Cory's Shift Read online

  Cory’s Shift

  Cutting A New Track

  Suspenseful Secrets – Book 3

  Dan Petrosini

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgement

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Other Books by Dan

  Luca Mystery Series

  Am I the Killer—Book 1

  Vanished—Book 2

  The Serenity Murder—Book 3

  Third Chances—Book 4

  A Cold, Hard Case—Book 5

  Cop or Killer?—Book 6

  Silencing Salter—Book 7

  A Killer Missteps—Book 8

  Uncertain Stakes—Book 9

  The Grandpa Killer—Book 10

  Dangerous Revenge—Book 11

  Where Are They—Book 12

  Suspenseful Secrets

  Cory's Dilemma—Book 1

  Cory's Flight—Book 2

  Cory's Shift—Book 3

  Other works by Dan Petrosini

  The Final Enemy

  Complicit Witness

  Push Back

  Ambition Cliff

  Author’s Note

  I enjoy the research required to write a story. Though I go down many rabbit holes, I like learning and uncover interesting information.

  This story was no different, however, one fact I found unsettling; there aren’t enough donors to satisfy the demand.

  I’m not sure why the huge imbalance between those needing organ transplants and donors isn’t common knowledge or why a larger effort to bridge the gap is not being undertaken.

  The sad reality is many waiting for an organ, die before their name reaches the top of the list.

  Please consider becoming a donor. It’s an easy way to help those in need. More information can be found here - www.organdonor.gov

  Acknowledgement

  I would like to thank my wife Julie and daughters Stephanie and Jennifer for their love and support.

  Also, a shout out to Steven Epright, Battalion Chief Collier County EMSFire Department, for info on drugs to quickly subdue someone.

  Prologue

  Pedaling in sync with a Tower of Power bass line, Gerry reached for his water bottle. Halfway through his daily twenty-mile bike ride along the East River, he sucked a sip. Addicted to exercise, he loved ‘paying for his day,’ especially in the four-in-the-morning solitude of the city. In an hour, cars would pour onto the FDR Drive after the city’s nightly nap.

  A passing van caught Gerry’s attention. The only vehicle in sight, he followed it as it exited the highway. A half mile ahead, its taillights brightened. The cyclist made a quick challenge for himself and put his head down. He closed half the distance before the van raced away.

  Gerry saw a shape on a park bench where the van had stopped. Shaking his head, he hoped they hadn’t robbed a homeless person. Bemoaning the city’s increasing crime rate, he stood, pedaling as quickly as he could.

  As he drew nearer, the person struggled to sit up. Gerry blinked. It was a boy. A stocky kid.

  He pulled his headphones down. “Hey! You all right?”

  A moan drowned the sound from his headset. Gerry braked, coming to a stop. He hesitated, trying to understand what the stuttering boy was saying.

  “Take it easy, I’ll help you.”

  He saw tears forming behind the kid’s thick glasses. Moaning, the flat-nosed boy was clutching his abdomen. Gerry realized the kid was disabled and had some of the physical traits of Down Syndrome.

  Gerry took his helmet off “What happened?”

  “My . . . my belly. Ma . . . ma . . .”

  Ronnie squinted in the gray light. It looked like there was blood on the kid’s shirt. Had he been stabbed by the bastards in the van?

  “Let me see.” As the kid babbled, Gerry pulled the boy’s shortened hands off his stomach. “I’m just going to take a quick look.”

  He lifted the kid’s shirt. “What the hell?” Gauze soaked with blood was wrapped around his midsection.

  “Ma . . . make, make it go away. Make it go away.”

  “Hold on, guy.”

  Ronnie tossed his helmet aside, pulled his phone out, and dialed 911. “I just found a kid, all by himself. I think he’s got Down Syndrome and he’s injured or something. Hurry, the kid’s bleeding. We’re on the Finley Walk, just north of the Queensboro Bridge.” The kid tried to get up, falling onto the sidewalk. The kid screamed and Ronnie hung up to help him.

  “Take it easy, my friend. Just lie there.” He adjusted the band holding the child’s glasses in place. “Help is on the way. You’re going to be okay.”

  “No, no, no, no, no.”

  Gerry took his jacket off and folded it under the kid’s head. “Did they stab you? Did those people in the van do this to you?”

  The kid moaned.

  “Hang in there, buddy.”

