Cory's Flight

by Dan Petrosini

  “John, based upon what we know about this case, what’s your opinion of the depth of trouble Mr. Lupinski is in?”

  “Unfortunately, the history between him and the deceased, combined with the voice message, build a strong case for premeditation and thus, a first-degree murder charge.”

  “Explain what that is to our viewers.”

  “Essentially, that Mr. Lupinski planned the death of Mr. Stein. It wasn’t an argument that spun out of control but a calculated event.”

  “What about the witnesses? How important are they?”

  “Two is always better than one, but eyewitnesses are notoriously unreliable. They may help to sway a jury, but any inconsistencies will be exploited by the defense.”

  “It should be noted that Mr. Lupinski denies being there, begging the question of how his blood came to be next to the body.”

  “That single drop of blood may turn out to be the thing that convicts Mr. Lupinski.”

  “From what we know, on the day of his arrest there were no known cuts or scratches detected or photographed when he was booked. Where could the blood have come from?”

  “Most likely a nosebleed. It would be a temporary event, and any evidence of one would be gone by now.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I’m not a splatter expert, but based upon my years of experience, after looking at photos of the crime scene, it appears as if the drop came from a height of five or so feet.”

  Linda said, “Oh my God.”

  “Shut this shit off!”

  Linda clicked the remote. “Cory, you have to be honest with me. I’ll stand by you no matter what you did. I don’t care what happened, but we have kids. I have to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Did you . . . hurt that man?”

  “How can you say that?”

  “You get nosebleeds, and those people said you were at the scene.”

  “Nobody saw me in the house. They saw me outside, in the neighborhood. People know who I am, they just mixed up where they saw me. Worth and even the idiot on TV said witnesses can’t be trusted.”

  “So, you didn’t do it?”

  “No. How many times do I have to say it?” Cory walked out saying, “Geez, nobody believes me, not even my wife.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cory took the Amazon package into the bedroom and closed the door. He opened the box and took one of the items out and put it into his mouth. It didn’t fit properly, but the instructions said how to mold it to your teeth.

  He looked in the mirror and smiled. Instead of the porcelain veneers the record label had spent thirty thousand on, it looked like he’d never seen a dentist. He thought the slight buck look was even more effective than the crooked teeth.

  Cory pulled out the glasses he’d bought and slipped them on. He liked the way the heavy black frames changed his look. He applied the fake mustache and bushy eyebrows. They were gray, making him appear older. Pushing back his hair, he held his palm on his forehead, envisioning himself bald.

  He thought it could work and reached into the box for the last item. He fingered the latex as he read the instructions. Cory watched a quick YouTube video and applied the prop. He smiled into the mirror and went to show Linda.

  His wife was at the sink. Cory cleared his throat. Linda turned and gasped. “Huh?”

  “What do you think? Pretty good, right?”

  “I thought someone was in the house. How did you do all that?”

  “Bought it from Amazon.”

  “They can trace it.”

  “I had Donny buy it for me.”

  “You told him you were thinking of running?”

  “No. It’s almost Halloween. I told him I wanted to surprise you and the kids.”

  “I’m gonna get some pictures taken in case I need to get a new identity.”

  “Cory, promise me you’ll tell me before you go.”

  “If I go. It’s nowhere near a done deal. I have to be prepared.”

  * * *

  Cory stood in front of the Eagle Monument gracing Battery Park. He kept a lookout for Mr. Black as well as a possible mugger. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man emerge from behind a tree.

  Dressed in the same thin jacket, Cory wondered if Mr. Black was someone who wore shorts all year.

  “You got the money?”

  Cory reached in his coat and handed him a brown bag of cash. Black stuffed it in his jacket.

  “Here’s the pictures.”

  Black took the photos. “Not bad, but you still can’t let your guard down.”

  “I know. I’m going to—”

  Black shook his head. “Less talking increases your odds.”

  “Okay, sorry.”

  “Pick a country that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with us.”

  “That’s a good idea. Where do you suggest?”

  “Two weeks. Trinity Church, the Vesey Street side.”

  Cory watched Black walk out of the park. He wondered if he’d be able to adapt to life on the run.

  He dug his phone out and opened an incognito tab. The list of countries that wouldn’t heed an extradition request from the United States was long. It was also depressing. There wasn’t a country you’d take a vacation in—a bunch of places in Africa and the Middle East.

  Russia was on the list. It was where Edward Snowden went. And China, but Cory wouldn’t consider either.

  One place he recognized was Vietnam. He’d heard it was up-and-coming, and with the French having influenced it, there could be a Western music scene. The problem was getting there.

  The easiest would be a place in Central America. He could cross the border and work his way down, but he didn’t recognize any of the names as being in the region.

  Cory tucked his phone in a jean pocket, wondering where some of the countries were. He hoped when he went to research them at home, that a couple of options would surface.

  Walking down the stairs to the South Ferry subway station, Cory’s phone rang.

