Corridor Man Volumes 1, 2, 3,4 5

by Nick James

  “Please, let me thank you again for my sister Camila and my precious daughter, Valentina. Now, what do you say to that wine and we’ll toast the two of them.”

  Bobby grabbed another wineglass off the buffet, filled it, and hurried back over to Luis. “To your two lovely ladies,” Bobby said, picking his glass off the coffee table and raising it in a toast with Luis.

  “To you, Señor Custer, for saving them.” Luis took a small sip, then set his glass down and looked Bobby in the eye. “And now, to the business at hand.”

  “The business? Oh, yes, yeah. Come with me back in the kitchen. I don’t mind telling you, I’ve been more than a little nervous having this in the place. Not used to it, I guess,” Bobby said walking back into the kitchen. He walked around the kitchen counter, opened the cabinet, and took out the canister of Quaker Oats. “I’m sort of out of my element here, so I just thought this would be the best place to hide the thing,” he said. He reached into the container, sunk his fingers down through the oats, and extracted the brick. Uncooked oats sprinkled across the granite counter top. He dusted the oats off the top of the brick with his hand, then pushed it over toward Luis.

  Luis looked at the brick for a long moment then stared at Bobby, his voice suddenly devoid of emotion, “It would appear there is a substantial amount missing.”

  “Missing? Well, yeah, I’m afraid that’s my fault. I didn’t realize there was a hole on the end, it was torn. I’m afraid I spilled quite a bit holding on to it and not paying attention. I guess I was more worried about Camila and Valentina, not knowing if anyone else was around who wanted to kill them. I taped it shut once I got home,” Bobby said, then pointed to the packaging tape he’d applied not two hours before.

  Luis said something in Spanish to the bodyguard who immediately stepped forward and examined the brick. He glanced at Bobby, then set the brick on end, removed the packaging tape and examined the area where the plastic wrap had been melted. He looked up at Luis and said something.

  Luis nodded. “You must excuse my paranoia. With so many difficulties, one can never be too careful. It would appear the bullet that tore the end open must have just missed you.”

  “I understand. I only wish I’d been paying more attention.”

  “You had your hands full with more important matters, Camila and Valentina. See,” Luis pointed to the torn and melted corner. “The bullet caught just the end, here. But as I say, you had more important matters to deal with. If you’ll excuse us, but we must be on our way. Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Custer.”

  “Thank you for your gift,” Bobby said holding up his right hand.

  “It’s is I who am indebted to you.”

  He led them to the front door, exchanged a hug and a kiss to either cheek, then watched through the peephole as they quickly made their way to the elevator, the muscular thug leading the way. He turned the light off in the living room, then watched out of the corner of the window as they crossed the street below and climbed into a sleek, dark SUV of some sort. Just before he slipped into the back seat, Luis looked up and scanned the building, presumably searching for Bobby’s unit, then he closed the car door and they sped away.

  Chapter Seven

  It felt so natural. He was out of the shower and toweling off before he realized the new ring was still on his finger. He stopped in at City View on his way to the office, just to check on Noah Denton. It was a visit lasting all of two minutes. Denton was hooked up to a bank of monitors, looking frail, his breathing raspy and shallow. Bobby resisted the urge to smother him with a pillow and simply stared at him for a minute or two, trying to come up with a way to complete the task while at the same time bypassing the monitors. Like every other day, he couldn’t come up with anything so he left for the office.

  There were three phone messages waiting for him once he sat down with his coffee. The first one had come through a little after seven the night before, polite, with an attempt at sexy. The second, around eleven, was more a case of desperate pleading followed by a promise of deviant sexual behavior. The third, at just after four this morning started out with a rant, “All right, fuck you…” He’d hung up after that introduction. All three messages were from Addison Denton, and Bobby smiled at the thought of her beginning to sound desperate.

  Toward the end of the morning, Marci called, “Mr. Custer, I have a Detective Carrick here to see you.”

