Cory's Flight

by Dan Petrosini

  “You’d have to say why you didn’t call 911.”

  “Think it’s better to say I didn’t know he was dead, or that I panicked?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I guess most people would be scared and try to hide it. But I don’t know how many would believe you didn’t know he was dead.”

  “I got to get that part right.”

  “Maybe Tower can help. He should know what juries believe.”

  “I should’ve asked him if he was going to get one of those jury experts.”

  “They’re important. You need to get the right people.”

  “Tower’s good. He probably has that lined up.”

  “What about the blood? How you going to explain that?”

  “I think the nosebleed is the best. Stein swung at me and hit my nose.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “What about when you left Stein’s house? Where’d you go? What did you do?”

  “I came home?”

  “You got to remember you’d be upset, nervous. You just had a fight and had to subdue Stein.”

  “I’d want to get away from there as fast as possible.”

  “Or maybe try to make it look like you weren’t in a hurry. Did you stop anywhere?”

  “I don’t think so. It was so long ago, I can’t remember.”

  “Do you usually stop somewhere when you teach out there?”

  “Yeah, I can say I stopped and bought a pretzel from that old guy with the cart by Cadman Plaza Park.”

  “Don’t make something like that up. You’ll get in trouble that way. Who knows, that guy might have been sick that day.”

  “With my luck, he would. You know, you’re giving me better advice than Tower.”

  “He’ll probably get into it after you decide.”

  “Either way, I have to figure out what I’m going to say.”

  “Stick to the truth as much as you can.”

  “The truth is, I didn’t do it. Now I gotta make this bullshit up.”

  “Take your time. I’ll help.”

  “I’m going to start writing down some ideas.”

  “Don’t write it down until you have exactly what you’re going to say. Besides, you should know what happened off the top of your head, plus, who knows, if they seize your computer, they could use it against you.”

  Cory exhaled. “I’m going in the studio to think this over.”

  Cory sat at his workstation. Coming up with a story was scary, but he was going to keep it simple. All he had to do was say he walked from his last lesson to Stein’s house. Having been inside before, he pictured the foyer. He remembered the striped wallpaper along the wall with the stairs.

  What if Stein had redecorated? If he was on the stand getting hammered by a prosecutor, how would it look if he couldn’t remember something like that? It could ruin his believability.

  Tower had to know about things like that. But why hadn’t the lawyer given him guidance on crafting what happened? Cory reasoned that Tower was worried about tainting himself if it came out he instructed his client to lie.

  Cory would put together his version of what happened and tell Tower. He was sure the lawyer would have suggestions to strengthen the self-defense claim.

  Tower mentioned reasonableness as the key to a successful plea. What was considered reasonable when killing someone? The words seemed at odds with each other. Wrong or right, the internet had information on everything.

  Cory opened a private browser, typing “self-defense plea” in the search bar. He looked over a page of results, clicking on the third one.

  It led to a defense attorney’s website and was written to attract potential clients. Cory read a long blurb touting the use of a self-defense claim. This lawyer also keyed in on reasonable responses to a threat, but what leapt out was his references to imminent threats.

  The lawyer posited that the use of deadly force was almost always justified in the face of an impending threat. If you were sure that an aggressor was going to do you bodily harm, your reaction wouldn’t be held against you.

  Cory hit the back button and clicked on another site. It was yet another attorney fishing for clients. The information was similar; you could kill someone if you believed you were in real danger.

  It was comforting, but Cory realized he’d have to find a way to concoct an appropriate threat. He went back to Google and scrolled down. There was a link to a New York lawyer who touted he’d worked for the DA before switching sides.

  Cory clicked on the site. It didn’t seem to have the ‘salesy’ feel the other lawyers’ sites had. The sidebar had links to specific sections of the judicial code. He double-clicked on self-defense.

  As he read, bile began splashing against the back of his throat.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  This attorney wasn’t a fan of using self-defense. He said it was rare that a defendant could surmount the burden of proof an affirmative defense demanded. He stated that if a defendant met the elements of a self-defense claim, that they wouldn’t face prosecution in the first place.

  It was a powerful concept that had Cory reeling. He recalled an incident where a man with a machete was threatening a woman in Central Park. The woman, a Brinks guard, was on her way to work when the encounter occurred. The woman shot and killed her menace but was never charged.

  Cory went back to reading. He didn’t understand the part that said even if prosecuted, the defendant wouldn’t need the instructions of an affirmative defense to be read to the jury because the jury would simply refuse to convict, either on a lack of intent or under its mercy-dispensing authority.

  He didn’t know what the instructions part meant, but he got the overall meaning: self-defense would have to be obvious to work. He cycled ideas, but they depended on whether a weapon of any kind was found at the scene.

  Cory wondered whether if there were successful cases where a weapon wasn’t used. Maybe he could say Stein was choking him and he responded.

  Then an idea hit him. Cory could say he wrestled a knife away from Stein, and he took it with him when he left. Cory liked that idea. If Tower approved, he’d go with it, saying he threw it in a trash can on the way home.

