Page 38 of Blame it on the Bet
“Helen, what are you getting at?” I ask, feeling the start of a dull ache in my temples.
“Just that Miss O’Halloran has indicated that, while she’s happy to defend those who are truly innocent, her particular skillset has made her a favorite among the guilty looking to get off on a technicality. I understand that it’s beginning to weigh on her—the fact that she’s putting criminals back out onto the street simply because she can produce a better argument than most of her colleagues who are prosecutors.”
Even as Helen explains the situation, I can see it.
Hennessy is incredibly smart. I’ll bet she’s an exceptional attorney. But when you’re a public defender, not everyone you’re defending is innocent. Still, you’ve sworn to offer the best defense you can, right? So what’s a woman with a strong moral compass to do?
No wonder she wants to fight this fight so badly. To her, it’s as a close to a clear-cut good vs. evil scenario as she’s likely to ever come up against.
“Wow, Helen. That’s amazing detective work,” I marvel. “I…uh, well, thank you,” she replies, clearly taken aback by the compliment. “Hey, did you know that it’s illegal to tease a skunk in Minnesota?”
“You’re making that up,” I accuse her with a laugh. “Nope. Just one of the many Minnesota-centric tidbits I’ve picked up in the last week. So, make sure you’re nice to any skunks that you come into contact with.”
“Yeah, I’ll try to keep that in mind. Oh, hey, maybe you know…”
“What?”
“Hennessy’s middle name is V.S. Just the two letters. Do you have any clue?—”
“Very special,” she answers before I can even finish the question.
“Very special? Hennessy Very Special O’Halloran?
That’s a little bizarre.”
“Not a cognac drinker then?” she asks with a chuckle. “Not really…”
“Hennessy has several different designations. Hennessy Black and Hennessy White. Hennessy Paradis. Then there’s Hennessy V.S.—very special. And Hennessy X.O.—extra old. And before you start working on a joke to go with that last potential punch line, don’t. Just don’t. Or you’ll never stand a chance with the girl.”
“And what makes you think I’m looking for a chance with the girl?” I ask indignantly…though, even I know that’s exactly what I’m looking for.
Helen gives me a scoff/snort combo.
“Yeah, I’m not even going to answer that, Bryan.”
I’m shaking my head and grinning into the phone as I make my way up the narrow staircase from the basement to the main floor of the office building.
“What on earth…?” I murmur, stopping short when I get a look at the figure peering into the window from the sidewalk.
“Something wrong?” Helen asks on the other end of the line. A few feet closer and I can see a tall man in jeans, a plaid shirt, and very distinctive neckwear, waving at me.
“Helen, I’ve gotta go. I’m being stalked by a priest.” “You’re what? A priest? Oh, for God’s sake, Bryan, run… If he sprinkles you with holy water, you’ll burst into flames!” She’s laughing so loudly that she’s coughing by the time she gets it all out.
“Good night, Helen,” I say loudly into the receiver. She’s still laughing and calling “Run, Bryan, run!” when I disconnect the call and unlock the front door. A frigid blast of air takes my breath away.
“Hello, Father. I’m sorry, King has gone home for the night…”
Father Romance’s face is open and smiling. I like this guy. No pretense here. No agenda.
“Mr. Truitt!”
“Please, Father, call me Bryan,” I insist, holding the door open so he can come inside.
“Of course. Thank you. It was actually you I’ve come to see.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. You see, I need your help, son.” “You do?”
