Corridor Man Volumes 1, 2, 3,4 5

by Nick James

  Plus, I think it’s a safe bet his monthly payment just tripled. “Like I said, it’s your decision.”

  “I think some good is bound to come from it. Thanks for understanding.”

  “I don’t understand, but I’ll bow to your wishes.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get out of this thing.”

  “Your latex?”

  “Yeah, and I’m going to need a hand. Let’s blow out the candles…this may take a while.”

  * * *

  She was asleep on her side, a combination of the wine, their physical activities, and whatever else she’d administered to herself prior to his arrival. She was breathing heavily, sounding like she was in a very deep sleep. The latex dress was still thrown haphazardly over the chair next to the triple chest of drawers. A variety of battery operated toys scattered across the top of the dresser.

  Bobby climbed quietly out of the bed, then carefully made his way down to the den and over to her desk where her computer sat. He turned the computer on, sent himself an email with another copy of her file, then shut the computer off and hurried back to bed.

  Her sleep continued, uninterrupted, just regular deep breathing. He gradually drifted off to sleep thinking about, of all things, Noah Denton or more accurately, Doctor Antonnini.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Emily chased down four aspirin with a sugary mix of orange juice, sitting bleary eyed at the kitchen counter. A thick terrycloth robe was cinched around her waist, hair flattened on one side, sort of snarled on the other and sticking up in back. Smeared mascara beneath both eyes gave her the look of a demented raccoon. “You sure I can’t make you something to eat?” The offer sounded less than genuine. She placed the glass back to her lips and gulped.

  “No, thanks. Besides, I’ve got a real busy day.”

  She half shrugged, drained the last swallow, and seemed to sigh. “Thanks for coming over and for, well, for understanding.”

  “Like I said, your decision. I don’t really get it, but okay.”

  “Mind if I don’t get up?”

  “Stay right where you are.”

  “Thanks,” she said, sort of slumping and looking like she might fall back asleep.

  He let himself out then drove home. He showered, didn’t shave then pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt feeling like he was on vacation. At noon he went for a walk and ended up getting more BBQ beef then he could handle from a powder-blue food truck labeled Tia Rosa’s.

  It took two hands to handle the sandwich. His cell phone rang, so he hurried to a bus bench on the corner, carefully set the sandwich down, and answered, the call coming in as unknown.

  “This is Bobby.”

  “Mr. Custer?”

  “Yes.”

  “James Antonnini.”

  “What can I do for you, Doctor?”

  “You meant what you said? You’ll delete the images?”

  “I will.”

  “How will I know?”

  Bobby thought about that for a moment. “I suppose I could send them to you, the file, if that would make you feel any better. Then you could delete them or do whatever you wanted with them.”

  There was a long pause and Bobby waited patiently. He picked up a piece of beef from his sandwich, close to an inch square and tossed it into his mouth, and then watched a young blonde woman peddle past on her bicycle. He stared as she passed, her top rode up her spine, her shorts had worked their way down to the point they exposed the hint of a red thong.

  “Custer?”

  “I’m here, Doctor.”

  “How much time do you have?”

  “Now, just about twenty-four hours. I have to be honest I deleted my file last night,” Bobby lied. “Figured after our conversation in the park you had decided not to take me up on the offer.”

  “You’ve already deleted the file?”

  “I’ve already deleted my file. Like I said after…”

  “Can you still get in there, get rid of mine?”

  “I can try, I suppose. Shouldn’t be a problem. I just don’t like to push my luck. See it actually doubles the chance of me getting caught. I’m sure you can understand?”

  “Yes, yes, I get all that, but you can still do it, right?”

  “I can. But I’m going to need some sort of guarantee.”

  “I give you my word, I’ll…”

  “Hope you can see my point here. However under the circumstances, no offense, but I’m afraid that’s not going to cut it. I think I’ll need some sort of official notification, maybe a word from City View.”

  “But I can’t arrange that sort of thing, imagine the suspicion that…”

  “Maybe let me worry about that part. You just let me know when you’ve completed your task and I’ll take care of the rest. But, the clock is ticking, Doctor.”

  A sigh came across the line, then Antonnini half shouted, “All right, all right, all right! I’ll see to it. You just make sure you do your part and get those files to me.”

  “I promise,” Bobby said, but the good doctor had already hung up.

  He sat at the bus stop for the next five minutes, finishing his sandwich, and watching the traffic roll by before he casually walked home. He turned on his computer and checked the cameras at Emily’s. After five minutes of no activity in either her bedroom or the den he grew bored and logged off.

  He downloaded a book from Amazon, then set it aside after only thirty minutes and drummed his fingers on the edge of the couch. He was sitting in the same spot where he’d positioned Angie some month’s back, thinking to himself how he sort of missed her. It was too bad she’d taken that wrong turn.

  Chapter Eighteen

  His cellphone rang waking him from a brief nap. He hoped it was Antonnini with an update on Noah Denton, but didn’t bother to check the caller ID.

  “Bobby Custer.”

  “Did you not get any of my calls?” the voice pleaded.

  “Addison?”

  “How many bitches are you stringing along?”

