Corridor Man Read Free Page A

settled in.
    He learned later that night that the large front burner on the gas stove didn’t work so he grilled his dinner over one of the smaller burners. He had snapped a branch off a dead bush back by the dumpster and used it to impale two hot dogs. He slid the gourmet treats onto the buns sitting on the counter, squirted a line of nuclear yellow mustard along the length of the dogs and voila! Dinner was served.
    He sat quietly on the floor opposite his suitcase and paper bags with his back against the wall. He slowly ate the hot dogs and tried to tune out the steady drip coming from the kitchen sink. He didn’t have to listen to fantasies about women, talk about basketball, hear complaints about the system or comments about the man. There was no reminder of a group session starting in ten minutes. It seemed like heaven.
    As the sun began to set he realized he’d forgotten to buy light bulbs. Shortly after that he was sitting in the dark, alone in his thoughts. No one whistled, made cat calls, sang off-key or shouted “Shut-the-fuck-up.” He sat alone in the dark relishing the peace and quiet.
    He woke before sunrise, wide awake on the worn carpet. He felt his way to the bathroom, showered in the dark and dripped dry looking out the window at the dumpster before he got dressed.
    After a breakfast of another grilled hot dog, he walked two and a half miles to the Ramsey County Courthouse. Built in the midst of the great depression it served not only as the St. Paul Courthouse, but as the City Hall as well. Although his purpose was to simply apply for a driver’s license he was worried about who he might possibly run into. His apprehension grew as he approached. By the time he could see the twenty-story building just a few blocks away he was seriously considering turning around.

Chapter Six
     
     
    Meyer’s was a dingy working-class bar known for strong drinks and agreeable women. It served a daily private breakfast to the very limited clientele of one customer and one customer only.
    “So let me get this straight,” Morris Montcreff threw the newspaper back on the table and glanced up at the barroom ceiling in an attempt to collect his thoughts. He ran his tongue over his teeth extracting the last of the blueberries and a hint of maple syrup.
    “You take out the intended target, O’Brien along with three other individuals and you miss some broad sitting all by herself in a booth next to the front door?”
    The brothers, Dubuque and Mobile, glanced quickly at one another, each one silently blaming the other for the error.
    “Well?”
    “We checked the place out, Mister Montcreff, honest,” Mobile said.
    “Checked behind the bar, the kitchen, men’s room, women’s can. We didn’t see shit,” Dubuque added.
    “Isn’t that just wonderful. Great job, except you two jackasses just happened to miss this bitch sitting by the front door, no doubt watching everything happen.”
    More worried looks between the brothers.
    “Listen here you two morons. You find out who she is and where she is and you take care of her. Jesus Christ, a simple job and you screw the thing up. Headlines for the past two days, now this,” he pointed at the front page of the Pioneer Press. “She was sitting in there apparently watching the whole thing go down and you two just couldn’t be bothered. Honest to God, what the hell am I paying you for?”
    “You ain’t got to pay us none, Mr. Montcreff, leastwise till we make this right by you,” Mobile said.
    Dubuque shot a quick glance at his brother but didn’t say anything.
    “You’re right about that. Let me make you two a little promise. You get this situation taken care of quickly, and need I remind you quietly, or I’ll have someone else tie up all the loose ends. And I mean all the loose ends. Do I make myself clear?”
    The brothers nodded in unison.
    “Get the hell out of my sight. I don’t want to see or hear from either one of you until this is taken care of, now go,