Cory's Flight Read online

  He was vulnerable. It’d be over before the attorney would know what was happening. Cory heard footsteps and turned to the door. It was a nurse hurrying to another room.

  Cory’s stomach dropped as he circled the bed. Standing over Tower, Cory now had a view of the door.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Cory moved his hand slowly toward the lawyer. He nudged him gently. Tower was completely out of it. Cory hesitated for a long moment. He asked himself if it would all work out.

  He grabbed Tower’s shoulder and jostled him. “Barney, wake up. Come on, open your eyes.”

  The lawyer stirred, but his eyes remained shut.

  Cory lifted the attorney’s arm and dropped it onto his abdomen. Tower grumbled, opening his eyes. “Hey, take it easy.”

  Cory hovered over his nemesis. “It’s me. Look at me.”

  Blinking, the lawyer focused his eyes. “Lupinski. What are you doing here?”

  Tower’s hand crept toward the call button. Cory snatched it away. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. But I’m not like you.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You got to stop framing me.”

  “I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

  “Stop the bullshit. I’m telling you, you better stop setting me up for the Stein murder.”

  “Or what? You’ll kill me?”

  “No.” Cory reached into his pocket, pulling the newspaper photo out. He held it in front of Tower’s face.

  Tower lifted his head off the pillow. “What is that?”

  “It’s you. I know all about you, Richard Sullivan.”

  Tower blinked rapidly. “Who?”

  “You know damn well that’s your name.”

  Tower batted Cory’s hand away. “Get out of my room.”

  “If you don’t get those witnesses and Brian Cliff to tell the truth, I’ll go public with this. The whole world will know about you and your father.”

  Tower’s face didn’t reveal anything.

  “And I won’t stop there. I’ll tell them about what you did to Martinez, the social worker.”

  “I didn’t do anything to her. It was ruled a suicide.”

  Cory held up a hand. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

  Tower said nothing.

  “Look, I can’t imagine how difficult it was for you. I feel for you, man. But I’m warning you, the truth about you has been buried for a long time, and it can stay that way. If you don’t end this madness, I’ll go to the press. You’ll have to live through it all over again.”

  Tower’s eyes narrowed. “Just who do you think you’re playing with?”

  “Who? Richard Sullivan, that’s who. And this ain’t no game.”

  Hand shaking, Cory put the article on the lawyer’s chest and walked out.

  * * *

  Tower closed his eyes, contemplating his next move. He was exhausted but steeled himself. What had seemed perfect—revenge on Lupinski while getting O’Rourke out of a jam—was on the verge of exploding.

  He admonished himself for failing to take the time to think things through. The connection between Stein and Lupinski had proved too tempting. Even with a body to deal with, he shouldn’t have rushed.

  He never took risks, especially when it came to thugs like O’Rourke. The gangster compared himself to old-time mafia bosses who put layers between their instructions and the goons carrying them out. But after defending him a couple of times, he knew O’Rourke was nothing more than a hoodlum. One with an explosive temper.

  Tower smiled, recalling O’Rourke’s bravado, volunteering his punks as witnesses and to plant the blood. He wondered who was stupider, the gangster or Lupinski, who had suddenly grown a pair of balls.

  He’d have to play it carefully, but he saw two paths out of the mess.

  * * *

  Cory slipped back into his apartment and collapsed on the sofa. Linda came in. “You’re crazy. Somebody had to see you.”

  “No. Everything is cool.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “To see Tower.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” She went to the window saying, “The police are probably on their way.”

  “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Okay? You went to see the guy you say is framing you—”

  “He is.”

  “And you don’t think he’s going to tell the cops you were there? The hospital has cameras all over the place to back him up.”

  Cory went into the bedroom to get the ankle bracelet. Linda followed behind, saying, “I won’t have the kids see you getting arrested. They’ve been through enough.”

  He paused before reaching into the drawer. “If you’re worried, I get it. Take the kids out to dinner. They haven’t been out in a while.”

  “So, I’m supposed to have a grand old time eating in some restaurant when my husband is getting arrested?”

  “Nothing is going to happen. Trust me on this, okay?”

  Linda threw up her hands and walked away.

  Exhausted, Cory headed into the studio. He passed the empty stand his favorite Gibson usually sat on and picked up his Martin DC. Cory strapped it on and fished a pick off a tray.

  He noodled around, playing parts of a Jeff Beck solo he’d transcribed as a teenager before playing Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven.” He felt himself smiling that he’d remembered Jimmy Page’s solo.

  He reached to cue up a backup track, realizing his exhaustion had been replaced with energy. It was something he felt every time he played. He might get frustrated trying to learn something, but he never tired of playing.

  Cory chose a blues track in the key of E and swapped out his acoustic for a pearl-white Fender. He plugged it in and put headphones on. He ran a couple of scales before turning the track on.

  Cory let a bar go by, closed his eyes and began improvising. Before he knew it, the ten-minute track ended. He hit replay and worked out a lick he stumbled upon. Halfway in, he owned it.

