The Devil's Copper

by Jamie Crothall

  It was still pre-9/11, but if the truck was filled with ignorant white males, his plan had a chance. We pulled into the parking lot. The red truck slowed in its approach, coasted past the entryway, but declined to turn in. One rather angry face glowered at us as the cab sailed past, but they didn’t stop. I didn’t think it would work.

  “What a bunch of idiots,” he muttered. “Park over there.”

  I only realized as I put the car in park that I had barely taken a breath since the whole ordeal started. It took me some time to catch my breath.

  “How did you know that would work?” I asked.

  Walter only shrugged in response.

  I looked to the mosque. “Do you…do you pray here?”

  It took him a moment to realize what I was referring to. “Do I look like a Muslim?”

  “…well…”

  “Fucking white people, man.”

  He angrily got out of the car and lit up a cigarette. I got out and stepped right into a massive puddle. My beeper went off again, reminding me of the busy season during the thaw, which I was ignoring. I looked at it and put it back in my pocket.

  “You’re gonna get fired,” he commented.

  “Look, thank you for getting us out of that, and sorry for getting your religion wrong, though I don’t know why you’re so damn touchy about that, but anyway…you still owe me an answer.”

  “I owe you?”

  “Seven,” I insisted. “I gave you seven. You asked me for a number and I gave you seven. I gave you what you asked for, it’s not my fault you wasted your question, but I think you owe me an answer to mine.”

  He took a long drag off his cigarette, then waved his hand in the air as though presenting a series of options that only he could interpret. He eventually settled on one, which I had to hope was the truth.

  “You can’t ever tell him I told you this,” he said, pointing at me with the same hand that held his cigarette.

  “I promise,” I insisted. God help me, I crossed my fingers behind my back, thinking it nulled the verbal contract like a ten year old.

  He lit another cigarette before starting. He offered me one but I declined.

  “You were right about the homeless part. You just had the wrong person. It was Jack. He was a street kid.”

  I instinctively shook my head, but he didn’t give me the chance to contradict him.

  “I know that seems unlikely. But it’s true. You never met his parents, did you? You probably thought it was because of you, despite his insistence to the contrary. Well, the truth is he’s ashamed of them, and he’s never really forgiven them. His parents kicked him out when he was sixteen, basically for some drug use and petty crimes. I’m not excusing his behavior, but I’ve seen plenty of parents turn a blind eye to far worse. They were super-religious, his parents. Little Jacky wasn’t walking the Lord’s path, so…out he went.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  He nodded. “That’s where he got to playing cards with some bad people. He had a knack for it. He has a knack for a lot of things. I found myself in similar circles for my own reasons, and got myself into some trouble. They accused me of cheating. Bad losers, all of them. Well, all of them but Jack. I think he took pity on me. He was playing to win enough money to have a place to stay each night. I was playing because I didn’t have much else going on for me. When they came after me, he backed me up. Even when it turned into a fight. When the gun came out we ran like hell. I owed him, so I helped him get back on his feet. Gave him a place to stay, helped him get a job. All that jazz. I thought it made us even. But in his mind, we could never be even. He’s been annoyingly loyal ever since.”

  That was a lot to digest. I couldn’t picture Jack being anything other than calm, composed, and in control of his own life. If it were true, it would certainly paint a different picture of the both of them. It wouldn’t diminish my love and respect for Jack, but it would certainly give me a bit more respect for Walter.

  If it were true.

  My attempt at posing some questions towards his story was interrupted by my beeper going off again. I rolled my eyes. I took it out and looked at it. “…can’t fucking deal with this right now…” I muttered.

  Walter plucked it out of my hand and simply dropped it into one of the many large puddles in the pothole-ridden gravel parking lot.

  “Tell them it’s broken.”

  “O…kay…”

  I picked it up with my thumb and forefinger.

  “You might want to, y’know, dry it off before you tell them that though.”

  “Yeah, thanks...”

  At least it stopped beeping.

  Walter turned to the mosque as a door opened and a man emerged. He was a heavy-set middle eastern man in regular clothing though he wore a taqiyah cap. He seemed to recognize Walter, and approached him with open arms.

  “Many blessings, Mr. Blunt,” he called cheerily.

  “Greetings Imam Aamir,” he replied. He turned to me. “I’ll just be a sec. Stay here.” He took a few steps to speak to the man privately.

