Cory's Shift

by Dan Petrosini

  When they did blood panels, he wanted the only point of interest to be his blood type.

  * * *

  Paying close attention to what was said on a Spanish soap opera, Cory barely noticed the movement that blotted out the crack of light sneaking through the drapery.

  Stiffening at the sound of a knock, Cory opened the drawer, palming the pistol. After a second knock, he asked who it was in Spanish.

  “Senor Negro.”

  Black wasn’t specific but said Cory would know who the coyote was. “Un minuto.”

  Cory pulled the drape back. Two men in tee shirts flanked a man in a cowboy hat. Cory slid the gun into his pants and opened the door.

  The leader beckoned with his hand. “Vamos.”

  The seeds of doubt in his mind were being watered. Cory had practiced saying who sent you? in Spanish. “Quien te envio?”

  “Senor Negro!”

  “Okey.”

  Cory slung his backpack over his shoulder and went into the bathroom, placing the gun in the sink. He dropped his drawers, inserted the small tube, and squeezed his butt cheeks together. He pulled his pants up and put the gun back in place.

  Cory pocketed his fake teeth and grabbed his wheeled overnight.

  The man pointed at the luggage. “No. Uno.”

  “Un minuto.” Cory pulled out a sweatshirt and jammed it in the backpack.

  Cory trailed behind the men. Right before the stairs, he said, “Un minuto.”

  “No.

  “I forgot. Perdon.” Cory struggled for the word and held his index finger up as he ran back into the room. He reappeared quickly, holding the Bible in the air as he ran back.

  The men looked at each other and laughed. Cory followed the men to a blue pickup truck. The boss pointed to the back of the vehicle. “Entra.”

  Cory climbed into the dusty cargo bed and was followed by one of the men. Back against the cab, Cory braced himself as the car lurched forward.

  From the vantage point of sitting on one butt cheek, the town shrunk as the pickup sped away. He hoped the feeling to go to the bathroom would fade.

  Slowing, the truck turned onto a street lined on one side with small cement homes. Four kids were kicking a soccer ball on a brown field on the other side of the street.

  The pickup drove to the last house, parking by the front door. The man beside Cory said, “Vamos.”

  Cory jumped off the back of the truck and followed him. The pickup drove away. Gripping the Bible, Cory told himself to relax and be on guard as he stepped into the house.

  It took a second to adjust to the darkness and the smell of body odor. The main room was littered with fast-food wrappers and cans. Tattered blankets were piled up in a corner.

  The man motioned, saying something in Spanish. Cory understood aqui; it meant here. Cory stepped over a blanket, heading for a corner. If he was spending the night here, he wanted to be as comfortable as possible.

  The man retreated to a chair by a card table in the kitchen. The counter was lined with plastic gallon jugs of water. Cory eased himself to the ground, pulling a blanket over him.

  “Excusa. Bano.”

  The man hiked a thumb down a hallway.

  Cory grabbed his backpack. “Gracias.”

  The top to the toilet was missing and the bowl was dirty. Instead of a handle, a rope hung out to flush. Cory forced the cylinder out of his butt and cleaned it. He took a leak. Eyeing the rough brown paper stacked on the floor used for wiping, he hoped he wouldn’t need to use it.

  Cory now stood outside the kitchen. He pointed, “Por favor, agua.”

  The man looked up from his phone and nodded. Cory grabbed a gallon, spying a stack of tortillas in a plastic garbage bag. He reached in. They were hard. He paused before taking two.

  Cory retreated to the corner. Unsure where he was going or how long it’d be there, he guzzled the water. Not hungry, he tore a piece of tortilla off and ate it anyway.

  Cory topped off the bottle of water in his backpack and stuck one of the tortillas in with it. Dusk was closing in. Using the rucksack as a pillow, he reclined, shutting his eyes.

  Cory bolted upright. He heard a voice outside. The door swung open. A beam of light bounced off the walls. He reached for his Bible.

  Chapter Fifty

  Cory pressed his back against the wall as six men trudged in. It was hard to see, but their faces were dirty. The man who drove Cory here came in behind them.

