Dating : When The Program Fails People Die Part IV

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

Part I, Part II, Part III

The exciting thing about most of our stories is usually the spontaneity of the flow. A constant game of checkers where we hop from one space to the other as we get closer to the real story, the Dark Side story.

Sometimes our stories are like a monstrous game of Clue where the butler never kills Colonel Mustard in the library with a candlestick. One tiny tidbit of information, a single shred of verifiable evidence and off we go come what may.

Even if it means putting ourselves in harm’s way. By now, we were used to forcing ourselves between some whacko’s cruel intentions and their anticipated target.

But this story, now this story was a little bit trickier than most. It appeared to us this story was going to be toxic to anybody it touched. Not only could this story get us killed but possibly Manny, his new wife, her brother, and Robert.

And Cynthia Alexander as well. The very second Victoria and Gorgie stepped foot into her house Cynthia became a target.

“Mom, are you sure about this?”

“Pish posh Shaundrika. We have gates and an alarm system. We’ll be fine.”

“I’m not so sure about that, mom.”

“I agree with Sunny, baby. I don’t think we can leave anything to chance. Manny? Can’t you have some of your people out here?”

“And draw attention to Cynthia and my wife and her brother? I don’t think having a couple of resources in unmarked cars perma-parked outside the house is a good idea, Henry. Besides, I don’t think I can get local resources.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Henry, really.”

“Why don’t you admit it, Hermanos?”

“Admit what?”

“The real reason you’re not willing to engage local FBI operatives.”

“Henry, get off my ass about this.”

“Look, man. You’re asking us to all put our asses on the line for a woman and young boy we don’t even know, simply because you screwed up and didn’t follow protocol? You don’t want to get them involved because it means you’d have to admit you screwed the pooch, and you might lose your job because…”

“That’s bullshit, Henry.”

“Gentlemen, please.”

“Sorry, honey, but I ain’t going to let this go. I want this man to admit to all of us what’s going on here. We have a right to know everything, and I think he’s holding back. What’s the story Hermanos?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“You haven’t told us shit Hermanos.”

“Fine! You want to know the goddamn truth, old man? Yes, I screwed up! Yes, I’ll probably lose my job when it gets out, but we fell in love, and we got married, and now Bianchi is trying to kill her and the boy! Is that what you wanted to hear you shriveled up piece of shit?”

In the ensuing silence, we stared at Manny. His legs were trembling, both hands twitching of their own accord. Muscles on both sides of his neck were pulsing and seemed strained to popping.

When Victoria neared him and wrapped an arm around the man’s waist, we saw him immediately ease, as if the woman had somehow managed to bleed the anger out of him. With her eyes fixed on us, she nodded.

“We understand Mr. James, and you’re correct, you all have a right to know. Now you do. Manny said you and Ms. Johnson could help. That you two can get the answers where others can’t. He trusts you, and so do I.”

“Good enough for me. All I wanted to hear was the truth. Manny, we good?”

Manny stared at the outstretched hand for several seconds, then eeked out a small grin and shook it.

“You know I should have just let Jericho Brown shoot your ass that day in the bank, old-timer.”

“His shotgun wasn’t loaded, remember?”

“I could have loaned him some of my shells.”

“So this is probably one of the weirdest kiss-and-makeup scenes I believe I’ve ever witnessed. But it still doesn’t get us any closer to how we’re going to protect my mother and Victoria and Gorgie.”

“I got an idea, princess.”

“Oh Lord, here we go.”

“No, I think you’ll like this one, and I think it’ll take just one call.”

“To who?”

“Not who. What.”

“James, don’t make me punch you in the throat in front of all these people.”

“Don’t get your britches twisted in a knot princess. Hush. Can’t you see I’m on the phone? Hey Marge, it’s me, Henry. Yeah, Henry James. Say, is Donnie in yet? Perfect. Can I speak with him for just a minute?”

“Who’s he calling Sunny?”

“Billy Bob’s.”

“Billy Bob’s as in the honkey-tonk Billy Bob’s?”

“Yes, Manny. One and the same. But there’s a method to his madness. Henry’s…”

“Hey, Donnie. How’s it going, brother? Really? Yeah, I certainly understand. Where to? Well, ain’t that a kick in the head. You got any job leads? Yeah, I hear ya. Say, Donnie, I think I got a steady job for you. Yeah really. Course sometimes it can get a little dicey. Yeah, like taking a bullet in the head like Tilton was going to do to us. That kind of dicey. Ever done any personal bodyguard work? I kinda figured. You licensed to carry? Again, I kinda figured. Okay, bud, you’re hired. What? Oh yeah, hang on. Cynthia? How much can we put Donnie Sullivan on the payroll for?”

“What will he be doing, dear?”

“Saving your ass, honey.”

“Is a hundred thousand a year enough?”

“Donnie. How about a hundred K a year? Perfect, here’s the address. When can you be here? Perfect. See you then.”

“So when’s he going to be here?”

“What’s the drive time from Fort Worth to here, Sunny?”

“About three hours.”

“He’ll be here in two and a half.”

Let’s keep in touch: paul@pgbarnett.com

© P.G. Barnett, 2020. All Rights Reserved.