Corridor Man Volumes 1, 2, 3,4 5

by Nick James

  He remembered the time he’d drugged Denton’s water and the paramedic’s hauled him out on a gurney. The time Denton assaulted Emily’s sister, Lizzy, in front of a few dozen witnesses. That had started the ball rolling on the acquisition guys leaving, which led to Angie Benedict and Nate Anderson spending eternity up in the woods under a pine tree. He looked around the office… paneled walls, windows with a view, his own refrigerator, the massive desk. A partner’s office, he thought, and gave himself a congratulatory nod.

  “Mr. Custer,” the voice called.

  Bobby half jumped as he turned round and stared at two of them for a moment, too shocked to speak. The same bodyguard, large, muscular, dark hair combed straight back, that prominent nose and swarthy skin. Today he was in a grey suit and a black t-shirt, the top of some blue ink tattoo exposed above the t-shirt. Bobby guessed the tattoo probably covered his entire chest. He still wore the cowboy boots and with the massive biceps the arms of the suit coat looked like stuffed sausages. His arms hung off to his side, as if he was carrying a couple of boxes, although there was nothing there.

  As Bobby stared, the bodyguard stepped aside to reveal Luis Morales. Looking for all the world like something from a television commercial. Dark, tailored suit, starched white shirt, open collar. Bobby could see the resemblance to his sister, Camila, perhaps even stronger today than when he and Luis had first met. Luis held a large, dark green paper shopping bag with handles.

  “I wanted to be the very first to congratulate you.”

  “Congratulate me?” Bobby said, still shocked and having trouble getting the words out. “What on earth for?”

  “Why this,” Luis half laughed and indicated the new office with his hands.

  “But, how did you know? No one here even knows, well except for me and maybe one or two others.”

  “Bobby, what sort of client would I be if I didn’t congratulate you when a good thing happens? Please, we’re all very happy for you. And, to show how proud we are, a little something. May I?” he said then lifted the shopping bag, ready to set it on the desk.

  “Oh please, yeah, go ahead.”

  “A little something from Valentina, Camila and myself,” he said taking three large, dark grey boxes out of the bag. The boxes were all the same, sturdy, rectangular, a little more than a foot tall, each side maybe eight inches square. He lined them up one next to the other. “Please, Bobby, open them, I hope they meet with your approval.”

  “I’m not sure what to say,” Bobby said laying one of the boxes on its side and opening the flap. “It’s very unusual that I find myself at a loss for words.”

  Whatever was inside was wrapped in bubble wrap, blurring the writing on the paper beneath although Bobby could make out the word ‘Waterford’ printed maybe an inch apart all over the sheet. He carefully removed the bubble wrap and then the Waterford tissue to reveal a crystal decanter.

  “We got you three of them, one from each of us. And well, sometimes I like whiskey, sometimes bourbon and every once in a while, I like to be surprised.”

  “Thank you, this is very generous, and I have to say a complete surprise.”

  “One more thing,” he said then reached into the bag and pulled out a clear glass bottle with golden brown liquid. The label read A H Hirsch Reserve, a bourbon that went for over three hundred a bottle.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Hardly, I told you what sort of client would I be…”

  “Thank you, Luis. Camila, she’s making progress, doing all right?”

  “She is, thank you for asking. Should we maybe open this, just to make sure it lives up to its reputation?” Luis asked and indicated the bottle.

  “Of course, of course,” Bobby said then took three crystal glasses off the credenza. The glasses had once belonged to Noah Denton. Bobby smiled to himself thinking possession being nine-tenths of the law. The cork made a sound as he pulled it from the bottle. He filled two of the glasses with an inch of the golden liquid.

  “No, two is perfect,” Luis said before Bobby could fill the third glass.

  “You’re sure, I mean just…”

  “Two is perfect.”

  Bobby handed a glass to Luis, then pointed toward one of the leather couches at the end of the office. “Shall we make ourselves comfortable? This isn’t the sort of thing to just throw back in one swallow.”

