Corridor Man Volumes 1, 2, 3,4 5

by Nick James

“Thank you for calling back, I’m working with Stan Drake, he asked me to give you a call,” Jackson said.

  Bullshit Bobby thought then said, “How can I help?”

  “Well, I’m just trying to get my facts straight. You met with Agent Drake just the other day and I…”

  “Actually, no I didn’t. We had set up a meeting. In fact, I was down in the lobby of my office building just waiting for him to pick me up. I thought I spotted him, went outside and before I could catch his attention he took off. I waited, oh God I think it was close to an hour, but he never returned.”

  “You sure it was him?”

  “Well to be honest, no I’m not. I think it was, it looked enough like him that I went out the door, but no, I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

  “Hard to miss that grey van of his, it’s always…”

  “That wasn’t the car he was in.”

  “You remember what he was driving?”

  “What he was driving? Is everything okay?”

  “Do you remember the vehicle he was in?” Agent Jackson didn’t sound happy.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not a car guy, so I can’t even begin to tell you the make. It was one of those mini-sort of SUV things. Not exactly burgundy, more of a rusty sort or reddish color or something. Hey, what’s this all about anyway?”

  “Oh, sorry, but I’ve got another call coming in, Mr. Custer, can’t thank you enough for your time,” Jackson said and hung up. Bobby debated about calling Camila then thought that might not be the best idea. He left the office and walked the two blocks through the skyway system to the pay phones in the lobby of the First National Bank building. On the way he happened to catch sight of Bennett purchasing a newspaper at a news stand, most likely on his way to the Capitol City Club for lunch and a sauna.

  He phoned Camila and was just about to hang up when she answered. From the horn honking in the background he assumed she was in a car.

  “Yes.”

  “Hi Camila, Bobby Custer.”

  “Mr. Custer, to what do I owe the pleasure,” sounding like it really wasn’t much of a pleasure.

  “I wanted to let you know I received a call from the FBI this morning.”

  “Oh?” she said and he had a picture of her suddenly paying a lot closer attention.

  “Yes, agent’s name is Mark Jackson. Said he was helping Drake out and wanted to check a few things, but it was clear he was just fishing. I told him I was going to meet Drake the other day, thought I saw him, but he took off and never returned.”

  “Is he meeting you?”

  “Jackson? He never mentioned it.”

  “Be prepared, he may just show up. Remember, you don’t have any facts other than what you told him on the phone and you’re not even sure about that. By the way, for your information his body was found yesterday.”

  “Drake’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t hear anything on the news about it,” Bobby said then wasn’t sure if he’d even listened to the news in the past couple of days. “Where did they find him? How?”

  “It might be best if you got your facts from the newspaper or the TV. In case this Jackson want’s to talk further. They’re going to have some momentary problems in identifying him,” she seemed to sort of laugh. “But with any luck we’ll see them get as far away as possible in short order.”

  “I’m not following?”

  “Follow the news Mr. Custer, the less you know the better. Your response to their questions will just seem all that more believable. One more thing, the item you requested.”

  “Yes?”

  “Perhaps we could meet sometime later today. Actually, I’m on the way to the airport right now to pick up Valentina.”

  “I won’t take any more of your time. Please give the child a hug from me and I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  “Thank you, if you hear anything from your Federal friends please let me know and please, use a secure line.”

  Bobby was about to respond, but she’d hung up.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  He was eating a Subway sandwich at his desk, scrolling through the local news headlines on his computer. There were six main news headlines, all in blue on the right side of his screen. He’d scrolled all the way down to the final one about the state budget shortfall before he scrolled back up to the lead story. Decapitated Body Found. There wasn’t much information, two paragraphs was all. A decapitated body was discovered in the railway yard just east of the downtown area, behind the new CHS ballpark. An adult male, aged thirty-five to fifty-five, with a bullet wound in his right shoulder.

  It sounded like it could be Drake, but what was with the decapitation? They would just identify him by his finger prints? If Camila thought cutting the guys head off was going to keep the FBI away she was sorely mistaken. He was half tempted to call her, but resisted the urge and instead Googled Denis Kemper, Emily’s old flame. There was very little information online other than an address, actually two addresses listed, but only one for a Denis, like penis only with a D Kemper, approximately the right age. Bobby wrote the address down then phoned Cori Denton.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi Cori, Bobby Custer, just calling to see how you did in your bridge tournament yesterday?”

  “Why thank you for asking, I can always do better,” she said. “Let’s just say I had a most enjoyable afternoon and leave it at that.”

  “I can do that,” he said. “Say, I’m going to be over near your home later this afternoon and wondered if I might stop by.”

  “Business or pleasure?” she asked and he thought he detected a frosty tone to her question.

  “Strictly pleasure, no business.”

  “Then by all means, feel free to call.”

  “Should be sometime after three,” he said and then made his good-byes and hung up.

  It was close to four when he pulled into the Denton driveway and parked alongside Addison's pickup truck. It had been a while since he’d stuck the nail in her rear tire. Unfortunately, the construction rubble that had been loaded in the back had been emptied and he viewed it as another opportunity missed. He did take pleasure in what looked like a recently dented driver’s door, thinking it couldn’t happen to someone more deserving. He walked up the curving sidewalk to the front door and rang the bell. The door eventually opened, unfortunately it was Addison who opened it.

