Sorrow's Anthem lp-2

by Michael Koryta

  More hours passed. I stayed in my chair, and Amy sat with me. We talked less. The police had not come to find me again, and I had not heard from Richards. Amy was struggling to stay awake. I told her to go home and get some sleep.

  “No way, Lincoln.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I hear something. It’s almost two in the morning, Ace. Go get some rest.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll fall asleep eventually.”

  She didn’t want to go, but she also didn’t want to argue with me. After a minute, she got to her feet.

  “Call me as soon as you hear anything new,” she said.

  “I will.”

  She leaned down and gave me a hug, kissed me on the forehead, and then left. I was alone again in the empty waiting room, watching the clock.

  My thoughts returned to Mitch Corbett. Had he set us up? If Cancerno was to be believed, Corbett and Padgett had worked in tandem before. But trusting a guy who made a life running every hustle in the book was a big if.

  I found myself hoping Cancerno knew where Corbett was. Hoping someone else had been able to succeed where I had failed, and that Cancerno had already finished his own task. I’d believed his sincerity about that more than any other part of his story. If he found Corbett, he would kill him.

  It wasn’t going to be easy to find him, though. Joe and I were good, and we hadn’t come close. And knowing Corbett’s relationship with Cancerno changed things. Maybe he had more money than anybody had known. Maybe he’d swindled a cool million off Cancerno and bailed, and that was why Cancerno wanted him dead. That could change things dramatically. Explain why even our gifted spook in Idaho hadn’t been able to help us. Money changes everything. The two hardest people to find are those with plenty of money to run with, and those with none at all.

  Joe’s idea about checking Joseph A. Marsh had been a good one. Assuming Corbett didn’t have money, it had been perfect. Where else would he go without any cash, with no family to take him in? His options would have been slim, and finding someplace—anyplace—to wait the storm out while he tried to come up with a plan would have been hard. The Neighborhood Alliance properties offered him that, and the school was the best option of the lot. Remove that from the list, and who the hell knew where he’d gone.

  The thought of the list stopped me cold. The night of the fires, I’d tried to get ahead of Corbett by moving through the list of Neighborhood Alliance properties. Where had the list come from, though? Amy. And she’d gotten it from the county recorder’s office. The houses had nothing to do with Cancerno’s crew until they were instructed to begin working on them. One house, the big one on West Fortieth, had been purchased just a week before Sentalar died. It was almost certain Cancerno’s team wasn’t ready to work on it yet, and quite possible that they didn’t even know about it. But Corbett had been with Sentalar in that last week, touring the neighborhood. He might have known.

  “Shit,” I said aloud. “I saw it. I saw the damn thing.”

  Mitch Corbett had a cat. There’d been a litter box in the furnace room at his house. The door to the furnace room had been closed. If he’d left the cat in the house, he would have left that door open. Wouldn’t want the cat pissing all over the rug.

  There hadn’t been a cat in Corbett’s house, but I’d seen one in the vacant house on West Fortieth. Hard to forget the little beast, considering I’d damn near shot it. It hadn’t been a stray, either, but healthy and well fed, with a collar that had reflected a glitter of light when I’d leveled my gun at it.

  It was five past two when I left the hospital to find Mitch Corbett.

  CHAPTER 28

  I didn’t have my truck at the hospital, so I had to walk it. The house was about two miles from MetroHealth. I walked down the empty sidewalks, keeping my hands in my pockets and my shoulders hunched against the light chill the storms had left in the night air. A car cruised past me slowly, a couple kids sticking their heads out of the windows and yelling at me. I didn’t look up. One of them tossed a bottle that hit ten feet away and shattered. They laughed and drove on.

  Although I was feeling confident that Corbett had been in the house, I wasn’t sure he’d still be there. The day after the fires, the cops would have had to put some scrutiny on the Neighborhood Alliance. They would have checked the other houses, probably accompanied by an arson team. If they’d flushed Corbett out, would he have returned? All I could do was hope that he had.

