Corridor Man 6: Exit Strategy

by Nick James

  Chapter Two

  Bobby checked the time on his computer, not quite noon. He wasn’t hungry enough to break for lunch so he checked the newsfeed online. Eventually he ended up on Facebook, did a quick search for Jeremy Leeks and came up empty-handed. Maybe that was a good thing, or just maybe it might serve as a warning flag. He scanned through a series of posts people had made, one more boring than the next. He couldn’t care less about your morning coffee, what you’d done in the garden, or how bored you were.

  He spotted a post from a law school classmate, actually both he and his wife had been in Bobby’s law class. Both of them had graduated with honors. Bobby, on the other hand, had been on the opposite end of the class roster, more or less bringing up the rear. Still, he’d gotten his law degree and passed the bar exam, not that it mattered in today’s world. The post was about their wedding anniversary. “Ten Glorious Years” was the way it started out.

  Becca and Kurt. She’d been the woman things were written about on stall walls in the men’s room. Every guys fantasy date, at least physically. Bobby had always found her to be a pain in the ass. He’d made a drunken pass at her one night, a million years ago, maybe grabbed inappropriately, but so what? She was asking for it. Anyway, she’d pretended to be offended and he’d found it best over the years since to simply keep his distance.

  He was scanning Becca’s list of friends now, all three hundred and forty-two. He knew a handful of them as he went through the list, then paused on a name, Joanie Cartwright, an old flame. They’d talked marriage at one time, he even went so far as to give her an engagement ring. She wanted an oval-shaped stone. He’d scraped together all the money he had, stole a hundred bucks from a roommate, and bought her a ring. He remembered how excited she’d been when he gave it to her, then the disappointment on her face once she opened the small box.

  “What you don’t like it? I can…”

  “No, no, it’s fine. It’ll do…I guess.”

  Of course, all that was before she dumped him three months later, the first time. The event had made for a memorable New Year’s Eve. She’d kept the diamond.

  Later on he found out from a friend that Joanie had fallen head over heels for some pottery artist. She became a free spirit, dropped out of law school and pursued a career in impressionistic painting that lasted all of ninety days until the potter dropped her and she came to the realization she really didn’t have much artistic talent.

  She’d contacted Bobby once he’d passed the bar exam and they started dating again until she dropped him a second time for some guy working at the newspaper. From that point on they’d had an off and on affair until his disbarment and sentencing. Like so many other people he knew, she treated him like he had a communicable disease instead of the guy who just happened to get caught and charged.

  He clicked onto her Facebook page. Instead of her picture there was an image of a bouquet of roses. No information was available as to what she looked like, where she lived or even what she was doing. He debated for a number of minutes, then sent her a friend request. Then he typed out a message….

  ‘Hey, ran across your name and just wondered how things are going for you. I’m doing well, back in the world and groveling just like everybody else. Would love to get together with for a cup of coffee and learn what you’ve been up to. Wishing you all the very best, Bobby.’

  He debated even longer on whether to send the message, asking himself why a number of times. Then, in a sudden impulsive moment, he clicked ‘send,’ only to immediately regret the action. He tried to delete the message, tried to retrieve it, and even went so far as attempting to contact Facebook to find out how to get the message back. His time would have been better spent working a crossword puzzle. He thought back on the times Joanie had dumped him, decided he was just asking for trouble and should she ever respond, which he doubted, he would politely cut her off.

  Chapter Three

  “Heading to the court house, shouldn’t be gone more than a half-hour,” Bobby said to Erin three days later, and headed out of the office. It was just a one-block walk and he felt the exercise would do him good after sitting at his desk all morning. He was focused on the paperwork he was going to file, a title transfer from holdings of the late Morris Montcreff to Luis Morales. The transfer would actually go to a dummy corporation the Privado firm had set up in Panama for Luis. The corporation was named “Valentina Holdings” in honor of Luis’s daughter. This would be the first title transfer, a test run as it were.

  The actual title was to a small storefront building over on the east side of town. A simple two-story building, with three little store-fronts, and three small apartments on the second floor, all generating at best a modest monthly rent. What was important was to see if the transfer could be done and what problems or potential problems might develop. As he left the building, Bobby was focused on the task at hand and failed to notice the late model burgundy Santa Fe parked alongside the building.

  Jeremy Leeks watched as Bobby crossed the street carrying a briefcase. He seemed to be focused on something. He looked neither left nor right, and moved with a purpose. Finally, Leeks thought. It was the third day he’d parked outside of the building, hoping to catch Custer moving somewhere on foot. He hurried out of his car, half-ran to the corner, then peeked around to spot Custer no more than twenty feet away and moving up the street. Leeks followed.

  They entered the courthouse a few minutes later, Leeks giving Custer another thirty seconds before he followed him into the twenty-one-story art deco courthouse building. Once inside he spotted Custer just as he placed his briefcase on the conveyer so it could be scanned. Custer walked through a scanning booth himself, focused on the briefcase and failed to notice Leeks in line no more than a half dozen people behind. Once he took hold of the briefcase again he hurried to the bank of elevators. By the time Leeks cleared the security area, Bobby Custer was nowhere to be seen. Leeks sort of faded around the corner and waited.

