Fiction

When Toxic Rivers Flow Part 8

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, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Out of sight sitting in the darkness of the tiny office space, we spoke very little to one another, and when we did, we whispered. The smell of grease and oil blended with the acrid scent of gasoline coming from the building’s repair bay, coupled with the heated summer air wasn’t helping our nerves or our stomachs.

Every so often, one of us would ease the door open a crack to check on the rapidly approaching fall of night and to fill our lungs with fresh air to clear our heads.

Robert turned his flashlight on then placed a call to Manny, his voice hushed, his hand cupped around the phone and his mouth.

“Okay, we’re about to head out. Did you get in touch with the locals?”

Although we couldn’t hear what Manny was saying, we were pretty sure by the way Robert nodded his head, Manny had.

“Okay, no phone calls to any of us. We’ll call you once we’ve found them.”

Robert disconnected then slid the phone into a back pocket of his jeans. He stood, pointing the beam of his flashlight on the floor.

“Okay, it’s time. I’ll take the lead, Henry, you behind me, and Sunny stay behind Henry, okay, baby?”

“Got it.”

Even though our flashlights managed to illuminate our immediate surroundings, wherever the light beams weren’t shining seemed a macabre scene of flitting shadows, as nightfall crept steadily onward. The unmistakable sound of Robert’s pistol as he chambered a round clicked dangerously.

“Henry?”

Amplified by the stillness and quiet of the office, another clicking sound answered.

“Check, let’s do this.”

“Stay in the shadows, keep the flashlights pointed to the ground. You need to see where you put your feet.”

“What are we looking for, baby?”

“A group of warehouses. It was the last thing we saw on Tim’s video, remember?”

We exited the repair shop, immediately stepping into the shadows along one wall and waited until our eyes acclimated to the darkness. From where we stood, we could see the larger parking lot almost entirely devoid of cars. We only saw a pair of light poles in the lot that were working, casting feeble beams that were swallowed up by night.

It was a clear sign of poor maintenance, but definitely beneficial in cloaking our activities as we scurried across a road and pressed ourselves into the shadows of another building wall, then another, and then another as we made our way to the back of the plant.

As we cut between two main buildings, the office entrance to our far right, we could see a long line of loading docks in a warehouse, and another warehouse to its left with almost the same number of loading docks. What was different was instantly noticeable. Lights were on in the middle of the warehouse to our left, and a large truck had been backed up to one of the docks.

We heard the growling whine of a forklift and saw the bed of the truck shift down upon its suspension.

Two men, both armed with assault rifles, were standing at the edge of the dock at ground level, watching the loading efforts and talking to themselves.

“Shit. Can either of you see inside the warehouse?”

“Not with that damned truck in the way. Why?”

“Because Henry, we got two on the ground, and they’re heavily armed, and we have no clue how many are inside or whether the ones inside are armed.”

“So why don’t we just go ask them?”

“Do what Shaundrika? Are you insane?”

“Just listen, Robert. I have a plan.”

After hearing what Shaundrika had to say, we fell silent, concentrating on the whine of the forklift, the rattle of the grate as it rolled over it, and the creaking of the truck’s suspension as each load was dropped off.

“What do you think, Henry?”

“I think that shit could work. Besides, what’s the worse that could happen?”

“God help us. Okay, honey. When you’re ready.”

We’re pretty sure a young woman wearing a peasant blouse, blue jeans, and stylish slip-on sneakers walking across the pavement in their direction was the last thing the two men expected to see. After the immediate shock wore off, both raised their rifles to their shoulders and began to advance.

What they couldn’t see, or more precisely, failed to see was her two companions who remained in the shadows, their flashlights turned off as they hurried to flank the two men, roll underneath the truck, and then come up from behind.

“Lady, who are you and what the hell do you want?”

“Whoa, guys. What’s with the guns?”

“Lady if you don’t stop walking, I’ll drop you where you stand.”

“Okay, okay. Look, the boss sent me to check on things.”

“Edmonton sent you?”

“Who else bonehead? You don’t think I’d be walking around here in the dark because I wanted to do you? How much longer?”

“We should be ready to go in another thirty minutes or so.”

“What about Wrigley and Sanchez? They still alive, or did one of you take care of things right this time? Dumping Delgado’s body in the Colorado River was a pretty stupid thing to do. Which one of you lunkheads came up with that idea?”

One of the men snarled and aimed his rifle.

“They’re alive for now, but you know what lady? I think you’re asking way too many damned…”

The guard never got a chance to finish his sentence. We suppose it’s difficult to have a conversation when an unseen attacker chooses to pistol-whip you into unconsciousness. In seconds, we had both men on the ground and disarmed.

“What are you doing, Sunny?”

“I want to make sure this damn truck doesn’t go anywhere, Robert.”

As the keys to the truck were hurled as far as they could be tossed into the darkness, we reassembled over the unconscious men. From the sounds of things inside the warehouse, the forklift was still in operation.

“There should be a set of stairs and a door to get into this warehouse, and I’m willing to be it’s open.”

“What about these two?”

“Baby, you and Henry stay with them. I’ll go inside and see if I can stop the loading, maybe find something to tie them up with.”

“Please be careful.”

“You know I will.”

We watched Robert as long as we could until he disappeared into the darkness. One of the henchmen groaned, a sign he was about to regain consciousness. All it took was a simple application of a metal sleeping pill against the man’s forehead, and he was, once again, sleeping like a baby.

We heard Robert yell, then listened to the rapid sequence of shots sounding like a string of firecrackers going off. Then two loud popping sounds, then another, then two more. And then we heard nothing. No whine of the forklift, no clatter across the grate, no groan from the bed of the truck.

Neither of us had ever heard silence be that loud before.

Read On — When Toxic Rivers Flow Part 9