Fiction
The Death Of Henry James Part 1
A Sunny Alexander-Johnson and Roberto De La Cruz Series By P.G. & Sharon Barnett
My name is Sunny Alexander-Johnson. And I’m Roberto De La Cruz, and we’re writers for Dark Sides of the Truth magazine.
The mood at the gravesite was as somber as the grey skies above, dark clouds swirling above us, threatening rain and much cooler temperatures than expected for late September.
The Alexander family sat nearest the coffin, raised and held in position above the hole which had been dug beneath. It would be the final resting place of Henry Allen James, husband to Cynthia Alexander-James, and although we never bothered to tell him, a damn good friend and partner of ours.
It’s amazing how a family’s life can change in a split second, and the Alexander family had had its share of changes over the years. The death of Dante Alexander, the birth of the twins Dante and Alicia, the marriage of Henry and Cynthia.
And now this.
As father Brier began the ceremony, Cynthia removed a tissue from her purse and started to dab the corners of her eyes. For several days the tears had flowed non-stop, and the entire family, Ray Junior, Demarcus, Damien, and of course, the only daughter in the family had done their best to console her.
But none of us could, and we knew we couldn’t, and that just made it worse.
As bad as the situation was, it was further compounded by the discovery Henry’s death wasn’t accidental. A call from the Fixer himself had informed the family that even though Enrique Escobar was dead, his son, Philippe Escobar, had vowed revenge and word on the streets was he’d ordered a hit on two of us and as bad luck would have it, the Fixer himself.
Henry had been the first. It would only be a matter of time before this killer struck again.
As father Brier continued, Cynthia turned her head and whispered, “Shaundrika, please stop squirming so.”
“Mother, you try wearing a tight-fitting dress over this damned bulletproof vest Robert made me wear.”
“Dear, I’m having to wear one as well, remember?”
“This is ridiculous. Where are Robert and Manny, and did you see Rick anywhere?”
“They’re out there somewhere, dear. Remember what Rick said about the killer needing proof? Today’s turn out should give him what he needs. They expect him to show.”
“I’m not so sure, mother.”
“Hush child. Have you forgotten that’s your stepfather and my husband lying in that coffin?”
Father Brien finished his funeral rites, made the sign of the cross in the direction of the coffin, and murmured, “Domini Patri Spiritus Sancti,” then stepped forward and began to shake the hands of the Alexander family one at a time.
“I am so sorry for your loss,” he continued to repeat until he reached Cynthia, who rose and embraced the man.
“Cynthia, I..”
“I know, father. Henry always had a soft spot in his heart for you.”
“And me for him. If there is anything I can do. If you ever need to just talk, my door is always open.”
“I know, father. Thank you so much for all you’ve done.”
All of the Alexander family sat in place as hundreds of well-wishers passed in front of them to offer their condolences, and for the next thirty minutes, it was a constant wave of motion, until at last, it was just the family.
“Mother? Are you coming?”
“Ray, you and the rest go on to the house. I’ll be along in a minute.”
“It’s okay Ray, I’ll stay with mother.”
“You sure?”
“I got this big brother.”
With a gentle squeeze on his mother’s shoulder, Ray turned and walked away.
We sat together until we were the only two people at the gravesite, mother and daughter holding hands staring at the casket.
“I just can’t believe this, Shaundrika. I told you both what you two do was dangerous and now this.”
“Mother, we’ve had this conversation before.”
“Yes we have Shaundrika, and we’re going to have it again.”
“Mother, please.”
“No, Shaundrika. I mean it this time. If you don’t get yourself killed trying to capture this assassin, it could be someone else, someone like Roberto. Do you wish to have his blood on your hands as well?”
“Whoa, back up a minute. Are you blaming me for Henry’s death? Did those words just come out of your mouth?”
“That’s not what I meant, Shaundrika.”
“It sure as hell sounded like it to me.”
“I’m sorry, dear. I’m just a little emotional right now. Let’s let the cemetery folks do what they need to do and go home. Unfortunately, we still have a lot of people who are going to want to pay their respects.”
“Yeah, it’s going to be a long day.”
“A very long day, dear.”
Cynthia was right. The rest of the afternoon and well into the evening, people were stopping by, bringing food, offering their heartfelt, and some, their obligatory words of respect and then quickly departing. Every member of the Alexander family was in a meet and greet mode, shaking hands, trying to pay attention as well-wishers shared an ofttimes off-color reminisce of something Henry had done or said. When the last person left, the entire family collapsed on the chairs and couches of the front living room in exhaustion.
No one bothered to speak. Everyone was talked out. After almost an hour, of sitting the boys and their families slowly kissed Cynthia on the cheek and filed out of the room, with promises to check in some time the following day.
When the caterers finished clean up, offered their condolences, and left, the only two remaining in the living room, a mother and her daughter, finally helped each other out of the bulletproof vests then dressed again.
When the keypad beside the front door began to chime, it startled us.
“Were you expecting anyone this late mother?”
“No. please go see who it is.”
Ten minutes later, Robert Johnson, Manny Hermanos, and Rick McDonnell filed into the living room and sat down. Each of them had a stern, rather serious expression on their faces, and Rick wasted very little time diving into the heart of the matter.
“Cynthia, I believe we’ve spotted him, and this is where it’s really going to get tricky. We need to use your daughter to flush him out. It’s a safe bet he’s going to start tailing Shaundrika every place she goes until he gets her patterns down. What he won’t know is that we’re going to be tailing him.”
Cynthia remained silent for a few seconds, then turned and looked at Robert.
“Are you okay with this, Robert?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Is anybody going to ask me if I’m okay with this?”
“Baby, it’s the only way. Rick has an assignment for you and Roberto, so you two will just be covering a story like you always do. Business as usual.”
“Business as usual with an assassin on my ass looking to shoot me? What’s the worst that could happen? Mother? Why are you laughing?”
“I’m sorry dear, it’s just, well you sounded so much like Henry right then.”
The room exploded with laughter, and Rick waited until it subsided then said, “Sunny, it’s the only way. Every second we delay, just give him that much more time to plan.”
“Fine, but if this goes sideways Rick, I’m going to locate Henry in the hereafter, and we’re both going to come back and haunt all of your asses.”
“No, doubt Sunny. No doubt. So you and Roberto check in with me Monday morning, and I’ll fill you in. Until then, you don’t go anywhere, I don’t care if it’s a hair or nail appointment, unless you let your husband, me and Manny know in advance. Got it?”
“Sure, fine, whatever.”
“He’s serious, Shaundrika.”
“I know Mother, I know.”
Read On — The Death Of Henry James Part 2
Let’s keep in touch: P.G. & Sharon Barnett ([email protected]) © P.G. Barnett, 2020. All Rights Reserved.