  “Mrs. Hirsh, how are you?”

  “We’re good.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I’m sorry, but Jimmy wants to stop taking lessons.”

  “What? He loves playing and he’s making super progress. I don’t understand.”

  “He changed his mind.”

  “I’d hate for him to stop. He’s one of my top students. Can I talk to him?”

  “I’m sorry, he’s not here.”

  “I’ll stop over, okay?”

  “No. I don’t want you coming here.”

  “All right. Tell him I’ll miss him.”

  When she hung up without saying goodbye, Cory realized it was her, not Jimmy, who’d made the decision. He also knew it was about the murder case.

  No one seemed to believe he wasn’t guilty. When trouble came, people distanced themselves. It may have been natural, but it hurt.

  He wondered what Linda truly believed. She said many of the right things, but something had changed. His kids were another matter. Tommy was six, and that meant dad was a superhero, but Ava had built a wall between them.

  She was a teenager who didn’t want the attention the case had brought. It was understandable to a degree, but if he couldn’t convince his family, how would a jury react?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cory was cleaning his guitar. Linda was watching the news and said, “Zepher got off? That’s impossible.”

  “What?”

  “Joe Zepher, that actor that did the Batman movies and was in that stupid TV show on NBC.”

  “The one where he played the plumber who hit the lottery?”

  “Yeah. That’s him, bastard killed his wife and got away with it.”

  “Oh yeah, he was cheating on her, and the girlfriend changed her story about what he’d told her.”

  “The phony makes me sick. I knew he did it the first time I saw him on TV. Talk about fake tears.”

  “How’d he get off then?”

&nb
sp; “His lawyer was that sleazebag Tower.”

  “Barney Tower? The guy who tried to screw me?”

  “Yeah. He got the DA to drop the charges.”

  “I hate him, but he’s a miracle worker. I don’t know how he got me off when I shot Bonner. He’s gotta have pictures of the judges having sex with animals or something.”

  “He’s a creep.”

  “I wonder what he’s gonna suck out of Zepher. He’ll probably try the same shit he did to me. The bastard will bleed Zepher until he’s broke.”

  “Who cares? He killed his wife. He should be in jail.”

  Cory polished his Gibson Sunburst acoustic. “You’re right.”

  “You want this on? I have to get dinner started.”

  “No. I’m going to compose.”

  Cory retreated to his studio and hung up his guitar. He sat behind an electric keyboard and plugged in his headphones. His hands roamed the keys, his left playing chords and his right searching for melodies.

  At the lower end, he hit the same dark chord twice. It sounded like a funeral dirge. It made him think of his own death. Life would end as he knew it if he went to prison. He’d probably die behind bars.

  With the evidence against him and a lawyer who believed he couldn’t win a trial, it was grim. He wanted a drink. He put his guitar down and got up.

  Cory would run if he had to, but being cut off from his family and the life he knew would be painful. Realizing the only way out was to uncover who was framing him, he sat back down. He’d have to stay sober to have a chance at doing it.

  * * *

  Cory opened the door. “Hey, Donny, come on in.”

  “How are you, man?”

  “I’m all right.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m not gonna kid you, it’s rough. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “You’ll beat this, man.”

  “I don’t know, my lawyer isn’t too optimistic. He’s talking about some kind of a plea.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, but I’d get like twenty years.”

  “What? That’s crazy, man.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I know he screwed you, but that Tower cat seems to get everybody off. Why don’t you see what he says?”

  “We didn’t leave on the best of terms.”

  “It’s life and death, man. The dude might be able to get you off. You have to patch things up with him.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “You just said things don’t look good. It’s worth a shot.”

  “I hear you. But I gotta think it through a little.”

  “Don’t waste time, bro.”

  “I won’t.” Cory waved him to the studio. “Come on, I want you to hear two tunes I just penned.”

  Cory handed Donny two sheets of manuscript paper. “These are them.”

  As Cory picked up his acoustic guitar, Donny said, “You want me to lay down a bass line?”

  “Listen to what I got first.”

  Cory tapped his foot, setting the tempo, and played the song.

  “Man, the kids are gonna like that. The turnaround is cool. I can see them latching onto it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, man. I think you got a winner here. You have a name for it?”

  “I was thinking ‘Break in the Clouds.’”

  “Maybe just ‘Cloud Break.’”

  “That’s better. I like it, it’s snappier. Let me play the other one.”

  Cory stutter-strummed his guitar and sang the composition. Repeating the last phrase, he faded out his voice.

  Donny smiled. “You got a gift for this kids’ stuff. You know it may sound crazy, but it has like a rap cadence in the bridge.”

  “Yeah, that’s on purpose. I don’t know if you remember that guy, Billy See, who was big when we were kids. I heard him say something on a podcast; he called it machine-gun phrasing.”

  “Billy See? Man, haven’t heard that name in ages.”

