by Nick James
“An hour? Yeah, sure.”
* * *
Bobby showered, secretly hoped Gabriella might sneak into the shower with him, then took his time getting dressed. There was a soft knock on his door as he was tying his neck tie. His first thought was her timing was off and it was too late.
“Come in.”
“You’re to come,” she said opening the door. It was the maid, the woman who had served the dinner last night and his coffee this morning. It was the first time he had heard her speak and from the heavy accent he thought it might be the only English words she knew. He grabbed his coat and out of habit slid his cellphone into a pocket. She escorted him to the elevator where two men were waiting. A moment later, Luis and four other men joined them.
Two of the men Bobby recognized from the day of the shooting and they exchanged brief nods. One of them had helped carry Camila. The other was Ignacio, who Bobby hadn’t seen since that awful day. A bright red scar was knotted across the upper part of his left arm. Although the wound had apparently healed it still looked painful.
With the exception of Luis, all the others must have been hiding behind the door when a sense of humor and a warm personality had been passed out. Luis scanned the crowd, nodded, and said a sentence or two in Spanish. Then they all stepped onto the elevator. When the doors opened they were down in the parking area and were met by two other men. Bobby had always considered the word thug when contemplating Luis’s employees, but now looking at the assembled group, the term violent criminal began to resonate.
Three black SUV’s were parked with their engines running, one behind the other. The group automatically spread out to the various vehicles. Luis indicated the middle one to Bobby. A young man with cold black eyes hurried past and opened the door for Luis, then motioned with his head for Bobby to climb in as well.
They drove up the ramp in the garage and out the raised door. A young, muscular man had halted traffic so the caravan could exit the ramp and pull onto the street. The moment they were out of the building, Bobby's phone immediately made four or five successive dings signaling messages.
“Ignore those and let’s concentrate on our meeting. In fact, it may be wise to turn it off and hand it to Matias. We would’t want an interruption tonight.”
A large man in the front passenger seat turned round and extended his right hand without smiling. Bobby noticed he was missing his little finger. He reached into his coat pocket and placed his phone in the man’s hand. “I thought it had stopped working. I tried to make some calls earlier, but couldn’t reach anyone.”
“My security system,” Luis said, then looked out the window.
Bobby was about to say something, ask a question, but then thought better of it. Rush hour had pretty much dissipated, and the sun, although not yet setting, was getting ready to do just that. He was the only one in the vehicle without sunglasses. “We going to Minneapolis?” he asked as the caravan pulled onto I-94 and headed west.
“Maybe,” Luis said, but didn’t elaborate.
They drove around past the downtown Minneapolis area, continuing west onto I-394, past Bryn Mawr, then the suburbs of St. Louis Park, Minnetonka, and Wayzata before heading due north on a county road out in Long Lake. They’d been driving for close to an hour passing fields of corn and soybeans when they turned onto a gravel farm road. By now, the sun had almost set and it was dusk. They pulled into the parking lot of a nondescript commercial building in the middle of nowhere. The building was two stories tall with white-washed windows across the front of the first floor and faded green aluminum siding across the top where some business name had once been attached.
“We’re meeting with Montcreff here?” Bobby asked.
“Just finalizing our agreement,” Luis said.
They drove around the side of the building and just as they pulled into the back lot, a garage door opened and they drove into a large, empty warehouse area.
Everyone waited in the SUV until the doors were opened by four guys in jeans and t-shirts. Greetings and nods were exchanged as people climbed out of the vehicle. “You stay close to me,” Luis said.
The group headed to the far end of the warehouse where half a dozen chairs were arranged in a semicircle. The chairs were all occupied, there was no table, no desk, and as the group approached, their footsteps echoed in the cavernous warehouse.
Bobby was in the middle of the group, just behind Luis, but he slowed his pace as the chairs and their occupants came into focus. What looked like strips of cloth around their feet and ankles bound the occupants to the chairs. All their heads seemed to hang down limply. As the group approached, one guy on the far left lifted his head halfway up to look for a moment, then dropped it back down on his chest and seemed to shake.
Bobby slowed and almost came to a complete stop. Whoever was behind him pushed him forward, roughly. “Come on, keep up, Bobby,” Luis said without looking back. He got another push from behind, not quite so forceful, but leaving no doubt.
There was blood and lots of it, dripping from the heads, arms and chests of the men in the chairs. The chairs were positioned on a large sheet of plastic. Puddles of blood, now coagulated, had collected beneath each chair. One of the figures, the heaviest of the group, sat hooded and unmoving. Blood had seeped through what looked like a white pillow case tied around his head. Bobby could see he was still breathing, but it looked fairly faint.
Two of the men in the group stepped behind the chairs as the rest of them spread out in front. Bobby remained behind Luis who looked at the wreckage in front of him, nodded and said something that brought a slight chuckle to his entourage.
“Recognize them, Bobby?”
