Corridor Man (15 page)

Chapter Forty-Six

He phoned Prez at
five thirty. He’d been parked in front of Arundel’s for the past thirty-five minutes, sweating in the late afternoon heat and starting to feel more than a little conspicuous. He’d gone up to the front door and knocked on it when he first arrived just in case Prez had been waiting inside. He wasn’t.

“Yeah.”

“Prez, I’m sitting out here in front of Arundel’s. Did you forget?”

“Bobby?” He sounded distant, not in miles, but in terms of comprehension.

“Yeah, we were going to meet over here a half hour ago and get Arundel’s computer. Remember?”

“Not really, I’m sort of busy right now, maybe call me tomorrow, bro.”

He could hear at least one female voice in the background and knew there wasn’t any point in arguing. Besides, Prez had already hung up.

He got out of the car and walked along the side of the house to the back. He searched under the back steps, around the door and in what had once probably been a nice little garden. He was looking for a spare key and coming up empty-handed. He checked under a dried up bird bath in the yard, around an old charcoal grill that looked like it hadn’t been used in the past year and all around the garage door. Nothing.

In desperation he climbed the wooden stoop to the back door ready to break one of the four glass panels so he could just reach in and turn the lock. Just on the odd chance, he tried the doorknob. It turned out to be unlocked.

He opened the door, stepped inside and listened. Images of the other night with Dubuque and Mobile sneaking around in the dark flooded his mind. He was standing in Arundel’s kitchen and he quickly examined either side of the refrigerator. It was wedged between a wall and the end of a grimy countertop. There wasn’t the slightest chance anyone could hide alongside it.

The place was the same disaster he and Prez had viewed earlier in the week. Grease covered pans sat on top of all four burners. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes. A number of beer bottles, glasses, some coffee cups and a plastic bag containing one crust of bread were scattered across the kitchen counter. Pizza delivery boxes were tossed on the floor next to an overflowing wastebasket and there was the definite smell of rotting garbage in the air.

He walked through the kitchen into the former dining area where the Foosball table sat. The smell of stale cigarette smoke disguised the garbage smell wafting from the kitchen. A couple of overflowing ashtrays sat on the edge of the Foosball table. A number of cigarette butts were scattered around the base of the table. They looked like they had been dropped there and then just stepped on to extinguish them leaving scorch marks in the oak flooring. More half-empty glasses, beer bottles with cigarette butts and what looked like chicken bones were scattered around the room, remnants of some recent event.

He stepped into the small living room. What looked like an old bed sheet was hung over the front window. The sheet had been nailed to the window trim and didn’t quite cover, leaving maybe four inches of window exposed on either end. There was a large flat-screen TV sitting on what had probably served as the dining room table at one stage. The table was pushed up against the front window and the flat-screen displayed a frozen, blurred pornographic image with red letters across the top of the screen that read Press to Play. At the far end of the table, beneath two half-filled glasses and an empty plastic gin bottle was what looked like a laptop computer. The logo
COMPAQ
was scrolled across the top of the thing in silver letters.

Bobby set the bottle and glasses to the side, pulled the plug out of the wall, then set a pair of headphones and what he figured was a cordless mouse on the laptop. He was about to put it all under his arm and walk out when he saw the pair of legs.

They were on the floor, between a coffee table and the ratty couch, woman’s legs. She looked to be morbidly obese and clearly in need of an industrial cleaning. She was dressed in a T-shirt and possibly the largest pair of sensible pink cotton panties he’d ever seen. She seemed to be breathing but was comatose and had apparently been sick at some point. Arundel’s sister?

Bobby didn’t think there was anything positive he could add so he tip-toed out with the laptop under his arm. He glanced in what had been Arundel’s bedroom. The grimy carpet was still pulled back in the far corner, the table lamp still held the corner of the carpet folded back, but the lamp was now on its side and the shade looked like it had been stepped on. The closet had been looted of most of the T-shirts that had once hung in there and two of the legs on the bed had been broken causing it to lean to the left at about a forty-five degree angle.

The sooner he got out of here the better. He made his way out the back door, put the laptop in the trunk and drove off.

Chapter Forty-Seven

At one point last
night Bobby had toyed with the idea of knocking on the apartment next door and offering to split the cost of their Wi-Fi service. He stumbled on their password about a half hour later. It was the building address, which is right up there with 12345 as far as security goes and almost too simple. Thankfully, Arundel hadn’t been concerned with security and Bobby could access his laptop. It wasn’t the most recent operating system, but it was better than the one he didn’t have.

Arundel had apparently searched a few hundred porn sites and attempted the occasional music download. Other than that there was nothing to suggest the slightest interest in current events, well, other than one site. Today’s Gang Bang.

