Guilty by Association Read online

  All the same, it was Kara’s favorite and that was Clark’s sole reason for attending. He would have been just as happy with a burger and fries from any fast food joint.

  This is why God gave us the drive-thru, Clark thought as he walked into the building.

  “Hello, Mr. Clark. Only one today?” Mrs. Tochigi said, approaching Ryan. The small Asian woman with graying hair grinned as she approached him with menus in hand.

  “No, Kara’s coming. Just us two though. Got a booth?” He knew her preference.

  Mrs. Tochigi smiled, see his excitement. “Surely. Please come this way. Are you feeling all right, Ryan? You appear rather tense today.”

  “No, I’m fine. Kara’s been gone for over a week and I’m just really looking forward to seeing her. That’s all.”

  “I will return in a few minutes,” Mrs. Tochigi said. She turned from the table and walked into the kitchen.

  Clark’s mind returned to where it had been moments before, to the person he was there to meet. He had known Kara for several years and had first met her as a friend of an acquaintance. When she exited the picture, he and Kara grew closer. The things Clark had always sought in a member of the opposite sex were all embodied by the new woman in his life. He found it sadly ironic that, per the usual, she was merely a friend, nothing more. That didn’t stop Clark from acknowledging the beauty that had rendered him speechless on more than one occasion.

  Several minutes and many thoughts passed, doing nothing more than nearly putting him in a trance. With his eyes blindly unfocused ahead in semi-deep thought, he barely noticed the figure walk past the window beside the booth where he was sitting and into the door behind him. Clark shook as if he’d been shocked when he felt the hand grab his shoulder.

  “Wake up!” the female voice said sharply, followed by a laugh.

  “Good Lord, woman, you scared me to death. There’s ten years off my life,” Clark said, looking up to see the face of the woman he was expecting, albeit not so suddenly.

  CHAPTER

  1

  “You’re serious,” the chief said, his face deadpan, unwilling to believe that something so absurd had just been uttered in his office.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Frank, you mean to tell me you still think that little guy in the number seven car has a shot at the cup championship this year? You’re serious? A Ford driver? Especially the way this season’s gone so far?” Chief Sparks asked. He smirked, beyond belief that Amick still had faith in his favorite driver despite the recent lack of success. “Get real, son,” he said and dismissed Amick’s thought with a wave.

  “Yeah, Chief, I do. That race at Talladega’s gonna turn things around. Just watch,” Frank Amick responded without much confidence.

  “You got the cojones to put a little cash on it? Fifty sound good or are you just like the rest of the little girls in this department?” The chief removed his toothpick and tapped it on his chin while he waited for the answer.

  “Chief, I thought gambling was illegal,” Frank said, looking down, avoiding commitment. What little optimism he had was fading fast.

  “Frank, I’m the chief of police here in our little town. What exactly are you gonna do, son? Call the law on me? Arrest me? Let’s do fifty. Of course if you don’t want to, little lady, I won’t make you. You’ll just have to wear a skirt to work for a week. You can even sit down when you take a leak,” the chief said with a chuckle, the extra body weight in his midsection jostling as he laughed.

  A survey once stated that West Virginia numbered the most stock car auto racing fans per capita of any state in the country. If one took into account the wealth of NASCAR license plates, bumper stickers, and other paraphernalia that was exhibited anywhere in sight, the survey was likely correct. It was also the discussion topic of choice for those employed by the Spring Creek Police Department for eight months out of the year.

  Every racing season brought numerous occasions in which two or more of them would nearly come to blows over who-could-whoop-whose-tail in a given race at a given track with perfectly equal cars and equipment. No decision was ever rendered and their respective jets were ultimately cooled. If you were a Ford man, you hated and ridiculed Chevrolet, and vice versa. As expected, there was no answer as far as what one was to do if they drove a Toyota, Dodge, or any other brand of automobile.