  As the sound of a siren intensified, Gerry wondered what had happened to this defenseless kid. How did this innocent child end up on the side of the road in the middle of the night?

  Chapter One

  Cory rushed into a small room and put his guitar case on the table. “Hey, Katie. Sorry, the session took longer than expected.”

  Katie Waters, a volu
nteer at Mount Sinai Children’s Hospital, said, “No problem. Hope it went well.”

  Cory smiled. “It took time convincing the suits to keep it acoustic. They’re always overproducing things. But it worked out.”

  “Hope you sell a million records.”

  Cory shrugged. “The kid’s market isn’t big, but I don’t care. I love playing and making kids happy.”

  “You’re a good guy.”

  Strapping on his Gibson, Cory said, “Oh, I got pimples for sure, just ask my wife.”

  “How many years you married?”

  “Nineteen. Come on, let’s go.”

  Cory pushed through a door. “Hey, guys!”

  A roomful of kids in wheelchairs roared a welcome, except one, a boy hunched over in a wheelchair. Cory smiled at him but couldn’t place who it was.

  “You guys ready to have some fun?” Cory strummed his guitar. “How about I play a new tune I just wrote. In fact, I recorded it right before coming here.”

  Cory launched into the song. The kids were mesmerized. When he finished, they clapped as hard as they could.

  “What do you say we make a new version of that one? That’d be super cool, right?”

  A chorus of yeahs broke out.

  “All right. On our song, I want the first two rows to sing the melody and the rest to sing background, something that supports the melody. Let’s start with the first four bars.”

  Cory demonstrated what he was looking for, and all the children were excited except for the boy in the first row.

  Cory walked the room through his idea. “Wow, you guys practice before I get here?”

  The room exploded.

  Cory said, “Let me play you another one.” He dug out a sheet of paper. “Listen to how it goes. I’ll play the first eight bars a couple of times.” He held up a sheet. “These are the lyrics. Anyone want to try singing it with me?”

  Every hand in the room shot up but one. The boy seemed to be sleeping. Cory wondered if the kid was too weak or just uninterested in music.

  “Great. Everyone will get a chance. Now, make sure to listen carefully so you get the rhythms in your ear.”

  A handful of aides entered and stood in the rear as Cory ended the hour. “You were super amazing today. I had a ton of fun, and next week I’ll see if the hospital will let me bring a keyboard and maybe a guitar or two.”

  As the kids were ushered out, Cory went over to the boy. “How’s it going?” He recognized him. “You’re Bobby, right?”

  The kid had trouble lifting his chin off his chest to nod.

  Cory checked Bobby’s wristband. His last name was Kennedy. “Did you have fun today?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s good to see you here.” Cory stuck his hand out. The kid struggled to reach it. Cory patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you next week.”

  Carrying his guitar, Cory followed Katie back into the small room.

  “You’re, like, amazing with kids.”

  “Thanks. It’s fun for me.”

  “You got kids, right?”

  “Yep. Ava, she’s seventeen, and Tommy just turned seven.”

  “Nice.”

  “Hey, what’s going on with that kid Bobby? He seems very sick.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know the whole story, but I heard he was on the transplant list, like, forever, and his parents took him to some other place. Like, an illegal one. And whatever they did to the poor kid, it didn’t work.”

  “What do you mean, an illegal place?”

  “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t really know what happened, but he’s not doing good.”

  “Who’s his doctor?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Cory snapped his case shut. “All right, I gotta run, see you next week.”

  Waiting for the elevator, he checked the time. He had to move it; he had two lessons to give, and they were in Brooklyn.

  As he rode down, Cory couldn’t get the kid, Bobby, out of his head. He was only ten or eleven and looked like he wouldn’t last another month.

  The elevator opened. Cory peered into the lobby but didn’t get off. He pushed number three and the doors closed.

  Cory stepped on the transplant floor. He headed straight to the administrative offices, asking to see Dr. Evans.

  The head of the transplant unit eyed Cory’s guitar. “You get off on the wrong floor?”

  “Just finished with the kids, Doc.”

  “It didn’t go well?”

  “No, it did. But a kid, Bobby Kennedy, he’s real sick, and I heard something that’s bothering me.”

  Evans’s shoulders sagged. “You know I’m not supposed to discuss a patient’s case.”

  “I know, but he was here waiting on a transplant, right?”

  “He was on the kidney list and receiving nephrology treatment.”

