“What? Who told them they could do that?”
“Don’t worry, I was there, and the police were good with them. It wasn’t more than fifteen minutes or so.”
“That’s bullshit—”
“What did you expect they would do? They’re doing everything they can to find you.”
“They’ll never find me.”
“Be careful.”
“Don’t worry. I got everything under control.”
There was a knock on the door. He tiptoed over as Linda said, “Are you sure?”
Before he looked through the peephole, he said, “Uh, I think so.”
“It’s so good to hear your—”
“I gotta go. See you later.”
Cory jammed the phone in his pocket. He was trapped. He didn’t want to answer, but he was sure his voice had carried. He fished his clear glasses out of his pocket and put a Boston Red Sox cap on.
He said, “I’m coming.” Cory took a deep breath and opened the door.
Chapter Fifty-Three
It was his neighbor. “Hey, I know it’s early, but I heard you talking as I was leaving for work.”
“You’re a police officer?”
“Yeah, got out of the academy a little over two years ago.”
“Oh. You like it?”
“Love it. Never a dull moment.”
“I’ll bet. What’s up?”
“Just wanted to remind you about tonight.”
“I don’t know, I got a deadline for this project—”
“Stop in for five minutes. You’re new to Boston, you need to meet people our age.”
“What time?”
“Seven. I’m counting on seeing you later.”
“I’ll try, but I’m overloaded with work.”
“I’m expecting you, don’t let me down now.”
Cory threw his head back as Marty walked away. What was he going to do? He couldn’t walk into an apartment full of cops. Why had he been impatient? It was the damn trash. What had been the rush?
Cory grabbed the day’s phone out of the box and dialed Black’s number. “What?”
“The guy across the hall is a cop.”
“You sure?”
“He had his uniform on and I asked him.”
“Okay.”
“What should I do? He invited me over, kept pressing me. You think he knows who I am?”
“Stop panicking and focus.”
“Okay, I just want to know if there’s a plan B or something. Should I hit the road?”
“Stay put until I tell you otherwise.”
“Should I go to the get-together?”
“Of course not.”
“What should I tell him?”
“If he pushes it, say you’re sick. That’s it. Upset stomach from Mexican food you ordered for lunch.”
“Okay. Makes sense.”
Cory felt confident when he hung up, but five minutes later he was concerned about lying to his neighbor. The guy was a cop, wouldn’t he know Cory was making it up? He probably would, but people lied all the time when they wanted out of social situations.
He told himself, instead of worrying, to do something constructive. Relying on Black to solve every problem was childish, and if something went wrong, he’d regret sitting on his hands. Besides, last time he was the one who came up with the plan to stop Tower from extorting him.
Cory thought about Tower. There was plenty of information on the web about the lawyer’s legal triumphs but almost nothing about him personally. He’d read gossip pieces covering three of Tower’s love interests, but it seemed he’d never been married or had children.
Cory felt sorry for the lawyer. He had plenty of money and was high profile in the legal world, but Cory knew he was lonely. He envisioned the attorney walking into a dark Park Avenue penthouse after a long day at the office.
He remembered Tower saying he was a transactional person. He popped the term into a private browser.
A couple of definitions came up. What had Tower meant when he described himself as transactional? Cory’s idea was along the traditional sense of the word: an exchange of money and services. It wasn’t emotional. If it served both parties, you’d do it. That seemed like Tower, Cory thought.
Cory read a list of synonyms. Words like negotiable and flexible gave him some hope that whatever information Black had on the dirty judge would cause Tower to end the framing. Tower would decide that killing the bribery story was an exchange that he’d make.
He looked at the time. It wasn’t nine a.m. yet. He had hours to kill before Black would have any feedback from Tower. It was wishful thinking, he knew, but Cory still hoped to hear Tower agreed to stop framing him before he had to deal with his neighbor.
Cory wondered what kind of childhood Tower had. Was he the youngest in the family and had to compete with older brothers? That made a lot of people competitive and could answer one of the questions about the lawyer.
He started digging in and was able to trace Tower back to Fordham Law School. There was nothing on what high school he’d attended. Was he from out of state? Cory went back to the needs-based scholarship Fordham awarded Tower.
He scanned the grantor’s website. The home page featured a half dozen winners of last year’s awards. Cory clicked on the Meet the Recipients page. He opened the bio link for a smiling girl with red hair. The opening line said she was from the Bronx.
Cory went to the background information on a Hispanic young man. The line that caught his attention was a reference to the abundance of promise in the local community that reinforced the organization’s policy to award grants only to New York residents.
As the dishwater sky further darkened, Cory set the tablet aside. He rubbed his eyes and lay back on the couch.
Cory woke up with a start. The bell was ringing. It was dark. He went to the door as it rang again. It was Marty. He donned a hat and glasses and opened the door.
“Sorry, man, I fell asleep.”
“No problem. Hey, I’m sorry. The get-together is off tonight. I gotta work a double.”
“Oh. Crime never takes a day off.”