  He played for an hour longer. Cory smiled as he hung his guitar up. Once again, music had given him a place to retreat to. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it to escape from a jail cell.

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Linda said, “I can’t believe Tower didn’t report you.”

  “It’s been almost two days.” Cory laughed. “He still can, so I’ll hold off saying I told you so.”

  She frowned. “It was still stupid.”

  Cory shrugged.

  “I’ve got to pick up Tommy from tae kwon do.”

  Linda left, and Cory went into the studio. He sat at the keyboard toying with chord progressions for the bridge of one of the songs he had penned behind bars.

  He changed a dark minor chord to a bright major as his phone rang. It was Worth.

  “Hello.”

  “Mr. Lupinski, I have great news!”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. The district attorney just phoned. They’re going to drop the charges against you.”

  “Finally! What happened?”

  “As I understand it, evidence surfaced proving William O’Rourke was responsible for the murder.”

  Cory looked out the window. The guard was gone. “So, that’s it, it’s over?”

  “Yes. There are formalities that need to be executed—”

  “What about the money we put up for bail?”

  “It’ll take a week or so to get it released, but I’ll handle that.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You never believed me, did you?”

  Worth hesitated. “Your case was extraordinarily—”

  “Yes or no?”

  “Initially, no. The evidence was overwhelming, and you had nothing to support your conspiracy claim.”

  “I didn’t think so. That’s why I changed lawyers.”

  “You were determined and correct in your assertion.”

  “I couldn’t have done it witho
ut your help. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

  “Sometimes obtaining justice can be messy. But your case reminds me why I became a lawyer in the first place.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “As you can imagine, there’s substantial paperwork that needs to be filed. I’ll be in touch.”

  Cory hung up and screamed, “Yes.” He took off the ankle device and grabbed his jacket. He ran down the stairs and trotted toward the studio his son was taking classes at.

  When Linda saw him coming at them, she stopped in her tracks and looked around. Cory raised his arms. “It’s over. It’s over.”

  * * *

  “Who wants pancakes?”

  “Me, Daddy.”

  “How about you, Ava?”

  “Sure, Dad. But only one.”

  Linda put a pod into the coffee maker. As the java dripped out, she said, “Look what’s on.”

  Everyone turned their attention to the TV. The newscaster said, “In a stunning turn of events, William Dublin O’Rourke, known as the Monk, was indited for the murder of Lew Stein. Authorities originally arrested Grammy-winning artist Cory Lupinski, whose stage name was Cory Loop, for the killing.”

  A picture of Cory onstage filled the screen. “Stein had been the performer’s manager until a dispute over missing funds ended the relationship.”

  Cory’s image was replaced by one of Billy O’Rourke. The anchor continued, “The district attorney believes that Mr. Stein, a known gambler, was indebted to Mr. O’Rourke, who allegedly heads a gambling ring.”

  Ava said, “That’s the guy who did it?”

  “That’s what it looks like. I’m just glad it’s over.”

  The doorbell rang. Linda looked at her husband. “Who’s at the door at this hour?”

  Cory said, “Keep your eyes on the pancakes.”

  He opened the door. It was Donny.

  “Hey, bro, figured you wanted this back as soon as possible.” He handed the guitar case to Cory.

  “Thanks, man. It’s good to have my Gibby back.”

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Cory took his Gibson out of the case and was placing it on its stand when Linda came in.

  “How was the session?”

  “Good. Felt really good playing with Rocky again.”

  “Been a long time.”

  “Looks like the blackballing is over. I’m back in the rotation.”

  “Good. You get the mail?”

  “No. I’ll run down.”

  Cory put his key in the mailbox and took out a handful of mail. Walking up the stairs, he sorted it. A bill from Con Edison, a life insurance offer, a sales piece from Visa, and a letter.

  It was from Tower Law Offices. He stepped inside his apartment. Cory opened the envelope.

  “Holy shit.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Look what we got. Tower’s office sent a check for a hundred thousand.”

  “What for?”

  “There’s no explanation, but the stub says refund. It’s got to be the transplant money we gave him.”

  “But he said we weren’t getting it back.”

  “I heard he may need a heart transplant himself. Now he can empathize with everyone waiting.”

  “He does? How do you know?”

  “Worth called me on the way to the session to tell me the bail money is being released tomorrow. I asked him if he knew how Tower was doing after the heart attack, and he said he’d heard he needed a transplant.”

  “Poor man.”

  Cory wanted to say karma was a bitch, but said, “I wish him luck.”

  The End

  * * *

  Dan has a monthly newsletter that features his writing, articles on Self Esteem & Confidence building, as well as educational pieces on wine. He also spotlights other author’s books that are on sale. Sign up—www.danpetrosini.com

  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

  Other works by Dan Petrosini

  The Final Enemy

  Complicit Witness

  Push Back

  Ambition Cliff