  Darrell Sparks’ tenure as chief of the Spring Creek P.D. had recently entered its twelfth year. The department, backhandedly called Spring Creek’s Finest by some at city hall, was, in reality, just that. Nearly every member of the force was a native of Spring Creek. They’d been born there and most of them had grown up within ten miles of the building at which they parked their cruisers and started their patrols each day. The turnover rate at the department was next to nil. On the off-chance that a member decided to retire, an opening was created but no one moved on simply for the sake of finding other employment. It was a mostly unchanging cast of characters patrolling the streets and enforcing the law year after year. Even the newest officers, such as Kevin Robbins, were familiar faces to the community.

  The youngest generation of residents had been raised in the information age, new technology bustling all around them, growing and evolving at an equal rate. Most were the sons and daughters of the baby boomers. Instead of The Andy Griffith Show and Leave It to Beaver, in which America was entertained by the subtleties of life in Small Town USA, the new crop of young adults was raised on images of the extravagant and fast-paced life in Los Angeles, New York, Miami, and Las Vegas. The fact that the entertainment industry’s depictions of life there were highly exaggerated, glamorized, sanitized, or simply created out of thin air was lost in the shuffle. The overblown images of materialism and beauty were appealing and what the youngest generation now desired as a result.

  For that reason and others tied to everything from the economy to amusement, the average age of Spring Creek’s residents was rising every year and most of those who were born and raised there had a single goal: To get out as quickly as possible.

  Sparks never understood their mindset. He told anyone who would listen that he saw no problem with making a buck but you couldn’t beat the simple and quiet life. His entire life, with the exception of a few vacations to Myrtle Beach or another coastal location, had been spent in and around the rural South. After his graduation from Spring Creek High School in 1970, he immediately joined the police department to fill the void of an aging officer that was ready to retire. The money was in no way enough to support a family, much less allow him the finer things in life, but the satisfaction that his job provided made up for the material vacancies. The occasional promotion or pay raise provided increasing incentive to stay and being named police chief in 1991, despite a mere two years ago the job, surprised almost no one in the community. The residents echoed their support in unison at the voting booth that year, backing the mayoral candidate that put Sparks in place. He had paid his dues and was more than deserving of the position.

  Frank Amick was also a veteran of the force but his rise had yet to experience the same heights as that of his immediate superior. At six feet six inches tall and a holiday meal shy of two hundred and seventy five pounds, his presence alone garnered him the respect that was supposed to come automatically with his position. Unlike his fellow officers, Amick had mulled over a new line of work or a change of scenery no less than a thousand times in the last two decades but he could never actually bring himself to relocate. When those around him inquired about it he reflexively launched himself into a rant centered on his loathing of change.

  Regardless of the fluctuating level of contentment in a mostly mundane everyday life, seeing the advancements and accomplishments of others in his family left him longing for more. Now, at forty-four years of age, a sudden 180-degree turn from the only vocation he had ever known was highly unlikely and became more so with each passing year. He had long since accepted the direction of his life and resolving daily to dismiss what might have been and to
think ahead to what might be.

  “What time are those people rolling in here again?” Amick asked. He yawned and scratched the side of his head.

  “Those people should be in around eight or so. We’ll get started at 7:30 once everything dies down and everyone gets nice and tucked away in their houses for supper.”

  “I’ll get the boys there ‘round then. Things should be set up fine by the time we get started. I just don’t feel too good about dealing with them people. They’re just… strange, Darrell,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t trust ‘em no further than I can throw ‘em. I can’t figure why you do. They’re not much like us.”

  Sparks pushed himself out of his chair and walked around his desk. “How do you figure that, Frank? They’re like us enough to want to make some money and live a little easier. I don’t know about you but that’s all I need to know. Relax,” Sparks said with a smack to his subordinate’s shoulder, attempting to reassure Amick as simply as possible. He recognized the fact that his best efforts were falling short.

  “Whatever you say, boss. We’ll be there, right on time.”

