Huntoon Harris drove down Old Paris Road toward Lexington. He was still pissed at the boss for yanking him off the Ellie Stuart job. I coulda nailed her with just a little more time.
Tammy Wynette’s Stand by Your Man blasted out of his radio.
How’s come nobody ever stands by me? he wondered. His druggie parents dumped him in a Burger King bathroom when he was six months old. His bitchy ex-wife dumped him just for banging her thirteen-year-old sister who jumped his boner while he was sleeping. What’s a man to do? And in Iraq, his lying lieutenant court-martial him by saying that the towelheads Huntoon shot were innocent! Bullshit!
But life taught him the big bad lesson: Nobody stands by you. You’re alone. You cover your own ass. You do what you have to do. And the sooner you learn it, the better.
But at least the boss gave him this no-brainer job. Huntoon turned down a shady street with magnolia trees and modern office buildings. Moments later, he pulled into the parking lot of a contemporary steel and concrete structure with three stories, massive windows the color of old Coke bottles and a red brick wall in front.
Huntoon cruised down rows of parked cars until he found the only new red Ford Fusion. The license number matched the number his buddy at Motor Vehicle Registrations gave him. The Fusion was Roy Klume’s.
Minutes later, Huntoon watched a reed-thin nerdy-looking guy with scrawny, dishwater blond hair, horn-rims and a stuffed pocket protector walk out the entrance. The nerd was Roy Klume based on his Facebook photo. Four other geeks walked with him, snickering like they were auditioning for Revenge of the Nerds.
Klume walked toward his red Fusion. Huntoon crept ahead and arrived at the Fusion when Klume did.
“Mr. Klume?”
“Yes?” Klume walked over to Huntoon’s passenger window.
“Lookie here!” Huntoon showed him the business end of his .45.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Naw, just me, Roy. But Jesus does want you to git in my car right now. If you don’t, your brains is gonna paint that pretty red Fusion of yours! Unnerstand?”
Roy Klume stared at the gun, frozen, then slowly got in Huntoon’s car.
“Relax, Roy. This ain’t no robbery and I ain’t no queer or nothing. I jes want show you somethin’. Then I’ll drop you back off right here, safe and sound. Unless, of course, you try something stupid. In which case, I’ll drop your sorry ass off – dead! Unnerstand?”
Klume nodded, looking scared shitless. Huntoon loved scaring people shitless. The army shrink told him it was because he had deep-seated hatred for certain kinds of people. The shrink was wrong. He had a deep-seated hatred for everyone, except Inez, the crippled Bob Evans waitress who gave him extra bacon.
Keeping his gun aimed at Klume, Huntoon drove out of the lot. Minutes later, he stopped in front of a normal, single-level ranch style home with shrubs, red flowers and a large picture window. A very pregnant blonde lumbered past the picture window. Twin girls, about three, toddled along behind her.
“Home sweet home, right Roy?”
Klume paused, then nodded.
“Your wife’s damn purty. And them little girls is cute as buttons. And looks like mama’s got one cookin’ in the oven. Betcha you wanta keep ‘em all alive and well, ain’t that right?”
Klume’s eyelids fluttered like a spinning window shade.
“Right, Roy?”
Klume nodded.
“Well, there ain’t but one way you can do that.”
Klume swallowed. “How?”
“Pay back a favor what you owe.”
“Owe who?”
“That’s a secret, Roy.”
Huntoon explained in detail what he wanted Klume to do.
Klume shook his head. “It won’t work.”
“Bad answer ‘cuz you’re gonna make it work!”
“But our sophisticated quality control processes prevent that.”
Huntoon smiled. “Now Roy, you’re a real smart scientifical guy. You’ll find a way.”
“But they’ll fire me.”
“No buts, Roy. I’m thinkin’ you got A’s in yer chemistry tests, right?”
Klume looked confused, but nodded.
“True or false, Roy. Carbolic acid is nasty shit when it gits on yer skin?”
Klume nodded.
“Wonder what that acid would do to your wife’s purty face and body? And them little girls’ faces? Yuk! Makes me wanna barf!”
Klume’s face turned crimson as he stared at his family in the window.
“Roy, did you know them fuckin’ Nazi doctors injected carbolic acid right into them prisoners’ bodies? Little kids even. You can look it up! The pain was so bad them prisoners up and begged to be kilt.”
Roy Klume looked at his family again, then closed his eyes.
“So, Roy, we got us a deal or what?
Klume nodded.