More importantly for Bobby’s purposes the laptop worked and once he downloaded his own security he Googled Lowell Zimmerman. That turned out to be disappointing. Zimmerman came out of the insurance industry, was semi-retired and a major investor in a hearing aid franchise. Nothing if not boring. Morris Montcreff, the other signatory on the contract, was a different story, and there were newspaper articles suggesting but never directly linking him to gambling, prostitution and the drug trades. It looked like he’d been questioned repeatedly over the years by the authorities, but never with any real result. Based on a further online search it appeared he’d never been prosecuted. It seemed to beg the question, what was Noah Denton doing representing someone like Morris Montcreff? That led Bobby to think that what Noah was doing was charging, heavily.

There was a stock image of Morris Montcreff in the newspaper articles. He looked overweight and bald with a fringe of white hair running in disarray round the side of his head. He had a reddish complexion, to the point where his cheeks, chin and nose looked to be chapped or possibly wind burned. His nose was bulbous, like a new potato, out of proportion to the rest of his face and even online presented a decidedly veiny, purple cast. Morris Montcreff did not appear to be the sort of person you’d enjoy a quiet moment with.

There was an online image identified as Mr. and Mrs. Lowell Zimmerman. The ‘Mrs.’ was definitely not the woman Bobby had seen that morning. That didn’t mean much. Mrs. could have been on vacation, divorced or even dead. For that matter, the woman he met could have been Zimmerman’s daughter or even the maid.

Bobby Googled Precious Clarken and then Prez Clarken and came up empty. He Googled Kathryn “Kate” Clarken and came up with two arrests for solicitation and a mug shot photo that must have been taken just before she had been deposited in Detox. There was a one-paragraph article covering her unsolved murder and a court post listing her as one of a number of plaintiffs in a class action insurance fraud case.

He Googled himself and found more than he wished, starting with his disbarment, then his trial and sentencing almost five years ago, followed by his divorce. A couple of cases he’d been involved with seven or eight years ago were mentioned. Nothing regarding his recent release and certainly nothing since he left the halfway house was mentioned. He was, thankfully, lying more or less under the radar, at least for the moment. He made a mental note to learn Marci’s last name so he could check her out. He went to bed sometime after one, slept soundly and phoned Marci over his second cup of morning coffee.

“No need for you today,” she said sounding like it was one of the better things that had happened to her in a while.

He was tempted to ask what her last name was, but, thankfully she’d hung up before he had the chance. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do, but he could feel himself gradually taking aim and delivering some sort of petty payback.

He went back to searching Lowell Zimmerman. Along with the LLC paperwork he signed yesterday the file had contained the transfer of a piece of property and what looked like a life insurance benefit. Neither item seemed out of the ordinary. He was a rich guy, retired and he apparently was in a property partnership, nothing unusual. He didn’t find any mention online of Gina Gravatto, the woman who notarized the documents.

His new phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Yeah, Bobby.”

“Prez.”

“Busy day yesterday, I think we talked about getting you a computer, I can’t quite remember.” He sounded like he was in a recovery mode of some sort, but still not completely at a hundred percent.

“We did discuss that.”

“And?”

“And you were going to get me Arundel’s computer. I just think it would be a lot safer when we file that power of attorney, the wills and trusts and have you listed on the deed to that property that we do it as privately as possible. I’m more than a little hesitant about using a public source like the library. The potential for problems down the road far outweighs the….”

“Yeah, okay I get all that. Here’s my problem. Arundel’s sister showed up.”

Bobby shuddered slightly and figured Prez was referring to the obese woman in the pink panties he’d seen passed out on the floor. Prez was going to need a fork lift to get her out of there.

“What do you mean she showed up?”

“I mean just that. She’s there, at the house.”

“So you didn’t get the locks changed like I suggested?”

“I was planning to do that.”

“And now she’s there, did she move in, is she living there?”

“Far as I can tell, yeah. I mean sort of tough to say, she’s already trashed the place.”

“Well, let me know what you decide to do. I can tell you this, it would be a good idea not to get the authorities involved, they’ll ask questions, want to know some things you don’t have the answers to yet. That said, if she’s partying and raising hell in there, you don’t need a pissed off neighbor calling the cops.”

“I don’t know how to get rid of her, I mean hell, she’s Arundel’s sister. She starts raising hell and I could lose that place before I even get it.”

Bobby could see nothing positive being accomplished with his involvement, besides he already had what he needed, Arundel’s computer.

“You’re right, you could lose the place. Let me know how it works out. Then, once she’s out of there, get the locks changed and clean that place up.”

Prez didn’t sound too happy, but he didn’t offer any real argument. They hung up and Bobby decided to go grocery shopping.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Bobby drove to the
grocery store and as was becoming his custom parked in the far corner of the lot, away from all the other cars. He picked up some basics and splurged on a bag of bite sized Snickers bars and a tub of ice cream. He carried the groceries out to his car and placed the shopping bag behind the front seat.

A dark shadow suddenly loomed over him and he turned to see who was driving so damn close. He looked up into the face of one of the largest people he’d ever seen, a small pug nose was dwarfed by fat cheeks that rose up to turn the eyes into mere slits.