  While waiting, I shifted the weight of my purse, which was now hanging all too heavily on my shoulder and my mind. I considered Walter’s story. I debated whether it was true, or if it was designed to get me to trust him and ignore the fact he still knew way more than he should. I also considered driving away while he spoke to the Imam. But then I realized the conversation between them had quickly moved from ‘pleasant’ to ‘contentious’. The imam walked back to the mosque still shouting and waving a finger at Walter, despite now having his back to him. I believe his words were in Arabic, but regardless, I had no idea what he was saying. Whatever it was, it was not well intended.

  “We need to leave,” Walter said, returning to me as the imam went back into the mosque. “Now.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s not happy.”

  “I got that impression. Why isn’t he happy, Walter?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. What father-slash-religious-leader wouldn’t be happy if he found out you had communion with his daughter?”

  We both turned as we heard the door open again. There were three men this time. Walter went to the passenger door and attempted to get in but the door was locked. He gave me a pleading look.

  “Open?”

  “Tell me how you know.”

  “How I know what?”

  “Everything. Everything I hadn’t told you yet.”

  “Okay, fine, I will,” he said, his eyes darting between myself and the men amassing at the door to the mosque. “As soon as we get out of here.”

  “No, now,” I insisted. It was the first time I felt I had the slightest bit of power and I wasn’t going to let it pass me by.

  He looked to the door, where there were at least five men gathered. “There’s not enough time right now,” he insisted.

  I hit the ‘unlock’ button to let him in. He was in his seat and buckled up by time I got into my seat and put the keys in the ignition. I didn’t start the car yet though. I made it clear that I was waiting.

  “Then talk fast.”

  “You won’t believe me if I tell you, especially like this,” he insisted.

  “Try me.”

  Seven men had now amassed.

  “Fuck…okay…I can travel through time, okay?”

  “You’re not one of Jack’s actors, and we both know it.”

  “No, I mean I can see forward in time! Where do you think he got the idea from? Can we go now please?”

  “Oh my god, you are a drug addict. I knew it.”

  “…one…two…oh shit, he’s got a shotgun, can we go now please??”

  On the up-side it was a pleasant experience to see Walter so freaked out and not at all smug. On the down-side, moments after he said that an eighth man emerged and he was in fact wielding a shotgun. If I had remained rational, I could have told myself their beef was not with me, and I was safe. But upon seeing another gun, I realized it was time to get the hell away and re-assess the s
ituation. I stifled a scream, started the car and kicked up a hail of gravel as I tore out of the parking lot.

  “You’re not helping your profile in this closed-minded community!” Walter shouted out the window as we drove away.

  It wasn’t until we made our way out of the neighbourhood, and were sure we weren’t being followed, that he stopped constantly looking around, and seemed somewhat relaxed.

  I pulled into the Food Basics parking lot.

  “What are we doing?” he asked.

  I came to a full stop along the side of the building. “Get out.”

  “What?”

  “I’m done with you. Get out.”

  “…one…two…” He sighed. “Okay, fine.”

  He hardly put up much of a fight, which was a relief. He got out of the car and simply stood there, waiting for me to drive away. I’m not sure if he was testing to see how serious I was, but I wasn’t playing games. It was getting late, and I had to determine how I was going to explain the missed pages at work the next day. If I was going to work at all.

  FIVE

  I hit the snooze button several times as I struggled to decide what to do with my Monday morning. I slept as well as one could when they knew they were being followed, and didn’t have a secure lock on their front door. My only comfort was if they wanted me dead, they’d have killed me when they took Jack. I almost had a sense of resignation to whatever could happen when I went to bed. Not that I wanted to be killed in my sleep, but I was still disappointed as ever to hear my alarm go off.

  I did the bare minimum to get dressed and made my way into the Valley to the industrial park where my job was located. The name “JOEY” adorned every vehicle, including the large 800 gallon tank trucks - blue letters on a plain white background. It was named after the owner, my boss, Joe Herbert Linden, proud owner of the region’s most recognizable septic pumping and hauling company. We also rented portable toilets, which led them to acquire the nickname of “Joey’s”, something my employer seemed quite proud of. Not my measure of success, but he seemed content with his status in the community. He was the type of boss you both admired and hated. Usually at the same time. He was shrewd one moment, and far too trusting the next. He had a habit of hiring part-time office staff from a youth employment service. He stated he was helping young people get a good start in life. In truth, he did it for the cheap labour. It was a coincidence we no longer needed these teenaged workers the moment their subsidy program ran out. But a few weeks later, we were hiring another. Still, I’d rather him hire through an agency than on his own judgement. The last time he hired additional office staff, it was someone he met on the bus. He offered the kid a job, and the keys to one of the service vehicles, and told him to be in on Monday. That Monday, the kid never showed up, but the service vehicle was gone. It showed up a week later in Chelmsford. The most infuriating part was that he never trusted me with a service vehicle. And I had been there five years.

