Cory's Dilemma

by Dan Petrosini

  Cory made a beeline for the bar, trying to figure out why he had lied to him. Gold had let him down, joining a long list of people he’d turned his life over to. Everybody just wanted money from him. He drained his drink thinking they were no better than Bonner the blackmailer.

  If he lost custody, there was no turning back. His relationship would be permanently damaged, especially with Ava. She was too old to disguise the reality if a court agreed with her mother and considered him a threat.

  Cory poured another drink and wondered how Linda could even make a statement like that. Was she in it for the money too? He punched a number into his phone.

  “Linda, we got to talk.”

  “Let the attorneys work it out.”

  “Don’t hang up. Hear me out.”

  “What?”

  “You know I’d never hurt the kids, don’t you?”

  “I have no idea what you’d do. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

  “Aw, come on. Nobody knows me better than you.”

  “Really? Well, I’d never figured you’d betray me and the children. Maybe I was stupid thinking you wouldn’t cheat, but in public? You made us look like fools.”

  “I made a mistake. You know I love you.”

  “You have a weird way of showing it.”

  “I’ll work on it, you’ll see. I know it will take time, but I’ll prove it to you.”

  “It’s over, Cory.”

  “No, I won’t accept that. And I won’t accept having my kids taken from me. Can’t you see it my way?”

  “I’d ask you to see it through my eyes. You’ve done some crazy things, and it scares me and the children.”

  “But—”

  “You’re out of control, Cory. I can’t take chances with the kids.”

  “You’re going to deny me the right to see them?”

  “I didn’t do anything, you did it to yourself.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  “Goodbye, Cory.”

  Cory started redialing when a text came in. It was brief: Tick Tock. Time is running out.

  Chapter Fifty

  Cory’s manager returned his call.

  “Hello, Mr. Lupinski. What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to tell you to go ahead and sell the Connecticut house.”

  “Certainly. May I ask why the sudden change of heart?”

  “It looks like I’m not going to be able to patch things up with my wife, so I figured to take your advice and sell it to get whatever I can out of it. I’d also like to see if we can get out of the lease for her apartment and get something less expensive.”

  “I see. We’re going to need her consent to sell the house—”

  “Why? It’s my house.”

  “I’m not an attorney, but it’s considered joint property under marital law. And if she refuses, you’d have to go to court.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No. Generally, courts will mandate that you keep her in the style and manner she has become accustomed to.”

  “But you said I need to cut expenses.”

  “Yes, but we’d have to go to court and prove financial duress. We could probably do that, but it would become public.”

  “Can’t anything go my fucking way?”

  “Please. Language like that is unhelpful.”

  “What? You’re going to jump on me too?”

  * * *

  Cory smiled at the roomful of sick children as a frail-looking kid sat next to him. Cory was at ease for the first time in weeks.

  “Put your hand over here.” Cory moved the boy’s hand up the fretboard. “Put your first finger here. These little boxes are called frets.” He maneuvered the kid’s fingers and said, “Okay. This is called the first position. Now, use your other hand and strum the strings.”

  The kid stroked downward, and Cory said, “Good. This time, make sure you don’t lift your fingers off the strings.”

  The kid tried again. “Super! That was really nice. You produced a great sound.”

  “Really? I did?”

  “Yep. Very sweet. Let me show you how to finger a C chord. Hundreds of songs are in the key of C, so learning this and two or three more chords will get you through a ton of tunes.”

  After helping the child play the popular chord, Cory said, “All right, who wants to go next?”

  Tracy slipped out of the room as every one of the twenty kids raised their hands. “Don’t worry, guys. I’m not leaving until each one of you gets a chance. Let’s start with you.” Cory pointed to one of the younger girls in the room.

  Cory’s stomach turned when he saw the blotchy bruises on her arms. Cory showed her the first position and said, “Pay attention, guys. I’m going to show you how to make a G chord now.” He moved the kid’s fingers. “Okay. Let’s hear what it sounds like.” The girl swept upward.

  “Nice. You bring up something worth mentioning. Did everyone see that she strummed up rather than down?”

  Half the heads in the room nodded.

  “Okay. Do it down, this time.” The kid did, and Cory said, “Did anyone notice the difference in sound?”

  Seeing the bewildered look on their faces, Cory grabbed his guitar and played slowly, first down, then up. “It’s the same chord, but we’re starting on a different note. Does that make sense?”

  As the kids nodded, Cory said, “You guys are so good that I got a surprise for you. You like surprises?”

  When the chorus of yeahs died down, Cory said, “I’m going to get each and every one of you your own guitar.”

  The room exploded into cheers. Cory was showing the last kid a chord when Tracy came into the room with a man. They watched him put a smile on the kid’s face as Cory went through the fundamentals.

  When the brief lesson was over, Cory said, “All right, guys, you did fantastic today. I’m going to get you the guitars, and I’ll be back in a day or so. I’ll see you soon.”