  “Oh, yes, wonderful. I was hoping he’d stop by,” Bobby lied. “Please send him back.” On the one hand, Bobby had expected this the same day as the shooting at Camila’s. On the other, it was still too soon. He’d already prepared a file knowing someone would stop by sooner or later and he pulled it out of his desk drawer, spread the contents across his desk, then stepped into the hallway to meet his guest.

  “Detective Carrick, thanks for stopping by. Can I get you a coffee before we get started?”

  Carrick gave a look that suggested he may have been caught off guard, but quickly recovered. “No, already past my limit on coffee. Appreciate you making time for me.”

  “Actually, this works well. I’ve been in touch with my insurance people, that hasn’t gone any too well.”

  “Oh?”

  “Those initial incorrect reports of arson are really causing a problem.”

  “Incorrect? My understanding is an accelerant; I believe gasoline was doused throughout the place then set on fire. The first squad there couldn’t get any closer than the front porch. I assume you’ve seen what’s left.”

  “Actually, no I haven’t. Tell you the truth, I couldn’t bring myself to even drive past, let alone stop and get out to take a look. I’m not too sure I was cut out to be a landlord.”

  Carrick gave a sort of scoff, then said, “Not much to see, just the front porch and the garage. The house is virtually destroyed. What contact have you had with your tenants?”

  “Contact?”

  “Yeah, where are they? Are they taken care of? Hurt? What the hell happened?”

  “I haven’t heard a thing. I’ve placed a number of calls to Miss Morales, but I haven’t received so much as a response. I’ve checked the hospitals,” he lied. “She doesn’t seem to be anywhere. I don’t know, maybe she’s with family, friends, back in Mexico. I can’t get any answers from your people. Well, except that there were reports of gun play, but nothing concrete.”

  “Nothing concrete? We’ve recovered two bodies from the scene, as yet unidentified. We’re still going through the rubble. If you’d bothered to check the garage, it looks like a survivor of the D-Day landing. Bullet holes, shot gun blasts in the walls, windows shot out, the contents of the garage all shot up. That new concrete floor has at least three different patches of blood on it. Nothing concrete? There seems to have been one hell of a firefight going on there.”

  “With all due respect, Detective, but you’re making this sound like it’s all my fault. I wanted those people out of there. I sent them an eviction notice, two as a matter of fact. Please, understand my position here. I can’t do anything because of existing law. I’d love to have gotten rid of them, but I have to send them an eviction notice which they can contest even though I own the damn place.”

  “And you’ve no idea where Miss Morales is now?”

  “None. If I did I’d be only too glad to tell you where. I’m the victim here,” Bobby said, tapping the top of the desk with his index finger. “I’m the one who’s lost a structure. I’m the one who’ll have to reimburse the city for all their charges related to the demolition of the structure. They may have been a little nuts, I’ll grant you, but I’ve lost a tenant, and with nothing to show for it but a charred hole in the ground.”

  “I guess not being a victim, I’m apparently missing something,” Carrick said then just shrugged.

  “I understand your frustration. Please try and understand mine. I’ve lost a revenue producing property, I’ve got an insurance company who apparently isn’t interested in paying, and it’s going to cost me about twenty-grand
in city cleanup expenses for the privilege.”

  “Not to mention the two people we know of who were killed,” Carrick said, then just let that last statement hang out there for a bit. “Once I find something out, I’ll be sure to get you involved, Mr. Custer. Can’t thank you enough for your time,” Carrick said rising to his feet. “Say, by the way, nice ring. Who’s the lucky guy?”

  Chapter Eight

  Emily phoned toward the end of the day.

  “This is Bobby,”

  “Hi, you still able to come over for dinner this evening?”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “I’m running a little late, and I have to check in on my Mom. Can we move it back to eight tonight?”

  “I suppose. Everything all right?”

  “Oh yeah, just running behind schedule.”

