Corridor Man Volumes 1, 2, 3,4 5

by Nick James

  The paper bag was brown, like the kind Bobby had carried his lunch in as a kid. As she handed it to Bobby the heft and the feel of the contents left no doubt as to what was inside although it was substantially lighter than what Bobby was prepared for. Almost as a reflex action he began to open the bag.

  “I don’t think it would be the best idea to do that in here,” Camila said quickly then glanced around as if to indicate all the children and parents. Two little boys a couple of tables over were licking each others ice cream cones and laughing.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry about that,” he said clutching the bag and making a little face.

  “Thank you, Mr. Custer it was nice to see you. I’m sure we’ll be in touch,” Camila said.

  “Thanks, Camila. It was very nice to see you again, Valentina.”

  “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Bobby,” she said then she leaned over, gave him a kiss and started to laugh.

  “Oh, my, chocolate I’m afraid,” Camila said then dabbed at the side of his face with her napkin. When she was finished he lingered for just a moment and whispered, “Thank you,” to her then stood and walked out of the shop with the bag tucked under his arm.

  The two men were standing on the sidewalk out front, their ice cream cones apparently devoured. The one who had patted him down gave a perfunctory nod then continued to glance up and down the street. Bobby headed across the street to his Mercedes, tossed the lunch bag on the passenger seat, and drove off.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  He was surprised at the size of the weapon, or rather the lack of size. Almost too small for his hands. It was matte black and chrome, shiny aluminum actually as he learned when he looked the weapon up online. It had wooden grips, rosewood as a matter of fact, in a diamond pattern and it was priced at almost a thousand dollars. It was stamped on the side with the identifier .380 ACP, whatever that meant. Camila had included six rounds in a clip that slid easily in and out of the handle. The rounds were in shiny, silver colored jackets, with a brass colored tip that had a hole at the end. The term ‘stopping power’ popped into Bobby’s mind.

  He pushed a button that released the clip and placed it on the kitchen counter next to him. Then he took careful aim at the bourbon bottle resting on the kitchen counter across the room and said, “Bang. Bang. Bang.”. After each ‘bang’ he’d jerk the weapon up pretending it had recoiled then aimed again and repeated the process.

  Given the size it would easily fit in his suit coat pocket or even jeans if it came to that. For the time being it would be enough just to have it on the nightstand when he went to bed. He was tempted to send a ‘Thank you’ text message to Camila, but then thought better of it and decided a simple comment when next they were together would suffice.

  He set the weapon aside, pulled his laptop over and proceeded to Google Denis Kemper, other than the address he already had he couldn’t find anything. Based on the little he saw earlier he guessed the man may not be gainfully employed or, if he was, not in a line of work that was necessarily career oriented. Certainly not the sort of guy he expected to find and he wondered how Emily had ever ended up with him.

  He poured himself another drink, wandered into the living room and turned on the flat screen. The local late night news came on a few minutes later. The news led with the lead anchor reading, “Tonight, another grisly murder in the capitol city,” before they immediately went to five or six minutes of commercials.

  When the news returned the anchor lowered his head slightly and looked grimly into the camera. “St. Paul police are tonight dealing with a second murder in as many days. This one linked to yesterdays crime by another grisly act of decapitation. We warn you now of graphic language and images as we go to Paul Folliard.

  The grisly images consisted of film footage shot from a distance of at least thirty feet, a gurney with a black body bag strapped to it was wheeled into the rear of the County Coroner’s vehicle. From there the camera focused on a tent sort of structure set up in what looked like a small commercial parking lot. At least three individuals wearing hazmat suits could be seen walking around.

  The voice over explained that the decapitated body was that of a caucasian male, aged approximately twenty-five to thirty-five years of age and had been discovered around three a.m. as staff left Gino’s restaurant.

  Bobby knew the place, Gino’s. It was a family restaurant and certainly not the sort of place you’d expect trouble. It also closed at around ten, only had a beer and wine license and he wondered what staff were doing there at three in the morning.

  The two minute broadcast ended with, “This is the second murder in as many days involving a decapitation.”

  “Thank you, Paul,” the anchor said then seemed to brighten at the prospect of the, “Budget shortfall for school district 626.” Bobby picked up the remote and turned off the flat screen. He sipped the rest of his bourbon, thought about Denis Kemper for some reason, then had an idea.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  It was after midnight when he pulled into the Super America, parked in the furthest bay from the street and filled up the Mercedes. A carload of teenage girls three bays over sat in someone’s mother’s car, giggling and texting on their cellphones. He laid a plastic tray with a rolled up t-shirt on the ground near his feet then waited until the nozzle clicked off. He gave the nozzle a couple of quick hand squirts, adding another seven cents worth of fuel to the price then placed the nozzle next to the tray and squeezed the handle.

  A jet stream of gasoline shot out sending the plastic tray shooting forward and bouncing off his front tire. A puddle of fuel drenched the area and was splattered all over his shoes. The smell of gasoline was so strong that his eyes began to water. He glanced over the roof of the Mercedes, the girls remained involved with their cellphones.