  As the kids filed out, Tracy said, “Cory, this is George Cooper from the New York Post.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “I gotta say, you really have a soft touch with the kids.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “No, you have something special.”

  “Just trying to help them focus on something that brings joy. Being in a place like this, dealing with cancer, I don’t know how they even deal with it.”

  “It’s generous of you to spend so much time with them.”

  “They need to learn, experience, and grow. It will help them decide what they want to do when they’re adults.”

  “You realize that some of these children are so sick they won’t make it, don’t you?”

  “We can save these kids, every child, if we really wanted to.”

  “I don’t think it’s a matter of will, it’s—”

  “You’re right, it’s not will, it’s money.”

  “No doubt, researching a cure is expensive.”

  “They don’t want a cure; there’s too much money being made treating cancer.”

  “You really believe that?”

  “Look at this place. There are hundreds of them like it. It’s big business, that’s what it is.”

  “Are you saying there’s a conspiracy in the medical community to keep things as they currently are, rather than cure cancer because of money?”

  “It’s impossible to think otherwise. Everything is about money. It makes the world go round, doesn’t it?”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  “Answer the phone, goddamn it!” Cory hit redial. It went to voice mail again. He sent a text: I need to talk to you. About the house.

  A text chimed in: Whatever you have to say, tell it to your lawyer.

  He called his divorce lawyer. “Mr. Gold, it’s Cory.”

  “Good afternoon. What can I do for you?”

  “My wife won’t talk to me. I called her, but she won’t pick up. I even tried texting her, but she still won’t respond. She sai
d to call my lawyer.”

  “Frankly, not a good sign that she wants communications to go through counsel. What did you want to convey to her?”

  “I need to sell the Connecticut house. It’s expensive as hell, and I need to cut expenses. I haven’t even been there in ages.”

  “The home is a joint asset, so you’d need written authorization to sell it, and the proceeds would likely be held in escrow until the divorce agreement is finalized.”

  “There isn’t much, if any, money in the house. The mortgage is huge, and the payments are too much for me.”

  “If she doesn’t agree, we could approach the court and ask for a hardship waiver. Let me call the other side and see where they are on this.”

  * * *

  “Oh, this one is amazing.” Joanne made the music louder.

  Over the booming pulse of a bass line, Cory said, “Hey, Jo, you have any more blow?” Cory held up a vial.

  “I brought three over.”

  “They’re empty.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You kidding me? That was an eight ball. I only had a couple of hits.”

  “We got to get more. Call your guy up.”

  “No, forget it. It’s too late anyway.”

  “Come on, just a little more. Call him.”

  Joanne shook her booty. “Come here. Dance with me.”

  “Call him first.”

  “You’re gonna crash.”

  “Call him!”

  “Okay, okay.”

  * * *

  Cory elbowed Joanne. “You hear that?”

  “What?”

  He put his finger to his lips. “Shush.” He nodded. “Someone’s in the apartment.”

  “Oh my God.”

  Reaching into his nightstand, Cory whispered, “Don’t worry.” He grabbed the gun and slid out of bed.

  “Don’t. I’m calling 911.”

  “No. I know who it is.”

  “Who is it?”

  Cory tiptoed out of the bedroom. Mimicking what he’d seen on TV, he held the gun under his chin and kept his back to the wall as he went room to room. No one was in the apartment.

  “It’s all clear! He left.”

  “Who?”

  “Forget it.”

  “How did they get in and out?”

  “We left the terrace sliders open.”

  “But we’re on the twenty-eighth floor. How could they have gotten in?”

  “They have their ways.”

  “Come back to bed.”

  “I got to get moving, it’s almost twelve.”

  “Really? Ugh, I got to go. I’m getting my hair colored at two.”

  “Where’d you leave the vials?”

  “You better lay off that stuff. You’re getting paranoid.”

  “Where is it?”

  “They’re on the kitchen counter.”

  Cory did two lines and put a pod of coffee in. “You want a cup?”

  “No, I’ll grab a Dunkin’.” She kissed him. “I’ll see you later.”

  Cory’s phone rang. It was Gold. “Mr. Lupinski, I spoke with your wife’s lawyer, and they will not agree to selling the Connecticut home or to move into a less expensive apartment.”

  “Why not?”

  “They don’t believe money is an issue. They seem to be playing hardball.”

  “I can’t afford it.”

  “We can make a hardship appeal to the judge. They’ll want your financial records to verify the situation.”

  “All my records?”

  “Absolutely, they want to be sure you can’t afford to keep them until the divorce is finalized. They’ll also look them over to be sure assets haven’t been moved out of your name.”

  “I, I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Uhm, I don’t want the public to know any more than they do. I’m sick of having my life torn apart.”

  “I understand the privacy aspect, but if you want to proceed with a hardship petition, there is no other way.”

  “Forget it, then.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I gotta go, I’m getting another call.”

  Cory swiped to Tracy’s call. “What?”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just fucking dandy. What’s up?” Cory grabbed the bottle of bourbon and put it to his lips.

