A Touch of Danger (Archie Lemons #2)

by Grant Fieldgrove

  Remember that old show Bakersfield P.D.? I think it was on Fox, so of course it was cancelled after only a few episodes. Before, Korn, that was our towns brief brush with fame. Even though, if I remember correctly, they played the cops as bumbling idiots, as opposed to douchebags that shoot first, ask questions second. You remember it? It starred that blonde guy…from that movie…and some TV show, and Los Polos Hermanos from Breaking Bad… No?

  Anyway, sorry, the cops pull to the side of the motel and I invite them in to Elise's room so we can keep an eye on the kids and be out of sight in case Suit Man walks by.

  I explain to the officers exactly what I saw and how I think it was the owner of the first big house, judging by where they were standing, right next to the stairs built along the cliff, leading down from that house. Also, I couldn't see any other way to get to where they were, and that house was the only one with lights on inside, so…

  After I told them that, both officers gave a nervous look to each other.

  The one who drove says that maybe we should continue this downtown.

  "What the hell for?" I ask.

  "Do you know who lives in that house?

  8.

  As much as I did not want to, we packed the kids in Elise's car and followed the police cruiser into Pismo, to the station.

  The police station blended in well with the rest of the small town. It’s a good thing I was following the coppers or I doubt I would have been able to find it.

  The two officers had kept us completely in the dark about who lived there or why it was even an issue. It seemed to me that a murder was a little more important than whoever the hell lived in that goddamn house. But, I guess I was wrong. Shocking.

  We were instructed to wait in the waiting room and someone would be out shortly. We did as we were told but I could tell we were going to have a hard time with the kids. They're in a police station, the last thing they want to do it sit quietly. We were going to need to figure out what to do with them to keep them occupied.

  Fortunately, we didn't have to wait long. A man in a suit and tie, with a badge hanging off his belt came out and called us back into his office. We entered into the room and he closed the door behind us.

  "Please," he said, "have a seat."

  Elise and I each took one of the seats, Elliot sat on her lap, and Eric sat at my feet while we introduced ourselves. On the way into the office, I offered them a quick bribe for them to be quiet. It seemed to be working.

  The office smelled of incense for some reason. The man who took a seat behind the desk didn't seem to be of the incense-burning, hippie type, but I guess sometimes appearances can be deceiving. The smell was putrid and allowed me to chalk up yet another reason for my dislike towards hippies. Yes, I am well aware that I believe in pretty much the same thing that most hippies do, peace and love and all the crap, hell, I don't even eat meat and I've never voted republican, but goddamn, I do have an extreme appreciation for soap, clean clothes and shoes. Call me crazy.

  Anyway, the man cleared his throat and started to speak.

  "My name is Steve Gibson and I am the captain of this police department. My boys out there, Steve Wilson and Steve Coretto, there, tell me you all witnessed a murder?"

  Seriously, what is that smell?

  "Actually," I said, "it was just me who witnessed it. I couldn't sleep due to this amazing channel you guys get down here. RTV? Have you heard of it?"

  "Get to the point, Mr. Lemons."

  "That was my point. But, I will now recount the incident I witnessed one more time."

  I went on to tell him the whole story of what happened. He seemed mildly interested until he interrupted me.

  "Let me stop you right there, Mr. Lemons. Do you know who lives in that house?"

  "What the fuck does it matter who lives in the fucking house?!" I yell.

  Eric quickly interrupts with his own yelling, "MOMMMM!!!"

  "Archie," Elise tells me as she shoots me another dirty look, "watch the language."

  "I'm sorry, but I witnessed a murder and everyone seems to care about who lives there. I don't understand why it even matters! I saw a woman get murdered!" I gave my pockets a pat hopefully that my pills would magically appear in them, but alas; it was just my phone and the keys to Elise's car. I had left the bottle in the hotel room and I was afraid I was about to lose it.

  "Well, Mr. Lemons," Gibson said, "none other than Mr. Brad Jackson lives in that house."

  "Brad Jacks- Who the fuck is Brad Jackson?"

  "MOMMMMMM!!!!"

  Instead of nagging me again, Elise promptly asks, "THEE Brad Jackson?!"

  Oh Jesus.

  "Again, who the crapshit is Brad Jackson?!"

  "Mom?" Eric speaks up again. "Crapshit? Is that bad?"

  "Eric!" Elise yells, and then turns her deathly gaze upon me, "Archie!"

  "Captain," I say, trying to restore some order to this madhouse of an office, "please tell me who Brad Johnson is before I freak out."

  "Jackson," Elise corrects me.

  ARGH!

  "Brad Jackson," the Captain tells me, "is a very famous and very charitable man. I'm surprised you've never heard of him."

  "Do you mean Brad Pitt?"

  "No, Mr. Lemons, had I meant Brad Pitt I would have said Brad Pitt."

  "Okay then, well I've never heard of this guy so why is it a big deal?"