  He pushed the tray up against the front tire using his foot, then gave the nozzle just a quick click, and then another one before he hung it back on the gas pump. He pulled a couple of paper towels from the dispenser above the squeegee for washing windows and used them to swirl the t-shirt around so it would absorb the gasoline in the tray. Then he placed the tray on the floor of the passenger seat and drove off. He had to lower the windows just to get some air flowing through the car to combat the fumes on his way over to the west side.

  Ohio street was quiet at this time of night with still a good thirty minutes before the bars had to close. Most of the homes on the street were dark with the exception of the occasional porch light. If Denis Kemper’s house had a porch light it was either turned off or burnt out. Bobby guessed the later as he pulled a hundred feet past Kemper’s and parked in front of a darkened home partially hidden by a hedge.

  He carefully removed the gasoline soaked t-shirt from the plastic tray and carried it back down the street toward Kemper’s. Because the fuel was dripping he had to hold the t-shirt off to the side, away from him.

  A large torn shade was pulled down over Kemper’s front picture window, blue light from a television crept through a rip in the shade and from around the edges of the window where the shade had curled. Not quite half the front lawn had been cut and the lawn mower sat in the middle of the yard, at exactly the spot where it had ceased to function. Mounds of grass lined the area that had already been cut, looking not unlike a hay field at harvest time. A half-dozen crumpled beer cans were scattered on the front steps.

  Bobby quickly glanced up and down the street for any sign of headlights then unscrewed the gas cap on the side of the dilapidated pickup and stuffed the t-shirt, as best he could, down into the tank. He pulled a pack of matches out of his pocket, quickly lit one and touched it to the end of the t-shirt. The shirt immediately caught fire and a blue flame began to slide its way along the t-shirt and down into the gas tank. Bobby took off running and never looked back. He glanced in the rearview mirror just before he rounded the corner and caught sight of what was probably a flaming portion of t-shirt dropping onto the street where it continued to burn.

  He waited a mome
nt, but nothing happened and he figured the flame must have been extinguished before it reached the tank or maybe the tank was just empty. He took a right onto Smith Ave. and headed back home, the windows were still down due to the lingering fumes from the plastic tray and his soaked shoes. He was just beginning to calm down and starting to feel a sense of disappointment when he heard the eruption and reflexively looked out the passenger window at the light in the sky. Kemper’s pickup.

  He drove home with a smile on his face, locked and chained the doors, placed his new pistol next to him on the night stand then fell into a restful sleep almost immediately.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  He woke feeling refreshed and ready to greet the day. He was showered, shaved and midway through breakfast just a little after six. He scrolled the online news, but disappointingly found nothing new on the two murders and absolutely nothing about his little venture at Kemper’s the night before. Maybe next time you’ll think before giving someone the finger, asshole, he thought.

  He picked up his new pistol, aimed it at the coffee pot and said, “Bang. Bang. Bang.” Pretending the pistol had a recoil with every shot. He wanted to call Emily, invite her over for dinner so he could tell her about his adventure, but it was too early. He cleaned up his breakfast dishes, placed the pistol in his suit coat pocket and went to do the only enjoyable thing he could think of at this early hour.

  The hallways at City View were slowly coming alive with staff attending to early morning chores. Up on the sixth floor there was a cart stacked with a number of breakfast trays, although no one seemed to be in much of a hurry to serve them. Bobby pushed Denton’s half opened door a little wider and stepped into the room. Denton’s raspy, shallow breathing was the only sound. If anything the bruising to his forehead looked even worse than the other day, appearing almost raw in the morning light.

  He continued to stand just inside the door for the longest time, simply watching and wishing there was some sort of mischief he could get away with. Lowering the sides of the bed again was not an option and he had nothing to squirt on the floor, not that the staff were going to let Denton out of bed anyway. In Denton’s current weakened state Bobby wondered if it might not be possible to simply place the palm of his hand over Denton’s nose and mouth for say just five or ten minutes to see what might happen. Then he focused on the monitors flashing and blinking and figured that probably wasn’t the best idea.

  He decided he would come up with a plan, instead of some spur of the moment idea that may or may not work and he opened the door to leave.

  “Oh, my God!” a nurse half-screamed and almost dropped the tray she was carrying.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Bobby said, catching the tray before it left her hands. The covered plate slid forward and rested against his chest.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, I just didn’t expect anyone to be in here at this hour and well, you kind of surprised me. Sorry,” she said and took hold of the tray. She looked vaguely familiar and he guessed he’d seen her once or twice before, but he was pretty sure he’d never spoken to her.

  “Sorry to frighten you. He’s my father, I’m on my way to the airport and just wanted to check in on him.”

  She nodded like that made perfect sense, then glanced past Bobby and looked at Denton, “Oh, he’s still asleep. Time for him to get up anyway, let me wake him for you.”

  “Oh, no you don’t have to do that, really. Just let him sleep.”

  “It’s okay, we’re trying to get him back on a schedule, believe me, he’ll begin to do a lot better once we get him back on a routine his system is used to. Mr. Denton, oh Mr. Denton.”

  She set the tray on a small table which she wheeled over so that it was roughly positioned over Denton’s waist. Then she reached behind the bed and grabbed a hand held control and began to raise the hospital bed until he was almost in the sitting position.

