Fiction

Two Before The Wedding Part 11

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.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Each second passing, every minute, which up until now had been lumbering along, now seemed to be hurtling past. At the same time, filling us with a sense of urgency and dread.

It’s one thing to roll the dice with our own lives on the line. We’d spent many a time putting ourselves in harm’s way chasing down a story. This was different. What we were about to do could end up getting people killed.

It sounded like a newspaper pressroom abuzz with activity as we stared making simultaneous phone calls to Manny and Robert, Angela, and finally to Donnie Sullivan.

Angela told us she and Daryl Thompson were meeting Thursday afternoon at the coffee shop as they had for the last month. Manny and Robert would play a key in our plan by contacting the police and coordinating the locations and the time.

Donnie’s responsibility would be to keep us in the loop on the shooter’s activities, hourly if necessary. His part of our entire scheme was critical, and timing had to be perfect.

At the moment, we were heading to the offices of Daryl Thompson, just north of the Brentwood location. We’d asked Angela to call ahead, but not to share anything other than she was sending two of her colleagues to discuss some of the arrangements required if Ashton Wheaton was awarded the contract.

We parked and, after checking in with Mr. Thompson’s receptionist, were promptly ushered into his office. Quite the dashing young up and comer businessman, soon to toss his hat in the political arena, Daryl Thompson shook our hands with a genuine grin.

He then gestured to a pair of comfortable looking chairs in front of his desk, waited until we sat down, then returned to his chair.

“So, how is it you two know Angela?”

“We used to work together at Dark Sides magazine.”

“I thought your names sounded familiar. Henry James and Sunny Alexander-Johnson, writer’s for Dark Sides of the Truth. You two are a couple of celebrities around these parts. So, what’s going on? You two on the trail of another hot story?”

“You might say that, sir.”

“Please, Sunny. My name’s Daryl. Let’s not be so formal.”

“Daryl, it is then. Yes, we’re in the middle of a story. And whether you believe this or not. You’re part of it.”

The young man tilted his head slightly, a look of surprise crossing his face. He leaned forward, placed his arms on the top of his desk, and clasped his hands together.

“Well, you certainly have my attention now. Please go on.”

We spelled out what we thought was going on, each point we presented, causing Daryl Thompson’s expression to grow more pinched, more apprehensive, as we dug deeper into the story. When we finished, he sat back, covered his eyes with a hand as he gripped both temples, then finally dropped his hand and gazed across the desk at us.

“Are you two sure about this? You believe Roger Sterling at Bartley’s Manufacturing is trying to have me killed to keep this contract from going to Ashton Wheaton?”

“Yes, Daryl, we’re almost positive. All we need is one more bit of the puzzle, and you can put a fork in it, it’s done.”

“And what bit would that be?”

“Uh, here’s where it gets a little tricky. We need to catch the shooter in the act. We’re pretty sure he’s already picked his spot, so we need to get to him right before he pulls the trigger. What time tomorrow afternoon are you and Angela supposed to meet?”

“The same as always, Henry. Three.”

“Probably sit in the same spot every time, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sunny, we do, at the front window. We both like the view.”

“We’re all creatures of habit. It’s what the shooter’s counting on.”

“Let me get this straight. You and Henry are actually expecting me to show up, sit down at the window with Angela and let some crazy dude with a gun try to kill me? You’re planning on using me as bait?”

“Exactly.”

There were several moments of silence as the young man stared at us, his face twisted into an expression of dazed disbelief. We watched him swallow hard, his adam’s apple twitching twice, then he passed one hand through his thickened blond hair.

He sighed heavily then said, “so you’ll be sure to put in a couple of words about me and my upcoming run for state representative? You know, help me grease the skids a bit?”

“Well, we don’t typically do politics very much, but we have a writer friend of ours who works with us, Tim Rice, who covers the political beat. I’m pretty sure he can spin this pretty damned well.”

“You think so, Henry?”

“Local up and coming politician puts his own life in jeopardy to help police catch a deadly serial assassin? Oh yeah, Tim can make hay till the sun shines with that story.”

“Great. Maybe Tim can write a dedication if I get myself killed.”

“Daryl, does that coffee shop have a back door?”

“I’m pretty sure it does Sunny, why?”

“Cause we’re pretty sure you and Angela are gonna need it.”

“So here’s how this is going to go down Daryl, Sunny and I are going to meet you here at your office tomorrow about an hour before it’s time to meet Angela. Don’t worry, we’re going to call her and let her know it’s business as usual right after we leave today. I’ll be riding in your car with you, and I guarantee I’ll be stuck to your ass like glue when we get to the coffee shop. You don’t make a move unless I tell you to got it?”

“You’ve done this before?”

“Nope. Does that matter?”

“Uh, guess not.”

“Great. We’ll meet you here tomorrow at two. Sunny? You ready?”

We walked out of Daryl Thompson’s office building and got into the car remaining quiet, pouring over in our minds what we’d just gone over with the man. At the exact same moment, we turned to face each other and started talking.

“Okay, you go first princess.”

“Henry, are you crazy?”

“That’s a rhetorical question, right?”

“You’re going to put yourself between Daryl and the shooter? Become a human shield for someone you don’t even know?”

“It’ll be fine Sunny.”

“Don’t say that, Henry. You don’t know what the shooter may do. He may just drop your old ass first and then pop Daryl, and Sterling gets what he wants, and both of you will be dead.”

“Got a better idea?”

“If I did, you know damned well you’d have heard it by now.”

“Okay, then. Anything else, princess?”

“Yeah, one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“If you do manage to screw up and get your ass shot, you better hope he kills you because if he doesn’t, I’m going to finish the job myself, you old coot.”

“I love you too, princess.”

Read On — Two Before The Wedding Part 12

Let’s keep in touch: [email protected]

© P.G. Barnett, 2020. All Rights Reserved.