Cory's Shift

by Dan Petrosini

  Cory leaned against the wall. A nurse came out of the room and walked his way. Her eyes were red. Cory said, “Nate didn’t make it?”

  She shook her head and hurried away.

  Cory’s heart broke for the parents. He needed to talk to them. But now wasn’t the time. He went back, got his guitar, and left.

  On the subway ride home, the kid’s death weighed on him. He tried to shake the blues, telling himself he didn’t know the Hendry boy. But it didn’t matter.

  You didn’t have to personally know someone to realize the magnitude of their death. He tried to keep it in perspective, but the reality that defenseless children were being treated as disposable was making him physically sick.

  Chapter Eleven

  Outfitted in a green scrub suit, Park Shu entered the room and examined the man on the gurney.

  “The donor is partially anesthetized. Start an IV with antirejection drugs. Put him completely under in half an hour.”

  The aide said, “Yes, Dr. Shu.”

  “Put your mask on properly. There is a serious risk of infection during these procedures.”

  The woman’s hands trembled as she fitted her mask over her nose.

  Shu said, “This your first time?”

  “Yes.”

  “In your first year?”

  “Yes, the CUNY School of Medicine.”

  Recalling his own difficulties, he said, “The second is exponentially harder.”

  “That’s what I’m told, sir.”

  “You’re from Shantou?”

  “Yes, the center of Shantou.”

  “You’re going to be placed in Xiamen, where you’ll be near family.”

  “I was lucky.”

  “Luck? Your father is the deputy of the Niwan Residential District.”

  “He is.”

  “And your sister, I understand she’s stirring up trouble in Hong Kong.”

  She stared at her clogs. “We’re shamed over her activities.”

  “Disgraceful.”

  “She’s a good person.”

  “Now, today’s procedure will prove to be an invaluable experience for you.”

  “I’m eternally grateful.”

  “This is a highly confidential matter. Breaches are dealt with harshly.”

  “I understand.”

  His droopy eyes bore into her. “We wouldn’t want things to get difficult for your sister.”

  “Oh no, sir.”

  “I’m needed inside.”

  “Are you performing the removal surgery?”

  Shu turned around, saying, “Not today. I have other responsibilities requiring my attention.”

  He put a fresh mask and gloves on and stepped into an adjacent room. It wasn’t a hospital-grade operating room, but Shu was thankful for the proliferation of surgical centers performing outpatient surgeries. It was a serious upgrade from some of the exam rooms the organization had used when starting out.

  Three monitors, displaying the donor’s vitals, were positioned at the head of the gurney.

  A man and two women in surgical gowns were hunched over the patient. Shu sidled up. “Everything under control, Doctor?”

  The man said, “Yes, Dr. Shu. Will you be observing?”

  Shu nodded.

  The nurses finished cleaning the patient’s abdomen with an iodine solution, and the doctor said, “Scalpel.”

  Shu felt a rush of adrenaline as the doctor made an incision. He watched the doctor apply clamps to slow the bleeding. This doctor wasn’t doing anything special, he thought.

  The surgeon opened the abdomen, exposing the kidney. “Be prepared with the clamps. I’m going to start cutting the arteries.”

  He made three quick cuts, and blood began to spurt. Shu stepped back. It was the same point where Shu had panicked while in the Beijing School of Medicine.

  It still amazed him how someone who wanted to be a doctor couldn’t get used to seeing blood. The doubt that he could control the bleeding had made his hands shake.

  Shu took a step closer. He stared at the doctor’s hands. Rock-solid and moving without hesitation.

  Everyone had their gifts, Shu thought. He did what had to be done to protect the enterprise he’d built with authorization from the director of the Central Committee. Once a path was decided, he acted. There was no nervousness or hesitancy.

  Shu observed the surgeon, believing there was no difference between how the doctor and he performed their duties. The difference was the respect a doctor was given. It wasn’t fair, but in order to do his job he needed respect, and if it meant telling people he was a doctor, so be it.

  After an hour, the doctor said, “We’re thirty minutes from removal. We’ll need to wheel the recipient into position.”

  * * *

  Four hours later, Shu took a piece of gum out of his mouth before stepping into the room. The doctor stitching up the recipient didn’t raise his head.

  Placing a valise in a corner of the room, Shu said, “The donor is stable. He’ll stay overnight before moving him to Sunny Palace Rehab.”

  “I’d recommend a minimum of two, if not three nights for the donor.”

  “He’ll be leaving in the morning.”

  “His blood pressure is low, it—”

  “Is the closure complete?”

  The surgeon pulled a suture away from the incision. “Two more to go.”

  “Excellent. I’ll send someone to notify the wife.”

  “He did well, but we’ll need to monitor for signs of rejection. The HLA matching wasn’t optimal.”

  “He’ll be fine. The human species is stronger than most believe.”

  “The probability of rejection—”

  Shu slid the briefcase closer to the doctor. “This is for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Seven p.m., Tuesday. Every Day Urgent Care, One Hundred Seventy-Third Street.”