  The house on West Fortieth looked just as it had the last time I’d visited it in the night—dark, lonely, and forgotten. A neighborhood lived on around it, but this house was no longer part of that. I approached the back door.

  I didn’t have a gun. My Glock had been lost in Rocky River, and I hadn’t gone back to the office or to my apartment before making this trip. I wasn’t in a mood to let that worry me, though.

  The door wasn’t locked. The knob turned freely in my hand. I pushed the door open about six inches, then stepped to the side, and listened. There was no sound of movement. I gave it a few seconds longer, then pushed the door all the way open and stepped inside. I remembered the layout and moved fairly quickly through the kitchen and into the living room. As I entered, I heard a soft thump and moved to the side again. A car passed outside, and light slid over the room momentarily. It was enough to show me a familiar gray-and-white cat on the floor, looking up with wide eyes that shone in the darkness, and a large man stretched out on the floor under a thin blanket, a handgun beside him.

  I shuffled close to him, and the cat meowed loudly. The man didn’t stir. I felt along the dirty floorboards with my left hand, searching for the gun. I touched something else and discovered it was a metal-handled flashlight. I took it in my right hand, then kept searching till I found the gun and put it in my left hand. When I picked the gun up, the cat yowled again, louder this time. The man on the floor grunted softly and sat up. I hit the flashlight button and shot the beam into his eyes.

  “Rise and shine, Mr. Corbett.”

  He covered his eyes with one arm and swept the other across the floor, searching for the gun.

  “I’ve already got it,” I said, and he stopped moving. His eyes were shielded and he squinted, and still he couldn’t see me, because I was standing behind the light.

  “I’m Lincoln Perry,” I said. “And we’re going to do some talking. Talk well enough—and that means honest enough—and you might not die tonight, Corbett.”

  He sat on the floor with his back against the wall while I stood in front of him. He was a big man, over six feet and carrying probably 220 pounds. He wore grimy jeans and a T-shirt, and a new growth of beard covered his face. The cat had curled up beside him, and he stroked its fur absently while he talked.

  “Whatever Cancerno told you is a lie. The only thing he knows about the truth is how to avoid it. Ed was my friend. You think I had anything to do with what happened with him, you’re out of your mind.”

  “You know what did happen, though?”

  “Most of it.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing here, instead of down at a police station trying to help before more people die?”

  “You just told me,” Corbett said, “that it was a cop who shot your partner.”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed softly. “So there you go, man. There you go. First Anita went down, then Ed, and I knew it was time for my ass to clear out. Not that I expected to make it long. I got no money, no place to go. And Jimmy Cancerno is not going to let me stay gone for long. When the man finds me . . .” He shook his head. “Dying isn’t going to be easy for me. He’ll make damn sure of that. Take his time.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because I put it all in motion, man. I told the old stories. And he knows that. Everything that’s happened since? Jimmy’s holding me personally responsible. I guarantee that.”

  “Explain it. If you put it all into motion, I want to know how. Every last detail, Corbett.”

  He ran a hand
over his scruffy beard and sighed. My night vision had adapted to the point that I could see him even without the flashlight. The empty living room smelled heavily of dust and mold.

  “It goes back a ways,” he said. “For you to understand what Eddie got into, you got to listen a bit.”

  “I’ve been through a lot to hear the story. I’m sure as hell not going to get impatient now.”

  His eyes searched for me in the darkness, and he nodded once. “Okay. Then I’ll get to telling it.”

  ______

  It started, Mitch Corbett told me, when Norm Gradduk lost his job. It hadn’t been in April, which was what Norm had offered to his family. It had been the previous October. For six months, Norm had left the house every day pretending he was on his way to work. In reality, he was on his way to the Hideaway or another drinking establishment of choice. Norm had gone through a handful of jobs in the two years leading up to that, and at his last firing Alberta had hit the roof. He didn’t want to deal with that scene again, so he decided he’d just keep things quiet till he found another job.

  “Problem was,” Corbett said, “he didn’t find another job.”

