Corridor Man

by Mick James

  A corner of the bedroom carpet had been pulled back and a table lamp was set on top of the carpet to keep it from flopping down. They stared at the not-so-fantastic hiding place where the thirty thousand dollars in a shoe box had supposedly been so well concealed.

  “I still don’t get how they knew ‘bout that,” Prez said shaking his head.

  “After they looked under the bed the next thing they probably did was to see if the carpet came up. Pull the carpet back and you’re looking at floor boards, they’re seventy years old, but they’ve got fresh cuts. See here, this unstained area, where the wood has been freshly cut.” Bobby was down on his knees pointing at the end of the floor board.

  Prez grunted.

  “You might as well have had a light on down there advertising the fact. Cops probably checked under this carpet before they even pulled a dresser drawer open. That’s what happened to all your cash, you two hid it in the first place anyone with brains would look. And guess what? They found it.”

  Bobby could see the wheels turning as Prez nodded.

  “Yeah, better get it changed at your place, too, Prez.”

  He shrugged in response.

  They walked through the rest of the house, but nothing really jumped out that a good cleaning wouldn’t solve. At this point they were standing in the basement looking around like a couple of prospective buyers.

  “That furnace is ancient and is going to need replacing. I’m guessing the hot water heater is on its last legs, too. Wiring could use some updating,” Bobby said looking up between the floor joists.

  Prez was on the far side of the room crouched down going through boxes and things stored on the bottom shelf of the workbench, ignoring his comments. He pulled two large tool boxes off the bottom shelf and placed them on the basement floor.

  “Hey, are you listening? You’re the guy who’s going to have to pick up the tab on all this.”

  Prez was giggling, pulling lengths of cast iron pipe from the bottom shelf and piling them onto the top of the workbench.

  “Prez, what the hell are you doing? You can recycle that stuff some other time.”

  “Maybe Arundel and me aren’t as dumb as you thought,” he said as he placed another length of cast iron pipe on top of the workbench.

  Bobby walked over to him. There were five lengths of silver pipe, each about a foot long. Both ends of the pipe were threaded and had heavy metal caps screwed on to seal them.

  “Damn things look like pipe bombs. Please tell me I’m wrong,” Bobby said.

  “Even better than that.”

  “What?”

  Prez smiled and began to unscrew one of the capped ends. Bobby half expected the thing to explode and take both of them out. Once Prez unscrewed the cap he tossed it onto the workbench.

  “Check it out, man,” he said, then turned the pipe upside down and shook it hard a couple of times. Eventually a rolled up wad of bills stuck halfway out of the pipe.

  “Holy shit,” Bobby said.

  Prez chuckled and said, “That bastard Arundel just left a taste in that box under the floor in the bedroom. Let them think they were getting away with the haul. Most of it was just sitting down here, out in the open like.” He pulled the wad of cash loose from the open end of the pipe and tossed it onto the workbench, then began to unscrew the next length of pipe.

  “You knew that shit was down here?”

  “I had an idea, should be close to ten in each one of these.”

  “Ten grand?”

  “That’s what I just got done saying. Not too bad for a couple of dumb shits now, is it, Bobby?”

  Bobby grabbed the first roll of cash just as Prez tossed another roll on the workbench, then began to unscrew the cap from another length of pipe. Bobby fanned the wad, all hundreds, and then started counting.

  “What? You don’t believe me?” Prez asked shaking the pipe and forcing the next wad out.

  “Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. Not that I don’t believe you, Prez. I’m just more than a little surprised. I’m not sure which is more amazing, that you two had the foresight to hide this in those pipes or that the cops completely missed them.” He said, then returned to counting the wad of bills in his hand.

  “You know what they say, the best place to hide something is in plain sight.”

  “Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, Ten. Ten grand, cash.”

  “I told you. There’s that much in each one of these. Here, make yourself useful and unscrew that last one.” Prez nodded at the final pipe lying on the workbench.

  When they were finished there were five wads of cash, all hundreds, each ten grand strong. Just like Prez said there would be.

  In short order they were back in the car and pulling away from Arundel’s house. “I’m guessing we could have one hell of a party with some of this,” Prez said and slapped his bulging pockets.

  “You could, and then what? You’d still have those two guys looking to kill you, Dubuque and Mobile. That cash might be one of the reasons they’re after you, besides putting the word out about me, of course.”

  “What’s the problem with having a little fun?”

  “I don’t have any problem with having fun. But let me just lay out the scenario. You’ll load up on a bunch of booze and drugs, probably get in touch with some party sluts maybe call some good-time pals. Right?”

  Prez shrugged, then put on his blinker to turn.

  “You’ll end up either passed out or so drug-addled you won’t know which end is up. For about twenty bucks and an eight-ball one of the sluts or your good-time-Charlie pals will put the word out on you. The next thing you know your two buddies….”

  “Dubuque and Mobile?”

  “…will show up without an invitation and you won’t be able to stop them. So yeah, that’s kind of my problem with having a little fun.”

  “None of the folks I was thinking about would do that, I don’t think.”

