Cory's Flight

by Dan Petrosini

  There were groups called the West Village Neighbors, Neighborhood Church of Greenwich Village, and the Greenwich Village Society for Historic Preservation. Cory applied for membership in each of them. The only condition was asking if you lived or had worked in the Village.

  Acceptance came quickly, and Cory began combing their member lists, hoping for a Sullivan. There was one, an Elroy Sullivan, but he was black, causing Cory to discount a connection. He started reading through the posts in the West Village group.

  They varied from crime-related to gossip. Cory’s spirits were lifted by two items: ‘whatever happened to’ a couple of residents who were briefly famous, and ‘has anyone heard from’ this person.

  Cory decided to post something: “Thanks for adding me to the group. I lived in the area a long time ago. Was actually thinking of moving back, but I see it’s gotten expensive. Good for those who stuck around!

  “I was wondering if anyone knew what happened to my friend Richard Sullivan. The family lived on Bank Street. It would be wonderful to catch up with him after all these years. If anyone remembers him or his family, I’d appreciate a DM. Also, does anyone remember the waitress at the Waverly Inn with the red hair?”

  Cory posted similar messages in the other groups and went back to reading posts. Even though a notification alert wasn’t showing, he checked every five minutes to see if a response had come in. He knew it would take time if someone were to answer.

  He tried to calculate the odds. They were long. Somebody would have to see it in their constantly changing feed. They’d have to know Richard Sullivan and reach out to a new, unknown member.

  Cory got up and went to the dormer window. A flurry of snow was morphing into thickening snowfall. He couldn’t sit around waiting for someone from a group to contact him. He had Tower’s original name. How could he learn about his earlier life?

  He paced the small room, stoking the fire and wracking his brain for ideas. Cory went to see what he could make to eat when he saw Donny’s phone sitting on the pine table. He grabbed it and punched in a number.

  Cory left a message. He took out a can of chicken noodle soup, carefully pulling the top back. As he set it on top of the stove, Donny’s cell rang.

  “Hello.”

  “It’s me.” It was Mr. Black. “Hey, thanks for calling me back.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, doing good.”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “Greenwich. Up in Connecticut. My friend Donny, his uncle has a horse farm we used to go to as kids.”

  “It’s quiet?”

  “Oh yeah, no one lives on it anymore.”

  “Keep your head down.”

  “I am. I know you said you were out, but I could use some help.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I did what you said and started with the name change. Tower’s real name is Richard Sullivan.”

  “Interesting.”

  “He lived on Bank Street in the West Village. But that’s all I came up with. I don’t know what to do next.”

  “You want my help?”

  “Oh, man, if you could. I’d be so grateful.”

  “I said I was out—”

  “Come on, man, I need a little help with this.”

  “All right. I’ll check into Sullivan.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  “You got to do me a favor. Stay put. Don’t talk to anyone and don’t go anywhere.”

  “I won’t, don’t worry.”

  “Anything changes, or feels off, call me right away.”

  Chapter Sixty

  Cory hung up and pumped his fist. Black was back on the case. He looked at the phone in his hand. He wanted to tell Linda everything was going to work out. He shook his head. Black said not to talk to anyone.

  Cory felt too close to nailing Tower to take a chance. Linda would understand. The more he thought about it, he realized it was the kids, especially Ava, he was concerned about. Tommy would ask questions, but Linda would smooth things over.

  He could see the dead-face look on Ava. Cory would work as hard as he could to repair the damage his arrest caused his daughter. But he had to get home first.

  This mess wasn’t his fault, it was Tower’s, he thought. And Stein. His old manager not only screwed him out of money but got himself murdered. He cursed Stein and replayed the confrontation he’d had with him.

  Cory admitted to himself going to see his manager with a knife was not only stupid but a major reason he was hiding out in a drafty carriage house. He took the soup off the stove, vowing not to act like an idiot again.

  Eating the soup, Cory checked the Facebook groups for activity. There was nothing. He looked at news sites for anything about himself, but that was quiet as well. He finished snacking and sat on the bed.

  Cory unwrapped the gauze around his hand. The wound was red. Wrapping it back up, he hoped it wasn’t getting infected. He was exhausted. He stretched out and drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  Cory opened his eyes, squinting against the sun rays slicing through the little window. He rolled over, groaning at the stiffness throughout his body. He heard a muffled sound and tiptoed to the window. He didn’t see anything.

  He arched his back, wondering what time it was. Cory grabbed the tablet and shook his head. He’d been sleeping for ten hours. Hungry, he opened a box of Special K. Scooping handfuls into his mouth, he opened the Facebook app.

  There were two notifications. He tapped on the first one. It was from a member in the historical Village. The reply to his message was nothing but a simple welcome to the group. Cory said thanks and went to the next message.

  This one was from the West Village Neighbors group. He clicked. It was a reply to his post from a Gavin Hill. Cory’s pulse quickened as he read:

  “Hello Dan, Nice meeting you and welcome. I remember Richard Sullivan, he lived across the street. I’m in the middle of something, but I’ll send you a direct message. Best Regards, Gavin.”