  “His parents took him out?”

  Evans nodded.

  “Why? Where’d they go?”

  “We don’t know for sure.”

  “What happened to him?”

  He lowered his voice. “You didn’t hear it from me, but it was a botched transplant.”

  “What?”

  “Shush. I can’t say anymore.”

  “Come on, man. You’re telling me his parents took him to some place that wasn’t a hospital for a transplant, and they screwed it up?”

  Evans frowned. “I don’t know where this took place, but whoever performed the surgery either never screened for HLA matches or thought they could get away with it.”

  “HLA?”

  “Tissue matching. Kennedy has strong antibodies that are reacting against the donor’s HLA. He’s in critical rejection mode.”

  “Can it turn around for him?”

  “We’re doing the best we can, but he’s likely to suffer irreversible damage.”

  “How the hell does something like this happen?”

  “People get tired and sicker as they wait for an organ. It forces them to consider options that are unconventional at best and dangerous.”

  “You’ve seen this before?”

  “Unfortunately, incidents like this are increasing.”

  “Who’s in charge of shutting these types of places down?”

  “It’s not something the authorities focus on. It’s relatively low on their radar. They’re focused on the opioid epidemic, Medicare fraud, shootings, and the like.”

  “That’s crazy. They should see this kid.”

  “I agree, but it’s a matter of priorities.”

  “If there were enough organs, nobody would have to do whatever Bobby went through.”

  “That’s probably true.”

  “Who can I report this to?”

  “We filed a malpractice complaint with the New York Medical Board.”

  “The guys doing it are doctors?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “How did you file a complaint then?”

  “We advised them of the neglect. We hope they’ll investigate the particulars and shut the operation down.”

  “You don’t seem convinced.”

  “We can only do what we can do, and that’s report the incident.”

  On the way to his lesson, Cory couldn’t shake the circumstances of Bobby’s condition. As the subway rounded a turn, Cory imagined the hopelessness that forced a parent to go outside the system to save their child.

  It wasn’t a stretch, as he and his wife had been down the same path trying to save her mother. They’d paid a hundred thousand as a down payment to get Linda’s mother a kidney. Like many things the last couple of years, it involved Barney Tower.

  He remembered going to the attorney with the cash. The crooked lawyer was part of the problem, he thought, before realizing that he and his wife were just as guilty.

  If no one was willing to go to the black market for an organ, facilitators wouldn’t exist. He wondered how many other children’s lives were damaged or lost because desperation forced them underground.
r />   Why wasn’t the press exposing these nefarious operators? For that matter, why didn’t the media encourage people to donate their organs? If there were enough organs to satisfy demand, there’d be no room for backroom surgeries.

  Walking up the subway steps, Cory knew he had a responsibility to say something. He was no longer a pop star and didn’t have the platform he once had. But he could still make some noise.

  Chapter Two

  Cory put his guitar case down and closed the door.

  “Hey guys, I’m home.”

  Tommy came running to the door. “Hi, Dad, how was the record you made?”

  “It went super. How was school?”

  “Okay.”

  “Just, okay? Come on, you got to do better than that.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Wasn’t there something good today?”

  “Uh, yeah, I was the only one to get the math problem Mrs. Green gave us. And I made a dish in ceramics.”

  “Wow. You’re smart. What kind of dish?”

  “I’m going to get it to show you.”

  Tommy ran out as Linda came in. “How’d it go today?”

  “Good. It was touch and go, but I’m super happy the way the recording came out. We did it acoustically.”

  “That’s what you wanted. You didn’t go to the hospital?”

  “No, I went. It was a total downer.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “There was this kid, he’s just a couple years older than Tommy. He’s in bad shape.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Cory filled Linda in on Bobby Kennedy.

  “That’s horrible. The poor kid. His parents must be beating themselves up.”

  “I want to talk to them.”

  “About what? You couldn’t say anything; we did the same thing for Mom.”

  “I know. I just want to find out who they dealt with. These guys got to be shut down.”

  Linda kissed Cory. “I love your intentions, but stick to making music. You’re not a private investigator.”

  “I’m not investigating, I just want to shine a light on this crap. People need to know how dangerous this is.”

  “Then write a song about it.”

  “Not a bad idea, but—”

  “Look, Dad.” Tommy held up a blue dish.

  “You made this?”

  “Yeah.”