  “You’re the only one.”

  His reply seemed to give her pause. “Well, anyway, just wondered if you wanted to see about getting together, maybe.”

  “Are you going to be nice?”

  “Will it do me any good?” she scoffed. “Maybe you’d like some nasty.”

  “It will get you a lot further than acting the proverbial wet blanket wherever you go.”

  “I suppose.”

  “How about your place?”

  “My place?” she seemed to be caught off guard.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, I’m not at my folks anymore.”

  “Yeah, I know that. I was there when you left,” he said remembering her mother chasing her down the stairs and throwing her out, Addison screaming she’s leaving and then Cori walking into her completely trashed kitchen.

  “Well, I’m still sort of between places, you know, haven’t quite made up my mind yet.”

  In other words, your mother still has you cut off and everyone else can only take you in small doses. “Well, I suppose you could come over here if you wanted to. Give me some time to maybe get some dinner going.”

  “Yeah, I guess that will work. What’s your address?”

  He phoned an order into the restaurant up the street, then picked it up thirty minutes later. He was watching out the window when Addison parked her pickup down the street. The windshield on the passenger side sported what looked like a new spider web pattern and the front headlight was still broken. She was parked too far away to see any other damage. He watched as she stepped out of the vehicle then reached across the seat, pulled out a large black backpack. She slipped her arms through the straps, hoisted it onto her back with a grimace then stepped onto the sidewalk and quickly disappeared from view. The buzzer on the intercom rang a minute later.

  “Yes?”

  “Hey, it’s me, Addy.”

  “Come on up,” he said, then buzzed her in. He w
atched her step off the elevator, look left and right, and then head toward his door. Her backpack appeared to weigh as much as she did and she had to lean forward as she walked. She slipped the pack off, set it to the side in the hallway, then knocked on the door.

  He waited and watched through the peephole, making her knock two more times before he answered the door. She wore a pair of dirty jeans and a stained t-shirt. Her greasy hair hung limp and looked like it hadn’t been washed for a couple of weeks.

  “Addison. Hi, good to see you. I’m sorry, were you out here long? I was back in the kitchen working on dinner.”

  “No, just got here.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there, come on in.”

  She flashed a quick smile, then stepped inside leaving the backpack out in the hall. “Nice digs,” she said, bringing a cloud of cheap perfume along with her.

  “You gonna leave that backpack out in the hall? Someone might take it.”

  She got a surprised look on her face, sort of nodded, stepped out into the hall and dragged the backpack in. “Sorry, I didn’t know what…”

  Bobby grabbed it from her with one hand and picked it up, or at least tried to, but the pack was too heavy and he had to use both arms. “What in the hell do you have in here?”

  “Well, I was sort of wondering if I could maybe do a load of laundry? I just haven’t had the time to…”

  “A load? Feels like a lot more than one load. You’re living in that truck of yours, aren’t you?”

  “I just slept in there once or twice, you know, forgot my keys and…”

  “How could you forget your keys if you were in the truck? Weren’t they just hanging from the ignition?”

  “God, you’re sounding just like my mother.”

  “Come on, I’ll show you where the laundry is and I’m guessing you might like a hot bath while you’re at it.”

  “Would you mind?”

  He showed her how the washing machine worked. She pulled wrinkled t-shirts and soiled jeans along with a couple weeks’ worth of underwear out of the back pack and sorted them into four large piles and one small one, all scattered across the laundry room floor. The smell, a combination of mildew, sweat and God only knew what else permeated the room. He led her to the bathroom, promising to return with some towels and a robe. He heard the water running then waited a good ten minutes before he brought the towels in.

  She was leaning against the back of the tub, with only her head and her right hand above the water. The water in the tub steamed and the mirror and the bathroom window were fogged with moisture. She’d just inhaled a lungful of smoke from the joint she held in her right hand and she sort of cringed and half-choked on the smoke when he entered. She coughed, then exhaled and groaned, “Oh, God. Wow, hope you don’t mind? Just sort of helps me relax.” She was small-breasted and shaved, didn’t bother to cover herself and seemed unaffected by his staring.

  “Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes,” he said tossing the towels next to the sink. He hung a silky black robe on the brass hook attached to the back of the door. A hint of perfume wafted off the robe, and a memory of the night it was left flashed through his mind although he couldn’t seem to picture the woman who had left it. “Anything else you need?”

  “No, I think I’m okay.”

  “How about a glass of wine?”

  “Yeah, sure, long as you’re buying.”

  “Back in a minute,” he said then closed the door behind him. He thought about a crystal glass then decided against it and pulled one of the cheap wine glasses out of the cupboard and filled it almost to the rim. He waited a few minutes before bringing the wine to her.

  “Oh, man, thank you,” she said sitting up in the tub and taking the glass. The joint was nowhere to be seen although the humid room reeked of dope. She put the glass to her lips and slurped down half the contents. “Want to join me?”

  “I’d love to, but I’m finishing up in the kitchen. Take your time. See you in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Mmm-mmm,” she said and slurped more wine.

  Chapter Nineteen

  She wandered into the kitchen with her empty glass fifteen minutes later. She’d slipped into the silky robe, but it was tied haphazardly, or maybe tied that way on purpose, leaving her exposed.