His jet black hair was curly and pulled behind his head in a sort of ponytail. His jeans, with at least a sixty-inch waist, were partially hidden by a massive, overhanging belly. Not that Bobby had any intention of pointing that out to him. His feet were spread a good yard apart, a necessary stance Bobby guessed based on the massive thighs. He stared at Bobby through the eye slits of his incredibly fat face and growled in a deep voice. “Nice wheels.”

“Thank you, it’s comfortable.” Bobby smiled, then made a move that suggested he wanted to get into the car.

The massive figure held his ground, which was a large section of the planet and just now was planted directly in front of the driver’s door.

“A guy I once knew drove a car just like this.”

“Really,” Bobby tried to reach around him to the door handle, but the massive bulk didn’t move.

“Exactly like this as a matter of fact. He ain’t around anymore. Maybe you knew him?”

“No, can’t say that I know anyone like that.” If his stuttering didn’t give him away Bobby was sure the squeaky little girl voice and the color draining from his face did.

“Same kind of plates like you got here, New Mexico.”

Bobby thought, goddamnit, Prez.

“That’s seems kind of strange, don’t you think?” He leaned in toward Bobby and close to six hundred pounds of imposing flesh pressed Bobby back against the side of the Mercedes and then held him there.

“Like I said, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Bobby gasped. The massive flesh seemed to envelope him and he could feel hot, garlic scented breath on his forehead.

Another shadow suddenly drifted behind them, a large vehicle. Black with red trim, it looked like some sort of industrial version of a Humvee and appeared smaller than the massive figure which at the moment was crushing Bobby against the side of his car.

“I think it might be a good idea if you came with us and answered some questions.”

“If it’s okay. I think I’d like to just stay here. I’ve got some things to do. Maybe we could schedule an appointment for…”

“Get in the car, asshole.” He shifted his weight a half step and Bobby quickly sucked in a lungful of oxygen. A side door suddenly opened on the Humvee looking like the dark entrance to a forbidding cave.

“Maybe I could just follow you guys in my car.”

“Maybe you could just get your ass in there, under your own power, while you still can. You got about three seconds.”

“What exactly is this all about?”

“Three, two….”

“All right, I’m in there,” Bobby said, then slipped around the giant and headed for the dark opening in the Humvee.

The guy who opened the side door slid across the seat to make room for Bobby. He was lean, muscular and staring with what looked like a permanent frown on his face. As Bobby climbed in his overly large friend blocked the door and any light behind him.

The entire vehicle tilted to the side when the big man climbed in. “Move over some more and give me some room,” he said, then settled onto the seat. The guy who had opened the door for Bobby and slid over hung onto the door handle as the vehicle rocked back and forth. The little space that was left became lost as the massive figure oozed over two seats and the entire vehicle tilted decidedly to the right.

“Buckle up,” the driver chuckled and drove off.

Bobby could barely breathe. He pushed the oozing fat away with both hands and half-angled himself around the side of the massive figure. He had to sit sideways on the front half of the seat. Everyone seemed oblivious to his discomfort and continued to look straight ahead as they drove on in silence.

“Where are we going?” he asked some minutes later.

That got a scowl in reply.

“Can you give me some idea what this is all about?”

“Hey,” the muscular guy wedged against the door behind him said. “Maybe just shut the fuck up. We wanted to do something to you we would have let Hippo just sit on you back in that parking lot. Don’t mean we still can’t change our mind.”

Bobby glanced at him, noticed the three teardrops tattooed down his left cheek and didn’t need any more encouragement. They drove on for another fifteen minutes and Bobby felt the sweat beginning to run down his back. No one in the vehicle said anything. He studied the tattoos on the muscular man’s arms from out of the corner of his eye.

He had a rough idea of where they were. Actually, it wasn’t too far from where Prez and he had nailed Dubuque and Mobile, the East Side. They turned onto Payne Ave., drove past the Music Café, the old Hamm’s brewery, up and over the bridge, then after a few blocks turned down a side street and around the corner into an alley. They pulled in the rear of some non-descript brick building that looked like it was probably a hundred years old.

Hippo opened the door and pried himself out of the vehicle. The car rocked from side to side as he exited and suddenly Bobby felt like he was able to breathe again.

“What the hell are you waiting for, get your ass out there and give me some room,” the voice behind him growled.

“In here,” Hippo grunted as Bobby climbed out of the SUV. He opened a screen door ,then oozed over to one side.

Bobby stepped in and walked down a half dozen steps into a dark hallway. The brown tile on the floor looked like circa 1950. A narrow beige painted hallway lay straight ahead with plumbing pipes running along the length of the ceiling, and a light flickering out of a doorway at the far end. The muscular guy with the teardrops followed down the steps behind him.

“Come on, get your ass in gear,” he said and shoved Bobby forward.