  Cory closed the laptop and went into the kitchen. After telling Linda the idea that Stein had a weapon, she said, “It sounds okay, but you better check with Tower.”

  “I will. I think the district attorney has to tell Tower if they found a weapon or whatever at the scene.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s right.”

  “I’m going to scout out a place to say where I dumped the knife.”

  “Start thinking what kind of knife it was.”

  “Maybe keep it simple, a kitchen knife.”

  “They’ll count his silverware—”

  “Maybe a Swiss Army knife. A lot of guys his age have them.”

  “Only if you can somehow find out if he owned one.”

  “Ugh! I’ll think about it. I got to get going. I have three lessons. What time you going to the hospital?”

  “Around four.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  “I think we better tell Ava about the self-defense plea before you tell Tower you’ll do it.”

  “I know. I’m afraid how she’ll react.”

  “We’ll just have to explain that it’s the safest way. Kind of like what Tower says.”

  “I wish she’d believe me about the framing.”

  “She’ll come around.”

  “I hope so.”

  * * *

  The subway car was empty. It was earlier than when he would have ridden it on the way back from killing Stein, but neither times were rush hours. He wondered whether anyone would remember seeing him. He wasn’t in the spotlight any longer, but a lot of people still recognized him.

  Would someone say he acted nervous? He went back over his story. It would come down to what he did in the house, where the knife came from, and what he did with it afterward.

  In his mind’s ey
e, he saw a red handle connected to a shiny blade. He tried to understand why the vision came to him as he carried his guitar up the stairs to the street. Was it the Swiss Army knife on his mind, he wondered, as he made his way to his student’s apartment?

  “Hey, Mr. Loop, let me show you this riff I made up.”

  Cory resisted the urge to cover his ears as the twelve-year-old played a distorted run of notes.

  “Pretty good, Jimmy, but play it slowly. Get the notes to sing. It’ll sound better if it’s cleaner.”

  “Like this?”

  “Better keep it in time. Here, let me set the metronome at sixty.”

  “Sixty? That’s way too slow.”

  “Trust me, Jimmy. If you can play it slow, you can play it fast, but not the other way around. You hear me?”

  “But—”

  “No buts! Play it. Slowly!”

  Jimmy picked the notes.

  “No. No! You’re way ahead of the beat. Listen to the metronome.”

  The kid started playing again.

  “Don’t you hear it?”

  The kid’s mother came in. “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah, he’s just not listening.”

  Jimmy said, “I’m trying, Mom. He’s always yelling at me.”

  “I’m not yelling, just trying to get you to slow down.”

  The mother said, “Uh, Mr. Loop, can I talk to you a second?”

  Cory followed the woman out of the room. She lowered her voice. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You’ve been teaching Jimmy for five years now, and you’ve never raised your voice.”

  “I wasn’t yelling, he couldn’t hear me.”

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  “I guess I’m not feeling too good. I got a lot going on, and maybe I’m feeling the pressure a little.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Linda said, “I’m exhausted.”

  “That’s okay. Go to bed.”

  “It’s only eight.”

  “That doesn’t matter, you’re tired.”

  “I don’t know why. I didn’t do anything but go to the hospital.”

  “You were there all day. It’s stressful sitting there all that time.”

  “How can you get tired doing nothing?”

  “Look, between your mother and what’s going on with me, you can’t have any more stress.”

  Linda collapsed on the couch. “When is this going to end?”

  “Soon, hon. Hopefully, Tower calls about the transplant, and I’m close to telling him to go for the self-defense plea.”

  “If we survive this, nothing can touch us.”

  “I hope so, but I couldn’t have predicted anything that’s happened, good or bad, the last ten years.”

  Linda burrowed into Cory. “I worry about the kids.”

  “Don’t. They’re tougher than you think.”

  “I don’t know. They need a safe, predictable environment.”

  “Look, it’s tough on them to see what Mom is going through, but sooner or later they’ll realize everybody dies.”

  “You don’t think she’s going to make it?”

  “We have to be prepared. She’s weak, and a transplant is not exactly routine.”

  “I know. I just don’t want her to suffer.”

  “Nobody does, that’s the worst. We have to be realistic, that’s all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s see how it goes. If it goes against her, we may have to let her go.”

  Linda nodded.

  “Go to sleep.”

  “I don’t want to go by myself.”

  “Can you give me a little time? I need to record a solo for something Donny’s working on.”

  “Okay. Go ahead, I’ll watch something.”

  Cory kissed her cheek. “Super. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  He closed the studio door and played the tune his friend had sent over. It leaned toward rock. He listened to it again, singing ideas he might use in a solo.

  Cory played the recording one more time. Closing his eyes, he tried concentrating on Donny’s bass line. He couldn’t make out the upper extensions his friend was playing on some chords.

  Cory took his Les Paul Gibson off its stand. The Starburst was his favorite electric guitar. He plugged it into the console, put headphones on, and warmed up. He ran scales but couldn’t identify the tension he heard in those chords.