  He grabbed two jugs and held them out. “Beber y dormir.”

  The migrants guzzled and passed the water around. Cory could see the exhaustion on their faces. He wondered where they’d come from, when the man who brought them caught his eye.

  “Ven aqui.”

  “Me?”

  “Si. Subito.”

  Cory hustled to his feet, taking his backpack with him. The men walked outside. The truck’s headlights provided the only light.

  “Que pagar.”

  “Mr. Black paid you.”

  “No. Pagar.”

  “I told you Mr. Black paid for me already.”

  When the man smiled, Cory saw his mouth had more gold than a small jewelry store. “Mr. Black? I don’t see no Mr. Black. Do you?”

  “Come on, man. You know I paid.”

  “Maybe you did, but this is a tax.”

  “A tax?”

  “That’s right. Pay or you rot here.”

  “I don’t have money.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I swear.” He held up the Bible.

  “Ah, a preacher man.” He laughed. “Tell your God to give you money for the tax.”

  “I only have fifty dollars.”

  He stuck his palm out.

  Feeling a surge of relief, having split up his funds, Cory dug out the money and handed it over. As the man walked to his truck, Cory reminded himself to prepare for the unexpected. It was the only way he’d make it out alive.

  Cory stepped back into the room. A man was curled up in his corner. He saw Cory and scooted over. Hugging his Bible, Cory settled next to him. “Gracias.”

  He stuck out his hand. “Jesus. Cual tu nombre?”

  As a dog howled, Cory said, “Chester.”

  “Soy de Allende. You?”

  “Belize.”

  “We hear they have gangs there too.”

  “Yes. It is too dangerous to stay. My brother was killed, and I was next.”

  “Why?”

  Instead of saying to flee the violence as he had practiced, he said, “Because I believe.” Cory raised the Bible.

  Jesus shook his head. “The cartels who run Mexico give money to the church. But no one is safe, not even the priests.”

  “What a shame. I tried to stay, but the Lord had other plans. I resisted, but it was hard to resist God’s will.” Cory wondered if he was laying it on too heavy, but it made a good cover.

  Jesus nodded. “After I settle in, my wife and son will come.”

  “Let’s ask God to protect them while you are separated.”

  Jesus made the sign of the cross and reached for Cory’s hand. “La oracion del Senor.”

  Cory struggled to remember the Lord’s prayer in English as his new friend recited it in Spanish.

  One of the other men in the room began chiming along, when someone shouted for them to shut up. Cory lowered his voice to a whisper, but Jesus didn’t. When he finished, he said, “We need rest. We have a long journey ahead.”

  Cory reclined. Reaching into his backpack, he handed the tortilla to Jesus, bidding him good night.

  Even with his breathing exercises, it took twice as long to force the images of his kids out of his mind and fall asleep. Cory bolted awake. What was that sound?

  He realized Jesus had moaned, and closed his eyes. Cory considered whether Jesus or any of the men were getting paid to be donors. They were all about the same age as Cory. It was dark, but as far as he could tell, they seemed to be in good health.

  Cory concentrated on clearing his mind
and fell back asleep. He was startled awake again. Jesus had screamed in his sleep, and the other men were telling him to keep quiet.

  He leaned toward him, whispering, “Jesus. Are you all right?”

  “Bad dreams.”

  “You’ll be okay.”

  “I hope so. My family is counting on me.”

  Cory surprised himself by saying, “God will see to it.”

  “I worry. God tells us our bodies are temples for the Holy Spirit, and I, uh, forget it.”

  “I understand. We have to do what have to do.”

  “Are you, uh, selling something?”

  Cory looked around and nodded. “You too?”

  “Yes. It’s the only way out. I get the money to bring my family and escape the cartels.”

  “God protects those who protect others.”

  “I hope so.”

  Cory wanted to say he hoped as well, but said, “Don’t worry. Try to relax, think about your breathing, it works for me.”

  A distant sound woke Cory. He concentrated. It was a vehicle. A truck. The sound was intensifying.

