He mashed his cell phone to his ear and listened to Huntoon Harris’s latest pathetic excuse for not handling Ellie Stuart.
“She’s hard to git at,” Huntoon said.
“An unarmed college girl?”
“She hangs with that big dude, Quinn. All-conference tight end! And them cops is circling her house like flies on shit!”
“Any more excuses?”
“I kin git her!”
“Forget her!” he shouted, his anger boiling over.
“But – ”
“Forget her! She’s described you to the cops. I have other work for you. I’ll call later.”
He slammed the phone down and thought about Huntoon. He’d only hired him because a college friend begged him to. The friend obviously didn’t realize Huntoon could only handle life’s simpler tasks, like applying a baseball bat to a human skull. Thinking was his Achilles heel. If the IRS taxed brains, Huntoon would get a refund.
A few nights ago, the fool nearly murdered the wrong U of L student, a girl named Elle Steward, even though he had the correct name, Ellie Stuart, spelled out on a piece of paper.
His phone rang: He checked Caller ID. A neighbor lady. Probably calling again about her son’s latest DUI. He pushed his Not In button so his secretary would handle it. But ‘DUI’ triggered something – something he should have thought of sooner: a solution to his Ellie Stuart problem.
The solution was Roy Klume.
A couple of years ago he’d represented Klume after the young man got his fourth DUI. The judge planned to give Klume Kentucky’s maximum prison time, plus rehab, plus a five-year driving suspension.
But after I persuaded Klume’s wealthy father to donate ninety thousand dollars to the judge’s reelection campaign, the judge decided that Roy Klume’s DUI was just a nasty antihistamine reaction to his chronic sinusitis, and let him walk.
But … I still have proof of Klume’s two-times-over-the-limit blood-alcohol, proof that could destroy the Klume family reputation … proof that will persuade Roy Klume to help us.
And persuading people is one thing Huntoon can do.