“And how. A fugitive from New York is in the area, and it’s all hands on deck.”
Cory swallowed. “Oh.”
“Maybe we’ll do it next week, after we catch this guy. But be careful out there. This guy is dangerous.”
“What he do?”
“Killed someone.”
“Oh my God.”
“All right, I’ll see you around.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Cory closed the door. Was he the fugitive they were after? It seemed crazy. If so, it wouldn’t be long before Marty was given a picture of the suspect. He thought about the amateur disguise he’d been using. A trained police officer would see right through it.
Why hadn’t Cory been disciplined enough to supplement that hat and glasses with the teeth, stomach bladder, and limp-inducing pebble? He wasn’t cut out for a life on the run. He was a musician, not an intelligence agent.
Cory’s head moved between the cabinet holding the phones and the tablet. He needed to tell Black they might be onto him but didn’t want to appear panicked. He grabbed the tablet and plugged his name in the search bar.
A rattling sound caught his attention as he scanned the page of results. He realized it was one of the phones. Cory pulled the box out and picked up the lit one.
“Hello?”
“They’re onto you.”
“The police?”
“Who’d you call?”
“Nobody.”
“Bullshit. Who’d you call, your wife?”
“I just wanted to—”
“What did I tell you? Huh? To keep your damn mouth shut!”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t give me that sorry bullshit. I’m busting my ass to save yours, and you go fuck it all up.”
“I didn’t—”
“You get the hell out of there and now.”
“Where do I go?”
“Half of me wants to tell you to figure it out on your own, but I’m close to closing this up for you.”
“You are?”
“I expect to hear from Tower before the day is over.”
“Oh, man. Please let this be over.”
“I’ll call you right back, but get your shit together. You’re out of there as soon as I tell you.”
Cory stared at the phone for a full five seconds. Under his breath he said “Oh man” and ran into the bedroom. He grabbed his backpack and started jamming in his clothes.
He opened two cans of sliced peaches and ate both. Cory took a handful of nutrition bars and canned foods and slipped them into his bag. He spread the cell phones over his pockets and set the backpack by the door.
Cory went to the window. Traffic was thick, but there were no police cars in sight. He put on his fake stomach, teeth, and coat. He grabbed a handful of coffee pods and stuffed them in a coat pocket.
Peering into the hallway, the day’s cell vibrated. He answered. The instructions from Black were short. Cory put his hat and glasses on. He took another look.
It was clear. Cory slipped the pebble in his shoe and stepped into the hallway. Heart pounding, he looked both ways and headed for the stairwell.
Out of breath, Cory paused outside the door to the lobby. He inhaled deeply and pulled open the door. He headed to the right, away from the main entrance, toward the mail and package area.
Keeping his head down, Cory slipped out the back entrance into a stream of commuters heading to North Station. He joined the stream but took the doors into the parking garage for TD Garden.
He walked up the ramp into a cold, gray New England morning. Cory recalled what Black said and headed toward Mass General Hospital. Crossing the Longfellow Bridge into Cambridge, Cory pulled out the cell phones. Black said to throw them into the water. One by one, he watched them kick up a splash.
He held the last two over the railing but pulled back. Black said to keep the Wednesday phone. He stuffed it and the Friday one and a charger into a pocket. Cory walked over the rest of the bridge. He felt a surge of relief. Realizing crossing the Charles River meant nothing, he picked up the pace.
Walking on Prospect Street, Cory opened the buttons of his jacket. He wriggled the backpack off and fished inside with his hand. “Damn it.” He’d forgotten water. Cory zipped the backpack and kept walking.
The bottom of his foot hurt. He needed a break. Cory leaned against the back of a building housing a Star Supermarket. With a trailer blocking the view, he swapped the pebble from one shoe to the other.
Sweat ran down Cory’s face as he turned onto Lexington Avenue. Tightly packed houses lined both sides of the Somerville street. The clapboard homes were separated by driveways running to the rear of their small lots.
Cory looked ahead. Number fifteen was a washed-out blue home with a porch that tilted toward the sidewalk. He darted down the driveway and climbed three stairs to a landing. He lifted up a corner of the welcome mat and snatched the key.
Cory looked around and entered the ground-floor apartment. The wooden floors creaked as he went from room to room. Cory filled a glass with water as he surveyed the high ceilings and ornate moldings in the hundred-year-old home.
Blinds shut, the place was dark, but Cory didn’t like that windows lined three sides of the place. Would keeping the blinds down all the time raise suspicion with the neighbors?
Cory pulled open the fridge and sighed. A bottle of Coke and a half-empty jar of mustard. The pantry was half full with boxes of pasta, cereal, and canned foods. His stomach turned when he saw a stack of Spam. He pushed them to the rear and took a can of tuna.
Stuffing a forkful of albacore into his mouth, Cory heard footsteps on the rear porch. He hugged the wall. There was a knock on the door.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Cory heard someone go down the steps. Lifting the edge of the blinds, he saw a Fresh Direct truck at the curb. A second later a man appeared, jumping onto the driver’s seat of the van.