  “You don’t think, or you know for absolute sure? Not going to be any second chance on this thing. But you go ahead, do it your way. I’m just suggesting that’s the way you would normally play it, and there’s a real good chance that you would end up dead. At least that’s how things would normally work out.”

  “I suppose you got a better idea.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The following morning Bobby phoned Marci just to check in. She couldn’t get him off the line fast enough. He walked up to the retail area, picked up milk, two rolls of toilet paper, some coffee and an on-sale bag of small candy bars. He paid cash for the items and left the store.

  “Bobby, hey Bobby,” a voice called.

  He turned and looked at a nondescript car with an unsmiling face behind the steering wheel waving him over. The guy looked to be wearing the same grey suit as the last time Bobby had seen him back in the interrogation room in the Federal Prison Camp up in Duluth, the room with the steel-topped table and the chair bolted to the floor.

  “Bobby, long time no see, buddy, relax it’s okay, come on over for a minute,” he called, then waved Bobby over again. Bobby glanced around, not that it would make a difference, he really had no other option, and so he crossed the street over to the car.

  “Get in the back,” the suit said, then pushed a button and the locks popped up.

  Bobby opened the rear door, set his grocery bag on the seat, then slid in next to it and pulled the door closed.

  “How’s it going pal, you adjusting?” the suit said not bothering to turn around, he just eyed Bobby in the rear view mirror.

  “I’m making progress.”

  “You’re not working today?”

  “I phone in every morning and they tell me if they need me.”

  “Really? You talking with the main man, Noah Denton?”

  “You kidding, Noah Denton told me he didn’t want to see or hear from me ever again. Said he wasn’t happy with me being associated with his firm and that if it were
up to him he’d have locked me up forever.”

  Grey suit studied Bobby in his rearview mirror for a moment, then asked, “When was the last time you spoke with him?”

  “Denton? I just told you, the first and only time I spoke with him he said never to contact him, that I was a contract employee and that from then on I should deal with the receptionist, some witch named Marci.”

  Grey suit glared in the rearview mirror. “The receptionist? That’s who you’re dealing with?”

  “Yeah, Marci. In fact Denton told me to use the restrooms down in the lobby, and said he couldn’t foresee a reason I would ever have to go past the receptionist desk.”

  “Okay, expect a change in venue pretty goddamned fast. Now get out.”

  “Nice talking with you,” Bobby said, then opened the door, climbed out and pulled his groceries off the seat.

  “What you got in the bag?”

  “Toilet paper.”

  “Let me see,” he said, then thrust his arm out the window and opened the bag Bobby was holding. He reached in, rummaged around, then pulled the bag of candy bars out and looked at Bobby. “These any good?”

  “They’re okay.”

  “I’m think I’m gonna need some sweetening later today,” he said as he tore the bag open. He dumped a number of the small bars on the passenger seat, then tossed the bag back into Bobby’s grocery bag. He smiled, raised the window, and gave a quick look over his shoulder before he drove off down the street.

  Bobby had learned not to react, but he filed the experience away for future reference.

  Chapter Forty

  Prez’s celebration was on the second floor of a ratty duplex over on the East side. The neighborhood had been on the decline since Pearl Harbor and the structure sat in the middle of a block of former single-family homes that had been converted to rental units seventy-five years ago. The woman who had rented this particular second-floor unit was being evicted at the end of the month and was more than happy to leave early and trade the keys to her apartment for a plane ticket back to Chicago and a couple hundred dollars.

  They put the word out on the street that it was going to be a quiet affair. Prez picked up three street-tricks to join him. The girls called two more girlfriends bringing the total to five. Bobby was there, too, but no one paid any attention to him so he really didn’t count. As long as Prez continued to supply them with drugs and liquor the girls really didn’t care who was with them or what they wanted to do.

  The party started a little after eleven on Wednesday night. A thong and a smile seemed to be the late-night dress code. They partied with a purpose until they passed out, then started right back at it after regaining consciousness. Cheap vodka and rum were the beverages of choice and Prez had plenty on hand, along with a virtual smorgasbord of drugs. Collectively, the attendees seemed to possess the maturity of twelve year-olds.

  The guests of honor didn’t make an appearance until close to four on Friday morning. Two of the girls were still partying. Two were passed out and one had simply disappeared. Bobby was watching the street out the front window when he heard a noise out on the back stairs.

  The stairs were wooden and attached to the exterior of the house. They rose up half a story, then made a ninety-degree turn around the back corner of the house climbing toward a large bay window that had been converted to the back door. Prez had loosened one of the stair treads as an early warning system. The stumbling on the tread, along with the accompanying cursing, was what Bobby had heard.

  Prez was stretched out on a recliner when Bobby shook him awake. The two women still conscious remained kneeling at the coffee table completely focused on the glass pipe they’d been passing back and forth and ignored Bobby.

  “Back door,” Bobby said as he shook Prez lightly on the shoulder.

  “Now?” Prez whispered as he came awake.

  Bobby nodded, then said “Come on, just like we practiced.”

  Prez floated silently into the small, darkened kitchen. The refrigerator stood next to the back door and he took up his position along the far side.