  “Grab a stool,” Bobby said and placed a plate in front of her and took her glass to refill.

  “Looks delicious. You cooked this?” she said not bothering to wait. She grabbed her fork and shoveled a large piece into her mouth.

  “I did,” he lied. “Lemon chicken piccata with herb roasted potatoes, a little garlic, capers, some Italian parsley,” he repeated it just the way the woman at the restaurant had described it to him over the phone.

  Addison shoveled another forkful into her mouth, then grabbed the wine glass from his hand and gulped a couple of healthy swallows.

  “When was the last time you had something to eat?”

  “Oh, I was just working out today, sort of skipped lunch,” she said then drained her glass and looked at Bobby.

  “More wine?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He filled her glass almost to the rim again then watched as she shoveled in another forkful of chicken. “You like it?”

  She smiled, “I just may have had your ass figured all wrong.”

  By the time they’d finished dinner she was slurring her words and her head was weaving back and forth. “What do you say we move into the living room?” Bobby said, moving her plate before she knocked it onto the floor.

  “I was thinking maybe some party treats.”

  “Party treats?”

  “Like what you left me, all gift wrapped with the little bows and everything. That was so sweet, getting me all fucked up.” A ringing sounded from the laundry room which she didn’t appear to hear.

  “That your phone? Want me to get it for you?”

  “Fuck it, probably Josh wanting free pussy. I got a better idea, come on let’s party,” she said then sort of slipped off the stool. She started to sing incoherently, took a few steps like she was about to dance, and fell backwards onto the floor. She held onto her wine glass although whatever wine had been in there splashed onto her face and down her front. “Hey, pretty damn good, I didn’t break the glass,” she laughed, then attempted to stand up. Her left hand was on the floor for support and as she began to rise the hand slipped through the puddle of wine and she landed back on the floor, this time dropping the glass and breaking it.

  Bobby stepped over and helped her to her feet.

  “Oh, shit. Sorry man, can I get some more?”

  “Yeah, sure. Let’s get you into the living room, first,” he said, then helped her down the hallway. By the time he made it to the living room, whatever she was attempting to say was incoherent. He more or less dropped her onto the couch and she curled up into the corner. He went back into the kitchen, cleaned up the puddle of wine, tossed the broken glass in the trash, then rifled through her back pack and her jeans, keeping twelve dollars and some change that he found.

  He left her passed out on the couch and finished his glass of wine, listening to a Vivaldi violin sonata on the public radio channel. He’d poured his wine into a crystal glass, humming in his own little world, moving his hands back and forth as if directing the musicians. Addison’s phone rang two more times during the performance, but he ignored it.

  He wandered back into the living room, snapped his fingers a few times in front of her face, called her name once or twice, but didn’t get as much as a groan for a response. He pulled her robe off, positioned her over the arm of the couch in the same corner where he’d photographed Angie, and proceeded to take pictures of her using his cellphone. After fifteen minutes he rolled her onto her side and tossed the robe over her.

  It was a little after midnight when he left her. She was breathing heavily, snoring, actually, and he saw no point in moving her into his bed. Her phone kept dinging every fifteen or twenty minutes, waking him unti
l he finally stormed back to the laundry room and tore the thing out of her jeans pocket and tried to figure out how to turn the damn thing off completely.

  He slammed his finger against the screen a couple of times, and suddenly the dark room was illuminated, displaying the text message. “whr hell r u call me mother”.

  An emergency text from her mother. Could it be that something had happened to Noah Denton? He thought about sending Emily’s images to Antonnini in payment, then decided that could wait until morning. He debated waking Addison, but figured she would still be too intoxicated to be much good and he certainly didn’t want her slipping up and telling her mother she had been here. Instead, he went back to bed and fell into a deep, restful sleep in a matter of minutes.

  He woke a little after seven the follow morning, put the coffee on, and then checked Addison. She’d apparently rolled off the couch sometime in the middle of the night and lay naked on his living room floor, snoring contentedly. He showered, shaved, then made himself a nice breakfast omelet while he scrolled through the morning news. Around mid-morning, he heard the bathroom door close and a few minutes later Addison stumbled into the kitchen. She’d pulled the silky robe back on, but hadn’t bothered to tie it, letting it hang open more as an oblivious action than any attempt at enticement.

  “How’d you sleep?”

  “God. Okay, I guess, you got some aspirin? My head is killing me.”

  “Yeah sure, let me just find some for you. How about some breakfast?”

  “I better not, I don’t think I could keep it down.”

  Her phone sounded from the laundry room a moment later. “Oh, shit,” she groaned and wandered in and searched through a pile of laundry before she pulled it out of her jeans pocket. “Oh, God,” she groaned a moment later.

  “Here’s that aspirin. Problem?” Bobby asked.

  She strolled out of the laundry room, her robe still undone, bleary eyed, teeth stained from last night’s wine, and hair sticking out in a number of different directions, looking anything but appealing. “God, my mother. I’ve got about a thousand text messages from her. She’s having a cow over something. I probably should go.”