Dating : Jamaican Death Country Style Part II

My name is Sunny Alexander-Johnson, and I’m Henry James, and we’re writers for Dark Sides of the Truth magazine.

Part I,

Staring at my computer screen while I idly took several sips of coffee, I waited for the game plan to formalize. Although I would never freely admit it, it was times like this when I needed my partner. Sunny and I really fed off of one another when it came to the best way to root out a story.

At this point, I really didn’t have much to go on. I told myself I needed to change that, then picked up the phone and dialed a number.

“Alexander Investments. How may I direct your call?”

“Cindy, it’s Henry.”

“Hey, Henry. You need to speak to Cynthia?”

“Yeah.”

“One moment, please.”

“This is Cynthia.”

“Hey, girl.”

“I’m about to go into a meeting Henry. Can I call you back?”

“No need. Look, I’ve got a story I need to look into. Gonna take me to Florida for a couple of days. I should be back before Friday.”

I listened to a couple of seconds of silence on the phone.

“Okay, lover, be careful, okay?”

“Cynthia, I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

Again silence on the line.

“I know, dear. It’s just…”

“I love you too, Cynthia.”

I have no idea how those words slipped out, but they did. You know the old adage about once your words are out there you can’t take them back? Interestingly enough, the very minute I said it, I knew I meant it. I didn’t want to take them back.

I felt a flush of heat on the back of my neck, working its way up to my cheeks, and my hand grew clammy against the receiver.

So this is what real love feels like.

“Henry, just be careful.”

“I will. I gotta go, Cynthia. I’ll touch base with you later, okay?”

As I pushed the disconnect button, I kind of got the feeling she didn’t want to hang up. Despite being the CEO of Alexander Investments and having a busy schedule, she really didn’t give a damn about all that.

One part of me was as happy as hell. The love of a good woman is, without a doubt, the most priceless thing someone could ever experience.

But there was a dark nagging sensation that seemed to just hang there in the front of my brain. I could sense the strains of worry in Cynthia’s voice, and the more I thought about it, the more nervous I got.

I stared at my computer screen, then brought up my email and read the message one more time. When I reached for my coffee, my hand shook slightly as I brought the cup to my lips.

I sat there for a full minute staring at the cryptic message, then put my cup down and hit reply.

Night Shots bar, Wednesday at six PM.

When I pushed send, for that one brief panicked second, I instantly regretted sending the email. I knew I could just immediately hit the recall button and go about my merry way, but then that was not my style. I’ve always been known to finish what I start.

And besides, I wasn’t about to back away from a good story. In my line of work that’s damned near sacrilegious.