FICTION
Sins Of The Past Part 5
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.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
We rolled into Memphis and found a decent motel. Then after a heated discussion over dining options finally agreed since we were in the land of some of the best barbeque joints in the world, we had to savor the flavor at least.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m eating Henry. What does it look like?”
“Princess, people don’t eat ribs like that. Look around. Nobody is eating ribs with a knife and fork.”
“I don’t care. I’m people, and I’m eating them like this. Look at your hands, old man. You’ve got that, that stuff all over your fingers.”
“It’s called sauce.”
“These things are drowning in it.”
“Shaundrika. Where in the hell did you pick up these eating habits? You don’t eat normal stuff?”
“Oh, you mean I don’t pack my colon with a hundred pounds of red meat? You mean instead of carbohydrates which pack on the weight I instead prefer vegetables with protein and the necessary nutrients that will help me stay fit and healthy? That kind of normal stuff?”
“Oh, for the love of God. Fine, pick at your food then. Let’s change the subject.”
“You started it.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“What do suppose he meant by “changes things”?
“No clue. Almost every doctor I know changes things. If your sick, they give you medicine. In my case, I was busted up pretty bad. The surgeons not only saved my life, but they put this old Humpty Dumpty back together again.”
“Yeah, they changed you from a broken old stupid ass man to an old stupid assed man.”
“You’re still pissed off about the barbeque, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m pissed we’re getting played like a couple of marionettes again.”
“Heard that. So the Fixer mentioned a doctor. A doctor who changes things.”
“Well, that probably narrows it down to about a thousand people. But if I miss my guess somehow, this doctor is connected to Pamela Lambert.”
“I was thinking the same thing. You going to eat that?”
“Oh, for God’s sake Henry. No, I’m not going to eat that. Just get it off my plate. Look, hurry up. I’m ready to go back to the motel. I promised Robert and the kids we’d have some facetime tonight.”
“Just let me lick this shit off my fingers, and I’ll be ready.”
“You’re a disgusting old man. You know that?”
We rolled into Lebanon, Ohio, a small town about a hundred miles or so northeast of Louisville Kentucky a little after one in the afternoon Wednesday. Lebanon was big enough to have the necessary accommodations, restaurants, and diners, but still small enough to possess that sleepy, laid-back air of a country town refusing to grow up and out.
Our first order of business was to secure motel rooms, check out the restaurant fare, and ease into the stream and flow of the town. Each town is different, has a different pace, a different feel to it, some frenzied, some peaceful and calm, some mysterious. They all had their own particular “feel” to them. After so many times doing this, we knew how to seek out and capture it.
Now that we had the motion, the swells of Lebanon washing over us, we toured the downtown area, not really looking for anything, but actually looking for everything.
Specifically, we were looking for a doctor who changes things. As usual, the Fixer hadn’t given us very much to go on, but then the Fixer never gave us much to go on.
Three hours passed. The sun had fallen from its azimuth and was hanging low, the orange light glaring against our sunglasses each time we turned west on one of the city sidewalks.
“Look, I gotta sit down, Johnson. My damn leg and hip are killing me.”
“There’s a bench right up there Henry, can you make it or do I need to carry you?”
“You know what? You can just kiss my ass. I just gotta sit for a little. That’s all.”
We both plopped down on the bench, content to watch as a few people passed, giving us scant glances as they strolled by. Across the widened street, we watched as a grizzled looking man pushing a grocery cart stopped, then stooped down and snatched something from the curb, examined it, then thrust it in his pocket.
It would be dusk soon. We’d spent an entire afternoon searching for something and still weren’t any closer to finding it.
“Well, we may as well walk back to the car and head back to the motel. You coming, James?”
“Yeah, give me a minute. It ain’t all that easy getting these legs working when I been sitting for a spell. You want to give me a hand? Uh, princess? I said you want to give me a hand?”
“Henry, you’re not going to believe this. But we’ve been sitting on him this entire time.”
“Shaundrika, are you nuts? Too much sun or something? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Turn around and see for yourself, Henry.”
“What?”
“Turn the hell around. Look.”
Side by side, we stared at the bench. Plastered across the back of the metal bench was an advertisement. All around the edges, the paint had been weathered away, but the main thrust of the ad was as clear as the picture of a smiling older man in a white coat clutching a stethoscope in his hands.
Dr. Abraham Hickom — Advanced Elective Cosmetic Surgeries And Dermatology. Isn’t it time to change your life?
“No freaking way!”
“Yes, way Henry.”
“Get the number and the address, princess. I think we need to see a doctor about your nose.”
“My nose? There’s nothing wrong with my…oh, I see.”
“Catching on, are we?”
“You know I’ve always thought I could use a little tuck here and there.”
“You mean more than…”
“You finish that statement old man, and I’ll drop you where you stand.”
Read On — Sins Of The Past Part 6
Let’s s keep in touch: P.G. & Sharon Barnett ([email protected]) © P.G. Barnett, 2020. All Rights Reserved.