Summary

Investigative journalist Henry James uncovers the wealthy background of his colleague Sunny Alexander and suspects her of setting up an organ trafficking operation in Pierceton, prompting him to arm himself for a potentially dangerous investigation.

Abstract

Henry James, a writer for "Dark Sides of the Truth Magazine," learns that his fellow writer Sunny Alexander comes from a wealthy family who owns the magazine. Despite his initial anger over the concealed information, he understands Sunny's desire to be recognized for her writing talent rather than her wealth. As he delves deeper into Sunny's recent activities, including a suspicious transfer of fifty million dollars to a bank in Pierceton, Henry deduces that Sunny may be involved in an illicit organ trade operation, aiming to secure an organ for a sick relative. Preparing for a risky investigation, Henry arms himself with a pistol, a first in his career as a journalist.

Opinions

Henry initially reacts with anger and disbelief upon learning that Sunny's family owns the magazine they work for, feeling that her wealth and connections undermine his own achievements.
Despite his frustration, Henry acknowledges Sunny's writing talent and her desire to be appreciated for her skills rather than her family's influence.
Henry's conversation with his editor, Rick McDonnell, reveals a level of secrecy and independence in the magazine's operations, with Rick emphasizing that Sunny was hired based on merit, not privilege.
Henry's suspicion grows as he connects the dots between Sunny's large financial transfer and the strategic location of Pierceton, leading him to believe in the existence of an organ trafficking ring.
Henry's decision to carry a firearm indicates his anticipation of danger and his commitment to uncovering the truth, despite the potential risks involved in his investigation.

Deadly Donations Part IV

My name is Henry James and I’m a writer for Dark Sides of the Truth Magazine.

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Conclusion

After leaving the mansion of Cynthia Alexander, and discovering there was way more to Sunny than meets the eye, I decided to call Rick McDonnell on my way back to my apartment.

There was something I needed to pick up before I headed to Pierceton.

“Dark Sides of the Truth Magazine. How may I direct your call?”

“Hey Barbara it’s Henry.”

“Morning Henry. Rick said you’ll probably be calling. Hang on a sec.”

I honked at a smart car which swerved in front of me from the left lane, crossed three lanes of traffic and darted down an exit lane on the far right.

Just because they call them smart cars doesn’t mean the drivers are.

“Whatcha got Henry?”

“Okay, evidently there’s a lot about our Miss Alexander we don’t know. Had a nice chat with her mother. I’m trying to figure out why but Sunny transferred fifty million to a bank in Pierceton.”

“Interesting choice of city.”

Rick’s comment struck me as being weird. He should have had the same reaction about the money discovery as I did.

But he didn’t.

“Did you hear what I said Rick? Seems as if Sunny and her family are filthy rich. They’ve probably got enough money to buy Dark Sides a hundred times over.”

“I suppose one time was enough.”

You know folks, there’s times you discover bullshit so incredulous you can’t believe it. Then sometimes you hear shit which pisses you off so bad you don’t want to believe it.

“Are you kidding me Rick? Sunny’s family owns the magazine? Little rich girl wants to write and get published so her family buys her a magazine? You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“It’s not like that Henry.”

“Sorry I ain’t buying it Rick.”

“Henry shut up for a second and listen to me. Even though Alexander Investment group bought the magazine I demanded no outside interference. They hired me to run the damned magazine and the deal is they keep their noses out of the magazine business or I tell them to screw themselves and take a walk.”

“So our little princess gets to do whatever the fuck she wants. Is that it?”

“Damn, you can be the most stubborn asshole at times. She interviewed for the job just like everybody else. I picked her because of her talent and her ability to sniff out a story. This has nothing to do with her family owning the damned magazine. It’s about one our writers getting into a jam and what we’re going to do to get her out of it. Stop with the poor Henry pity party bullshit. We don’t have fucking time for it.”

I realized I’d been white knuckling the steering wheel during the conversation, loosened my grip and took a deep breath.

I was beyond furious. Why all the fucking secrets? Why didn’t she tell me all this shit from the get go?

Then I realized she knew I’d react exactly like I’m am now. Going ballistic because my privileged white guy ego had taken a beating. Seething with rage and choosing to see her as nothing but a spoiled, platinum spoon fed brat. She wanted me to think of her as writer. Wanted to showcase her writing ability. Nothing else. Sunny knew all the other shit would have gotten in way, blinded me to the fact she was a damned fine writer.

I thought about what Cynthia Alexander said. All Sunny ever wanted to do was write.

Just like me.

I was less than four blocks from my apartment. I let a huge draft of air out of my lungs trying to clear away the anger so I could concentrate.

“Okay, so what’s the deal with Pierceton?”

“Interesting thing. It’s truly a suburban city. Got small town values but also has a metropolitan look and feel. Here’s the thing. I pulled it up on the map. From Pierceton to most of the big cities like Houston, Corpus Christi, Galveston, Austin, San Antonio and others it’s between an hour, hour and a half drive.”

“So?”

“It’s all about delivery time Henry.”

“Say what?”

“The faster the hospitals get a fresh donation, the better the patient’s chances. An organ facility servicing these hospitals quicker often gets bigger demand.”

“Ah shit. So we’ve got a chop shop for body parts somewhere in Pierceton. Now I understand why she transferred the money Rick. She’s setting herself up as a buyer. I bet she’s going to wave her wealth around along with a story about a sick relative who needs something only a shit load of money can buy.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“Yes I can, ’cause it’s exactly what I’d do if I was in her place and I had the means like she does. Listen, I’m at the house. I need you to do something for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Her mother said one of her brothers is a surgeon at Houston General. Uh, what’s his, name? Dammit, what’s his freaking name? Oh yeah, Damen, Damen Alexander. Reach out to him and give him my number. Tell him to call me. I’m going to get something from the apartment and then I’m on my way.

“Will do. Henry?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Come on Rick, you know me. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I wish the hell you hadn’t said that. Stay in touch.”

“Got it.”

I disconnected the call and locked my car then took the two flights of stairs to my apartment. As I fumbled for my house key, I again reminded myself to talk to the apartment management about moving to the first floor.

I think about it every time I go grocery shopping.

With my keys in my hand I walked into my bedroom and pulled a metal box from the top shelf of my closet, set it on the bed and unlocked it.

For a second I stared at the dull charcoal black outline and silver tip of the Glock, then reached in, grabbed my concealed handgun license and checked the date.

Still had seven months on it.

After putting the license in my wallet I picked up the pistol and jacked the slide back to ensure the chamber was clear. There were six mags of 9 mil in the box so I slid one into the pistol and jammed the other five in my pockets.

This was the first time I’ve taken a pistol with me on a story. As I locked the door to my apartment I caught myself hoping it wouldn’t end up being the last time.

READ ON — DEADLY DONATIONS PART V

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