Memories of Marty

By Breanna Cone

Everyone calls him "Shorty". That's all he remembers.

Diagnosis: Post-Traumatic Amnesia-a condition that forces him to live on the streets where a bizarre twist of fate puts him in the right alley at the right time.

Protective custody in Spencer City offers him more than he expects. The quiet of the country scene allows him the peace of mind to search for clues to his missing memories while the interior decorator in charge of the Starlight Theatre renovation project gives him hope for a future with a woman who cares for him-regardless of his name.

But a man without a past can't offer a woman a future.

"Who am I?" is the litany that runs through Shorty's mind 24/7.

Will he remember in time to keep an evil man behind bars? Will he be free to pursue a relationship with the woman of his dreams?

Only time will tell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 31, 2005
• ISBN: 9780595801886

Breanna Cone

Breanna Cone has been writing since 2001. Her Spencer City Series characters are portrayed as small town citizens who live life to the fullest and truly care about the rest of the townspeople.

Book preview

Copyright © 2005 by Breanna Cone

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any

means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written

permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in

critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN-13: 978-0-595-35711-6 (pbk)

ISBN-13: 978-0-595-80188-6 (ebk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-35711-3 (pbk)

ISBN-10: 0-595-80188-9 (ebk)

Contents

Acknowledgement

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

In Memory of Bobby

a brother who died too young.

Whatever your memories,

the very act of recalling them

can help you reconnect with

the joyful, trusting, wondering

child who still lives somewhere

inside of you.

Author Unknown

Acknowledgement

With special thanks to Carl

for being my destiny;

To our neighbor, Richard W for

wondering what happened to Marty;

And to Lisa H and Carol H

for their proofing & editing talents;

Prologue

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The curtains were drawn tight against the bright lights visible from the fourth floor window of a hotel on the upper West Side. Even at this hour, the New York City street was crowded as cars traveled to their destinations. But it wasn’t the flashing neon lights or the street noise that caused the man to toss restlessly in his sleep.

It was the same dream every time. An apparition in a hooded cape was chasing him through a park beating a Chinese gong. The figure would hit the metal circle ten times, stop and push back the hood to reveal a head with a yawning chasm in place of a face. That terrifying vision made him sit up in bed, heart pounding in his chest. He jerked awake in a cold sweat.

It took a minute for the man to adjust to the unaccustomed surroundings. The soft surface underneath his body wasn’t the hard concrete that was his usual bed. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he recognized the hotel room where the police sergeant had put him up for the past two nights then another minute to remember why. A rich man hiring an assassin. His ID of the voice on the tape insured he could enjoy the luxury of his present living arrangements for several weeks. After being on the streets, it felt strange to live like a normal person. As normal as he could ever be, considering.

Everyone called him Shorty. It was all he could remember the day he walked into a truck stop without a wallet or any identifying papers. He told the man behind the counter he couldn’t remember his name but it was something short. The cook called the local authorities. After ten minutes of questioning him without any change in his story, they took him to a nearby clinic. An examination revealed nothing physically wrong except a small edema on the left side of his head just above his ear.

Post-traumatic amnesia was the term the doctor used. The condition could last a week or as long as a year. For the first four weeks, he spent every day in therapy trying to find the missing pieces.

Who was he? Did he have a family or a wife who wondered where he was?

When his memory didn’t return as expected, the doctors were convinced the stress of trying to remember wasn’t helping. They concluded the best therapy for him was to concentrate on the here and now. Live in the present and the past would return when his mind healed itself.

"Man, I must have one sick mind."

Shorty chuckled as that thought flashed into his brain. It had a double meaning in today’s world. He didn’t think he had any fetishes that would qualify for the worst case scenario. Other-wise, he wouldn’t have been disgusted at the thought of a man callously plotting the murder of his wife. It made him mad. How could someone with such a good life be so willing to throw it all away for money?

Shorty had learned you could live on very little cash. For the past year, he did odd jobs in exchange for food or a place to sleep. It was difficult to find a regular job when you didn’t have a social security number or a home address to put on a job application.