  He remembered Gregory Lindgren’s departure the night before and wondered if there might not be a connection. He was parked just down the block from Emily’s with his laptop an hour later. A little after six, a black Lexus LX turned the corner, cruised down the street, and came to a stop opposite Emily’s. Gregory Lindgren climbed out, hurried across the street and up the front steps. He knocked on the door using the brass knocker, then stood and waited for what seemed like an awfully long time. He was glancing at his watch, not for the first time, when the door eventually opened.

  Bobby had the recording device in Emily’s den with the volume turned up as high as it would go. He could hear a muffled sort of conversation coming from the first floor, but was unable to decipher what was being said. A few minutes later he made out what he hoped were footsteps climbing the stairs.

  “…based on your attitude I concluded the best thing I could do was leave.” Lindgren said as he followed Emily into the den. “Now, if you’d care to start over, I’m willing to forgive and forget. But I warn you, I’m not about to tolerate that sort of childish behavior. I simply won’t have it.”

  “You know what, Greg? You’re right, I agree. I was childish, I was stupid. Let’s be honest,” Emily said walking to her desk in the far corner of the room. “I was a bitch, wasn’t I?”

  “Well, now, I wouldn’t…”

  “No, you’re absolutely right, darling. I was a bitch.” She pushed a button on her computer keyboard and the screen suddenly sprang to life. “And you know what? The more I thought about it, the more I thought about all the wonderful, sexy, degenerate little perversions we enjoyed out in San Diego and I decided I’m going to turn over a new leaf. I’m going to come clean.”

  “Don’t do anything rash, Emily, I rather enjoyed your perversions I…”

  “I was going to make some new friends, maybe get a new hobby. Hey look,” she said pushing another button on her keyboard. “Here’s my new Facebook friend.”

  “Facebook?” he said then glanced at the screen.

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t think that’s funny, Emily.”

  “Sharon and I both enjoy some of the same things, cooking, reading romance novels, your dick, if she wants it.”

  “Turn that off now,” he said raising his voice.

  “I don’t think so, Greg. Hey, I know, I’ll bet she’ll like this one, course it’s probably been a while since she sucked you off. I can tell her all about it if she’s forgotten, you know, the things you say when you’re all horny. The noise you make, that little sort of growl you do when you cum, just in case she’s forgotten.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re playing at Emily, but I can assure you…”

  “Playing? Let me assure you, Greg. The very last thing I’m doing here is playing. I think you had better sit down. All of a sudden you don’t look so well.”

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I said sit down, Greg. It’s time for that frank, honest discussion you wanted to have.”

  “So that’s it… blackmail. That’s your game. Fuck you.”

  Emily walked over to her couch and sat down, “Your days of fucking me are over. I’m not going to tell you again, Greg. Sit down. Now.”

  “I’m afraid you just bit off more than you can chew, young lady,” he said and set his wine glass on the coffee table.

  “Sharon’s cell phone number is…” and she rattled off the number. Lindgren stopped before he was halfway to the door. “Her email address, actually she’s got two, of them…better sit down, Greg. Now.”

  He huffed, but he sat in a chair opposite her. “So how much do you want?”

  “See, Greg I knew you’d understand. I knew in the end you’d be reasonable because, well, if you’re not, it’s probably going to cost you millions. That’s plural, with an s at the end. Millions.”

  “How much?” he growled.

  “I’m reasonable, I’m thinking just six figures.”

  “Six figures,” he shouted.

  “Yeah, one, five, zero, zero, decimal point, zero, zero. Oh, god, silly me, I guess that’s seven, isn’t it? I mean if you count the decimal point.”

  “What?”

  “Fifteen hundred, Greg, that’s all I want.”

  “Fifteen hundred dollars?” He had a confused look on his face.

  “Yeah, that’s all. Fifteen hundred, on the first of the month, every month. In cash. That’s all.”

