Fiction
Two Before The Wedding Part 1
A Sunny Alexander-Johnson And Henry James Series
My name is Sunny Alexander-Johnson, and I’m Henry James, and we’re writers for Dark Sides of the Truth magazine.
Although we’ve had our spats over the years, one thing we certainly agree on is the last year and a half writing for Dark Sides has definitely been full of challenges.
And a few near misses with the grim reaper.
But this last story with Dante’s spiritual visit seemed to have lifted a massive weight off the shoulders of the Alexander family. After much-needed closure, we all set our sights on the birth of the twins and the wedding.
Roberto De La Cruz, the newest edition to our writing staff, had established himself as quite a great asset to the team. So much so, our editor in chief, Rick McDonnell teamed him up with another writer.
As quick as we’d separated, we were a team once again.
Now, sitting in the bullpen across from each other, the act of gazing at our laptops was as comfortable as donning a favorite sweater. Though neither of us would admit it openly, we were glad to be writing together again.
“So, you getting excited?”
“About what, princess?”
“The wedding, of course, old man.”
“Just going to be a justice of the peace.”
“I know that Henry, but what about the honeymoon?”
“Well, I can’t afford to go running off to Aruba like you and my brother…”
“It was Bermuda, and if memory serves me correctly, you, Manny and Wu, crashed our honeymoon, didn’t you?”
“Well, yeah. There is that.”
“So?”
“What?”
“Where are you and mom going for the honeymoon?”
“Your mother’s going to shoot me for this, but we’re going to New Braunsfels. There’s a bed and breakfast we’re going to try for a few days. We’re just going to hang out and stuff.”
“Hang out and stuff?”
“Yeah, Johnson. Hang out and stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Like consummating the marriage kind of stuff? I hope the chandeliers in the place can handle it.”
“You are simply disgusting old man. You know that?”
“I love you too, princess.”
“Johnson? James? My office now!”
Ah, the familiar bellow of our boss Rick McDonnell. Never one to use the intercom when the man called someone into his office, everyone in the building knew it.
Rick was scanning his computer screen when we walked in and made ourselves comfortable. We sat there in silence, watching him squint at the screen for several seconds. Finally, he pushed his glasses to the top of his head, leaned back in his chair and swiveled around to face us.
“You two found a story yet?”
“Damn Rick, it’s only Monday.”
“I guess that answers my question, James.”
“What’s up, Rick?”
“Sunny, I just sent you and Henry this email I received. It’s from someone who calls themselves “a concerned citizen.” Whoever it is, they want to meet the two of you tomorrow afternoon at Johnson’s.”
“They specifically mentioned our names?”
“Yes, Sunny, they did. Shaundrika Alexander-Johnson and Henry Allen James.”
“Whoa. Back up a minute, Rick. This so-called concerned citizen used Sunny’s first and married names and my middle name? Who the hell knows that information besides a few people here at Dark Sides?”
“No clue Henry, but I’m smelling a story here. Sunny, you think you can handle being out in the field?”
“Pretty sure I can. The doctor says I’ve got around another three weeks. Robert and I are thinking just about a week after the wedding.”
“Oh, that’s right. Henry, you and Cynthia are getting hitched next Friday, right?”
“Yeap. Friday afternoon at two. You coming, Rick?”
“Wouldn’t miss this for the world. So…”
“Please don’t ask him about the honeymoon Rick. Just thinking about it makes me want to puke.”
“Whatever, Johnson. I was going to say so, then both of you should be able to snoop around and see where this takes you. Now, if you don’t mind, get out of my office and at least pretend you two are working on something.”
After returning to our desks, we immediately examined our email. Forwarded from Rick was a simple three-line message:
Have Shaundrika Alexander-Johnson and Henry Allen James at Johnson’s diner at 1:30 PM tomorrow afternoon. We need their special talents.
A Concerned Citizen
“What the hell, Henry?”
“Don’t have a clue, princess. I guess we’ll meet this mystery person tomorrow and find out.”
“How will we know who they are? We don’t even know what they look like.”
“I’m pretty certain they know what we look like. I’m guessing we’ll just have to play it by ear. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve been to Johnson’s.”
“Getting tired of mother’s cooking?”
“Actually, I think it’s the other way. Ask your mother if she’d like some greasy chili cheese fries from Johnson’s. I guarantee you she’ll snap at the offer.”
“Doesn’t say much for your cooking, old man.”
“Bite my ass, Johnson. Look, it’s almost five. Let’s just get all the admin stuff we gotta do knocked out and call it a day. Both of us need to bring our A-games tomorrow. You need help waddling to your car?”
“Put a sock in it, James.”
Tuesday morning brought with it a set of jangling nerves stoked by excitement. It was always like this when we sensed we were about to snag a story.
We candidly admit we’re a couple of adrenalin junkies always jumping to that next high, the next story to sink our teeth into. By the time one in the afternoon rolled around, we were pacing the carpeted floor of the bullpen, repeatedly staring at our wristwatches.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Chill, Henry. Johnson’s is only fifteen minutes from here, and that includes heavy traffic.”
“Princess, I want to get something in my stomach. I’m starving. There’s no telling what’s going to happen after they make contact with us. I’d rather not sit there listening to my stomach grumbling.”
“Fine.”
The waiter had just returned from the kitchen with our food order when a tall gentleman wearing a grey business suit and plum tie and matching pocket scarf walked into the diner. As neither of us has a habit of sitting with our backs to the door anymore, we both spotted him.
“Nice rigging.”
“He looks like a man’s man.”
“A what?”
“A butler.”
“Really, Johnson?”
“Look around, James. How many white dudes do you see in this restaurant dressed like that?”
“Stifle it. He’s heading in our direction.”
The man walked directly to our table and stopped, then removed his sunglasses. We stopped eating and stared up at him as he met our gazes with a stern expression, his steel-blue eyes dancing as he quickly scanned us, seeming to catalog our looks against his memory.
“Ms. Shaundrika Alexander Johnson and Mr. Henry Allen James, I presume?”
“Okay, you know who we are now who the hell are you?”
The man reached into a coat pocket and produced a business card, then placed it on the table in front of us.
“Who I am is not important, Ms. Johnson. My benefactor wishes to speak with you. His number is on the card. He expects a call from you this evening at precisely six o’clock. Should he not hear from you, he will then take other measures if necessary.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
The man said nothing and then turned, made his way to the front doors exited, and disappeared around the corner of the building. For several seconds we stared at the front doors of Johnson’s diner then we looked at each other.
“What just happened, Henry?”
“Damned if I know. Guess we’ll find out at six tonight. In the meantime, pass me the ketchup. Don’t know about you, but I’m going to eat.”
Read On — Two Before The Wedding Part 2
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