  He stood. Pulling the sheet away from the window, he saw a pair of headlights illuminating a billow of dust. He looked left. A thin line of light sat on the horizon. To the right, complete blackness.

  Cory watched the vehicle approach. It was a van. He considered whether it was another load of migrants who’d crossed over. He stepped back as the van came down the road. It backed up and stopped.

  Two men got out. They swung open the rear doors. It was empty.

  Cory shook Jesus. “They’re coming for us. It’s time to go.”

  The door slammed open. Two men in cowboy boots stomped in. “Arriba! Arriba! Vamos!”

  The men scrambled to their feet. The watchman in the kitchen shook hands with them. They grabbed a jug of water and talked as the men assembled.

  The watchman pointed at Cory, Jesus, and two other men. “Tu, tu, tu, tu. Vamos.”

  Cory climbed into the van. He welcomed the coolness of the metal floor but perched himself on one cheek to protect the anal capsule.

  Jesus sat next to Cory, opposite the other two men, Oro and Tavio. He studied their leathery faces in the van’s dim dome light. It was clear there was an endless supply of donors south of the border.

  As the van bounced away from the safe house, Cory thought about the word, donor. It didn’t apply. They weren’t willingly giving up an organ to help someone. They were trading it to start a new life.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Cory peeked between the front seats and through the windshield. The road was deserted. He opened the Bible up, pretending to read, as he envisioned possible questions to be posed and situations to be encountered.

  The van pulled off the paved road, bouncing along on a dirt road. As it slowed, Cory looked out the windshield, seeing the running lights of a dark RV.

  “We’re here.” The van came to a stop and Cory crossed himself. Jesus followed, kissing his fingers after he did and offering it overhead.

  The back doors opened. Bible in hand, Cory grabbed his backpack and was the first out. He was greeted by two Asian men. A small-framed man holding a clipboard and one whose shaved head reflected the rising sun.

  The small man stepped forward. “Name, age, and where are you from?”

  Cory pulled his shoulders back. “Chester Musa, thirty-eight, I’m from Belize.”

  He marked the clipboard and asked if Cory’d had a series of medical conditions. Cory answered no to all of them.

  “Any allergies?”

  “No.”

  “Good. You’re donating a liver section?”

  “Yes.”

  “Back against the van.”

  Cory moved into position, and they took pictures of his face and profile.

  The man looked at the images and said, “Okay. Back in the van.”

  “The van?”

  “Yes. Until I process everyone.”

  Cory waited in the vehicle as each man went through the same questioning and picture-taking. The Asian’s Spanish was barely better than his. When the last man climbed into the van, the beefy Asian, named Chen, stepped forward with a large canvas bag.

  He stuck his hand in and came out with four plastic packages. Each one contained scrub suits and flip-flops. Bile splashed the back of Cory’s throat as Chen said, “Change into these.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  He took his clothes off and, facing the wall, changed along with the others. Cory stuffed his clothes and sneakers into his backpack and stepped out of the van.

  “Let’s go.” Chen led the men to the RV. He unlocked the door. Cory put his foot on the step and Chen grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “On the RV.”

  “Not with that backpack.”

  “But I need my stuff.”

  “You’ll have everything you’ll need.”

  Chen spoke to everyone. “The only thing you can take with you is money. Put it in one of these baggies.”

  “But I need my sneakers. My feet, they’re flat and—”

  “Did you hear me? Money only.”

  Cory laid his backpack down, putting the Bible on top of it.

  Each of them put their cash in the bags. Chen examined them and opened the RV’s door. He took a wand out and turned it on. After scanning each bag, he handed the money back.

  Then he scanned each of them. When he moved the wand toward Cory’s crotch, Cory talked his heart rate down. He was worried Chen would wand his bag, finding the GPS device buried in his sneaker.

  Chen swung open the door. “All right, let’s get going.”

  “I’m sorry, but can I have my Bible?”

  “No.”

  “Please, man. I need it. I don’t go anywhere without it, for like thirty years.”