  Elise chimed in once again. "You know who he is. He's all over the tabloids. He stared in that show on the CW Network called Hunky Vampires in the Hollywood Hills?"

  "Are you kidding me?"

  "No, and he's in a ton of movies. Come on, his wife was murdered something like four years ago. It was a huge trial. You couldn't have missed it."

  "Seriously," I say. "I haven't watched a celebrity trial since they let O.J. walk."

  "He wasn't on trial, Mr. Lemons. He was being stalked by a crazed fan that ended up killing his wife. She is now serving a life sentence."

  "So what are you telling me here, Captain? A famous person couldn't possibly have committed a crime. I don't understand."

  "It's not that, it's just he has a lot of connection and is important to our community. We don't want to go stepping on anybody's toes. I have sent two officers out to his house to ask questions and snoop around. They will be back shortly and we will go from there."

  "This is how you handle murder investigations? Ask the suspect if they killed someone and if not, whelp, see ya later?"

  "Mr. Lemons, we don't get a lot of murders around here. We are a friendly beach community. That’s not to say we don't handle a death or two, but they are mostly alcohol related and the manslaughter types. Drunken brawls gone too far, you understand?"

  My heart was beating hard again and I could feel my blood pressure rise. I closed my eyes tight and tried to calm myself down but my skin was crawling. I was going to have a fit.

  There was a knock on the door and two different officers walk in. From their nametags, they were S. Bronson and S. Simmons. They inform us that they were just at Brad Jackson's house and everything appeared to be normal. They said they told him about a possible murder near his property and he seemed shocked.

  He is an actor for fuck's sake. What the hell?!

  They asked him a few questions, he seemed calm and cooperative and nothing seemed out of the ordinary so they went on their merry way.

  "Thank you, gentleman," the captain said, dismissing them. "Well, there you go, Mr. Lemons. We cannot launch a murder investigation without a body and without it we have absolutely nothing to go on. Maybe you just thought you saw something bad going on but it was really just two people playing around. You look tired, the brain does weird things."

  "Just because I'm tired doesn't mean I start to hallucinate!"

  "Please calm down, sir. I'm just saying, unless a body turns up, we have nothing to go on at this time. We've even pulled up missing persons reports from the area and the surrounding a
reas. There is nothing."

  "It was two godda...it was two hours ago! No one is filing a M.P. on someone after two hours. What kind of Mayberry bullshit are you running here?!" The kids had given up with monitoring my language, apparently.

  "I assure you Mr. Lemons; we are not a Mayberry operation! We are very professional here! Mr. Jackson is a celebrity though, even if he did kill someone he would just be acquitted."

  "He would just be acquitted?! Did you seriously just say that to me?"

  "You know what I mean, Mr. Lemons. America loves a celebrity. Like you said, they let OJ walk."

  "Yeah. They did. I still blame him for giving Kim Kardashian any sort of fame, too. He should fry for that, alone."

  Elise interrupted. "Why do you blame OJ for Kim Kardashain?"

  "Because, Elise, her dad, that jackass Robert Kardashian, was OJ's lawyer. Without OJ, Robert would have never gotten famous thus resulting in no one giving a flying crap about fatass Kim or her fatass, ugly ass sisters."

  "Oh stop," Elise said. "Kim Kardashian is so pretty."

  "Please, Elise. She looks like spread-open butt-cheeks. And for that, I blame OJ. And I blame Robert for starting the Kardashian family tradition of getting rich black men off."

  "Yikes."

  The captain interrupted. He was through listening to me rant, apparently. "Mr. Lemons! Please! I have had just about enough from you this morning…"

  "You see what I did there," I say, as the captain was still talking. I was kinda sorta talking over him. It was like an unruly classroom. For some reason, I felt the need to explain my previous joke out of fear that they didn't get it.

  "I do not care what you think you saw at this point…"

  "…You see, I said he started the tradition of getting rich black me off…"

 

  "…Truth is, you are wearing on my nerves quite heavily and…"

  "…Because the ugly Kardashian girls like the big, rich black dudes…"

  "…I am going to ask you to leave..."

  "Like Ray J…and bah-it-baw playas…"

  "Mr. Lemons! Are you listening to me?!"

  "No, I'm not."

  "Then this is futilue. So why don't you just go home and get some rest?"

  Truth was, I was listening, of course. And as I listened I kept getting more and more pissed off. I was trying to avoid it all together by talking over him and trying my best to ignore him, but it didn't work. I was pissed. This guy was an idiot and showing me no respect, so why should I show him any?

  "I'm sick of this. It's time to go now, Mr. Lemons."

  I was losing it. I come in to report a murder and the police captain is sick of ME. This is bullshit. My pulse started racing and I felt sweat forming above my brow. I clenched my hands into tight fists and brought them both up to the sides of my head, covering my ears. My plan didn't work. It was meltdown time. I felt Elise's hand on my shoulder. She said something but I couldn't make it out. My eyes were shut as tight as they could be and I began hitting my ears out of pure frustration. Just like a child.