  “Oh, you,” she said not trying to be funny.

  “Hi, Addison,” Bobby flashed a smile. “I’m here to see your mother.”

  “She’s probably in the kitchen,” she said, but made no effort to let him in or actually see if her mother was indeed in the kitchen.

  “May I see her, please,” his words belied the tone of his voice.

  “Whatever,” she said, gave a sigh suggesting it was all an imposition then unlocked the screen door and simply walked away.

  Bobby watched her climb the curving stairs to the second floor and thought if he hurried he could catch her at the very top and throw her over the ornate banister. She reached the top of the stairs then disappeared down a hallway. A moment later he heard a door slam. He walked through the dining room and into the kitchen. Cori was seated at her kitchen counter, reading something on her iPad. The room smelled delicious and before she could say anything he saw the bread loaves in the oven.

  “Why Bobby, goodness, I didn’t even hear the doorbell. Did you let yourself in?”

  “No, your daughter let me in.”

  “Oh, she’s up?”

  “At least for the moment, she let me in then went upstairs.”

  “God, that one,” Cori said, but didn’t go any further. “So you were in the area,” she said, sounding like she didn’t believe it. She ran her finger across the screen to shut down her iPad, then pushed it off to the side.

  “Yeah, a brief appointment, thought it would be nice just to touch base since I haven’t seen you in awhile,” he didn’t think he sounded very convincing.

  “Really.”r />
  “Did you have a chance to call City View?”

  “I’ve been meaning to, I guess I just haven’t quite gotten around to it.”

  He went on to tell her about the new constant care area her husband was in. Told her he’d met with Dr. Antonnini, then made up some lies about what they had actually discussed.

  “And they said another month?” For the first time she actually looked concerned.

  “That was his guess.”

  “God, I’ve had plans for months to go down to Corpus Christi in two days with college friends. Now, I suppose that’s not going to happen.”

  “You never know, he might improve and…”

  “Believe me, I do know, and don’t lecture me about the power of positive thought or anything else. The man is deranged is what he is. If there’s a way to subvert my plans he’ll find it, even in the state he’s in. I’ve come to the decision I simply do not want him back here, ever.”

  “Well, maybe some time together with friends would give you a little better perspective and you could…”

  “A little better perspective? I lived with that tyrant for over forty years. I’ve done his bidding, maintained a home not to mention provided him with a semblance of a social life which he promptly scuppered too many times to even count. No, it’s been modestly pleasant with him elsewhere. Now if I could just…”

  With that the kitchen door swung open and Addison walked in. She gave a quick sneer toward her mother, ignored Bobby completely and wandered to the refrigerator then stood there staring blankly with the door open for a couple of minutes. No one said anything as the clock slowly ticked.

  Eventually she reached in, pulled out a large bottle of sparking water and set it on the counter. She opened a cupboard door, took out a crystal wine goblet and poured no more than an inch into the glass. She drank it slowly, intentionally making a loud noise as she swallowed. She left the uncapped bottle on the counter next to the goblet, gave her mother another sneer and walked back out through the swinging door. She screamed “Bullshit,” from somewhere within the house.

  Cori looked at Bobby as she slid off her stool and groaned, “Cut from the same cloth.”

  “Wasn’t she going to have an art show coming up?”

  “God, don’t even go there. Tells everyone she hasn’t quite been in the mood to create that nonsense she calls art. So, guess what? They got someone else who was more than happy to fill her spot. Just another opportunity missed.”

  “Seems to be a lot of that going around, “ Bobby said.

  She returned the plastic bottle to the refrigerator and set the wine goblet on the counter next to the sink. “Can I interest you in a glass of wine?”

  “No thanks, I’ve got a couple more folks to see today. Listen, I’ll get out of your hair. You might want to check with City View, if nothing else they may just tell you to go ahead and join your friends in Corpus Christi.”

  “Do you think?” She sounded almost desperate.

  “Who knows?” he said and suddenly had an idea. “You know, why not go down there, I can check on him everyday, if something happens I’ll call you and if you have to, you can hop on a flight back up here. You’re not being here frankly isn’t going to make one bit of difference to his recovery. No offense, but it might even improve his chances.”

  “Then I should definitely cancel the trip,” she said, but at least she smiled.

  He climbed into his car and turned on the ignition, put the car in drive then kept his foot on the brake. He shut the car off and walked around the vehicle, beneath the right rear tire were two long brass screws wedged at an angle ready to impale his tire, moving forward a couple of inches would have flattened the tire. He glanced up to the second floor of the home just in time to see some lace curtains close.

  He pulled the screws out, tossed them into the bed of Addison’s pickup then double checked the other tires before he drove off. The more he thought about it the better Cori’s idea of heading down to Corpus Christi sounded.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  He drove down Grand Ave. to the Pottery Barn. The place was full of things he didn’t need. He walked to the back of the store and found three lace table runners that looked wide enough to hang over the living room mantel and cover the camera lens Earl had found. On the way out he purchased a bag of gift wrapping bows displayed next to the cash register and was back in his car in under ten minutes.