  He stopped trying and began playing blues licks over the recording. Noodling around over the solo spot, Cory exhaled. He’d been holding his breath. It was something he never did. He reminded himself you couldn’t make music if you were tensed up, and restarted the tune.

  Waiting for the solo space to come around, Cory hit the record button. Two beats before it came, he launched into it, playing an opening line he liked. He tried to build on the idea, but instead of letting the feeling flow, he was thinking about each note a nano-second before playing them.

  He listened to what he’d created; it sounded mechanical and forced. Cory tried two more times before giving up. He hung his guitar up and left the studio.

  The TV was on. Eyes closed, Linda was on the couch. Cory bent over her, whispering, “Linda. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

  “Uh, I dozed off.”

  Cory clicked off the TV. “That’s okay.”

  “You’re done?”

  “I’m gonna lay it down tomorrow, nothing good was coming out. I got too much on my mind.”

  The couple got into bed. Five minutes later, the cadence of Linda’s breathing told him she had fallen asleep.

  Cory thought about his mother-in-law lying almost comatose in a hospital bed. She’d caught a bad break with failing kidneys and had suffered the last two years as the disease progressed. She was just sixty-four, too young to die, but she’d seen her daughter get married, giving her two grandchildren.

  He imagined his own exit at sixty-four. Would he have walked Ava down the aisle? Would either of his kids have children? It was probable, but if he was behind bars or on the run, he wouldn’t see them.

  Admitting to something he didn’t do gave him stomachaches, but he hoped a self-defense plea could be the answer.

  Cory went over the story he’d made up. Being in the area giving lessons was a double-edged sword; it put him near the crime scene but also gave him a valid reason to be there. The knife was still the thing that could trip him up.

  How the knife entered the argument and where it had been dumped were details he had to get right. He was going to say he put the knife in a dumpster behind Panda Express, a Chinese restaurant in the area.

  The attorney would know if it was believable. He thought about Tower. If he hadn’t changed lawyers, where would he be?

  Cory knew the answer; he’d be on run. But why hadn’t Worth recommended a self-defense plea?

  Worth was a button-down type of guy. He probably wouldn’t have mentioned it because Cory had said he didn’t do it. Tower was a rule bender. He’d do anything to get his client off the hook.

  Tower didn’t seem to care whether who he was defending was guilty or not. He only gave a damn about winning. It was an ugly approach, but you couldn’t argue with the results. Cory still couldn’t believe Tower had gotten him off after he shot Bonner.

  Somehow, he’d saved Cory’s ass then. Did Tower have another ace up his sleeve? Was the self-defense plea just a way to work around a scheme Tower had arranged?

  Though Tower had proven the value of his connections, the stakes were too high now. If he admitted to a justified killing of Stein and something went wrong with Tower’s deal, Cory would spend the rest of his life behind bars.

  Cory had done some research. Conceptually, self-defense was simple; you either killed or risked being killed. Everything balanced on whether the risk was real and imminent.

  The ex-prosecutor’s site he’d visited also made a simple argument as to why a self-defense plea wasn’t necessary. What he said mad
e sense; if it was self-preservation, the authorities wouldn’t bring charges.

  Cory slipped out of bed. The floor was cold. Instead of putting on socks, he headed directly to look something up.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Cory opened a private browser, navigating his way to the site skeptical of self-defense pleas. He read the opinion again. Cory didn’t know much about the law, but the reasoning was as logical as it got.

  Who was this lawyer named Michael Mashetta? He went to the bio area of the website. The attorney had a list of credentials, including awards as a prosecutor and working for the defense.

  Cory threw his head back. Who was right? Was it Tower or this ex-prosecutor? He wasn’t equipped to know, and there was another unknown. The jury. If he’d been able to find the framer, he wouldn’t have to deal with this.

  He cycled through the people he believed might be responsible. He had been certain Billy O’Rourke was involved. But Tower had said no. He even said O’Rourke wasn’t a gangster. How could Tower say that? The guy had been in the papers. Why would Tower deny it?”

  Was he involved with Tower somehow? Cory’s mind was whirling. He had to focus on what he could control, and that was the story.

  He’d tighten up what he claimed happened and see what Tower thought about it. Cory closed his laptop, wondering why Tower hadn’t counseled him on what he knew was the most important part of his defense.

  Heading back to bed, he felt it had to be a protective thing. Then he stopped in his tracks. Was Tower trying to submarine him? He blew it off. Tower was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a loser.

  Cory wasn’t the high-profile star he’d been, but the case still attracted a lot of attention. Tower wouldn’t want to lose with the cameras on.

  Linda was snoring. Cory covered her shoulder and slipped under the blanket. He couldn’t get Tower off his mind. He remembered his first encounter with the lawyer. Cory was in a panic. He called Mr. Black for help, and the unorthodox operative told him to call Tower.

  Tower took control immediately, hiding Cory in a hotel room as the cunning lawyer worked his case. Cory remembered being shepherded by Tower when he surrendered to the police. The attorney wasn’t warm, but there was no doubt he’d been protective.