  Chapter Nine

  Bobby arrived a stylish ten minutes late. Emily answered the door almost immediately. “Hey, you must be starving,” she said, taking the two bottles of wine he handed her.

  “You’re worth the wait. How’s your mom?”

  “My mom?”

  “Yeah, you were checking in on her or something this afternoon.”

  “Oh yeah, just a quick ladies shopping trip, not that she purchased anything. But it’s nice to be able to get together you know, ever since Lizzy passed. So, come on back to the kitchen. I’ve got an hors d’oeuvre to keep us alive until the dinner comes out of the oven.”

  “The rest of your day go well?” Bobby asked twenty minutes later. They were leisurely working their way through a pâté and a second glass of wine.

  “Better than expected,” Emily smiled, then spread some chutney over her cracker and stuffed it into her mouth. “Mmm-mmm, picked up a new client.”

  “Really, what’s he do?” Bobby asked, then sipped waiting for her to pick up on the pronoun ‘he’. She didn’t.

  “A developer.”

  “Houses?”

  “No, more large buildings, hotels, shopping centers, that sort of thing.”

  “Maybe I know him,” Bobby said, and thought he’d noticed a momentary pause from Emily.

  “I doubt it, he’s not from around here. Actually out of state.”

  “San Diego?”

  “No, now why would you think that?”

  “Just a guess, you were there with your mom a bit ago. Thought maybe you’d done some business.”

  “No, that trip was strictly enjoyment.” The timer went off on the oven. Emily jumped off the kitchen stool and opened the oven door. A wave of heat drifted through the kitchen carrying the delicious smell of roasted chicken with it. “We’ll just let this sit for a few minutes, then I’m putting you in charge of carving, okay?”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t forget it,” she laughed.

  They talked about everything and nothing over the course of the meal. After dinner Emily cleared the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher while Bobby poured more wine.

  “Do chocolate chip cookies go with red wine?” she asked setting a plateful of homemade cookies on the counter in front of him.

  “I think they go with everything, but then so does red wine.”

  They never opened the second bottle. Instead they went upstairs to her bedroom, made love, and enjoyed the benefits of one another for the better part of an hour before they drifted off to sleep. Something woke Bobby in the middle of the night. Emily was asleep, with her back to him, breathing deeply. He lay awake for a moment, then just as h
e started to drift off to sleep, he heard it again.

  He wasn’t sure, was it a noise, something out of place or just the sound of the old structure creaking and settling? Then it happened again, this time just a little louder and no, it wasn’t the structure. Someone or something was on the stairs.

  He quietly slipped out of bed, pulled on his boxers, then reached in the pocket of his blazer and took out his pistol. The same one Camila had given him in the ice cream store, rosewood grips, black, chrome, almost too small for his hand and right now he would have been happier with a tank.

  The noise was more pronounced this time, a definite creak on the staircase, and worse, it sounded like it was toward the top of the stairs. He gave a quick glance at sleeping Emily, then quietly pulled the door open, slipped out of the bedroom and into the hall. There was a window at the top of the stairs and the moonlight illuminated the area just enough so he could make out the banister. Suddenly a figured appeared at the top of the stairs, Bobby crouched down, aimed at the figure dressed in black, placed his finger on the trigger and then recognized Greg Lindgren. He cleared his throat, then lowered his voice and said, “Can I help you?”

  Lindgren half jumped, then just stood there watching as Bobby stood up in the dark and walked toward him with his arms out pointing the pistol at him.

  “I think I know you,” Bobby said, then smiled as Lindgren took a step back toward the stairs.

  “I, I can explain. Really I can.”

  “Let’s talk downstairs. Go ahead, I’ll follow,” Bobby said.

  Lindgren cautiously took the first two or three steps then half turned to glance behind just as Bobby placed his foot in the middle of Lindgren’s back and pushed. He tumbled down the stairs making a number of loud thumps that turned into a half-somersault ending in a crash. “Ahhh-ahhhh-ahhhh.”