  So Norm needed cash, and a steady supply of it. Didn’t want to go for unemployment, though. There was pride at stake, and of course it was more likely Alberta would find out the truth if he did go on the county. Maybe even leave him. One of Norm’s friends, maybe Scott Draper’s dad, maybe somebody else, introduced him to a neighborhood guy named Jimmy Cancerno. Told him this was a man who could give him some cash, a short-term loan, a long-term loan, whatever he needed. Cancerno was more than cooperative when the two men met; he was downright friendly. Slapped Norm on the shoulder and told him the money was his. They’d work out terms of repayment later, he said with a wink. At first, Norm borrowed as little as possible, just enough to keep the electric bill paid and food on the table. But the money was given so freely, without hassle or heartache, that it also became easier to ask for it. The weekly loans increased. So did the debt. And Norm’s drinking and gambling.

  “You know much about Cancerno?” Corbett asked me, his voice low and quiet in the dark.

  “Big player in the neighborhood, I understand.”

  Corbett laughed that unamused laugh of his again. “He runs this neighborhood, man. Owns it. And the loan-sharking was just a different sort of investment plan for him. He wasn’t counting on getting the cash back. What he wanted was favors. He wanted to have guys who owed him so bad, they’d be willing to do a lot of things for him. Do things that would make Jimmy a hell of a lot more in the long run than what the guys owed him on the loans. He liked to set the hook, Jimmy did. Still does.”

  “I believe it.”

  Winter came and went, and Norm started to pull himself together again, Corbett explained. Got off the barstool and back out looking for work. Fessed up to Alberta about his employment status, but didn’t tell her how long it had been since he was fired. Didn’t mention his arrangement with Jimmy Cancerno. Norm found a job. Awful pay, but the best he could do at the time. Then summer rolled around, and so did Jimmy Cancerno.

  By then Norm owed Cancerno somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty-five grand. Not an astronomical sum, but a lot to a guy whose new job paid about four hundred a week. And Cancerno wanted repayment immediately, with value added. When Norm confessed that it would likely be a few years before he could cover all of the debt, Cancerno made him an offer—he could work the debt off. Clear thousands owed in one night, by setting a few fires. A guy named Terry Solich was really beginning to cramp Cancerno’s business style, and Cancerno had decided it was time for Solich to go. Solich hadn’t proved agreeable, so now the matter was going to be taken out of his hands. And for Norm Gradduk, it was a chance to get out from under. One night’s work with a can of gas and a book of matches, one loan cleared. Simple as that. Cops wouldn’t even be an issue, Cancerno said. He’d take care of that end. All Norm had to do was light the matches.

  “But Norm didn’t agree to it,” Corbett said. “He drew his line, and drew it hard. He said he wasn’t going near Terry Solich’s pawnshop, and if Jimmy asked him again, Norm was going to the cops. Jimmy asked him how he was going to pay the loan back then, and Norm told him he’d pay it back when he got good and ready. Then he made some more threats about the cops.”

  Corbett stopped talking for a moment. The cat rose beside him, stretched until it seemed to have doubled in length, then wandered away from us. Corbett shifted position, hooking his arms around his knees.

  “Back then people were just getting to know the sort of man Jimmy was. A guy like Norm Gradduk, well, he had no idea. Not really. But the one thing nobody was going to get away with was threatening Jimmy. Especially by talking about bringing in the cops. Jimmy always knew that owning a piece of the neighborhood police was important, and by then he had a couple guys on payroll. One of them was Jack Padgett.”

  “I saw him take a bullet today,” I said. “And it was one of the nicer things I’ve seen in a long time.”

  Corbett just nodded. “Well, Jimmy decided it was time to make a statement. Norm needed a lesson, right? So Jimmy rounded up Padgett and they went down to pay a visit to Norm at his house.”

  Corbett’s voice was quieter, his tone softer. He didn’t like the topic he was discussing. He didn’t want to have to tell this story again, I could tell.

  “Jimmy told Norm he had a choice—burn Solich out or pay up right then. Norm told him to go to hell. His wife was at the house, and she had no idea what was going on.”

  “What about Ed?” I said.