  “Come on sleepy head, come on. Oh, there we go. Good morning, did you have a nice night? Look who stopped by on his way to the airport, your… Hello, hello. Now where did he go? Isn’t that strange.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  It was after ten and Bobby had just finished scrolling through the local online news sites for the umpteenth time looking for anything on Drake’s decapitation or the car fire. He’d found absolutely nothing on either. He phoned Emily, anyway.

  “Bobby? You’re not thinking of coming over are you?”

  “Not that I wouldn’t like to, but I’m really tied up here. Actually, I was wondering if you were free for dinner?”

  “Tonight?” she asked, he picked up something strange in the tone of her voice.

  “Yeah, tonight, no pressure, I mean if you’ve already got something lined up that’s okay.”

  “Oh, God you know I’d really love to, actually, I’m about to head out of town on a short trip.” Then as an after thought added, “With my mother.”

  “Oh, really. Everything okay, you going somewhere fun?”

  “Yes, we’re going to visit her sister, in San Diego.”

  “Why don’t you let me give you a ride to the airport, I’d be happy to take the two of you out there,” he said acting on a hunch.

  “Oh thanks, but she’s picking me up, in about thirty minutes as a matter of fact. I mean a friend of her’s is and then she’s taking both of us out there. Really sweet of you to offer.”

  “How long are you going to be gone?”

  “Just a couple of days. I’ll call you as soon as I’m back, believe me, two days with my mom and my aunt, I’ll be desperate for some of your very personal attention.”

  “I’ll be waiting by the phone for your call. Have a safe trip, Emily.”

  “I will,” she said almost too quickly then seemed to get hold of herself and cooed into the phone, “See you in a couple of days, bye, bye.”

  Bobby hung up the phone and felt the bile rising in his throat. You bitch, he thought and after all he’d done for her. He shut down his laptop and stormed out of the office.

  “Will you be back, Mr. Custer?”

  He didn’t answer and instead stomped over to the elevator and pushed the ‘down’ button a half-dozen times before he got hold of himself. “Yeah, sorry Marci, I shouldn’t be long, thirty or forty minutes tops, with any luck.”

  “Everything all right? Your face looks kind of red.”

  “Probably just too much coffee.”

  Very well,” she flashed her smile then talked into her head set. “Good Morning, thank you for calling Denton…

  Bobby stepped onto the elevator. A few minutes later he was moving fast enough through the tightly packed parking ramp to chirp his tires every time he turned a corner. He had to restrain himself from leaning on the horn while the woman ahead of him took her time exiting onto the street, missing a half-dozen opportunities to pull into traffic, all she had to do was step on it for just a second or two.

  “Come on, move, bitch,” he shouted and a guy he hadn’t seen walking past on the sidewalk gave him a strange look and kept on going.

  He wove in and out of traffic, causing more than one person to give him an obnoxious blast on their horn. He waited at a red light, for just a moment, then with no cars in sight he looked left and right and drove through the light, he was doing close to fifty on the city street as he approached the intersection to turn toward Emily’s. He was the second car turning left through the red light, generating another blast from someone’s horn.

  He slowed down two blocks later and pulled over to the curb, parking within sight of Emily’s front door. About twenty minutes later a dark, low slung sedan rolled down the street. It was dark blue, with chrome edging all along the bottom, a chrome grill with a Lincoln logo in the middle and head lights that were illuminated along the bottom and outside edge. The wheels almost looked like they had spinner caps on them. He looked in the rear window as it drove past, but could just barely make out the silhouette of some guy on a cellphone before the car was down the street.

  It had limo
plates, LM1847. A white license plate with blue letters and it pulled to the curb right in front of Emily’s front door. The logo’s rear door opened and a neatly trimmed, grey haired guy in a blue sport coat and slacks climbed out, talking on his cellphone. He hurried up Emily’s front steps then used the lion’s head knocker to rap on the door. The door opened a moment later, and the guy, still on his cellphone waved the driver up to the door. He said something to whoever opened the door, presumably Emily, then walked back down the steps. He commented to the driver all the while continuing to talk on his cellphone.

  Emily, in a pair of tight black slacks and a cream colored blouse stepped aside, the driver grabbed two suitcases and then she pulled the door closed, locked it and followed him down the steps. As the driver put the suitcases in the trunk of the car, the grey haired guy, still on his cellphone, held the door for her.

  She gave him a peck on the check and deftly ran her hand across his crotch before climbing into the rear seat. He quickly reached over and gave her a hearty, full fisted grab on her ass before he slid in beside her. The limo driver stepped back out of the car, walked back around the vehicle and closed the door with a look on his face that did not appear to be happy. A moment later they were headed down the street. Bobby could see their silhouettes in the rear window as Emily wrapped both hands around the guys neck, leaned over and and kissed him.

  He sat behind the wheel of the Mercedes taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. Eventually he let go of his new hand gun and placed it back in the pocket of his suit coat. He pulled ahead, parked in front of Emily’s unit and climbed out of the car. He took the key from the fake rock and let himself in. He could still sense a hint of her perfume lingering in the entryway.