This trip into the black hole of his mind wasn’t helping him relax and get back to sleep. It was on nights like this he needed a stiff drink. I should have hit Sgt. Terrell up for a bottle of Scotch as a reward for cooperating with his investigation.

CHAPTER 1

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Sgt. Don Terrell put the finishing touches on the paperwork related to the arrest of Bradley Michaels and his hired assassin. He printed out two copies, one for the captain and one for his personal files. Thanks to the courage of one street person and the captain’s faith in my instincts, the good citizens of the city are a little safer tonight.

To most of the world, yesterday was just an ordinary day, twenty-four hours of normal everyday events. But in Spencer City, Sheriff Greg Roger’s sting operation prevented the death of Michaels’ estranged wife, Amanda, by none other than ‘The Nemesis’, a hired killer responsible for dozens of deaths. He had delayed his arrest of Michaels’ until Greg had the assassin in custody.

It was an awesome feeling to know you helped take down a major player in the crime world of New York City. It made the long hours spent on stake-outs these past fifteen years worthwhile and all the bad food more palatable. The ringing of his phone intruded into this glow of satisfaction in which he was basking.

Fifth Precinct, Sgt. Terrell.

Terrell, Captain O’Flaherty wants to see you in his office ASAP.

The sergeant picked up one copy of the arrest report and went down the hall. Through the open door Don saw the captain talking on the phone. He waited in the doorway until O’Flaherty looked up and motioned him in. He laid the report on the desk blotter before taking a seat in the leather chair facing his boss.

Thanks for the tip. I’ll pass it on. Patrick O’Flaherty hung up the phone. He picked up the report and read it through carefully before he spoke.

Terrell, we have a glitch in our plan to prosecute Bradley Michaels. His attorney is going to contend his client is being framed. He’ll discredit your witness by showing that for the right amount of money a homeless vagrant would say anything you wanted.

Shorty is as honest as they come, captain. He had a chance to ask for money but didn’t. The only problem is how to prove it in a court of law.

The best way is to show Shorty as an upstanding man who is only down on his luck. Do you know why he’s been living on the streets?

I was so busy laying the groundwork for the arrest I didn’t ask him any questions about his past. I’ll go to the hotel this afternoon and get some answers.

Go now. I want to make sure there aren’t any surprises. This case is our chance to put a small part of the mob out of business.

Yes, sir.

Don stopped at his desk long enough to place a call. It’s Don Terrell, Pete. I’ll be there in twenty. I need to have a serious talk with our guest.

Shorty was dozing when he heard the phone ring in the next room. His eyelids were so heavy. His dreams kept him up half the night. Maybe, a cup of strong coffee would get rid of the cobwebs. He dressed and went into the sitting room where the coffee service was located. He’d started sipping on his third cup when a series of knocks at the door announced a change of the guard. The door opened and Sgt. Terrell entered the suite.

Take a long lunch, Pete. I’ll order something from room service for Shorty and me.

I’ll see if the wife can join me. It’s a rare treat to see her for a noon meal. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.

As soon as the door closed behind Pete, Don sat down on the sofa. Hello, Shorty. How are you feeling today?

I’m fine, physically, but this life of leisure is giving me cabin fever. I’m not used to being cooped up indoors. There are advantages to being on the street. The fresh air is good for you.

The grin on the man’s face was contagious. In his place, Don wasn’t sure he could be so cheerful. The sergeant decided to delay the questioning until after they enjoyed a good lunch.

Would you like anything special for lunch today?

A pizza would be nice. Have you ever had one of Mario’s? Shorty asked.

Yes and they deliver. How about an extra-large sausage and mushroom with double cheese?

Sounds great.

The sergeant phoned in the order and returned to the sofa. He sat lost in thought, trying to think of a way to ask questions without it sounding like an inquisition.

Shorty observed his visitor several minutes. How’s the Michaels’ case coming? That is why you’re here today, isn’t it?

It’s one of the reasons. Don had suspected the man was no dummy. It’s coming along pretty good. When we tie up some loose ends, it should be a slam dunk.