  “I have office hours on Tuesdays.”

  “Cancel them. Be there Tuesday.”

  “Okay.”

  “Exit the usual way.”

  Shu took the loading dock exit and got into his Honda SUV. He took a phone out of the glove box and sent a text to his underling, Mak.

  “Recipient in urgent need. Small-framed, male, type AA. Bonus offered. Double the usual fee.”

  A text pinged in: “No problem. Will advise.”

  Shu watched two of his men climb the stairs to the loading dock. They’d keep an eye on both patients and help move them into the van in the morning.

  He unwrapped a stick of gum, popped it in his mouth, and drove off.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cory waited four days to approach the Hendry family. The story had died faster than Cory expected, reinforcing his belief he had to do something.

  A strong sun countered the wind blowing off the Hudson River. The Hendrys lived on the fourteenth floor of a Battery Park City building. When the father opened the door, Cory expected a flood of light to pour into the hallway, but the apartment was darker than the hallway.

  “Hi, I know how hard this is for you. I’m a father of two and can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

  The lines on the man’s face made him look twenty years older. He exhaled, “My wife doesn’t want to talk, but I, I don’t know, I feel like I got to do something to keep Nate’s memory alive.”

  “I understand completely. It was senseless and barbaric . . . uh, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I got nothing left at this point.”

  “Like I said, I’m just a guy, a father, who wants to do his part, you know? I’m no saint, but I’ve been working to help kids.”

  “We know all about what you’ve been doing. You’re a good man.”

  “Ever since the Down Syndrome boys were kidnapped for organs, I’ve been trying to keep this in front of the public. I mean, this stuff has to end.”

  “Nate was treated like a science experiment. The wound . . .” he winced, “it looked like a ten-year-old sewed it up. I to
ok pictures.” He dug out his phone and paged through five images.

  Cory gasped, “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

  “Who knows if Nate felt anything? I asked if he had anesthesia in his system, but the hospital never tested for it.”

  Cory doubted that had transpired, but said, “I’m sure your son was out when, when they, uh, did it.”

  He shook his head. “They didn’t do this kind of shit in the medieval days.”

  “I know this is going to sound weird, and it’s okay if you don’t want to, but would you mind sending me the pictures?”

  “What for?”

  “Only if you say it’s okay, but I think if we can get these out there, people might rally around them. We’ve got to keep organ theft in the news. It’s out of control.”

  “If it’ll help, but I don’t want my son being used by the media.”

  “Look, I get it. I’ve got a son and daughter of my own. I was planning to keep the identity anonymous. They don’t need to know who it was done to, just that something like this occurred should be enough.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “We don’t know. Nate never came home, and”—he swallowed hard—“and then we got the call.”

  “Where do you think he was abducted?”

  “We’re thinking either at the park or on the way home.”

  “What park?”

  “The Tribeca Skatepark.”

  “He went there a lot?”

  “Oh yeah, he loved skateboarding. He was there every day.”

  “He went by himself?”

  “No, a group of friends.” He hung his head. “I know it sounds terrible, but why him? Why’d they take my Nate?”

  “It had to be random. Just bad luck.”

  “It doesn’t get worse than that.”

  “And nobody saw anything out of the ordinary?”

  “No. The cops say they talked to everybody, and they have no leads.”

  “They’re still investigating?”

  “They say they are, but this city is a frigging mess. It ain’t safe anymore, and I’m not just talking about what happened to Nate.”

  “I know, things feel like they’re spiraling out of control.”

  “You know, I lived here my whole life. I was born at the old St. Vincent’s Hospital and never thought I’d leave. But now?” He shook his head. “I can’t see myself staying.”

  “A change of scenery might help.”

  “I know, too many memories.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing anybody can say, we just got to nail these bastards, make them pay for what they did.”

  * * *

  Linda was on the couch leafing through a magazine. Cory came in after helping Tommy with homework.

  “Man, they’re teaching kids computer science at his age?”

  “You’re going to have to know how to program to get a job.”

  “They should teach them how to communicate. Everybody has their faces glued to their phones. Some kid was riding on his bike in the street earlier and texting. I told him to be careful, and he gave me the finger.”

  “That’s terrible. Everybody wants immediate answers to meaningless questions.”

  “You got that right. Half the time, I’m using my phone to see how old someone is.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You seemed off when you got home, but I was distracted with Tommy, and you went into the studio.”

  “I talked to Mr. Hendry.”

  “The father of that poor kid?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  Cory shrugged. “I just felt like I had to. This crap has got to stop.”

  “Don’t get involved.”

  “I can’t—”

  “You want something to happen to Tommy or Ava?”

  “Take it easy. I’m just saying we can’t sit around. Nobody is safe, not our kids or anybody if these bastards are left to do what they want.”

  “I’m worried about Tommy and Ava.”

  “I get it. But if we can’t protect the most vulnerable, then nobody is safe.”

