Cory's Shift

by Dan Petrosini

  “Hey, Ava. How you doing?”

  “Okay.”

  “Just wanted to let you know I’m going to be leaving.”

  “When you coming back?”

  He studied her face, wondering if the look on her face was fear. “A day or so. Depends on how quick the filming goes. But don’t worry, I’ll get back as soon as possible, and Mom is not going to leave the apartment without you.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. And Uncle Donny is going to come and help out.”

  “Isn’t he doing the video with you?”

  “Uh, no. He never played with the Coconuts.”

  “You said he did.”

  “I did? Maybe Donny did a session. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, he’s not on the gig.”

  Ava shrugged.

  “You know, it might be good to get out of this room for a while and hang out with Mom when I’m gone.”

  “I don’t feel like it.”

  “It’s not good being cooped up in here. Can you try? For me?”

  “Why doesn’t everybody just leave me alone?”

  “We want to help, that’s all.”

  “You’ve got to go, so, go ahead then.”

  “Aw, come on, Ava, don’t let me leave on that note. All I’m saying is we want the best for you. We’re sorry if we overdo things at times, but it’s because we love you.”

  “I know.”

  “Good. I’ll see you as soon as I get back.”

  “Bye. Close the door.”

  Cory stood outside her room. He felt guilty for leaving. Did she think he was abandoning her? She should only know he was doing this for her.

  Linda stepped into the hallway. “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah, perfect.”

  “How was Ava?”

  Cory raised his voice a notch. “Good. She’s watching TV.”

  “She’s okay with you leaving?”

  “I think so. It’s only for a couple of days. I told her you’d be here all the time, and Donny would come over too.”

  “All right. What time is your flight?”

  “Just after two.”

  “You better get going.”

  Cory pulled his phone out. “I’ll get an Uber now.”

  “How long is the flight to Barbados?”

  “Uh, over four hours. I’ll call when we land.”

  Linda gave him a quick hug. “Okay. We’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too.”

  “Hope it goes well.”

  “It will.”

  “Have fun.”

  “I’ll try. Love you, bye.”

  * * *

  The drive from San Antonio took Cory almost three hours. The border town of Eagle Pass was bigger than he imagined. Cory was thankful Black had arranged meeting the coyote on the US side. He dropped the rental car and got a ride to the Santa Rosa Hotel in a car without air conditioning.

  Wondering how bad a thirty-one-dollar-a-night room would be, he noticed a sign touting their free parking and lowered his expectations.

  Using his accent and the name of Chester Musa to check in, Cory was handed a key. Shirt darkening from perspiration, he made his way to a second-story room. The only language he heard was Spanish. Everyone was talking at machine-gun speed, but he was able to pick out key words and it felt good.

  He opened the door and surveyed the small room. A double bed anchored the room. Cory grimaced at the thin pillows and worn bedspread. He vowed to keep his underwear on when sleeping and stepped inside.

  An ancient TV sat on a wooden console. It was older than the one he’d had in his first apartment. Cory put his backpack on a metal desk and switched on the air conditioner.

  Wishing he’d brought flip-flops, he peeked into the bathroom. It was old but clean. He splashed water on his face and put the TV on. He flicked to a news broadcast in Spanish. He raised the volume to hear it over the noise from the AC unit.

  Cory ate a sandwich he’d bought at a rest area while listening intently, trying to understand as much as he could. It was a tiring exercise, but he was getting better.

  An hour later, Cory eased into bed. The mattress was thin but felt good. Though he was wired, exhaustion was coming on fast.

  Closing his eyes, he recalled his conversation with Linda. He hoped she’d forgive him for lying. Every time she asked about Barbados and the hotel, he promised they’d visit one day and shifted the talk to the kids.

  Cory tried to sleep, but the walls were so thin he could hear people changing their minds. He popped his earbuds in and focused on his mission.

  Being on the ground in a border town was as real as it got. But what made the fear rise was the reality that besides Mr. Black, no one knew where he was.