His regard for Black had risen as he took two bags of groceries in and put them away. He would have to do exactly what the operative said. Cory hoped he’d forgive him for calling his wife.
Cory took the tablet out. He located the cable box and entered the pass code to get on Wi-Fi. When he put his name in, he groaned. What popped up was a New York Post piece titled, “Police Hunt Down Grammy Winner.”
It was right there, in the first sentence. The cops had a lead on Cory. An unnamed source in the NYC Police Department said they’d traced a call he’d made. They were confident he was in the Boston metro area and were working with the FBI to narrow down the location. Cory cringed at the thought that G-men were involved.
The second paragraph was more depressing. It stated that an all-points bulletin had been issued and that both the Boston Police and Massachusetts State Police were on high alert. If that wasn’t enough, it quoted the police commissioner saying the public should exercise extreme caution because he was considered armed and dangerous.
Cory threw his head back. How can they say that? He was harmless. They were spreading lies about him. What would his kids think with someone in uniform saying that about their father?
He returned to the piece and read the next paragraph. Cory flung the tablet aside and got up, muttering, “What does the Bonner thing have to do with anything?” How long was he going to have to keep paying for his mistake?
Cory went into the kitchen and started opening the cabinet doors. There wasn’t a drop of booze in the house. He gave a thought to trying to order something online before deciding to take a shower instead.
Sitting on the couch after a steaming shower, Cory held the tablet and searched Spotify for something to listen to. He wanted something classical and selected the Beethoven channel. As the violins faded and a cello solo began, he kicked off his shoes and closed his eyes.
A screeching car woke Cory. An advertisement for auto insurance was playing. He shut the music app and went to the bathroom. He heard someone walking around in the apartment above him. Who lived upstairs? Was it an associate of Black’s?
Cory was hungry and went into the kitchen. The linoleum floor was cold. He picked out a can of Progresso lentil soup. Pouring the contents into a bowl, the cell on the counter started dancing.
He picked it up wondering if it was a trick call from the police. The calling number didn’t have the same exchange that Black used.
“Hello?”
“Got bad news.”
“I got to move again?”
“Soon enough, but Tower didn’t bite.”
“What do you mean?”
“He told me to fuck off, is what he did.”
“He’s not worried about the bribery thing going public?”
“He said it’d be my word against his.”
“But what about the guy you mentioned?”
“He’s recanting.”
“How the hell can he do that? We paid him twenty thousand.”
“How do you think? Tower probably threatened him or paid him triple what we did.”
“We can pay more. We need—”
“It won’t matter. Tower got to him.”
“What are we going to do now?”
“I hate to tell you, but I’m done with this.”
“What? How can you do that?”
“Look, Tower’s got too much firepower.”
“You’re going to let me go down? Just like that?”
“I’m sorry, but he said he’d come after me, and I got a few things in my past that can’t get out or I’m going away for a long time.”
“Come on, man. I got kids—”
“I’d like to help, but it’s just too much for me to get involved with.”
“What am I supposed to do? Where can I go?”
“You can stay there, say, two weeks.”
“And do what? How am I going to find what I need on Tower? I got no contacts i
n your world.”
“Look, I wish I could fix this one, but I can’t.”
“But I don’t even know where to start.”
“Start with his past. There’s got to be something in it. He changed his name as soon as he turned eighteen.”
“You think he’s hiding something?”
“Has to be. Just don’t know if it’s something you can use to get him to drop it.”
“Okay, okay. But what about the police? They’re tracking me down.”
“I told you not to call anyone.”
“I know, but what am I going to do?”
“You got to lie low, be smart.”
“Can’t I get more time?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. If the phone you used to call your wife is pinging, they’re going to track you.”
“I’ll get rid of that phone. Take the SIM card out—”
“You gotta dump it. The faster the better.”
“I will. It’s just that, without you, I feel like, I got no chance. I’m going to end up in jail.”
“Get a hold of yourself, you can do it.”
“Can’t you help for a little while longer?”
“I gotta go.”
The call disconnected and Cory said, “God damn it!”
Cory dug out the other phone and pulled the SIM card out. He watched it spin as he flushed the toilet. What the hell was he going to do?
He was pissed at Black. How could Black just dump him like that? He tried to push the anger out of his head so he could concentrate on what to do. The cops were on his tail.
Cory knew he had to stay invisible if he was to avoid capture. He poured the bowl of soup into the sink. His heart sank at the thought of Linda finding out there wasn’t a solution around the corner.
He cursed Tower and crushed the soup can. “Ouch.” Cory dropped the can. Blood poured out from a cut below his thumb. Cory ran the faucet and put his hand under. The water turned red as it hit his hand.
He examined the slice. It was deep and two inches long. Cory wrapped a dish towel around it. Seconds later, the blood ran through it. He took it off and tossed it into the sink. He put another one on and held his hand over his head.
Cory's Flight Page 18