  As they settled on the couches, the bodyguard remained by the door, implacable.

  “So Bobby,” Luis smiled. “It would appear you’ve come a long way, in a fairly short time.” He indicated the office with his glass.

  “I’ve been fortunate. I arrived just at a time when I would be needed, helping out the gentleman who used to office here.”

  “Noah Denton,” Luis said, then seemed to have a faraway look, remembering something for the briefest of moments before he snapped back to the present.

  “You knew him?”

  “That may be too strong a term. We met a few times through Montcreff actually, back in those days, another time. I’m sure Denton wouldn’t remember me.”

  “Certainly not now,” Bobby half chuckled and took a small sip.

  “Yes, a most unfortunate situation. I think it’s fair to say that the party or parties involved would be wise to be on their guard,” Luis said and then sipped, letting that not-so-veiled warning just hang out there in the room.

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “This doctor Antonnini the police are looking for, even if he made an honest mistake, there are still those who would view it as something else. And if, just for the sake of discussion, he had some sort of ulterior motive, perhaps working at the behest of someone else, well you can see how that could tend to complicate matters.”

  “I think the police would just like to talk with him, and…”

  “He had better hope they find him first, I believe his days are numbered.”

  “You’re not suggesting Montcreff would have anything to…”

  “I’m not suggesting anything, Bobby.” He drained his glass, set it on the coffee table, then stood. “It’s simply a good policy to always remain alert. I wish you all success. I’m sure we’ll be in touch,” he said, then held out his hand. Bobby stood and shook his hand. The bodyguard opened the door for Luis and the two of them quickly disappeared into the darkness of the outer office.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Bobby was seated at his new desk the following morning, pretending to review the Montcreff files, but really just replaying in his head last night’s conversation with Luis Morales. “He had better hope they find him first. I believe his days are numbered.” He couldn’t possibly know about the arrangement Bobby had with Antonnini, could he?

  The phone rang. It was Bennett Hinz.

  “This is Bobby.”

  “Yes, Custer, would you mind joining us in my office?”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He wasn’t really up for dealing with Bennett and the other two partners at the moment, but couldn’t see an alternative. “I’ll be there in just a moment,” he said, then grabbed his coffee mug and headed for the break room. He filled his mug and grabbed a couple of cookies from a plate covered with tinfoil. No doubt one of the paralegals bringing in treats for her office mates. He moved the cookies around so the plate looked untouched, reattached the tinfoil, then headed for Bennett’s office. He crammed the last cookie in his mouth just before he opened the door and stepped in.

  Bennett was seated behind his desk looking very serious. Sawyer and Allan were sitting ashen-faced on the leather couch. Opposite them sat Daryl Woodley, homicide detective. Husband to Christine Woodley who Bobby had reintroduced to her drug addiction. Bobby had set up an acquaintance, Brad Carey to give Christine more drugs and her husband, Detective Daryl Woodley had shot and killed him. So much for history.

  “Thank you for joining us. I believe you know Detective Woodley,” Bennett said. There seemed to be a chill in the office air, although the t
hree partners all looked to be sweating.

  Bobby gulped down the chocolate chip cookie and nodded. “Nice to see you again, Detective.

  Woodley eyed him coldly and just nodded back.

  Bennett waited for Bobby to take a seat opposite the couch and next to Woodley. “The detective is here in regard to Noah Denton’s passing. As you know, there seem to be some questions.”

  “I think the news reports I heard used the word suspicious,” Bobby said.

  “You were at City View the day he died?” Woodley said taking charge.

  “I believe so. I’d made it part of my routine to stop and see him in the morning, just about every morning,” Bobby lied.

  “I was under the impression it was only family who were allowed to visit.”

