Fiction

Return To Shandy Bay Part 1

A Sunny Alexander-Johnson and Henry James Series By P.G. & Sharon Barnett

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

The writer’s bullpen at Dark Sides was empty when we showed up early Monday morning. Not surprising since most of us staff writers had long ago learned to avoid Rick McDonnell’s Monday morning tirades. Back in the day, before he mellowed a bit, even The Inquisition paled in comparison to Rick on a rampage.

Although Rick’s Monday morning constitution had changed for the better, none of the writers seemed willing to take a chance. Except for us.

“Morning princess. How was your weekend?”

“Not bad. We went to the park Sunday. Had a picnic. Dante and Alicia wore themselves out.”

“Which meant you and Robert had a chance for some uninterrupted frisky time?”

“Seriously, old man? We both turned in at eight-thirty and were snoring by nine. You and mother know how those two get when they get wound up.”

“Heard that. I’m going to the break room. You want a cup?”

“Hot chocolate would be great, thanks, Henry.”

“You want that come fix it yourself.”

“You can be such an ass at times, you know that, James?”

“So I’ve been told.”

We were leaving the break room when we spotted Rick McDonnell stepping out of the elevators. As always, carrying a brown leather satchel in one hand, and a travel mug in the other he had that look, the same expression we’d seen on his face so many times before.

We called it his “drill sergeant” look. Stern and severe, as if he’d woken up pissed off and ready to kick somebody’s ass. Of course, that was how Rick looked every day. Never known for idle chit chat, the man remained an enigma, stoically managing the editorial responsibilities at Dark Sides, a mysteriously quiet man who never shares moments of his personal life.

The man offered us a curt nod then unlocked the door to his office, flipping the light switch as he entered.

We knew better than to try and engage in conversation with the man and returned to our desks to handle the tedium of completing timesheets and expense reports. We’d just started polishing the story Tim Rice and Roberto passed over to us when Rick barked out his first order of the day.

“Johnson! James! My office!”

“And here we go. Princess? After you.”

“Oh, hell no. You first. He dislikes you more.”

Rick waited just long enough for us to make ourselves comfortable, then pushed away from his computer, stood then passed us, and closed the door. As unnerving as the man usually was, a closed-door session with him instantly put us on guard.

“What’s wrong with you two? You both look as nervous as a long-tailed cat stuck in a room full of rocking chairs.”

“Well, uh, it is Monday Rick, and you just closed the door.”

“Henry, you and Shaundrika can just chill. This isn’t an ass-chewing session. I simply don’t want anybody to hear what I have to say. Oh, by the way. Did you two see the news this morning?”

“The Ginney Buchanan trial?”

“Yes, Sunny. Life without any possibility of parole in prison for the criminally insane. We’re going to feature you and Henry’s story on this week’s edition.”

“Awesome Rick. What about the story Tim and Roberto passed to us?”

“Is it ready for prime-time Henry?”

“Come on Rick, this is us you’re talking to. Of course, it’s ready.”

“Fine, get it to copy, and I’ll take a look at it. Maybe drop it in the industry and politics section where Tim usually gets featured.”

“Seriously Rick?”

“Henry, why is it we always have to have these arguments?”

“They ain’t arguments Rick, they’re just, well, spirited discussions.”

“Which happen to be over by the way. Unless something’s changed I don’t know about, I’m still the editor-in-chief around here. I say the story goes in industry and politics, it goes in industry and politics. Got it?”

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

“I did dammit.”

“Uh, give it a rest Henry. Rick, you didn’t shut the door just to talk to us about a couple of stories, did you?”

“No Shaundrika, I didn’t. I think I have a story for you two. Charlie and I were at the golf course this weekend and…”

“Charlie? Charlie Alvarez? You and he golf together?”

“Yes, Henry Charlie Alvarez, and yes, we golf together. It’s good exercise. You ought to try it sometime. You know, work off that wicked little beer belly of yours you have going there.”

“Cheap shot Rick.”

“Anyway, Charlie tells me a couple of his pals in narcotics are hearing rumors of some activity, some tremendous activity happening out of South America. Do either of you two remember Enrique Escobar?”

We both traded glances and then stared at Rick.

“The only dude we knew named Enrique had us tied to posts in a cave and left us there to drown. We never got his last name, though. But I swear to God I’ll never forget his face as long as I live.”

“One and the same, Shaundrika.”

“Oh, damn.”

“Hell Rick, that was almost ten years ago.”

“Eight to be precise, Henry.”

So what’s this Escobar asshole got to do with us?”

“Well, from what Charlie tells me, the folks in narcotics believe Escobar’s made quite a name for himself. Eight years ago, he was just a third-rate lieutenant, a muscle man for some kingpin. Now Escobar’s a noted and feared drug lord, who intends to expand his operation. Narcotics believes he’s looking to bring his wares into the country at one of three places in the Gulf of Mexico. They’ve checked out two already, and even at night, both of them have a tremendous degree of exposure. That leaves one place.”

“Henry, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Rick, please don’t tell us you want us to go check out Shandy Bay again.”

“Not my idea, actually. Seems like some of the folks in narcotics like to read stories you two write. In their minds, you two know Shandy Bay better than most. And as you two have hit it off big with the Austin police department, they got in touch with Charlie, and he told me over a round of golf.”

“And you agreed to this?”

“On your behalf, of course, Shaundrika. I want you two down there today. Rut around and see what you come up with. Just keep Charlie and narcotics in the loop.”

We stood, opened the office door, and were about to leave when Rick stopped us.

“Oh and Henry, I don’t expect to see a pair of boots on your expense report when this is over.”

“Damn Rick, I ain’t looking to go through what I did to lose those boots.”

We sat at our desks and began the process of powering down and packing up in silence. We didn’t have to say a word. In the short time it took Rick to give us our assignment just like that, the frightening memories of our experience at Shandy Bay had been revived and were now rushing back to haunt us.

“Damn, Henry. Shandy Bay. Any place but Shandy Bay.”

“I know Shaundrika. I know.”

Read On — Return To Shandy Bay Part 2