  Filing the paperwork seemed to go uneventfully, and twenty minutes later Bobby was out the office door, taking the elevator back down to the ground floor. He was focused on the pros and cons of creating another dummy corporation for the next filing when the doors of the elevator opened on the ground floor and he stepped out.

  “Custer?” a voice shouted from behind, and he turned to stare at Jeremy Leeks.

  “Jeremy?”

  “Can you believe it? Twice in the same week. It’s like a message from above. We should probably talk,” Leeks said.

  “So sorry, would love to, really I would, but I’ve a client waiting for me in my office and I have to get back.”

  Leeks smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. More like something you might flash just before you raped someone. A leer, maybe. It was in the eyes, the coldness. Danger signs flashed in Bobby’s head.

  “I think you might find it worth your while to make some time for me. Come on, Custer, we can talk for ten or fifteen minutes. That’s about all I’d be able to stand of you, anyway.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “What’s it about? I suppose that depends on your reaction. You listen, give a reasonable response, things might go your way. You become the miserable little prick you’re capable of being, cut me out of your good fortune, and, well, things might not go the way you’d like.”

  Bobby thought about that. Felt like saying, Do you really want to do this? Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into? He quickly decided it might be more fun to go along, at least initially, then lower the boom. He debated texting Miguel and decided to wait and give Leeks enough rope to hang himself.

  “There’s a coffee shop just across the street. I suppose we can talk there, but I really don’t have much time.”

  “Much better,” Leeks said. “Lead the way.”

  Once inside the coffee shop they waited in line without talking.

  “May I take your order, sir?” the barista asked. He was tall, thin, pale-skinned and looked like
he’d never gone outside, ever. He wore glasses, had close-cropped hair and soft-looking hands.

  “Medium decaf,” Bobby said.

  “Make it two,” Leeks said from behind. “My friend has been kind enough to offer to buy.”

  The barista looked at Bobby for confirmation, and Bobby gave a grudging nod. They took a table in the far back, away from the others, but close to a swinging door that opened on occasion.

  “So, looks you’re back practicing,” Leeks said, then took a sip of coffee and grimaced.

  Bobby didn’t respond. He sipped and studied Leeks for a long moment, then said, “What’s this about, Leeks?”

  “Why does it have to be about anything? Just thought it would be nice to renew an old acquaintance.”

  “What do want, Leeks? We weren’t friends up in Duluth, in fact, just the opposite. I got nothing in common with you.”

  “Bobby, you disappoint me, not that I’m really surprised. I just find it interesting that you seem to be back on your feet, doing well, while the rest of us are still sort of scrambling to try and get things back on track. I can’t go back to practicing law, and yet somehow you seem to be able to have pulled it off. I was actually thinking maybe you’d like to share that information with an old friend.”

  “I guess you weren’t listening. First off, we were never, ever friends, Leeks. Second, I’m not practicing. I advise a special client occasionally, but only as a friend. I don’t invoice them, they don’t pay me, and advice is worth what you pay for it. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  “I know your wife divorced you while we were locked up. You got out and the last I heard, you were driving people to deposition hearings and delivering files across town for a firm.”

  “Denton, Allen, Sawyer and Hinz.”

  “You were living in an efficiency apartment the last time I checked. What the hell happened?”

  “What can I tell you, Leeks?” Bobby said, wondering how he knew as much as he did. “I just keep my nose to the grindstone and try and stay on the straight and narrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, as much as I’ve enjoyed our conversation, I really have to meet with a client.” He stood and started to leave, but Leeks grabbed him by the arm.

  “I’m gonna find out what in the hell you’ve been up to, Custer. Then, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll maybe find a place at the table for an old pal, oh say once a month, for every month.”

  Bobby looked down at Leeks’s hand wrapped around his forearm. “I’d be really careful if I were you, Leeks.”

  “Don’t act the hard ass, Custer. It doesn’t suit. See you round,” Leeks said then held onto Bobby’s forearm a couple of seconds longer just to make his point before he eventually let go.

  Walking back to his office, Bobby thought about the casual run-ins with Leeks and quickly decided there was nothing casual about them. Leeks had followed Bobby. First into Luigi’s the other evening, and then up at the courthouse today. Both times he’d walked somewhere from his office building. He stopped and looked up the street from where he’d just come, but didn’t see anyone resembling Leeks. He hurried into his building, took the stairway up to the second floor, then walked down the hall to the skyway that crossed over the side street into the office building opposite his. He watched up the street, waiting for Leeks to appear.

  He was about to hop on the elevator and head back up to the twelfth floor when Leeks suddenly stepped around the corner. He gave a quick glance up the street, then crossed at an angle to a burgundy-colored Santa Fe. Bobby watched as he climbed in and drove away. He noted the license number, a Minnesota plate, repeated the number as he took the elevator back up to his office. So much for living in Chicago.

  Chapter Four

  “Erin,” he said, stepping into the office. “You know a way of checking out a license plate number?”