  I started to hear Captain Gibson say something. I think he was asking what the hell I was doing. I didn't hear Elise respond. My ears started hurting, badly, and I stopped, eyes still shut, fists still balled.

  "Why are you throwing a tantrum, Mr. Lemons?!" The captain says to me. I ignore him and he continues talking, I assume, to Elise, "What does this mean?"

  "This means," Elise says, "that Archie and I are going to solve this fucking case, and when we do, we are going to go out of our way to embarrass the fuck out of you and your po-dunk, bullshit excuse of a police force! Come on guys, let’s go!"

  I turned and saw Elise stand up. The captain looked like a deer caught in headlights and both kids' mouths were wide open as they gazed up at their mother.

  I was in shock. In all my years of knowing Elise I had only heard her utter the very slightest of obscenities on very rare occasions, but nothing even close to the dreaded F Word. I stared at her in silence. I was so proud.

  9.

  We left the room promptly after Elise's ridiculously awesome outburst and she even added a door slam as her very own exclamation mark. I must say, I was quite impressed.

  We walked out into the cool morning air and Elise took out her phone and dialed a number without telling us whom she was calling.

  "Hey Jamie," She said into her phone. "Yeah. So, what are your thoughts on driving down to Pismo?" Silence. Then, "Yeah, we could really use you to keep the kids entertained. Archie and I are going to be here a while. We can't go anywhere without being on a case apparently." More silence, followed by, "We'll pay for your room and your dinners."… "I appreciate this so much. We're staying at the Ocean Inn on the main drag in Shell Beach. You can't miss it. Call us when you're close."… "Thank you so much! Bye-eee." She hit the end button on her phone and dropped it back in her purse, "Okay, we have a babysitter on the way. Let’s go back to the room and get ready. We've got work to do."

  When we got back to the room, the work we ended up having to do included me falling asleep on Elise's bed while the kids jumped all over me and Elise was doing God-knows-what on her iPad. When I awoke, both kids were assed out on me and Elise was still sitting at the desk.

  "What time is it?" I asked.

  She informed me it was four-thirty and Jamie was close by.

  "Holy shit, 4:30? I slept that long? God, I'm sorry."

  "It's okay, the kids pretty much were beating the crap out of you the whole time you were sleeping until they finally wore themselves out. I can't believe you got any sleep at all."

  "Yeah, well, I was pretty tired. Stupid RTV. No wait, I take that back. I'm sorry, RTV. I love you."

  "Geez. Okay, so while you were sleeping..."

  "That terrible Sandra Bullock movie? Oh wait, all her movies are terrible."

  "God, pay attention. While you were sleeping, I was trying to collect as much information as I could on Mr. Brad Jackson."

  "I don't even know if that's our guy. I couldn't even recognize him if I saw a picture of him, probably. He was just a guy in a suit in the distance. It could have been anybody; I'm just saying it happened right behind, or underneath rather, his house."

  "Yeah well we have to start somewhere. So I looked up all the stuff about his wife's murder and according to this...hold on." She paused and scrolled through something on her iPad until she found what she needed. "According to this, five years ago..."

  "Aw man!" I interrupted.

  "What?"

 

  "Damn. If we were back home, Full House would be on right now."

  "Oh my god, Archie Lemons, I am going to beat the living..."

  "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Please, continue."

  She sighed an annoyed sigh and went on. "According to this, five years ago, Brad had this crazy stalker, Emma Ricks. She showed up outside his house numerous times, wrote creepy letters, made all kinds of threats, you name it. So, I guess, one night when Brad is out of town filming a movie, this crazy lady breaks into their place up in Hollywood and kills his wife. Their housecleaner saw her and called the cops. She didn't know the wife had been murdered until they showed up. She just called to try to shoo her away from the property. They had a restraining order against her already so the cops were quick to arrive. Brad had to fly back from Europe, or where ever he was, to handle everything and bury his wife. It was after that that he bought the house here in Shell Beach, adopted a few kids and got involved in a lot of charity work."

  "Are you sure this isn't Brad Pitt?"

  "Damn-it, Lemons, it is NOT Brad Pitt."

  "Okay, just sounds kind of like Brad Pitt."

  "Well, it's not. It's Brad Jackson."

  "That's too bad."

  "Why is it too bad it’s not Brad Pitt?"

  "Because I've actually heard of Brad Pitt. That guy is awesome. Did you see Basterds? He can get away with murder with me annnny day."

 
"God, stop it. Don't you have a pill to take?" She laughed then got back to business. I shot her half-ass, sarcastic smile.

  "Anyway," she continued, "after his wife's death he was linked to several well-known faces around Hollywood, but so far as I can tell, no one really has a bad thing to say about him. He spends time here at the beach just a few weeks out of the year, but contributes tons to local charities and such here."

  "Well, that explains the police's behavior."

  "Yeah. And when he's not at work, he is home with his adopted kids."

  "Where are the kids now?"

  "I imagine he has a nanny or the housekeeper watches them. I really have no idea."