“No, no I, what’s going on, Luis? This is…”
Luis nodded at one of the guys standing behind the chairs. He grabbed the figure on the far left by the hair and yanked his head back, the man cried out in pain and Bobby noticed he was missing teeth and an ear seemed to hang by just a flap of skin. He was the same one who’d lifted his head when they first entered, and Bobby had to swallow hard just to keep his stomach down. “Recognize him now?” Luis asked
Actually, the face did look vaguely familiar, sort of, maybe, although he was so beat-up, swollen, and bloody it was impossible to tell. “I, I don’t think I know him.”
“Maybe because this time he’s not laughing. The truck, with the shooters that day. He tried to kill Camila, and you. He would have, if you hadn’t acted. Hadn’t pulled her out of the garage. Not so funny now, is it, Brian?”
One of the men off to Bobby’s right spit on a bloodied figure in a chair and suddenly everyone but Luis began spitting and cursing. Bobby couldn’t understand the words that were used but the tone and inflection left no doubt. The figure on the far right with the pillow case tied over his head began to stir.
Luis waited for the cursing and spitting to run its course, then once it had died down, he nodded toward the hooded figure on the far right. One of the men behind the chairs, the larger of the two, although they were both big, walked down to the end and stood behind the figure. As his footsteps approached, the hooded figure began to tremble and shake. Fresh blood appeared to soak through the pillow case and his head began swaying back and forth. The crowd seemed to spread out as Luis smiled and pulled a reluctant Bobby forward.
“This is your moment, Bobby. You saved my sister, my daughter, and now, you shall have your revenge. He nodded and the man behind the hooded figure grabbed the pillow case, ripped it off, then stepped away. “Because of what you did, you will always have a special place in my heart,” Luis said.
Bobby stared at the bloodied figure just as he raised his head. The left eye appeared to be missing although it was impossible to tell with the swelling and blood. The lips were split. Half of the lower lip was torn and hung from the mouth like a large piece of spaghetti, revealing the remnants of a few broken teeth. The nose that Bobby had always thought looked like a potato was split down the center and smashed over to one side. With gre
at effort the figure lifted his bloodied head and attempted to focus with the remaining eye. “Help me, Custer,” Morris Montcreff whispered. “Please.”
The End
Thank you for reading Corridor Man 4: Dead End, hope you enjoyed the read. Bobby has fallen in way over his head. If you enjoyed Corridor Man 4: Dead End please click on the appropriate link below and leave a review, it really helps. Thanks…
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Nick James
Corridor Man 5
Finger
Published by Credit River Publishing 2016
Copyright Mike Faricy 2016
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior and express permission of the copyright owner.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Corridor Man 5: Finger is written by Mike Faricy under the pseudonym Nick James.
ASIN# B01HOTDSRQ
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the following people for their help & support:
Special thanks to Roxanne, Tim, Julie, and Roy for their hard work, cheerful patience and positive feedback. I would like to thank family and friends for their encouragement and unqualified support. Special thanks to Maggie, Jed, Schatz, Pat, Av, Emily and Pat, for not rolling their eyes, at least when I was there. Most of all, to my wife, Teresa, whose belief, support and inspiration has, from day one, never waned.
He who fights with monsters should be careful
lest he thereby become a monster.
~Friedrich Nietzsche
Nick James
Corridor Man 5
Finger
Chapter One
“That’s, that’s Morris Montcreff?” Bobby half-screamed and stared wide-eyed at Luis.
Luis smiled and said, “Yes, he’s been in negotiations since early last night. But I think he’s just about ready to see things from our point of view.” A few of the men in the group chuckled, then everyone seemed to focus on Bobby.
Luis turned away from Bobby and held out his hand. Someone gave him a gun, he nodded a quick thanks, and handed the gun to Bobby. “Here, I think you should have the honor of telling him we’ve reached a conclusion.”
The gun, a revolver, seemed exceptionally heavy in his hand. He looked at it for a long moment, then up at Luis. “What?”
“It’s okay,” Luis said, and smiled.
Bobby looked down at Montcreff just as he raised his beaten, bloodied head and attempted to focus on Bobby with his one remaining eye. In a brief second, Bobby analyzed the situation. All six men tied to the chairs were going to die and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. If he didn’t kill what was left of Montcreff, someone else would, but probably not until they’d inflicted more pain and suffering on the man. Then, once that was finished, Bobby could join the six and make it an unlucky seven. There was only one way out. Only one path to take.
Montcreff raised his head. “Help, Custer,” he pleaded. “Cus…” The round entered his forehead from a distance of no more than four feet, leaving a perfect hole the size of a dime. A plume of bloody mist and bits of bone and brain matter filled the air behind him, then sprinkled down onto the plastic sheet. Montcreff jerked backward, moving his chair back a good half foot before what was left of his head fell forward and rested on his chest.