  “Local?” she said, looking up from her book.

  “Yeah, Minnesota.”

  “Couple of different ways. I, ummm, have a friend who might be the best option. I could call him and have him run it for me. He’ll give me the name of whoever it’s registered to, plus their address and driving record.”

  He wrote the license number down and handed it to her. “Thanks. Let me know what you find out,” he said and headed back to his office.

  Erin stepped into the office less than ten minutes later. “Okay, I’ve got that information on that license plate. It’s registered to a Gretchen Sommers,” she said, and handed back the note Bobby had written. She had printed off the information she’d obtained, two pages, complete with a picture that appeared to be the driver’s license photo, all of it stapled to the note.

  Gretchen Sommers lived in the city, was forty years old, stood five-foot-three and weighed 140 pounds. Based on her license photo she appeared fairly attractive. Bobby wondered if she was possibly a girlfriend or a relative of Leeks.

  “Thanks, Erin. Appreciate the prompt response.”

  “Works for me, I get a date out of the deal. Anything else?”

  “No. I’ll maybe drive past the address on the way home.”

  “With Miguel? How is he? I haven’t seen him for a while.”

  “Yeah, he’s doing fine,” Bobby said, and then pretended to study the file open in front of him.

  “Any chance he might pop his head in this afternoon?” She asked the question, but it sounded more like a request for payment on the license information.

  Bobby nodded, and said, “I think that could be arranged.”

  That brought a smile to her face and she almost skipped back to the reception area.

  Bobby sent Miguel a text message to pick him up before five, telling him to come up to the office. At half past four he heard the intercom and then the door to the office buzz open. Twenty minutes later he walked down the hallway with his briefcase. He had the DMV information on Gretchen Sommers in his suit coat pocket.

  Miguel was leaning over the receptionist counter. Erin was leaning far enough forward so they were no more than six inches apart. Miguel straightened up as Bobby came round the corner.

  “Ready to go?” Miguel asked.

  “Yeah,” Bobby said, then pulled the sheet from his pocket with Gretchen Sommers’s address and handed it to Miguel. “I’d like to drive past this address on the way home, just to check the place out.”

  Miguel nodded, lingered around Erin for a long moment then said, “Great to see you again, Erin,” and they were out the door.

  “Go around the block and drive past it one more time, I want to get another look,” Bobby said fifteen minutes later as they drove past the house. It was on a side street in an older part of town. An alley ran down the middle of the block. Based on the modest neighborhood and the style of the house, he guessed it was maybe late 30s construction. Certainly built before the Second World War.

  The house was like all the others on the block, wood frame, a story and a half tall. Two dormers on either side of the peaked roof suggested a renovation of the second floor at some point in the past eighty-five years. The front door was oak and looked original, although the stain and finish on the lower portion of the door was well worn either from people pushing the door open with their feet or maybe a dog scratching at it to be let in. The exterior paint was a sort of olive drab color with black trim, all of the paint was peeling. The grass needed cutting and the shrubs against the front of the house appeared to have been unattended for quite some time. The front yard was surrounded by a cyclone fence and the gate was open.

  The burgundy Santa Fe Bobby had spotted Leeks driving away in was parked in a narrow driveway that led back to a single-car garage. The door on the garage hung at an odd angle, suggesting that it was off its track and couldn’t be raised. A trash bin stuffed to overflowing sat in the middle of the driveway up against the garage door.

  “That place looked like kind of a dump. You thinking of buying it?” Miguel said as he drove around the block.

  “Not the nicest place on the block, that’s for sure. Ju
st trying to get a handle on the woman who lives there,” Bobby said then studied the structure as they drove past for a second time. “God, ‘kind of a dump’ doesn’t do it justice. Okay, I’ve seen enough. Let’s go home.”

  “You got something going on with the woman who owns it?” Miguel asked and looked at Bobby in his rearview mirror.

  “No, some jerk I knew from…well, from a few years back followed me. Pretended like he just happened to run into me, but twice in three or four days, I don’t buy it. That car in the driveway back there, the burgundy Santa Fe, is the one he was driving. It’s registered to the woman who apparently lives there, Gretchen Sommers is her name. I’m wondering what he’s up to.”

  “You think he’s on to Luis and Privado? It might make sense if I and some others have a little chat with him,” Miguel said, leaving no question about what the term chat would likely entail.

  “I don’t think so, at least I hope that won’t be necessary. But I certainly want to keep him the hell away from us. He thinks he’s a tough guy. He’s not, but he can certainly be capable of causing problems. Let me think about what I want to do with this idiot. I’m hoping he’ll just go away.”

  “You don’t need someone causing problems when you’re just getting up and running. And hoping he’ll just go away, it’s a nice thought, but the fact that he pressured you probably means he doesn’t have the brains to back off. Better be prepared for him to cause a problem,” Miguel said.

  “I don’t need some bastard causing problems at any time, let alone now. Like I said, I’m hoping he’ll just go away.”

  Miguel looked in the rearview mirror again, shook his head, but didn’t comment.

  Chapter Five