiting. Looking back on it, it seems kind of silly, but it worked.

It used to drive a stake in my heart when I would see my dream girl with one of her boyfriends. I did not like Brody Carter at all and it really hurt me to see Sharon with him. He always made sure he had his arm around her or was somehow touching her. He once even fondled her breast while standing in a group of other kids. He touched her tit and I nearly shit. I have never hated anyone as much as I hated Brody Carter at that moment. The public display didn't seem to bother Sharon. She smiled at Brody and removed his hand from her boob. I saw him with his hand on her ass several times after that and each time my dislike for Brody Carter intensified. By the time we graduated from high school I despised the very ground he trod.

After High school, I joined the Army and went off to see the world. I enlisted for four years to take advantage of the higher education possibilities. After boot camp I applied for military police school and was accepted. To this day I don't know why I wanted to be in law enforcement. No one in my family was in law enforcement, but I found my niche. When I was offered the opportunity to go to Officer's Candidate School I jumped at the chance even though it meant another four years of service.

I did well in OCS and because I had been in the Army for over three years, I jumped one rank and was commissioned as a first lieutenant when I graduated. I applied myself and it wasn't long before I was promoted to captain. Promotions came quicker because we were involved in an armed conflict. I was hunkered down in some little out of the way spot in Iraq trying to not get my ass shot off when I received word of my promotion to captain.

It was a big deal but at the time I didn't think so. I was in a ditch with five other men and some sharp-eyed Republican Guard sniper was trying to kill us. I was on the radio telling the stupid infantry where we were and to get their asses over here and save us when I was told congratulations on my promotion.

"Captain, huh?" I yelled into the radio. "That's just fucking great. Now please send one of those nice little gunships to save my newly appointed captain's ass." Later, after the cavalry did arrive in the nick of time, we had an official ceremony and I pinned my silver railroad tracks on.

I was in a special group of military police. I had the designation of being one of the few officers who could make arrests on anyone from the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs right on down to a new private. I could go anywhere and investigate offences including the Pentagon. Okay, I couldn't just barge into the inner rings of the Pentagon, but anywhere else was my beat. It was pretty heady stuff for someone as young as I was. I was only twenty-six at the time.

I had already made up my mind to make the Army and the MPs a career and I would have if not for the circumstances that arose.

My father had passed away while I was still in elementary school. My mother worked like a dog to care for me and my brother and sister. Both siblings were older than me. It was almost time for me to re-enlist when I got word my mother was sick and I was needed at home. My brother and sister were in no position to help her. They didn't have the resources or the temperament to render care.

Therefore, I resigned my commission and left my beloved military police unit. I hated to do it, but one should shoulder their responsibilities and get on with it. After nearly eight years, I returned to the place of my birth and my raising. Of course I had made periodic trips home to visit with my mother but I hadn't actually been home for a long time.

I arrived there and two days later I applied with the Rockville police department and the chief of police nearly wept for joy when he read my application. That weeping part is just an assumption because I didn't actually see him cry. Anyway, I was hired and based on my credentials I went right into investigations. That did nothing to endear me to the troops.

The Rockville PD was small as befitting a smaller community. Prior to my arrival, there was one investigator and he was RIP. RIP stands for retired in place. Carl Bigalow was the senior investigator's name and he welcomed me with open arms. No, not really. In fact, I'm not sure he even knew I was there.

The last census indicated there were about fifteen thousand people residing within the city limits of Rockville. That was several thousand more than had been living there when I went to high school. It was soon obvious to me that the population growth had exceeded the police department's ability to adequately provide police protection. It also quickly became obvious that there were no plans to expand the police department. The fire department suffered the same thing. It also was too small to give proper protection.

The city council seemed to take pride in the fact that property taxes had not been raised in well over ten years. Laudable but stupid and short-sighted. People had moved in to Rockville from outlying places because of the low taxes and cheap real-estate prices. They brought crime with them on their migration to Rockville.