  “It’s not your responsibility. Let the cops deal with it.”

  “I know, but I feel like we got to do something. The cops are dealing with regular crime. This is outside their zone.”

  “Then it’s the FBI or CIA or whatever.”

  “Let me show you something.” He pulled his phone out.

  “Oh my God.”

  “See? That’s what these butchers are doing to our kids.”

  “That’s horrible. How can this happen? In New York, no less?”

  “This is the fourth kid in a month, and Kennedy and Hendry don’t have Down.”

  “Is the whole world corrupt? How else could this be happening if they’re not paying people off?”

  “There’s a ton of money involved. Look, we were paying two hundred grand for your mother.”

  Her shoulders sunk. “We were part of the problem.”

  “I know. But now we can be part of the solution.”

  “I’m worried about the kids.”

  “Me too. But we’ll be super careful. I’ll stay out of the limelight. We just need to get people motivated, and they’ll have to shut down.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cory closed the door to his studio. He looked up a telephone number and dialed.

  “New York One News.”

  “I’m looking for a reporter. I met her at the CURE childhood cancer event about ten days ago. I’m pretty sure her name is Sandra.”

  “That would be Sandra Wells. I’ll put you through.”

  “Hey, Sandra, this is Cory Loop. We met at the CURE dinner.”

  “Oh, hi. You ready to talk?”

  “Yes. I have something that needs to get out.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “It’s super powerful, but I can’t have my name associated with it.”

  “What are we talking about?”

  “And you can’t reveal the name of the person in the photos.”

  “Hmm. What do you have?”

  “Promise me you won’t reveal my name or the kid’s.”

  “You have my word. Tell me what you have?”

  “Photos of the kid who was abducted and left to die.”

  “What kind of pictures? We’re not the Enquirer.”

  “Did you know they harvested his liver?”

  “What? That’s gross.”

  “They butchered the poor boy. I have pictures of the wound. It looks like it was stitched by a five-year-old.”

  “Oh my God. That’s terrible.”

  “Now, I’ll send them to you, but you can’t say who it is, and you can’t say you got them from me. What I think you should do is focus on what happened with the Down Syndrome kids. You can say this is another example.”

  “I get the family’s privacy, but can’t we use you as a source? You’ve already gone public about this.”

  “No. These people are dangerous. The police think they could have been the ones who sent someone to pick up my son.”

  “Really? Because you said something?”

  “It has to be.”

  “Seems like a stretch.”

  “Look, I don’t care what you think about it. My name doesn’t go in the news, or you don’t get the pictures.”

  “We’ll quote it as an anonymous source. You don’t have to worry about the boy. We never use the name of a minor without the parents’ permission.”

  “Super. What’s your cell number? I’ll text them over.”

  * * *

  Shu popped a piece of gum in his mouth and closed the door to his office. He went to the stereo and pulled out an album. He put “Plum Blossoms” on the turntable and dropped the needle.

  As the sounds of the traditional seven-stringed instrument filled the room, Shu slid be
hind his desk. The ancient song from the Jin Dynasty was the perfect soundtrack to Shu’s life. The theme of the three-part movement was praising the gritty spirit of the plum blossom which bloomed in the severe winter.

  Shu logged on to a server located in Shanghai and put in his credentials. He opened a double-passworded spreadsheet and scrolled to the bottom.

  Ten new contacts had been made with possible recipients. Li had graded six of them as likely to close within two weeks. The 60 percent rate had been constant. It wasn’t bad, but Shu would push to see if they could raise it to 70 once he added another surgeon.

  Shu’s mood took a dive when he viewed the donor stats. Three people they considered sure things had moved to the unlikely column. Money was a lever to increase supply, but that hit margins.

  Shu signed out. He closed his eyes. It was time to get creative.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shu put down the New England Journal of Medicine. The article on using artificial intelligence to perform surgery fascinated him. While wondering if the advancement would enable him to do the surgeries he desperately wanted to perform, there was a knock on his door.

  Cooke Tay stepped into the room. “Come in.”

  “Dr. Shu, we just got word that a complication arose in the Goldfarb transplant.”

  “What happened?”

  “Details are sketchy, but during the sectioning, the donor started to hemorrhage, and Dr. Fung decided to concentrate on the recipient.”

  “How is the donor?”

  “Fung didn’t think he was going to make it.”

  “What did he do?”

  “They left him in an alley.”

  Shu bolted out of his seat. “They did what?”

  “Fung was concerned about what to do with a corpse if he died.”

  “So, he left a patient to die? How could he?”

  “I’ll get more information.”

  “I want to know how he is and what we can do to save him.”

  “No problem.”

  Shu shook his head. “Fung panicked. Why didn’t he call?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Anything else?”

  “How is the recipient?”

  “They said the transplant of the liver portion was uneventful, and the patient is stable.”

  “Make sure Edgar’s team keeps him an extra day before moving him. We need to ensure he makes a full recovery.”