  Cory typed a response: “Thanks Gavin. I look forward to chatting with you. Richie and I lost contact when we were just kids but were good friends. It’d be nice to catch up after all these years. Have a good one, Dan.”

  Cory stood. Could it be? Had he really found someone who knew Tower as a kid? He went to the messenger app, but there were no messages. He refreshed the screen. Nothing. He tried to envision what this Gavin looked like and how old he was.

  Cory wondered how well Gavin knew Tower. Was he finally going to have luck on his side? Cory tried to quell his optimism, but it was hard. As a complete novice, he had developed his own lead. Surely, an operative like Black would come up with a lot more.

  He told himself that he’d been upbeat before and had his hopes crushed. But Cory felt this was different as he paced the room. Then he heard a sound like a bubble popping. It was the Messenger app.

  He clicked and there it was, a private message from his new friend, Gavin Hill:

  “Hello Dan, it’s been a busy day. As I said, I knew Richard Sullivan. He lived on the other side of Bank Street many years ago. It has to be about 30 years now.”

  Cory replied, “Thanks Gavin. Do you know where he went after there?”

  “Don’t remember. He kept to himself back then.”

  “What about his family? Are they still there?”

  “No, they moved out about ten years ago.”

  “Where’d they go?”

  “The Leonardos went to New Jersey.”

  “The Leonardos?”

  “Yes, they had taken Richard in after what happened.”

  “What happened? I don’t know.”

  Hitting the send button, Cory heard people climbing the stairs. Then a voice, “Police!” The door busted open. As officers rushed in, Cory glanced at the screen. It read that someone was typing a comment.

  “Hands up, Lupinski!”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Cory froze as the police surrounded him. An officer grabbed
his good wrist and slapped a cuff on. The cop pulled his bandaged hand behind him.

  “Take it easy! My hand’s cut up bad.”

  Cuffing it to his other wrist, the office snickered, “You’ll get all the attention you need, at the prison infirmary.”

  As they marched Cory down the stairs, he noticed the cop cars were a combination of the Greenwich local force and the Connecticut State Police. He wondered how they’d tracked him down. Had Donny slipped up? It had to be. How else could they have known about the farm?

  Every time the cop car bounced its way down the access road, a spike of pain hit Cory’s wrists. He scooted forward from the back of the seat and tried to protect his injured hand. Something was gnawing at him, and he said, “How did you find me?”

  “Keep quiet!”

  “Oh, come on, man. You got me. All I want to know is how.”

  “New York said somebody called in a tip you were here.”

  Cory rolled it around. A tip? Donny would never turn him in. He traced his departure from Somerville. He was certain no one saw him. And if they did, he was wearing his disguise. Nobody knew he was in Greenwich.

  “Shit!”

  “Hey! Shut up.”

  Cory realized the only person, besides Donny, who knew his whereabouts was Mr. Black. He thought over why the operative would double-cross him. He knew the answer.

  It was Tower. The lawyer had gotten to him. There was no other explanation. Cory had trusted Black with his life, and Black had delivered. Until now.

  Cory regretted pushing Black to help him after he’d backed away. He could see it now; Black had been getting pressured by Tower and decided it was too dangerous to continue helping. Maybe Tower dangled money or had something on Black, and when Cory called, the operative decided to go for it.

  What was he going to do? The upside was his wife and kids would know he was fine. But one of many downsides was the effect the coverage he was going to get would have on Ava. The press loved filming a handcuffed suspect being walked into a police station.

  He’d need a lawyer, and the best choice would be Worth. Or would it be? Would Tower know he was onto him? Chances were Black told him or he’d found out another way. Tower was connected and formidable.

  Worth was conservative, but Cory now had a connection between Tower and a witness. He also had a possible entree into Tower’s past, lifting his spirits. They came crashing down when he realized his life was in the hands of a lawyer who never believed him, and Gavin, a so-called friend he’d never met.

  It was a mess, and there was the threat he’d get charged with something for violating the terms of his bail. Would he have to forfeit any of the money he’d posted to guarantee he’d stay around to face the charges? Cory’s head hurt. Wasn’t dealing with being framed enough bullshit to deal with?

  * * *

  A crowd of reporters was massed in front of Manhattan’s Detention Complex. The prison on White Street, known as the Tombs, had housed some of the most notorious criminals in New York’s history.

  Each officer grabbed an arm and led Cory toward the jail’s entrance. Cory kept his head down as reporters shouted questions.

  “Where were you hiding, Mr. Loop?” “Why’d you run?” “What happened to your hand?” “How does it feel to go from a Grammy winner to a felon?”

  Cory looked at the woman who asked the last question. “I’m innocent. I’m being framed for something I didn’t do.”

  “Why’d you run then? Don’t you have faith in the justice system to exonerate you?”

  Cory turned his head as they were about to enter the building. “I believe in our system. I needed more time to state my case and the court said no.”

  Cory was ushered into the booking area. He was fingerprinted, probed, and shoved into a cold shower. After drying off with a threadbare towel, he put on an orange jumpsuit.