While I was away there had been many changes to my old home town. Now there were two high schools and my old school had been torn down. There were seven or eight new subdivisions around town and even more outside the city limits. It seemed to me that there was some kind of construction ongoing almost everywhere. In other words, Rockville was growing by leaps and bounds in everything except police and fire protection.

I took some time to familiarize myself with the city I used to know so well. There were a lot of changes besides the construction. One thing I happily discovered was the Cream Shack was serving yet another generation of horny and hormonal kids. I took a turn around the drive-in just for old time sake. It was interesting to me to learn that about half of my class from high school left town soon after graduation. What was interesting was the fact that about half that number had returned.

The half that had stayed in place were the business owners and managers of the various enterprises around town. Many of the girls, who were now women, had married and were homemakers. Of course, a few left town and had not returned, and never would. A few had died of one cause or another.

The inadequate fire department was right next door to the police station. A few days after I began my tenure with the police I was looking out a window down at the firefighters cleaning up a piece of equipment. One of the firemen looked familiar to me but it took a few moments to identify him as Toby Goddard. From what I could see, Toby had gained a few pounds and lost a lot of hair.

I told Detective Bigalow that I would be out for a while but available on the portable radio. He grunted and went back to napping. Carl did a lot of napping.

I went out the front of the station and around to the fire department. I walked over to Toby and watched him wiping the water from the bright red truck.

"You missed a spot, Toby," I said.

"Bite my ass, Aldridge," he replied without looking around. How on earth had he recognized my voice after eight years?

"You never could take constructive criticism, Toby."

"Naw, never care for it." He stood up and threw his rag on a pile of rags. He turned around and eyed me. "You look good, Lance," he said and held out his hand. "Where you been, boy?"

"I was away for a while," I said unnecessarily, taking his hand in mine. "You're getting fat."

"Yeah, living the good life," Toby said. "I heard you went up to Capitol City and became a pimp."

"No, I was in the Army," I said.

"Same thing, ain't it?" he grinned. "Come on in and I'll buy you a cup of coffee." I followed him into the fire station.

"I don't remember you ever expressing an interest in being a fireman," I said once we were in the kitchen and had a cup of sludge he called coffee.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I don't remember you ever saying you wanted to be a cop either. Funny how time changes things. How's your mother? Heard she was pretty sick."

"Bad, Toby," I said. "Cancer. I have her in a nice nursing home. If there is such a thing," I added.

"Sorry to hear that shit," Toby said. "I lost both my parents. Dad died seven years back from a heart attack and Mom just gave up and died a year later. Sucks being an orphan. You married?"

"No, I'm not. Are you?"

"Yeah, me and Patty Henson got hitched about five years ago. We got two kids. So, Lance, how do you like being back in good ol' Rockville?"

"Different," I said. "Too many changes on the one hand and not enough changes on the other hand.

"Well that's true," he said. "Hey, did you know Sharon Jones was back in town?"

"I did not," I said. "Mom wrote me that Sharon got married right after high school. Mom thought she moved away. She's back?"

"Yeah, came back a couple years ago. She married Brody Carter and they moved up to Cap City. They got divorced and she came back. She's back to Jones for her last name."

"Is she working somewhere?' I casually asked. Not that it did much good to ask casually. Toby was well aware I was warm for her all through school.

"She's a reporter for the Rockville Herald. You still hot for her?"

"No, not so much," I said with a laugh. "I kind of got over her. Took a while, but I managed."

"I can tell," he said. "You need to come to supper tomorrow night. I drive a city bus on the days I'm not fighting fires, but I'm off during the evenings. Patty will be tickled to see you." He wrote his address on a slip of paper and slid it over to me. "How about six o'clock?" I assured him six was fine and I went back to fighting crime and Toby went back to shining a spotless fire truck.

I wasn't sure that Patty would even remember me. She wasn't in my circle of friends. Toby's circle either for that matter. I figured that high school circles go through changes after high school.