One of the beaten figures in the middle of the group began to shake and sob softly, but otherwise it was quiet in the vast warehouse. Luis held his hand out to Bobby who remained focused on Montcreff’s body. Eventually, he took Bobby’s hand and pried the revolver from his grip. He looked over at the two men who’d hosted the event, nodded, and said, “Bury them.” Then he turned, took Bobby by the arm and guided him back toward the vehicles with the rest of the group following. The closer they got to the SUV’s the louder the laughter. A couple of the men slapped one another on the back.
Luis climbed into the SUV, then motioned for Bobby to follow. He climbed in and sat in his seat staring straight ahead. Luis reached over and had to buckle Bobby’s seat belt. Something was said, someone or maybe everyone in the vehicle laughed, but Bobby seemed unable to come out of his trance-like state.
Before he knew it, they were riding the elevator back up to the penthouse. Everyone headed for the rear patio where a table was set with silver trays covered with all sorts of food. Two women who appeared to be in their late teens were pouring drinks, although more than one of the men just grabbed a bottle and drank from that. More women flooded onto the patio, mingling with the men. Gabriella was in the crowd and Luis motioned her over and whispered something in her ear. She left, then reappeared a moment later with a tray of shot glasses filled with a clear liquid. She placed a shot glass in Bobby’s hand, linked arms with him, and together they tossed the shot back.
A cheer went up from the crowd and a woman he’d never seen before linked arms with him, and together they downed another shot. A number of women approached and drank a shot with him over the next half hour. Or, maybe more appropriately, sort of forced him to drink a shot.
Gabriella suddenly appeared at his side with a bottle, took him by the hand along with another woman from the crowd, and the three of them left the patio and headed for his room. The assembled group cheered as they departed. Bobby received a number of pats on the back as he made his way through the crowd. His final, hazy memory of the night was of one of the women unbuttoning his shirt while his head rested in the lap of the naked woman softly stroking his hair. He was about to say something, but couldn’t seem to form the words.
Chapter Two
Based on the clock resting on the bedside table, it was well past the noon hour before he woke. He was alone in bed although there remained a mix of perfumes on the pillows and in the sheets. He closed his eyes and took a number of deep breaths trying to make sense of the previous night.
In a matter of a second or two, his mind raced from the elevator full of armed men, to the long drive to the vacant warehouse, and the six figures beaten and tied to chairs. Then it stopped and dwelt on a beaten Morris Montcreff begging for mercy, and the explosion from the end of Bobby’s right hand as he literally blew Montcreff’s brains out. Try as he may, he couldn’t seem to erase the image from his mind and Montcreff’s final words. “Custer, Cus…”
After some time, he groaned out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. He took a long hot shower which seemed to help, at least a little, then he walked back into the bedroom. His new suit was neatly arranged on a chair, the trousers folded, the coat hanging over the back of the chair. He vowed to never wear it again, ever.
He stepped into the casual clothes he’d worn the day before. He opened the door and walked toward the dining room hoping there might be some food left. The table was set for one, the same place he’d sat before. There was a silver coffee pot along with a cup and saucer on the buffett. He touched the pot and it was hot. He poured himself a steaming cup of coffee, set it at his place, and returned to the buffet opening the lids on the silver trays. The food, eggs, French toast, and bacon all steamed as he lifted the lids. He made a mental note that there were no sausages as he filled his plate and sat down. A small dish, perhaps only two inches across, held a couple of aspirin which he gratefully tossed into his mouth, then chased down with a sip or two of hot coffee.
He had almost finished his meal when Luis entered. “So, you survived the evening.”
Bobby didn’t know quite how to respond, and the image of Montcreff attempting to focus his one eye, almost whispering “Custer, Cus..” flashed in his mind. The sound of the revolver suddenly exploded in his mind and
he half jumped in his chair.
Fortunately, Luis had his back to him at the buffet. “I presume they were to your satisfaction, Gabriella and Maria. Believe me, you were the envy of all of us.” He poured himself a cup of coffee, then walked over and sat at the head of the table with Bobby immediately to his right.
Bobby took a hearty gulp of hot coffee and felt it burn on the way down. “Unfortunately, I can’t really recall very much other than having my shirt unbuttoned.”
“Sometimes those can be the best, but it’s also why I don’t drink anymore. I like to remember everything.”
Bobby nodded, and sipped before he spoke.
“We have a large undertaking before us, you and I. It’s going to be huge. As I’ve told you, I’m disbarred, unable to practice and so I…”
Luis held his hand up. “Please, listen to what we’re going to do. I’ve made arrangements for a new firm…”
“A new firm? But I can’t…”
“Please listen, just listen. Your new offices are being arranged as we speak. I’ll need you to move the Montcreff files to the new location in due time. For the moment, you can return to your firm and begin organizing the process. Before you say anything, I’m quite aware of the complications. But, you see, you’re the only person who can accomplish this. You have the information.” Luis tapped the side of his head with his index finger. “You’re the only one, and so I’ll provide you with anything you may need, and in return you will be able to cut years off the process. I think at one point you mentioned five years. I think this seems reasonable given the scope of the undertaking. What I want to avoid is anything beyond that and, well, all the potential pitfalls in between.”