  “Yeah, that’s their policy, City View. To tell you the truth, Detective, I was in touch with his family and they weren’t visiting. I talked to his wife, Mrs. Denton. She felt she was actually upsetting him whenever she was there so she stopped going, or at best made an infrequent visit. I never saw a card or flowers from anyone, well, other than the ones I brought on behalf of the firm.”

  “But you’re not family?”

  “Correct. Actually, I lied to the staff, told them I was his adopted son. They got used to seeing me, never really questioned me. Was that wrong? Yeah, if you’re going by the book, but I just felt sorry for the guy. He was a founding member of this firm, and highly regarded across the legal profession.” The partners all seemed to be focused on the floor at this point, none of them making eye contact.

  “And you were there every day?”

  “Pretty much. Although in recent weeks, he was usually resting, asleep more often than not. That may have been due to medications, I suspect, but I don’t really know. He had a couple of incidents where he was confused and maybe a bit aggressive. We’d experienced some of that here,” he said then looked around the office at the partners. None of them looked up to make eye contact. “He took a couple of falls and injured that hip again. He fell in the bathroom and banged his head pretty severely on the sink. The last week or two I’d peek in, but maybe stay only a minute or two. I touched base with the nurses, relayed information to his wife.”

  “Did you ever meet a Doctor James Antonnini?”

  Bobby hoped his heart pounding wouldn’t alert Woodley. “I did as a matter of fact. I think he was the guy who did the hip work on Mr. Denton. Seemed nice enough.”

  “You spoke with him?”

  “Yes, but only for a brief moment regarding his recovery prognosis. To tell you the truth, he was in the middle of his rounds and he made it clear he did not have a lot of time to waste.”

  “Would you have any idea where he is now?”

  “Doctor Antonnini?” Bobby glanced at his watch. “I guess if he isn’t doing surgery, he’s probably making his hospital rounds.”

  Woodley stared for a moment, thinking, maybe evaluating.

  “Are you familiar with a woman by the name of Emily Saunders?”

  “Emily Saun…Yes, her sister actually worked here. Tragic. Killed in a car accident in France. Paris, I believe. I didn’t know the woman, the sister, but she was involved in an incident with Mr. Denton that was maybe one of the initial indications he may have been experiencing problems. Have you discussed the pending lawsuit?” Bobby asked, hoping to defer any more questions.

  “Only in passing,” Bennett said, looking more uncomfortable by the minute.

  “How well do you know Emily Saunders?” Woodley asked Bobby.

  Shit, shit, shit. “How well? I met her at her sister’s funeral, actually at the wake the previous evening. I initially attempted to act as a conduit between the firm and the Saunders family, hoping we might avert the lawsuit. I’m not sure where that stands now?” Bobby said looking at Bennett, hoping for some sort of bailout.

  “I think the term pending might best describe it,” Bennett said, then turned in his chair to address Woodley. “They were considering suing on the grounds of a hostile work environment and sexual harassment. We mentioned the incident with Mr. Denton, earlier.”

  Woodley nodded, then turned to face Bobby. “You ever been down to Key West?”

  “Florida? No, never. I don’t think I’ve been to Florida for close to twenty years. In fact, I was there only once, as a college kid, spring break. Three days at Daytona Beach, if I recall.”

  Woodley nodded. “And you haven’t been back since?”

  “No. What’s this all about? I’m sure we have the records here, but to my knowledge Mr. Denton rarely took time off. Did he ever go to Florida?” Bobby asked Bennett.

  “Not to my knowledge. I can’t recall the last time he took a vacation, it has to be ten or fifteen years ago.”

  “He’d come in on Christmas day, said he enjoyed the peace and quiet,” Sawyer said.

  “We found Doctor Antonnini,” Woodley said. “Actually the police in Key West found him.”

  “In Key West? Is he coming back up here?” Bennett asked.

  “Probably in the next couple of days.”

  “Well good. Hopefully he’ll be able to answer some of your questions.” Allan said, suddenly developing an attitude.

  “Let us know what you find out,” Sawyer added.