  One of the street-tricks was seated on an old wooden chair in front of the kitchen sink, passed out cold. She could have been a young-looking thirty or an old-looking sixteen. Her head was tilted back and rested on the edge of the kitchen counter. Her mouth was open wide and she was snoring loudly.

  She had an unbuttoned short sleeve blouse partially draped over her shoulders but was otherwise naked. From where she sat she was plainly visible in the moonlight shining through the window.

  Bobby waited back in the small pantry that led to the front room. He held one of Prez’s pistols in his shaking hand.

  It seemed like hours before the backdoor knob began to quietly turn. The door opened no more than a half-inch and remained that way for a minute or two. Then, ever so slowly, the door swung open. Any noise it may have made was masked by the snores coming from the comatose female on the chair.

  As the door opened Bobby could just make out a shadowy, crouched figure. It remained very still and the head seemed to be cocked, listening. Over Bobby’s pounding heartbeat the occasional laugh or drunken screech drifted in from the two party animals out in the front room.

  The shadow suddenly rose and cautiously tip-toed across the kitchen. He stopped to look at the woman snoring in the chair and pulled the blouse off her shoulder as a second shadow appeared behind him and gave a quiet chuckle. Bobby detected curly hair. Dubuque and Mobile.

  The first figure placed the barrel of a gun against the woman’s head and waved his free hand over her face. The gun appeared exceptionally large in the moonlight. Her snoring continued uninterrupted, regular and deep and he reached over and tugged on her right nipple.

  There was a sudden, audible thunk and the rear shadow collapsed onto the floor. As the first figure began to spin around Prez quickly yanked him back by the collar. Bobby heard a “spiff” sound come from the pistol the figure held followed by two rapid thunks and the figure dropped to his knees. Prez hung onto his collar and slowly lowered him to the ground.

  “Turn the light on and get them cuffed,” he said in a half whisper, then set a baseball bat on the ground.

  Bobby was already flicking the light on. He pulled the arms of the curly haired figure behind his back and wrapped a plastic band tightly around his wrists. The man’s head moved slowly from side to side as he seemed to begin to regain consciousness.

  “Which one is this?”

  “That’s your pal, Dubuque. Dubuque, meet Bobby, Bobby, Dubuque,” Prez said, then snickered.

  Prez tore off a length of duct tape and wrapped it over Mobile’s mouth, then around his ginger haired head. He quickly checked the pockets and pulled a wallet out from a back pocket. He and Bobby switched places. Bobby had to step over Mobile’s body and partially roll him over to secure his hands behind his back.

  Mobile was completely limp and as Bobby rolled the body over a noticeable dent was apparent at the top of his skull reminding Bobby of a rotten cantaloupe. Blood trickled out of both ears and over the duct tape as Bobby wound it around the head. Drops of blood began to splatter onto the kitchen floor.

  “There’s some severe trauma here,” Bobby said.

  “I don’t think that’s going to make much difference. Check him for a gun, he’s got one somewhere,” Prez said, then opened the wallet from Dubuque’s back pocket and picked up the pistol he had been carrying.

  The pistol was a large black affair with an attachment on the front of the barrel Bobby took to be a silencer which accounted for the noise he’d heard when Prez struck him. He glanced up toward the ceiling. Off to the right he saw a hole that must have been from the round that was fired.

  Prez patted Mobile down on the floor but didn’t find anything. Then he saw a gun, halfway hidden alongside the refrigerator. Mobile must have dropped it there when he fell and Prez picked it up and handed the weapon to Bobby. Then Prez opened up a kitchen cabinet and walked into the front room with a fresh
plastic fifth of vodka. Bobby couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the squeals of delight suggested it made the recipients happy.

  “Help me get him up,” Prez said coming back into the kitchen and grabbing Dubuque’s arm. Together they pulled him to his feet, but he seemed to be unable to stand on his own. Prez checked his pockets again and came up with a set of car keys. “Let me go find their car, we’ll use it to haul them out of here.”

  They leaned Dubuque against the wall and Prez went out the back door and thumped down the back steps sounding like he was taking them two at a time. He was back in just a couple of minutes.

  “Must not have been too worried, they were parked just around the corner.”

  “How did you know what they were driving?”

  “Jesus. Just click the little button here until a set of lights flash on, pretty simple.”

  It may have been simple, but in his naiveté it had never occurred to Bobby.

  They dragged Dubuque down the steps. Just as they got to the landing where the steps made that ninety degree turn he began to put up a half-hearted struggle. Prez grabbed him by the belt and hair and half threw him down the steps. With his hands secured behind his back he landed face first, bounced a couple of times, then skidded down the final four or five wooden steps until his forehead came to rest against the concrete pad at the bottom where he remained very still.

  “What the....”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot, be careful,” Prez said. “Come on, let’s get him into the back of the car.”

  The rear hatch was up and they dragged Dubuque toward the vehicle. He was either dead or completely unconscious. His feet left a trail as they dragged him across the dewy grass. They hoisted him unceremoniously into the rear of the vehicle and then went back upstairs to fetch his brother.