Fiction

When Toxic Rivers Flow Part 9

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, Part 8

Standing in the darkness just outside the warehouse dock, the minutes of silence after the sounds of gunfire died was agonizing. Waiting for Robert to reappear was even more so.

“I’m going inside, Henry.”

“Uh, no, you’re not. There’s no telling what just happened, princess.”

“That’s my husband in there old man.”

“And my brother. I said, stay put.”

“Dammit, James, we can’t just stand around and do nothing.”

“We can and we will. Whoever’s in there may decide to come out and start looking around, and from the sounds of what just took place, we need to be ready to defend ourselves. Look, the police will be here any second. We need to stay with these two dudes until the cavalry arrives.”

“You want to wait old man, then wait. I’m going inside.”

“Shaundrika…”

“No, Henry. Just shut up and stay here. I’m…”

“Baby, what in the hell are you and Henry arguing about now?”

We turned toward the sound of Robert’s voice just as he stepped around the front of the truck. Appearing no worse for wear, he neared us and then embraced his wife for the longest time. After several extremely long kisses, the two separated, and Robert knelt, quickly securing the hands and feet of both still unconscious guards with zip ties.

When he stood, he angled his flashlight at the dock.

“Two guards inside, both armed and the forklift driver as well. They opened up on me the minute I announced.”

“Are they…”

“Dead? Afraid so, baby. They didn’t leave me any choice in the matter.”

“What about Roberto and Tim?”

“Nowhere to be found, Henry. Either these dudes have already taken care of them, or both are being held someplace else.”

“I don’t think they’re dead, Robert. When I asked one of these guards about it he said they hadn’t done anything to them yet.”

“Well, then where the hell are they Sunny?”

We didn’t have much time to discuss as we witnessed the blue and red flashing light beams ricochetting off the walls of the buildings announcing the arrival of the police.

Awash in the headlights of several squad cars speeding toward us on the road cutting between the two buildings we immediately disarmed and waited.

Being surrounded by a group of local police and frisked then forced to provide credentials and a viable explanation of why there were three dead men in the warehouse meant only one thing. Manny had done a pretty poor job of explaining the situation to the authorities.

We waited until the sergeant in charge called Manny, who finally did what he was supposed to do in the beginning and validated our stories. As we filed into the warehouse, we saw the bodies of the three people Robert had shot. The police had covered them with tarps they’d found in the warehouse, but slight pools of blood stained the concrete around each. Although an unnerving sight, what was taking its toll on each of us was the fact that Tim and Robert were still missing.

Every minute we spent searching the warehouse and not finding them led us that much closer to believing when we did finally find them, we weren’t going to like the discovery very much.

A thorough search of the warehouse turned up nothing, and we all convened at the dock once again, staring at the stacks of barrels on pallets just outside of the truck. The forklift driver had been systematically loading the pallets, each stenciled with the words, Alexander Investments into the truck. From the looks of things, the truck would have been fully loaded and on its way in about another thirty minutes.

Our guess was each of the barrels contained waste, and each was to be dumped in the Colorado River. It would take years for the barrels to rust and when they finally did, the toxic contents inside would do their worst. We couldn’t help but wonder how long the company had been doing this.

“Hang on.”

“What, Henry?”

“You two need to get a look at this.”

“What is it?”

“Just get your asses in this truck and look. I think I know where Tim and Roberto are.”

We all stared at the bottom row of barrels. Everything looked as normal as the current situation would allow except for two of them. The lids had been fastened shut, but someone had bored hundreds of tiny holes in the sides. As if whatever was inside needed the air to breathe.

“Oh, holy shit Henry. They were going to dump these barrels in the Colorado River, right?”

“Yeap, and how much water can a barrel full of holes hold?”

“Once it’s submerged. All of it.”

“You guessed it, princess. These assholes intended to drown Tim and Roberto locked inside those barrels. Does anybody know how to run that freaking forklift? We need to get to those two right there.”

Fortunately, one of the police knew how to operate the forklift, and after fifteen minutes of extraction, we were able to get to the two we needed. After popping open the lever lock rings, we removed both lids and threw them to the bed of the truck. Roberto was conscious, his feet and hands cuffed. He offered us a weak grin as we tilted the barrel on its side and pulled him out. His face was puffy and bruised, and he’d sustained a cut on one of his cheeks and a bloodied nose, but he couldn’t stop grinning.

“Man, it’s a good thing you three showed up when you did. Tim and I were about to take the last bath we’d ever take.”

“Yeah, and you with no soap. The nerve.”

“They beat the shit out of Tim, Henry. You guys take it easy when you pull him out. From the sounds of his ragged breathing, they may have busted a couple of his ribs.”

Roberto was right, not just about Tim’s breathing, but the overall brutal beating the man had taken at the hands of his captor. His right eye was swollen shut, not that he could have seen much anyway as a large gash just above the eyebrow had shed a considerable amount of blood before it congealed. We weren’t sure, but it appeared as if the man’s nose had been broken and both sides of his face was a mottled collection of mottled bruises.

Tim winced in pain as we eased him out. Rather than suggest the man stand, we did our best to make him comfortable on the bed of the truck as we waited for an ambulance.

“Is that you, Henry? Sunny?”

“Yeah, buddy, we gotcha Tim. Just hang in there, the ambulance should be here soon.”

“I should have listened to you two. I’m not cut out for this. Next time I’m just going to let you two handle it.”

“Tim, let’s just hope there isn’t a next time.”

Tim coughed then immediately winced, “Charles Edmonton, he…”

“Don’t try to talk Tim, it’s okay.”

“No, Sunny. Charles Edmonton, the CEO of Uttar Textiles. He…he’s the one who ordered the death of Louis Delgado. He’s the one behind the scheme to dump the effluent waste in the river. …covering his tracks by stenciling Alexander Investments on all these barrels. Even if the barrels were ever discovered. Nobody…nobody would suspect Uttar’s involvement. He…”

“Tim?”

“Henry is he…”

“No, he just passed out, princess. Still got a pulse.”

“Okay, you two move out of the truck. EMT is here.”

We stood by as Roberto and Tim were cared for, and then Tim finally loaded onto a gurney and rolled away.

“Now, what guys?”

“I vote we get the Seargent to form a posse, get Edmonton’s address, and go wake his ass up.”

Read On — When Toxic Rivers Flow Conclusion