Fiction

Return To Shandy Bay Part 3

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

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

Fortunately, the tiny motel we’d stayed in previously was still open. After checking in and getting acclimated, we met just outside the front office and headed back into town to find the diner.

Although the town was, just like before, devoid of the tourist traffic Shandy Bay was supposed to have had; the diner had its fair share of locals from around the rural community who often met up and shared lunch or dinner together.

This afternoon appeared no different. Although it wasn’t as full as the last time we’d been here, there was still enough patronage sitting about that kept the tiny diner afloat.

A waitress was serving meals to an elderly couple in a booth near the door when we walked in. She smiled, then gestured toward the inside of the diner with a nod.

“Ya’ll come on in. Sit anywhere there’s a spot. I’ll be right with ya.”

We took a table in the center of the diner, then started perusing menus we plucked from between a large container of sugar and a basket of condiments sitting on the table.

“I think I’m going for this double, triple cheeseburger and some fries.”

“Seriously, Henry?”

“Are we going to have to go through this again, princess?”

The waitress stepped over to the table and produced a pad and pen from her apron pocket, “So what’ll you folks have?”

“How’s this Cob salad?”

“Pretty good hon. I tell ya though it’s a lot of salad. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Do you have vinaigrette?”

“Yes ma’am. You want that on the salad or on the side?”

“The side please, and I’ll have water with extra lemon.”

“No problem, you sir?”

“I’ll have this double triple with fries and a coke.”

“What kind of coke hon?”

“Coca Cola.”

“Is Pepsi okay?”

“You have Seven Up?”

“Sprite.”

“I’ll take a Sprite then.”

“How about you sir?”

“I’ll have the same.”

“Gotcha. How ya’ll want the burgers cooked?”

“Medium’s fine.”

“Me as well.”

“Alrighty then. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

As the waitress scuttled off, we returned the menus to their original position and eyed our surroundings. Every so often, the sounds of hushed conversations grew in intensity, and the tinkling noise of flatware against ceramic plates chimed in. When the waitress brought us our drinks, then several minutes later our food, we set about blending in, chatting about nothing.

It was a pleasant hour and a half we spent in that diner, a complete departure from the last time we’d been here, although without Roberto. And then, suddenly things changed.

We hadn’t come to this diner intending to find something as we had the last time. We certainly weren’t expecting something to find us, but it did. When the waitress stepped over and laid the receipt down, Roberto immediately picked it up and started examining it.

“I got this one you two.”

The waitress reached over and took the receipt out of Roberto’s hand, then turned it over and laid it flat on the table, tapping the back of the tab with an index finger.

“He said to make sure you three saw this phone number. Said the minute you did you was supposed to call him.”

“What? Him, who?”

“You’re Henry, ain’t ya?”

“Have we met?”

“No sir. But he said three people were gonna come in here today. A tall white man goes by the name of Henry. A black lady named Sunny and a Spanish looking dude named Roberto. Said I was to make sure you got this number. Oh, and he said the meal’s on him. Said he figures he’ll find a way to break even on it. Ya’ll come back anytime, okay?”

None of us said a single word as she walked away, each of us stunned into absolute silence. Just like that, in less than a matter of minutes, things had gone from a pleasant, non-intrusive meal to a mysteriously baffling turn of events.

“Let’s go folks.”

“Where to Henry?”

“Back to the motel. Then we call this mystery dude, but I have a feeling we ain’t going to like what we hear.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Henry?”

“Yeah, and I hope we’re both wrong. Let’s roll.”

We mutually decided to meet in Roberto’s room to make the call. Sitting around a small table nestled in the corner of the motel room, we all stared at Roberto’s cell phone lying on the tabletop.

“You have the number, Roberto?”

“Yeah Henry, I wrote it down on a napkin.”

“Then let’s do this.”

We sat and watched as Roberto called the number, immediately placing the call on speaker. The minute we heard the voice, mechanically altered, clear and precisely robotic, we knew who it was.

“Hello, Sunny, Henry, Roberto. We yet again have another opportunity to do business together.”

“Ah, damn. The Fixer.”

“Why, yes Henry. You sound surprised.”

“You know the last time we worked with you, we could have gotten ourselves killed.”

“But you weren’t killed were you Sunny? By the way, how is your husband and those two children of yours, Alicia and Dante?”

“Mister? Who in the hell are you? How is it you know so much about us, but we don’t know a damned thing about you?”

“Ah, Henry. That’s not how this game is played. You know that. I make it my business to know things. Things that could very well get people killed if they knew them. Before you ask, how I knew you would be at the diner in Shandy Bay is not important. And as I suspect you will, you will place a call to Robert and Manny and try to have the phone traced. All three of you should understand the outcome of that exercise.”

“What do you want from us?”

“That’s what I like about you, Roberto. Quick to get to the point. Besides being head of one of the largest drug cartels in Columbia, Enrique Escobar is a ruthless murderer. He looks for opportunities to personally torture and kill not only opposing cartel members but innocent civilians. He has requested services from me and I of course have received quite a large sum to make them happen.”

“You said services, as in more than one.”

“Very good Roberto. Yes, first Enrique expects his delivery of his payload to take place this week, how does one say this, without interruption.”

“And?”

“The second service he has requested depends upon the first. But I intend to make sure the second item requested at least goes into play.”

We listened to several seconds of silence. Either the Fixer was hesitant to tell us what happened next or he wanted us to ask him. With whoever it was on the other end of this phone conversation, it was difficult to tell.

“And what’s the second item, Fixer?”

“Henry, Enrique wants the heads of you and Sunny delivered to him personally.”

“Oh, dear God.”

Read On — Return To Shandy Bay Part 4