  Something didn’t seem to be adding up. “Found him? That doesn’t sound too positive,” Bobby said.

  “He was on the beach, very near a condo he owned.”

  “Who can blame him for wanting to get away? All this nonsense,” Allan again, adding indignation to his attitude.

  “Owned?” Bobby said.

  “Doctors,” Allan scoffed.

  “What?” Bennett said.

  “I said doctors, the money they charge. My chiropractor just…”

  “Shut up, Allan,” Bobby said then looked at Woodley. “You said owned, the condo he owned, like it was past tense.”

  “It is. I’m afraid he was dead.”

  “Suicide?” Sawyer asked.

  “Only if he was an awfully bad shot, two rounds in the head. Sounds like he had a pretty rough go of it.”

  “What?”

  “Apparently he was tortured before he was put out of his misery.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bobby was back in his own office thinking he had to somehow get in touch with Emily. Maybe it was just a long shot, or a guess, but Detective Woodley had come up with her name. Apparently someone tortured Antonnini, then killed him. What had he shouted in that last phone call? Something about, “You think they’ll wait that long?” Was he aware someone was after him? Had he called from Key West? If they tortured him, was it some nutcase just enjoying himself or was someone trying to get answers? How long before someone like Antonnini would give up Emily’s name? Or worse, Bobby’s? Montcreff had to be behind this. He probably sent one of his thugs down to Florida to kill Antonnini, but not before he got names. Shit.

  She answered on the second ring.

  “Hey, I was just thinking about you.”

  “And I’ve been thinking about you all afternoon, Emily.”

  “What about the morning?” she laughed.

  “Wondering if I can talk you into coming over for dinner this evening.”

  “Depends. What’s for dinner?”

  “What would you like?”

  “Right answer. Tell you what, surprise me and give me a time.”

  “See you at half-past-seven.”

  “Sounds wonderful, and I’d like pancakes for breakfast.”

  His next call was to Luis Morales.

  “Si.”

  “Mr. Morales, please.”

  “Bobby, is that you? Don’t tell me you’re already out of that bourbon I brought you?”

  “No, thank you for that by the way. I was wondering if we might meet for a few minutes this afternoon.”

  “Meet? Yes, I suppose. Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah, just fine. I had a question or two for you that I’d feel better discussing with you in person,
if it’s all the same.”

  “All right, would the end of the day work? Say five o’clock?”

  “That works fine, where are you located?”

  “I have a better idea, be outside your building at five, and I’ll pick you up.”

  “I’ll be looking for you.”

  * * *

  He hadn’t been five minutes out in front of the building. It was a concrete sort of courtyard, bounded on three sides by twenty-four stories of reflective glass that raised the outside temperature in the immediate area by a good twenty degrees. The courtyard had a half-dozen park benches scattered around, but the heat from the sun bouncing off the glass eliminated any possibility of sitting out there five months out of the year without ending up drenched in sweat. Four expensive and forgettable pieces of sculpture adorned the area. Bobby waited away from the building, close to the street, where the temperature was at least bearable. A dark Mercedes Benz S-class rolled around the far corner then pulled to a stop almost in front of him. The windows were too heavily tinted to see inside, but the rear door suddenly popped open and Luis leaned across the seat.

  “Mr. Custer, Bobby,” he called, then beckoned him forward with a wave of his hand. Bobby hurried into the car, air conditioned comfort wrapped a wonderfully cool hand around him the moment he was inside.

  “Oh, God, this feels good,” Bobby said as he slid into the seat, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes.

  “Hot out there?” Luis asked.

  “It is in that courtyard. You could probably fry an egg on the sidewalk.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Luis said as the car pulled away from the curb. The driver was the same muscular guy who’d been with Luis the night before. They drove for a block or two, no one speaking until Luis said, “You mentioned you had a question you wished to discuss.”

  “Yes, and thank you for making the time to see me. This morning we, the firm partners and myself, had a visitor.”

  “Oh?”