  “Wasn’t there. I don’t know where he was, but I know it wasn’t the house.”

  If he hadn’t been home, it was a safe bet he’d been with me. I wondered what we’d been doing the night Cancerno and Padgett had paid their visit to the Gradduks. Having fun, probably. Laughing our way through another summer night. That was the way they all went, back then.

  “Norm came on like a tough guy,” Corbett said. “Giving them hell, telling them to get out of his house. He didn’t know what he was dealing with. Padgett slapped him around a bit, kicked his ass in front of the wife. Laughed and showed them his badge when Gradduk’s wife screamed about calling the police.”

  Silence. I waited, but he didn’t continue.

  “Well?” I said eventually.

  Corbett’s head was down, eyes on the floor. “Jimmy was screaming at Norm, telling Norm that he owned the cops, owned the neighborhood, owned Norm. Nobody threatened Jimmy the way Norm had, and he was going to make that point. With Norm’s wife.”

  I looked away as a car passed the house again, another brief shaft of light filling the room.

  “They held a gun to Norm’s head,” Corbett said. “Then Padgett and Cancerno . . . well, they made her perform. In front of him.”

  I was rubbing my thumb in small, circular motions across the butt of the gun, my finger tense on the trigger.

  “When they left, they promised Norm they’d be back. Said unless he did what Jimmy wanted, when Jimmy wanted, they’d be back. Padgett was the key to the whole night. He’s been the key to a lot of nights like that. It’s one thing going up against Jimmy, but when you know he’s got cops on his team, too, particularly an evil son of a bitch like Padgett . . . well, it makes a guy feel helpless, you know? I think that’s how Norm felt.”

  “That’s why he killed himself,” I said, my voice hollow. “He thought he was protecting the family. Severing the tie between Cancerno and Padgett and his family.”

  “I’d expect so. But it didn’t work out that way. Jack Padgett is one of the meanest men I’ve ever known, and I’ve known some that would turn your stomach.”

  “Cancerno said you two were tight.”

  “What did I tell you about Jimmy and the truth?”

  I nodded.

  “Jimmy’s a ruthless son of a bitch, but only when he’s got something to gain,” Corbett continued. “With Jimmy, when Norm was gone, it was done. No value left for h
im. But for Padgett, that wasn’t how it went. He’d taken a liking to Norm’s wife, and he came back for more.”

  “And Ed found out.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know when he got wind of it, exactly, but he did. And he went looking for someone to help.” Corbett lifted his head. “He picked your father.”

  I took a deep breath and nodded. “I understand this part. My dad made the harassment complaint, and Mike Gajovich swept it under the rug. He went down and intimidated Alberta, scared her out of it by telling her she and Ed would become part of a humiliating public spectacle.”

  “That’s close to the sum of it. Jimmy wanted to protect Padgett, because Padgett was so valuable to him. He also knew Gajovich’s brother, an asshole of the first order. You were a cop?” When I nodded, he said, “You know him?”

  “Not really.”

  “Lucky, then. Anyhow, Cancerno went through the brother to the lawyer, the one who’s prosecutor now. Mike. He took some cash from Jimmy and played his role, maybe thinking it was one and done, I don’t know. If he was hoping that’d be it, then he didn’t realize he’d just made as bad a mistake as Norm Gradduk had. Making a deal with Jimmy is like the kind of arrangement some men have made with the devil on a lonely highway. You get what you want, but then, brother, you’re gone.”

  I was suddenly tired of standing. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor like Corbett, angled to face him. I set the gun down beside my leg.

  “You said you were the one who put things in motion,” I said. “I’m assuming you told Ed the story, and he went after Cancerno.”

  “Uh-huh. Ed figured he had a score to settle with Jimmy. He knew what was going on with the Neighborhood Alliance houses, so he—”

  “What is going on with those houses?”

  “I don’t know the details, man. I just ran the crew. My job was to do shit repairs and fleece the HUD grant for four times what we’d actually put into it. Where’s the excess going? Maybe right back into Jimmy’s pockets, maybe somewhere else.”