  Cory was given the opportunity to make one call. His hands trembled as he dialed Linda’s number. He felt tears welling up and hit disconnect. He called Worth, his old lawyer, instead.

  The attorney wasn’t in, but they promised to get the message to him and assured Cory he’d visit as soon as possible. Cory held the receiver even though the woman had hung up. He faked a few words before putting the phone down.

  A guard shoved a pile of bedding with a mildew smell at him, and Cory was shown to his cell.

  He surveyed the small space. A cement ledge served as a bed, and inches away was a stainless-steel toilet without a cover. A metal desk that looked like half of a picnic table was bolted to a wall.

  The jail was noisy, but Cory jumped when the guards slammed his door shut. He put the linens on the slab and sat, wondering how long he’d have to stay. Cory shrunk away from the bars as two heavily tattooed inmates peered into his cell and laughed.

  Relieved when they left, Cory realized how scared he was. He was a musician, a father. He’d made mistakes, but he wasn’t a hardened criminal. He closed his eyes, trying to envision his family. He needed to see his wife, but when a granite slab of a prisoner began taunting him, he questioned whether he’d survive long enough.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Briefcase in hand, Worth was standing beside a gray metal table as Cory was ushered into the room. A guard, belly hanging over his belt, stood in the far corner. Cory surveyed the soulless space as his lawyer asked, “How is your hand, Mr. Lupinski?”

  “Getting better. They changed the dressing when I complained.”

  The escort cuffed Cory to the table, which was bolted to the floor. He eased his back against the steel chair, arching away from the cold.

  Worth eased himself into the chair opposite Cory. He kept his valise in his lap, perching his butt on the front of the seat.

  Cory said, “I know I seem crazy with changing lawyers and all, but I want you to defend me, okay?”

  “I’m agreeable to representing you. The terms will be the same as the original engagement.”

  “How soon can you get me out of here?”

  “That’s going to be difficult. You’re a proven flight risk.”

  “But I only took off because I didn’t have enough time. They wouldn’t give me a postponement.”

  “Let’s take this one step by step. The first order of business will be to notify the court of the change in counsel for the murder case. As soon as it’s granted, I’ll petition to move the trial date.”

  “You think it will work?”

  “I need time to prepare your defense, and I’m certain the court will grant it.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good.” Cory leaned in. “I’m sure Tower is behind this. I found out he’s in cahoots with the witnesses, and I’m digging in on his past. He changed his name when he turned eighteen. There has to be a reason, and when I find out, we’ll use it to have him back off.”

  “An assertion like that must be ironclad. Accusations against officers of the court are a serious matter.”

  “I know, but I’m going to need you to find out what we can about Tower’s connection to the witnesses. We show that, and it blows up their case.”

  “Let me remind you, the state is charging you, not Mr. Tower.”

  “But I can prove it’s him, I got to get out of here.”

  “Unfortunately, house arrest is the only way I see the bail being granted. You’d have to agree to wear a monitoring device and pay for twenty-four-hour guards to ensure you don’t flee.”

  “I can do that. How much is the guard thing going to cost?”

  “It’s difficult to estimate until the court, if the court, allows it. They’ll set the parameters, such as whether multiple guards are required.”

  “I don’t care what you have to do, just please get it done. I want to see my wife and kids. I haven’t talked to them in a long time.”

  “You’ll be allowed to call them. The new law allows for free domestic calls for up to twenty-one minutes every three hours. But no call can be longer than fifteen minut
es.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “And you should be given a tablet to use. You can’t go on the internet, but you can use it to access educational material, read books and newspapers, and email those on your approved contact list.”

  “What? That sounds crazy, but I’m happy to hear it. How do I get somebody on the contact list?”

  “Give me a list. I’ll make sure it gets in the right hands.” Worth took a pad and pen out of his briefcase and slid it across the table.

  Cory started writing. “Of course, I want Linda and the kids on the list. And my buddy Donny.”

  As he wrote, he wondered if he should let Worth know about Gavin Hill. Was it safe asking the lawyer to contact him? Tower was a concern but a small one, the larger one was having Worth screw up the relationship. Who knew what Hill would do if he knew he was in jail? But he ultimately needed to be on the approved list.

  Cory said, “This is going to sound off, but a friend of mine, I don’t know his email address because I always talk to him on Facebook. He was helping me with some information on Tower. Can you get in touch with him?”

  “If you provide a means of contact, yes.”

  “But you have to be careful. This guy finds out I’m in jail, he’ll probably shut down.”

  “I’ll be discreet.”

  “And he thinks my name is Dan Saturn.”

  “This is all very clandestine, isn’t it?”

  “I know, it seems crazy, but you got to trust me. Do you believe that Tower is framing me?”

  “I understand how it appears if a witness met with him, but there could be a valid reason.”

  “But you said there wasn’t any reason right after I saw him.”

  “I’ll grant that it’s unusual, but we’re going to need more, much more. Putting eyewitnesses on the side for a moment, we have the history between you and the deceased that needs to be addressed, but the most problematic is your blood at the scene.”

  “Tower had somebody plant it there.”