  Sparks narrowed his gaze and lowered his voice. “Just watch it, Frank. Nobody knows who’s coming and nobody needs to know they’re here. This goes through and we’re set for a good long while. Speaking of which, how about getting my order from the Jap place for me? I got a few things to take care of here. You mind?”

  “You got it, Chief. Be back in a jiffy.” Amick groaned as he stood, his left knee buckling at the first hint of weight. “Still isn’t right,” he mumbled to himself, lamenting an injury from a decade earlier.

  Sparks watched Amick walk out the front door of the department and felt a wave of acid rush to his stomach. The big night was finally upon him. He knew that everything could be forfeited with a simple mistake or a solitary oversight and that could not be afforded, someone else’s trepidation notwithstanding. Sparks’ biggest concern was the trust factor of those around him, be they veterans or completely new.

  Had he made a mistake in trusting an officer like Carl Lilly with so much responsibility or in allowing an outsider like Ron Aliff a chance to horn in on the action? Sure, it provided slightly more protection with a state police official involved but it also opened the window to exponentially more complications should anyone outside of the immediate circle catch on to the late night activities.

  All of these factors, including the risky attempt to hide the entire operation from the Robbins kid, the newest addition to the squad, were enough to bring about an onset of insomnia to even the strongest minded person.

  Darrell Sparks had much to consider.

  “I don’t know, babe. What do you wanna do? It doesn’t matter to me,” Adam said wearily in the typical back and forth banter that always seemed to accompany his attempts to make plans over phone with Lisa. He rolled his eyes when he thought of how long the process could potentially take, thankful that she was unable to read his mind from across town.

  “I really don’t care, sweetie. Whatever you want is fine. Maybe we could see what Ryan’s up to? Maybe sit out back for a while? It’s supposed to be nice out tonight. But it’s up to you,” Lisa said with a touch of a Southern accent appearing in her voice.

  Adam closed his eyes and shook his head in frustration that Lisa couldn’t see. “You’re not making this any easier on me, you know. I’ll talk to him and see what’s going on and get you back on your cell, babe,” he said before ending the call. “Why does that girl have to be so friggin’ difficult? Figuring out what to do with her would make the Pope go into a swearing fit,” he groaned to no one in particular. His bedroom was empty.

  Adam Walton also knew the truth. He was smitten, although that was not his word of choice. He had been enamored with Lisa since the day they met four months earlier. He was another member of the new generation from Spring Creek who desperately wanted more than what the rural Southern life could offer but had not yet gotten around to making the change. His parents still lived fifteen minutes away but when Ryan’s father relocated for his new position up north, the logical thing to do was to move in with his lifelong best friend and help bear the burden of having the house all to their selves. The privacy and freedom were deciding factors as well. Now, with an uncooperative girlfriend to have to deal with for the evening, Adam needed plans and needed them fast.

  “Ryno!” Adam shouted as he entered the living room.

  Ryan glanced up before looking back to the television. “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “How’s my best friend in the world? You good? What’s new?” Adam rambled, slapping Clark on the back.

  “Alright, wipe the cheesy fake grin off your face.” Clark said, smirking, struggling to concentrate on the football video game he was playing. “You might be the world’s worst actor. Either you want something or your need something. Which is it?”

  “Lisa wants to do something tonight. I don’t want to go anywhere and I don’t have the cash to do anything anyway. Want to get a fire going or something? Supposed to be nice out.”

  “Actually, that sounds nice. Get some wood for the stove.”

  Adam waited for Clark to get up. When he didn’t, Adam said, “You’re not going to help me?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You must have missed the memo. This is your idea and this is my house. That means I don’t have to get my hands dirty. Call it executive privilege,” Clark said, knowing exactly which button to push to get the desired reaction. After placing his hand over his heart, he continued, “Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m still sympathetic to your plight. I feel your pain. I’ll make sure you get another copy of that memo.”