  Being alone was dangerous. He swallowed his fear by acknowledging it was up to him to survive. Cory got out of bed and dragged the chair over.

  He wedged it between the door and console and peeked out the window. Two guys were drinking beer in the parking lot, and a couple of teens were sitting on a car, passing a joint between them.

  He tightened the drapes and hopped back in bed. Shutting his eyes, he concentrated on breathing. He needed to rest. He got off track when a motorcycle screeched by but fell asleep quickly.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Cory woke up. A sliver of light forced its way between the drapes. The clock on the nightstand said it was 3:48 a.m. He took his earbuds out. The sound of a car racing faded.

  He relaxed for a second before sitting up. Someone was outside the door. He slipped out of bed and knelt. The crack of light under the door had two interruptions.

  Cory surveyed the room, looking for something to use as a weapon. He opened the nightstand drawer. Nothing but a beat-up Bible. Cory grabbed the plastic waste can out of the bathroom. Tiptoeing back into the main room, he heard someone slowly jiggle the doorknob.

  Speaking in Spanish, Cory said, “I got a gun. You better get the hell out of here!”

  The jiggling stopped. He heard footsteps. They were receding. Cory pulled the drapes open. He saw the back of a man taking the steps two at a time. He disappeared around the corner.

  Cory sat on the bed. He tried to slow his heart. Had someone set him up? It seemed likely. He wondered whether they’d come back.

  Black hadn’t said how well he knew the coyote supplying the Chinese. Cory regretted not asking. He’d seen the news. They were filled with stories of the ruthless men who moved illegals across the border.

  Many took the money and left their customers in the desert without enough water to survive. Others raped the women they were supposed to help. Just who was Black entrusting his life to?

  Cory ran two scenarios through his mind. Assuming Black hadn’t backstabbed him again, the only people who knew he was here were the coyote and the hotel.

  He couldn’t discount someone in the parking lot or another guest who’d seen him checking in, but settled on the coyote. Given their reputation, it made sense. Either way, he had to be careful.

  He took a series of deep breaths. Cory looked at the chair squeezed against the door. He’d used his head. Was it the type of thing Black would have done?

  Cory had to stay focused if he was going to make it out of the mission alive. He got dressed and lay back down. He checked the time, 4:35. Closing his eyes, he told himself to wake up in twenty minutes.

  Cory drifted off to sleep, awakening twenty-one minutes later. He peeked through the window. Nothing threatening. He returned to bed, repeating the internal alarm for a short nap.

  After three naps, he was ready to get up. It wasn’t the time of just after six but a growling stomach that forced him out of bed. Cory took all the money out of his backpack. He split it into three parcels. Tilting the nightstand up, he snuck a third under.

  He put the other third in his toiletry bag and split the last of it into two bundles. One he stuffed in his jeans pocket and the rest in his underwear.

  Cory went through his backpack. He took th
e tiny GPS device out and stuffed it at the bottom of a pillowcase. Palming the burner phone, he surveyed the room, placing it under the tube that hung off the back of the TV. He took the fake teeth and placed them in the plastic cup on the sink.

  He looked out the window, moved the chair out of the way, and opened the door. Cory locked the door, shaking his head at the flimsy doorframe.

  Cory remembered seeing a Mexican restaurant a couple of blocks away when he was dropped off. Having an empanada wasn’t his idea of breakfast, but he didn’t recall any other options.

  He skipped down the stairs, stopping when a heavily tattooed man blocked the landing.

  “Disculpame.” Cory said, excuse me in Spanish.

  The man looked him in the eye, muttering, “Fucking gringo,” before taking a small step to the side.

  Cory nodded and hit the parking lot wondering if he should have applied the bronzing agent. He picked up his pace and headed down the main drag.

  A block later, an old Chevy turned onto the avenue and slowed. The car had three males in it. Cory kept his eyes ahead as the vehicle crawled beside him.