Am I one of those loose ends?

You could be but let’s wait until the pizza arrives before we make knots of them. Do you have any questions you want to ask?

Only one. How long will I be a guest of the city?

There’s no way to know exactly how long it will take for the court date to be scheduled. They haven’t even had the arraignment. If I had to guess, I’d say three or four months.

That’s a long time to stare at these four walls. Is there an alternative location where I can wait? I need to keep busy. If not, I’ll be certifiable in four months.

I’ll give that some thought. I might know a man who can find you a job. But first let’s eat that pizza I smell at the door.

Shorty looked at him like he was crazy until there was a knock on the door.

Sgt. Terrell paid the delivery boy for the pizza, placed it on the coffee table and took two colas out of the mini-fridge.

Your lunch is served.

It was amazing what two hungry men could do in a short space of time. Within thirty min-utes, the only thing left in the cardboard box was a smear of sauce and a lone piece of sausage.

That had to be the best pizza I’ve ever eaten. Don leaned back on the sofa and patted his belly. Would you like another cola?

No, I’m good. Tell me what I can do to help seal Michaels’ fate?

The captain and I had a talk today. His inside source told him their major defense will be that you are an unreliable witness because someone offered you money to lie about Michaels’ part in the assassin plot.

Believe me, if I had a large sum of cash on hand, I wouldn’t have still been living on the streets. How can we prove I’m reliable?

We need to convince the jury you are a victim of circumstances beyond your control.

Sgt. Terrell stared at Shorty. The man laughed like he’d told a joke. Okay, maybe it was your fault. A good DA can still put a positive spin on it.

He’d have to be a whirling dervish to accomplish that feat. The witness shook his head in defeat.

What makes you say that? Don’s stomach was feeling queasy all of a sudden. Listen, I stuck my neck out when I vouched for you. If I was wrong, I need to know it today. You didn’t commit a crime, did you?

I can’t be sure if I did or not, Shorty answered cryptically. I don’t even know who I am or where I came from. I’ve had post-traumatic amnesia for the past two years.

CHAPTER 2

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Sheriff Greg Rogers gazed longingly at his traveling companion dozing in the adjacent seat of his Jeep. His emotions overflowed and lodged in his throat. He offered up a prayer of thanks. The woman he loved was safe.

When Amanda accepted his proposal last night, he knew his dreams had come true. Along with her two children, they were going to have many years filled with happiness. He only hoped it would be a short engagement.

How is a woman supposed to sleep with you staring like that? Amanda Michaels opened one eye to look at her handsome chauffeur.

If I stop staring, I’d start ogling and this stretch of highway doesn’t have a rest area.

It’s not nice to make a promise you can’t deliver. She winked and blew him a kiss.

Greg grinned at the saucy remark. Life with a woman like her would never be dull. I guess you’ll have to settle for a rain check.

If that’s the best you can do, I suppose I have no choice but to wait.

Yesterday, you had a choice. Today, you’re stuck with me, dear. Greg reached across and caressed her cheek.

Yes, I am. It sounds wonderful. Amanda smiled. How close are we to the city?

Another ten miles then you can hug Sam and Sara.

That’s…good. I guess.

Greg heard worry when he expected joy. They had sent her children to New

York City to stay with friends until the danger was over. What’s wrong? It sounds like you dread seeing the kids.

On one hand, I can’t wait to give them a big hug. To reassure myself that everything is okay. On the other, I have to find a way—somehow—to tell them their father was arrested and the reason is because he tried to have me killed. What can I possibly say to make them understand why he would do such a thing? Amanda’s voice trembled.

Greg reached across the seat to take Amanda’s hand in his. He hoped by showing his support Amanda could draw strength to endure the future trial. He only hoped she didn’t sense his true feelings about her ex-husband. The pain in her voice when she talked about her former life filled him with a desire to get Bradley Michaels alone in a room for five minutes. He could show the man what fear for your life was all about.

"How can I make them understand that the charming man I married turned into a monster? That their father’s love for them and me wasn’t stronger than his love of