The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(45)

“You what?”

“I told him that the schedules were crazy. OK? Everyone knew they were crazy. And–” Wilma sucked in a breath “–and I told them about how I helped Dewey fix his driver’s logs sometimes. So they looked good.”

There was a pause as Willistone got up from the chair and snatched the bottle of whiskey off the coffee table. He took a long pull on the bottle, nodded his head and then took another, smaller, sip.

“We’re gonna have to fix this, Wilma. That won’t do.” He shook his head. “That won’t do at all.”

“Plan B?” JimBone asked, eying Willistone.

Willistone peered over Wilma’s shoulder to JimBone and slowly nodded.

“Yeah, I think so. A variation anyway.” Willistone looked back at Wilma.

After a couple of seconds, he sat down beside her at the coffee table and draped his arm over her shoulder. She was scared. More scared than she’d ever been in her whole life.

“I think we can fix this, but it would have been easier if you hadn’t talked.” He smiled and gently stroked her hair.

“Let me ask you something, honey,” Willistone continued. “You came up here because you thought you were going to at least get a thousand dollars, right?”

She nodded.

“You were prepared to take your clothes off and dance nekkid for Bone over there, right?”

Another nod.

“Judging by what I know happens in this room, you were prepared to go even further. Right?” When she made no response, he nudged her elbow. “For that thousand, you would have done more than just dance, right, Wilma?”

She was crying again, and Willistone finally stopped talking. He got up and moved back to the leather chair, crossing his legs as he sat.

“Well, I’m not going to ask you to do any of those things.” When he didn’t elaborate, Wilma wiped her eyes and tried to focus.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Simple. All I want you to do is to suddenly lose your memory when you get to trial. And I’m prepared to pay you a hundred thousand in cash for that amnesia. Fifty thousand now and the rest after the trial.”

“You want me to... lose my memory?” she asked, confused by the request.

“Yeah. Blow off Drake for any deposition. Keep telling him you’re too busy to talk. If he corners you, just be vague. Don’t agree to any more specifics. Just tell him you’ll testify to what you’ve already told him. Then, when called to testify, just forget the crucial stuff. The only thing you have to deny outright is helping Dewey rig the logs. Understand?”

Wilma nodded.

“Good. So, do we have a deal?”

Wilma shivered. This is wrong, she knew. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, she knew. Just as she had always known that Dewey’s driving schedule was wrong. But where else am I ever gonna make this kind of money?

She took the whiskey bottle from Jack’s hand, and cocked it back, feeling it burn the back of her throat.

She spilled some of the liquor down her chin, and Jack wiped it off with the back of his hand. “Well?” he said.

Before she answered, she took another long sip and placed the bottle on the floor.

“Two hundred thousand,” she said. “Half now and half after trial. If I do what you say, I get the money regardless of how the trial goes. I shouldn’t be punished if y’all lose anyway.”

“Well, you little bitch,” Willistone said, laughing. “Are we negotiating?”

“Yes. I think I should get more for lying under oath. You bastards did run Dewey to death and you know it.”

Willistone crossed his arms, his eyes not leaving Wilma’s.

“Did we bring that much?” he asked, still looking at Wilma.

“Yeah, boss.” She heard JimBone say in the background.

“OK, Wilma. But, before I agree to that, I’ve got a few extra conditions too.” His voice was cold. Mean. “We seem to have a disagreement about whether you’re lying or not when you say you don’t remember. I think saying you don’t remember is more truth than fiction, but you obviously don’t feel that way. So...” He leaned in closer, and Wilma already regretted asking for more money. I am so stupid.

“... if I’m paying for a lie,” Willistone continued, “I want the real McCoy. Instead of not remembering at trial, you’ve got to testify that the schedules were fine as far as you knew. That – if anything – Dewey had a light load and needed more runs. Got it?”

“What about before trial?” she asked. She was trembling but couldn’t stop.

“Just stay away from the family’s lawyer. When he contacts you, tell him you’ll testify but that you don’t have time to talk with him. Put him off. If he does get to you, be vague and blow him off as fast as you can. Try to let him think that you are his star witness without giving him any more information. Then, at trial, you become our star. He calls you to the stand and you bury his ass. Comprende?”

She almost said she couldn’t do it. In fact, she wanted to say that. She wanted to just go back to the first deal he proposed. Not remembering would have been a lot easier. But I can’t go back, she knew, thinking of when she was thirteen, on a weekend trip with her family, climbing to the third platform at Point Mallard Water Park in Decatur, Alabama. The third platform was the highest. When she got up there, she had wanted to walk back down the ladder, but she couldn’t do it. She had to jump. She felt the same way now. She nodded her agreement to Willistone.