  He heard them speaking Spanish filled with curse words as they sped away. Cory wondered if he should have stared them down but discounted the idea. He was outnumbered.

  Cory followed a man in baggy pants into Rosalita’s Cantina. The smell of coffee and fried food engulfed him. Two of the handful of tables were filled with people sipping cups and arguing. Cory made out they were talking about soccer.

  He smiled at the woman behind the counter and ordered coffee and two empanadas. Carrying his food to a table, Cory knew he was being watched. He sat, nodding to the tables before digging into the half-moon-shaped snacks.

  The food began repeating on him as Cory paid for a coffee to go. Walking back to the hotel, he noticed everything was covered with a thin film of dust. Wondering why he hadn’t noticed that before, he felt something press against his back.

  It was a gun. Cory stopped. He knew what they wanted but asked, “Que quieres?”

  “Dinero.”

  Cory swapped the coffee into his left hand and was about to reach in his pocket. He swung around, throwing the scalding coffee at the attacker.

  “Hijo de puta!”

  A pair of hands shoved him against the building. Cory screamed when another man kicked his shin. Cory collapsed onto the cracked sidewalk, staring at the cowboy boot that had caused the pain.

  Going for the money, Cory said, “Perdon, perdon.”

  One of the men grabbed his arms, pulling them behind his back. Cory pleaded, “Take it easy. Por favor.”

  “Callatte.”

  Cory shut up as a hand reached into his pocket, pulling out the cash.

  “Bonito.”

  Cory knew they didn’t expect as much as he had and hoped they’d run off. Then he heard them say something. They weren’t done with him.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  They forced him onto his stomach. A man tugged at his sneakers, ripping them off his feet. A boot was planted on his back and someone peeled off his socks. Cory wondered if they were going to strip him naked.

  “Quedate o martarte!”

  Threatening him with death if he moved, he said, “Okay, okay. No problemo.”

  A car screeched to a stop, and Cory heard the men clamber in. As it burned rubber, the doors slammed shut.

  Cory sat up. Trying to see what kind of car it was through the dust. It was red. He got to his feet, noticing two men sitting in the doorstep of an abandoned building across the street. They were pointing at him, laughing.

  Leg hurting, Cory began walking. He kept his eyes down, dodging broken glass. He needed shoes. Taking his time, he saw a store with goods hanging from sidewalk racks.

  A woman in an apron was shaking her head. She waved him over. Cory stepped around a sleeping dog and crossed the street. She said something to him that he didn’t completely understand, but he knew the word zapatos meant shoes.

  “No dinero, senora. Hombres steal.”

  She pointed to a rack of plastic flip-flops. “Para ti.”

  “Gracias pero no dinero.”

  She took a pair off and handed them off. “Bueno, yo espero.”

  “Gracias, gracias, yo returno.”

  Two blocks from the hotel, Cory saw a sign hanging off a building just off the corner. He stopped in his tracks. A second later he headed into Maverick Arms.

  Cory looked at the guns hanging on the wall. He thought there must have been more than a hundred. It seemed crazy until he realized he was in Texas.

  Behind a counter, a man put his newspaper down. “What are you looking for?”

  “A handgun. Something small. Easy to conceal.”

  “Texas is an open-carry state. You don’t need to hide it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Let me show you some.”

  He remembered the one Black had given him. It had gotten him in trouble, but it had something he needed. “I want one with a laser.”

  “What caliber?”

  “Uh, something that would stop a man. You know, if I had to. It doesn’t have to kill him but—”

  “Let me see your hands.”

  Cory held them up.

  He opened a drawer. “This here Bond is really popular. Got the Texas star right on the handle, and it’s made instate.”

  Cory took the gun. It was cold. He regretted coming into the shop and handed it back. “Nah.”

  “That’s right, you wanted a laser.” He picked up another gun. It looked familiar to Cory.

  “This here is a Smith and Wesson Bodyguard. It’s thirty-eight caliber, so it’ll do what you want, and this is the laser.” He clicked a button and handed it to Cory.