  “I, uh, just heard from the PR woman at St. Jude’s. They’re not going to go ahead with the spokesperson role we talked about.”

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why?”

  “The New York Post story. They feel your views don’t align with the hospital’s mission. They’re worried it will be a distraction.”

  “What bullshit! They can go screw themselves. You know what? I don’t give a damn about them and being a spokesperson, I just care about the kids. As long as I give them a break by going there, teaching a little guitar, I’m good.”

  “Well, about that. They don’t want you on the campus any longer. They said the statements you made were insulting to the men and women who dedicate their lives to finding a cure.”

  “They’re a fucking joke. You know that? Fuck them.”

  “Calm down. There’ll be other opportunities that come along. I’ll put feelers out. Just relax and keep cool. We got the tour right in front of us.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Cory took a long pull from the bottle and called his wife. She wouldn’t pick up. He sent a text telling her he wanted to talk to his daughter. Cory got up and did three lines of coke. A text sounded.

  He was hoping his wife wouldn’t give him a hard time. But it wasn’t from his wife. It was Bonner, the blackmailer:

  You’re about to start a tour. Aren’t you?

  Yes. I told you I’d make the money then.

  No good. Time’s just about up. If the money doesn’t come by end of the day. I’m going public about the stolen songs and fuck up your tour.

  Hold on. I just need a little more time.

  No.

  Cory collapsed on the couch. He was screwed. His reputation would be trashed, and his kids would lose respect for him. It was over. There was no way out.

  He got up, drained the rest of the bourbon, and went to his bedroom. The pistol was sitting on the nightstand. Cory knew what he had to do. He picked the gun up.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Cory’s hands shook. Could he do it? He had to. There just was no other option. He tugged his Yankees hat as low as it would go.

  Cory kept his head down as he climbed the steps to the door. He rang the bell. When the door cracked open, Cory rammed his shoulder into the door. Bonner stumbled backward.

  The color drained from Bonner’s face when he saw the gun. “Hey, take it easy now.”

  Cory pointed the pistol at him, holding it with both hands to control the shaking. “Why did you have to do this? You kept pushing and pushing. It was never enough for you.”

  “Put the gun down. We can work this out.”

  “Now you want to talk?”

  “What are you going to do? Shoot me? Look at you, you’re shaking all over.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Calm down. We’ll work everything out. I’ll give you the pictures. Okay?”

  “How do I know I’d get all of them?”

  “Put the gun down and I’ll show you.”

  Cory lowered the revolver, and Bonner rushed him. Cory pulled the trigger.

  Bang.

  Cory’s ears were ringing, and Bonner’s voice was muffled. “Ah! I’m shot! Help!”

  Bonner seemed to be falling in slow motion. Blood soaked the thigh area of his pants. Cory looked at the gun, then at Bonner. He pointed the gun at Bonner.

  Bonner crawled away. “No, please. Don’t shoot. Please.”

  A tear dripped off Cory’s chin.

  “I won’t say anything. I’ll give you back the money. All of it.”

  “Why did you
have to do it?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You kept pushing and pushing.”

  “You’ll get it all back.”

  Cory blinked rapidly to clear the tears and aimed the pistol.

  “No! Please. I’m begging for mercy.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Cory shoved the gun in his jacket as he went outside. He looked both ways. It was clear. He skipped down the steps and got in his Tesla. He drove out three blocks and pulled over at an empty corner.

  Cory got out of the car and looked around. Bending down, he took the gun out of his pocket and tossed it into a storm drain. Back behind the wheel, Cory made a call.

  “I need help. I did something.”

  Mr. Black said, “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I know you said not to go there, but I . . . went to Bonner’s house to try and scare him, but I shot him.”

  “Is he alive?”

  “Yes, the bullet hit his leg, in the thigh. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t mean to shoot him, but he tried to get the gun from me—”

  “Sounds like self-defense.”

  “Can you help me out?”

  “Depends, tell me what you need.”

  “I don’t know what to do. Can you fix this?”

  “I’m not sure elimination at this point is possible.”

  “No, no, don’t kill him. Is there any way you can get me out of this?”

  “This happened at his house?”

  “Yes, just a few minutes ago.”

  “Did you wear a disguise?”

  “No.”

  “He’s probably already called 911. If he survives, which sounds likely with a leg wound, he’ll identify you as the shooter. I’d say the only option is self-defense.”

  “There has to be something else to make it go away. Isn’t there?”

  “Not at this point. I’ll text you the name of an excellent criminal attorney, Barney Tower. He’s the go-to guy for incidents like this. He’s the lawyer the mob guys use and is very effective.”

  “The mafia?”

  “Not just them. Who do you think the governor used when his mistress was found dead in his bed?”

  “Okay.”

  “Look, you want a record that it was self-defense, so call 911 and report the shooting immediately.”

  * * *

  By the time Cory crossed into Manhattan, he still had an hour to kill before his appointment with Tower. He was afraid to go back to his apartment. What had he done? He wanted to die and regretted throwing the gun away.