  “You know his stuff seemed simple, but I studied it, and it’s more intricate than it sounds.”

  “Most great music is. Makes me think of Jobim, simple, memorable melodies, but those bossas are a bitch to improv on.”

  “Amen.”

  “You want me to play a bass line on these?”

  “I’m thinking to keep them acoustic, really stripped down.”

  “They did sound good. You send them to your agent?”

  “Not yet, had to see what my buddy had to say.”

  “Send them, they’re gonna love them.”

  * * *

  After putting Tommy to bed, Cory sat next to Linda. He turned up the volume of the TV a notch and said, “I’m thinking of reaching out to Tower.”

  “The lawyer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “Take it easy. The guy’s a frigging genius or something.”

  “Genius? He’s a crook is what he is.”

  “At this point, I don’t care what he is. My life is on the line. I gotta do whatever needs to be done to get off.”

  “Cory, you gotta be careful with him. He can make things worse.”

  “Worse than going to jail for the rest of my life?”

  “I don’t know, he might twist things and try to screw you like he did with Bonner.”

  “Trust me, I hate the bastard, but remember the first time with Stein? He got me off and the same thing with Bonner, just like that.”

  “He doesn’t have a magic wand.”

  “I know, but he’s got contacts and gets things done.”

  “How does he do it?”

  “I don’t care. Maybe people owe him favors.”

  “Or he blackmails them, like he did to you.”

  “I don’t care, I just want this over.”

  “You got to be extra careful.”

  “I know. I’ve been playing out stuff in my head to try to see what could be up his sleeve.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Watching the James Bond movie You Only Live Twice gave Cory an idea. Could he fake his own death and buy time to figure out who was framing him?

  It was an option instead of running and hiding. The toughest part was no body to prove someone died. It would have to be an accident, maybe on the water.

  He rarely went fishing, but maybe he could rent a boat, taking Tommy for a ride. Having his kid on a boat without adults would be dangerous but convincing.

  Another idea that kept popping into his head was jumping off a bridge. After two decades of neglect, the George Washington Bridge was being repaired to keep it from collapsing. There were safety nets to catch jumpers and pieces of the structure as it deteriorated.

  Could he leap off the bridge, landing safely in a net, and scramble into hiding? Without a body, faking his death would require cutting off contact with the life he knew. It was the same as running and hiding.

  Cory opened a private browser and rooted around. One article caught his attention. It covered how someone had faked their death in an automobile accident in the Philippines. The piece mentioned that an underground ring kept dead bodies on ice to sell to those who wanted to disappear.

  An accident or fire would be staged, and the dead body placed at the scene. The ring had contacts that would declare it was you who died and issue a death certificate that was accepted worldwide.

  It was an interesting solution but would require getting to the Philippines. Cory wondered whether such an enterprise existed in America. He did a quick Google but came up empty.

  He wondered whether searching what was called the dark web would help. It was an area of the internet where criminals and pedophiles operated. He’d heard of arms being dealt there as well as human trafficking.

  It seemed to be the place to search.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Using a public browser, Cory searched for apartments in Mexico City. Then he hunted around Cabo San Lucas and Cancun. He also researched Lak
e Chapala, Mexico. It had Mexico’s largest lake and was home to the largest expat community of Americans in the world.

  Cory also rooted around Costa Rica and Chile. He wanted to leave behind a realistic trail for law enforcement to discover. He would buy a one-way train ticket to Tempe, Arizona. It was farther west and less known, lending credibility to a plan to escape over the border.

  Adding to the head fake, Cory downloaded both Duolingo and an English-to-Spanish dictionary. Besides the news, he had no way to monitor how much law enforcement would believe his ruse.

  The cash he’d withdrawn would bolster the belief he fled—though in reality, most of it went into a lockbox that Linda had opened. The bail would be forfeited, but Cory was hopeful he’d get the money back once he uncovered the framing plot.

  Leaving his family would be tough, and he didn’t want to compound it by leaving them destitute. He had to get them as big a stash as possible.

  * * *

  Cory was trying to come up with lyrics for a new song when his agent called.

  “Cory? It’s Sandy.”

  “Hey, Sandy. What did you think?”

  “I love both of them, especially ‘Cloud Break.’”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, I think they’re both gonna move a lot of units. You have any more to make an album?”

  “I have a dozen others but nothing I’m really digging yet.”

  “You never know, send them over. Either way, with these two to anchor an album, we’d be fine. We’d want to release them as singles anyway.”

  “So, the label is on board?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Here’s the thing; with all the publicity around your, uh, problem, they feel parents aren’t going want to buy your recordings.”

  “That’s bullshit. This is supposed to be America, you’re innocent until proven guilty.”

  “I know, but that’s not the way it works.”

  “Oh, come on—”

  “Hold on. I talked it over with a couple of the legal guys, and we think we can put it out under a stage name.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We keep your name away from it. You’d still get the composition and performance royalties, but the public wouldn’t know the connection.”