Fiction

When The Program Fails People Die Part VIII

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 I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII

A marathon car trip from Austin Texas to Riker’s Island in Queens and a thirty-minute conversation with Marco Bianchi yielded no information. Aside from possibly eliminating the old man as a suspect.

Now, we had nowhere to turn on this situation and nowhere to go, except back home. Each of us alternatively checked in with our significant during the trip back, a string of muted conversations where we all detailed pretty much the same information.

Hours of silence later Roberto proved to all of us he was as good a journalist outside of the ring as he was a boxer in it.

“Mr. James?”

“Henry.”

“Yeah. Henry. Sorry. Let’s say Marco Bianchi was telling the truth. If it’s not him, could it possibly be another member of the family?”

“Which family are you talking about? His immediate family or the family?”

“I’m talking about his immediate family.”

“Robert, you want to get the spy twins on this?”

“Already making the call Henry hang on. Hey Becca, we need you and Donnie to pull some info for us. Yeah, everybody’s good. We’re kind of stuck and are trying to figure out which direction to take this. Marco Bianchi’s family. Yeah, anyone related to the old man. What’s that? I’m not sure, hang on. Becca wants to know how deep a dive we want her and Donnie to go?”

“Roberto? Your idea, your call.”

“Thanks, Henry. Have them give us everything they can find in his immediate family. Wife, brothers, sisters, children. Hopefully, that will give us something.”

“Becca, immediate family. Yeah, as much as you and Donnie can find. Call me when you’ve got something. Right.”

Traveling on Highway Seventy Eight, we had passed just north of Mechanicsburg when one of us spotted something none of us had even been thinking about.

“Gentlemen, I think we’re being tailed.”

“Do what, Henry?”

“I don’t stutter, Hermanos. I said we’re being tailed.”

“How the hell is that even possible? No one even knows we’re here. Besides Henry, this is a highway. You know, cars in front of us, cars behind us?”

“Take a look if you don’t believe Manny. That grey Lexus about three cars back? I’ve been watching it since we left New York.”

“So?”

“Okay, here’s the deal. At first, I didn’t pay much attention. It was just another car in my rearview. But then I started noticing when I switched lanes it switched. When I moved around a slower car and got back in the center lane, it did. When I slowed, it slowed. When I accelerated, so did the driver of that car. Whoever’s driving that Lexus has no intention of passing us.”

“Henry, see that gas station up there on the right?”

“Yeah, Roberto, so?”

“Let’s test your theory. Pull in there and fill up. If you’re right about this, they’re going to stop.”

“Good idea, kid. I like how you think.”

We took the exit Roberto spotted, and rolled into a gas station and stopped at a pump attempting to put on a show of road-weary travelers stretching our legs while we filled up. Each of us keeping an eye on the Lexus as it remained on the highway and sped past us.

“Huh, I could have sworn they were tailing our ass.”

“Damn James, you got us all riled up over nothing. Not everything is some big assed conspiracy theory, old man.”

“Ya know what Hermanos? You can just bite my…”

“Is anybody hungry?”

“Do what, Roberto?”

“I said, is anybody hungry? Why don’t we get something to eat at that diner?”

“I could eat.”

“Me too, little brother. Hermanos? You in?”

“Yeah, pay for gas and park the car. We’ll save you a seat.”

Minutes later, we were sitting in a booth examining laminated menus as a waitress took our drink orders. Even though just off the highway, the tiny diner was devoid of many patrons. Beside us four, there were a couple of gentlemen sitting at one of the five tables in the center separating the line of booths where we sat from a ubiquitous range of five mushroom stools. Behind the counter, a fry cook tended to the food order, and a single waitress managed the front.

After the waitress brought our orders, we all turned our attention to the food, eating with a coming appetite, dropping short bits of conversation as we ate. The waitress had just stopped by to offer a coffee refill when Roberto froze in place his fork halfway to his mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

“Henry, you were right. Look.”

“Ah damn.”

“What’s going on?”

“Manny, you and Robert sit tight. The grey Lexus just pulled into the parking lot. Three dudes are heading our way, and they don’t look like travelers to me.”

“More coffee, mister?”

“Ma’am, why don’t ya just leave the pot? We’ll bring it to ya when we’re done. Oh, by the way. Is there a back door to this place?”

“Uh yeah, why?”

“See those three dudes about to come in?”

The waitress nodded, “Yeah.”

“Well, they’re looking for us, and the shit is about to get real very fast. If I were you, I’d get those two old geezers, yourself, and the fry cool outta here before the shitstorm happens.”

“Mister, are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Trust me, lady. Get ’em outta here.”

We watched as the waitress hurried over to the elderly gentlemen and leaned down to whisper something to them, nodding in our direction as she did so. Both men gazed at us as if seeking clarification, and then they tossed several dollar bills on the table, got up, and headed for the front door. They passed the three men who gave them little notice. All three men were concentrating on us, paying little heed as the waitress and fry cook vanished.

One man disappeared into the back then reappeared and nodded. Another twisted the lock to the front door, the clicking sound almost reverberating in the silence.

Both Robert and Manny had placed their forks on their plates, each of their hands disappearing beneath the table.

We sat in silence as the third man, the shorter of the three, walked up to us and stopped alongside our booth.

“Which one of you two spics is Manny Hermanos?”

Read On — When The Program Fails People Die Part IX

Let’s keep in touch: [email protected]