  Next, he drove over to the west side of town to the Ohio street address for Denis Kemper. On a nice residential street of 1950’s rambler’s and Cape Cod’s it was the worst house on the block. The single-story, grey rambler sported a roof of worn blue-grey shingles and white trim in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint. The front yard was enclosed by a cyclone fence that was in the process of falling down and looked at least sixty years old. An asphalt driveway ran alongside the house with weeds growing up through the cracks.

  At the far end of the driveway some sort of vehicle sat up on concrete blocks, covered with a blue tarp and blocking the entrance to the garage. Judging from the leaves and newspaper blown up against it the thing had been there for quite some time. A light blue pickup, close to twenty years old with a rusted body and a rear bumper held on with bungee cords was parked at the curb and seemed to lean toward the drivers side.

  A heavyset woman, looking older than her years was pushing a lawnmower, slowly walking in a cloud of blue fumes as she made her way through the six inch grass and weeds she was attempting to cut. The front of the house was devoid of trees, shrubs or anything resembling flowers with the exception of the dandelions.

  A barefoot guy in cutoffs and some sort of shirt with the sleeves torn off at the shoulders sat on the front steps with a can of beer in his hand and two crushed empties at his feet. Could he be the infamous Denis?

  He stared at Bobby’s Mercedes for a long moment, then took a long sip of beer, flipped Bobby the finger and shouted something at the woman cutting grass. She nodded and seemed to pick up her pace, not looking all that happy. Bobby made a mental note then accelerated down the street.

  He was home in fifteen minutes and made his twice through drive of the parking area before he parked, then hurried to the elevator and up to his unit. He closed the door, heard the new lock snap and then double checked before he attached the chain.

  Five minutes latter he had the new table runner positioned over the mantel, held in place with the brass candlesticks that had sat on the bookcase. He went into the bedroom, opened up the bag of gift wrapping bows, chose the red one and promptly attached it to the decorative brass hook holding the painting. He turned on the radio on his digital clock, then went back into the living room and tuned the flat screen to CNN. Then he went into the kitchen and poured himself a bourbon.

  He fired up his laptop, to see if there was any news update on agent Drake and had barely taken his first sip when his phone rang.

  “Bobby Custer,” he answered.

  “Yes, Mr. Custer, are you free?” It was Camila’s voice. All sorts of witty responses flashed through his mind, fortunately he ignored them.

  “Certainly.”

  “If you could meet us, I have that item you were looking for.”

  The gun. “Tell me where and I’m on my way.”

  She gave him directions, then added, “I’m with my niece, Valentina.”

  He left immediately, running into a trendy chocolate shop on the way and purchasing a small treat for the child. He pulled up in front of the location she’d given him. Two thugs wearing sunglasses leaned against the wall on either side of the door leading into the place. They were eating large ice cream cones, it was after all an ice cream store, and they actually looked to be enjoying themselves.

  As Bobby stepped out of his car and began to cross the street the thugs seemed to snap to attention and immediately spread apart, glancing in all directions yet at the same time keeping an eye on Bobby as he approached.

  The smaller of the two met him as he reached the curb th
en pretended to give him a hug and a pat on the back, expertly patting him down in the process. He gave a nod to his partner then extended his hand toward the door giving Bobby the go ahead. Bobby got a knowing nod from the partner as he leaned back against the wall and returned to licking his ice cream cone.

  He spotted Camila and her niece as soon as he stepped in the door. They were seated at a table just a foot or two away from Ignacio standing behind them. Perhaps not so amazingly, neither table to either side was occupied. Camila smiled and gave a nod as Bobby approached then leaned forward and said something to her niece. The child smiled, looked at Bobby and then back toward Camila who nodded and then the two of them giggled.

  The chocolate treat he’d purchased looked like a long stemmed rose, and he handed it to the child. “Welcome, Valentina, it’s very nice to see you again,” he said, speaking very slowly.

  She looked at Camila for a moment, Camila nodded and the child snatched the rose, then said, “Thank you, Mr….” she glanced at her aunt.

  “Custer,” Camila nodded.

  “Thank you, Mr. Custer,” she said in unaccented english, then smiled. She was missing her two front teeth.

  “Please, join us for a minute, Mr. Custer,” Camila said and indicated a chair. Ignacio continued to scan the room full of children and parents. As Bobby sat down she calmly asked, “So tell me, have you heard anything more from our friend, Mr. Jackson?”

  He glanced at the child focused on her ice cream cone. “No, fortunately. If I do I’ll let you know as soon as possible.”

  She nodded, then said something in Spanish and handed the ice cream cone over her shoulder to Ignacio. She took a napkin from off the table, wiped her lips and her fingertips then reached for the leather bag on the chair beside her. She rummaged around, pulled a lipstick out and set it on the table then reached back into the purse and removed a brown paper bag and handed it to Bobby. Ignacio scanned the room while he finished what remained of the ice cream, shoving the last three inches of the cone into his mouth. Valentina was busy removing the foil that looked like a rose bud from the chocolate he’d given her just a moment ago.