  It was the same gun Black had given him. “How much?”

  “Three hundred.”

  Cory stared at it. He had to conserve his cash, but he could be robbed again, and having a gun when he met the coyote could be useful. The problem was Black had warned him against being armed.

  “Tell you what. You buy it and I’ll throw a box of ammo in for the same price.”

  Cory nodded. “I’ll be back with the money.”

  Two doors from Cory’s room, a shirtless man was leaning over the railing. Was he a lookout for someone robbing his room? The man reached behind his back. Cory froze.

  He continued on when he saw it was a pack of cigarettes. Eyes on his room’s door, Cory climbed the stairs. The man in the corridor didn’t make a move, easing Cory’s concern.

  In the room, Cory sat and did his breathing exercises. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the air flow. He considered if he really needed a gun and when the coyote would make contact.

  Black had cautioned him on a firearm. It was true that you couldn’t pull a gun unless you were going to use it. Cory had shot his ex-manager during a fight. But the gun had gone off accidentally, hitting Stein in the leg.

  Could he shoot to kill? The idea made him stand up. As he paced the room, he figured it would only be a day or so before he’d be on his way north. If he bought a gun, he’d have to get rid of it. Was it worth it?

  He considered what Black would do. The operative always looked to reduce risk. Cory could hear him saying, ‘You have to do what has to be done.’

  Cory peeked out the window. It was clear. He tilted the nightstand. Grabbing the money, he peeled off four hundred dollars and set it back down.

  After paying for the Bodyguard, Cory stuck the gun in the small of his back. He walked out of the gun shop and onto the main street. Across the street, a Camino, with two men inside, drove slowly by.

  Cory took his pistol out and jammed it in the front of his jeans. He made sure the handle was visible. He crossed the street. As he approached the general store, he pulled his tee shirt over the gun.

  Back in his room, Cory took off the sneakers he’d bought. He examined the inner soles. Recalling the spot for it in the stolen pair, he peeled back the top layer.

  Using the
knife he bought, he cut out a hiding place for the GSP tracker. Cory recalled seeing the device when Black gave it to him. The third-of-an-inch device raised Cory’s belief in the mission.

  He put the unit in place, covering it with the inner sole. It looked perfect. Cory tried the sneakers on to be sure. He took a step and heard a rolling sound outside. He stopped.

  There was a knock on the door. He tiptoed to the window. It was a woman with a tray of towels and a vacuum.

  “Un minuto.”

  Cory took the gun off the bed and dropped it into the nightstand drawer. He opened the door, took two towels from the woman, motioned her in, and locked the door behind her. He let her give a quick cleaning to the room.

  As the maid left, Cory spied a man who looked like one of the guys who’d mugged him. He squeezed the chair under the doorknob and went for his gun. Pulling the drawer open, an idea hit him.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Cory took the cans of toner into the bathroom. He undressed and stepped into the tub. He reviewed the directions and began applying the bronzing agent.

  Examining himself, Cory touched up the areas around his eyes, ears, and genitals. He smiled, the white of his teeth appearing neon-like in comparison.

  Cory made sure he was completely dry before getting dressed. He carried the gun back into the room and opened the drawer. Cory grabbed the Gideon Bible, flipping through a section of pages.

  Cory set the gun on the book. He traced the gun’s shape with a pen. Taking his time, he cut out a hiding place for the five-inch-long gun. It was just three quarters of an inch thick. The Bible was twice as thick, and when he closed it, you couldn’t tell it was in there.

  He picked it up with one hand, gauging if the extra twelve ounces was noticeable. There was a difference, but some of it was offset by the two hundred or so pages he’d cut the silhouette out of.

  Cory would venture out to buy a cheap cross to wear. He considered getting a religious tattoo but discounted the idea over infection fears.

  He had to be healthy, or they’d pass him up as a donor. The head of transplants at Mt. Sinai had said donors were vigorously screened. Cory figured the gang had looser standards, but someone with an infection had to be off-limits.