  Chen looked at his accomplice, who shrugged.

  “No.”

  Jesus said, “Please, we need the Bible. We are afraid of what lies ahead. The only thing that helps is reading the Word of God.”

  Chen looked Cory in the eye. “What are you, some kind of preacher man?”

  “No. Just a believer. What we’re doing is scary, but through prayer, we know the Lord will protect us. Without it, I can’t go forward with the donation.”

  “You want us to leave you here? In the middle of the fucking desert?”

  “I’d rather be here with God than to be separated from his word.”

  Jesus stepped forward. “Me either. I won’t go without God by my side.”

  Chen looked at his associate, who shrugged. “Okay, get on, preacher man.”

  Cory grabbed the Bible and hustled up the stairs. He went straight to the window, pulling the blinds aside. He hoped they’d load everyone’s personal belongings into the cargo area below the RV’s galley.

  He kept his eyes on the back of the van until its doors were closed and it drove off. The GPS device was lost. His heart sank. The plan he’d thought was perfect had just blown up. He quelled the panic and started thinking.

  He figured Black would know right away that something was wrong. Would he think Cory had failed to get chosen or that he’d been found out?

  Cory was on his own. The question was, what to do next?

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Cory watched the men climb aboard. Each of them smiled when they saw the inside of the RV. It wasn’t plush, but considering where they’d come from, it was a Ritz Carlton on wheels.

  Jesus plopped himself onto one of four gray leather recliners. “Bueno, no, amigo?”

  “Si. Thanks for helping me take this.” He held up the Bible.

  Oro was opening the small refrigerator when Chen said, “Listen up! Everyone needs to shower. Make it fast. There’s soap and towels. Put what you’re wearing in the black plastic bag outside the door. Four sets of scrubs and slippers are in that cabinet.” He pointed to a closet opposite the bathroom. “Hustle up. You’ve
got five minutes each.”

  “Five minutes?”

  “That’s all. We’ve got to get moving, and if you want the first installment of cash, get it done in five.”

  Bible in hand, Cory stepped toward the bathroom. “I’ll go first. I’m fast.”

  He’d never been on an RV before and was surprised the bathroom was bigger than the ones he’d seen on boats. He pushed the shower curtain aside and stepped in.

  Taking a shower had always given Cory a chance to think things through. Some of his best musical ideas came when water streamed over him. He didn’t know whether it was the time limit or the fear of being on his own, but Cory couldn’t make use of the time.

  He opened the door to the galley. “Who’s next?”

  Chen was sitting on the bench in the kitchen area. He motioned to him. “Come here. Sit.”

  Cory sat and Chen grabbed his arm. He wrapped a rubber tube around his bicep. “Make a fist.”

  As Cory crossed himself, Chen shook his head. Chen took a hypodermic needle and two vials out of the bag.

  Cory didn’t flinch when Chen stuck the needle in. He watched the red blood pulse out, quickly filling the vial. Chen swapped it for another. It filled, and Chen removed the band and needle.

  Chen wrote on the vials and placed them in a tray. “Next.”

  Hoping his blood panels would somehow eliminate him as a donor, Cory settled into a recliner. Closing his eyes, he visualized himself back in their Brooklyn apartment.

  He and Ava were in the studio. She laughed at the way he mimicked the falsetto voice of Justin Timberlake. He missed her beautiful smile. It had been too long since she’d been happy and unafraid.

  Chen finished collecting blood and put the tray in the refrigerator. He unlocked a cabinet in the front of the galley and removed four manila envelopes.

  “All right. Here’s your first payment. There’s twenty thousand in cash in each. You’ll get another twenty when you’re released.”

  He handed one to Cory. He peeked inside: two fat bundles of hundred dollar bills. It was good money, but even the full forty thousand wouldn’t motivate most of the Western world to donate an organ.

  He scanned his fellow donors. The look on their faces confirmed his guess they’d never seen so much money. Though it was exploitation, these men and hundreds of thousands of others would gladly subject themselves to this in their quest for a better life.