  Adam was flustered. “Oh, so when you want me to do everything, it’s your house. When you need help, it’s our house. I think I get the picture.”

  “I think you do, too,” Clark said with a wry grin, his eyes glued to the television to keep from laughing.

  “Screw you, Ryan. Seven o’clock okay?”

  “Yeah. We’ll do it. I’ll call Kara. She loves this stuff too. You owe me one.”

  “Still trying to score those points, huh, chief?” Adam asked, taking his turn at pushing Clark’s button.

  “Yeah. Is that a problem?” He paused the game and looked up. “You’re just trying to score tonight and I don’t recall any ‘points’ being involved in the game you’re playing. Just do me a favor and take the festivities to the basement or to her place for once. I still kick myself for not soundproofing those walls before you moved in. Excuse me for not being a voyeur.”

  “You may not want to watch but I bet in your twisted little mind you like to listen. Don’t deny it,” Adam said.

  “I hate you. Just go get the wood. I have a game to play. You’re a strange little man. You know that?”

  “Little? I’m bigger than you are.”

  “Nevertheless.”

  CHAPTER

  2

  Clark’s fireside gatherings had become a tradition of sorts through the years. The face of a guest would change from time to time, depending on which charter member had a significant other, but the usual suspects were always there. Ryan was always present. Kara was usually there, unless something entirely too pressing was keeping her from it, and Adam would call in sick at work to attend, if necessary. Many times he encouraged his girlfriend-of-the-month to do the same, unless he desired a night to himself.

  The format never changed, nor did the motivation for being there. It was a time to be spent with friends, no more and no less. In a time when most festive gatherings of those in their early twenties quickly developed into full-scale revelry, with alcohol flowing like water and other substances and activities in the background just out of sight, this was something different; something almost serene by comparison. Occasionally someone, almost always an individual brought in from outside the group, would have a cold beer or glass of wine but never anything more potent.

  Time was spent reminiscing, storytelling, laughing, crying, or simply relaxing quietly
and appreciating the surrounding beauty and solitude, precisely the manner in which everyone wanted it kept. The atmosphere would be ruined by excessive intoxication. Everyone involved knew that such easygoing qualities defined their nights together, rendering them extraordinary.

  Like Clark, nearly all of Adam Walton’s life had been spent in Spring Creek. Seven months older than Ryan, they had navigated through school together on every level. His parents divorced at an early age and the decision to live in West Virginia was made for him, his six-year-old opinion notwithstanding.

  When his father elected to relocate to the northeast, Adam was left in his birthplace to live with his mother. Moving from place to place became the norm for the shrinking Walton family during Adam’s childhood, barely allowing him to get his feet wet in a new school before moving again and forcing him to start over. Adam was forced, in a sense, to grow up quickly, partly as a defense mechanism for always being the new kid.

  After his fourth grade year of elementary school, his mother finally settled the family down in the small town of Spring Creek. It was that summer that Adam tried the traditional summer scene of Little League baseball to attempt to fit in to this small society. It was on his randomly selected team that he first met Ryan Clark.

  The bright blonde hair of his early childhood became a dirty blonde into his adolescence but that was no longer his defining characteristic. Between the constant relocating and the natural stress that had developed between him and his mother, Adam sought solace in whatever local fitness center was within reach. At first, he lied about his age in order to be permitted inside but with familiarity, dedication, and payments that were always on schedule, he was admitted without so much as a second thought or an ID check.

  The result was a teenager that was seemingly constructed out of brick. His cool but sometimes stoic demeanor combined with his imposing physique was a source of instant intimidation, although that was rarely the intended effect. His passion for health and physical fitness was what had pushed him toward his current vocation, the part-time personal trainer at the undersized health club in the middle of town. It also brought about his desire for a degree in exercise physiology, where helping to heal those around him would become a vocation, a calling, and a future. Through the years the two outcasts from the baseball team bonded and the friendship became as solid as either of them had ever known. They were brothers without a genetic link.