  I entered the office and said hello to Pat, the kid-of-the-week. He was an 18 year old high school graduate who wouldn’t afford to go to college, and was attempting to get a break in a local job market so parched even minimum-wage employers could demand college degrees and unreasonable amounts of previous experience, just to haul two-by-fours in a lumber yard. I had sympathy for the kid, and rather liked him. I often hoped that Joey would like him enough to keep him around.

  “Are you okay?” asked Pat.

  Christ, was it that obvious?

  “Didn’t sleep much,” I muttered. “Is he around?”

  Pat only nodded, which meant our mutual employer was within earshot.

  “Billie?” a gruff voice called.

  The portly and aging master of the (out)house emerged from his office. He put his fists on his hips to assert his dominance, which might have been intimidating if he didn’t have his tiny little white bichon frise in his half-zipped jacket. Seriously, he loved that dog more than his own children. And he took it everywhere.

  “Good morning Joey,” I greeted, putting on my game-face.

  “Twelve missed emergency calls!” he stated. “That’s twelve people who may never call us again.”

  “I’m sorry. My pager stopped working. I should have been suspicious when it stopped going off, but I…”

  “Here,” he said, taking his own pager off his belt and putting it in my hand. “Have the answering service call this one from now on. And don’t screw this up, understood? Our busy season is…well…it’s our busiest season!”

  “Got it.”

  I got set up at my desk, and conferred with Pat on anything I might have missed.

  We began the normal morning routine; assessing the various job requirements, looking at our available equipment and the expertise of our drivers and labourers, taking into account the urgency of each job, and setting up a morning schedule for all work orders. Then, of course, Joey would come along, review the job board, and change it all around based on what he thought made more sense. This usually involved a lot of confused drivers who were sent on their way without even knowing where they were going or what they were going to do when they got there. Once all drivers were dispatched, the general hubbub in the building would subside, and I was left to deal with the aftermath.

  “I might have to go out and do a few jobs myself today,” our fearless leader said, looking at the board.

  He wouldn’t have had to if he followed the original plan. Once again, I had to remind him that his Class D license expired over fifteen years ago. That was normally enough to get his mind off of it.

  By noon, things had calmed down, and I was able to go into the spare office to use a more private phone. I called home to see if there had been any messages left. There was nothing. I went into the bathroom, hoping to wash my face with cold water. I stopped when I saw Joey leave the office wielding a large ruler, an exacto knife, and of course his dog, sitting comfortably in his jacket like a baby kangaroo.

  I turned to Pat. “What’s he doing?”

  The kid smirked. “Well, he figured there was no point in having our phone number on the portable toilets. He said that when a job site needs another one, they typically contact their head office who orders it. So he’s decided it makes sense to cut the phone number portion off of the labels.”

  I gave myself a few minutes to process that, but it still made no sense.

  “Okay. Sure.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I shook my head. “Yeah, I’m good. Just not sleeping well.”

  Fortunately, our mutual employer was distracted from his dynamic attempt at self-inflicted corporate espionage when one of his visitors came a calling. In order to make him feel like a pillar of the community, he had a steady string of dignitaries pop in from time to time, representatives from various organizations or other local businesses who would enter his office, endure his bullshit and bravado, and fire back with their own inflated egoisms. Joey entered the building with another man in tow, similar in age and stature, who gave us all a courteous smile before being ushered through to his office. He didn’t introduce us, which I wasn’t disappointed with. But I found it odd. He normally liked to flaunt his foreign dignitaries.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” said Pat.

  “He kept it quiet,” I said. “Maybe he’s an inspector. Or one of the Masons. He’s really been proud of his association with them since he’s joined.”

  “Nah, I met them. He had me go with him to one of the lodge meetings.”

  “Seriously? When?”

  “A few weeks ago. I didn’t tell you ‘cause I thought you might be jealous.”

  “Seriously?” I asked flatly.

  “Well, I know better now,” he admitted.

  “How’d it go?”

  “As well as could be expected. There were only about four people there. Ourselves included. And one of them was only there to fix the table. It was…enlightening.”

  “The many mysteries of the
secret society.”

  “Oh, that reminds me. Jack called for you while you were on the phone just now.”

  I tried to suppress my physical reaction to his statement. “What?”

  “Well, I think it was him. I’ve only spoken to him a few times. Is this one of his numbers?”

  Pat handed me a small piece of paper with a number scrawled on it.

  I shook my head. “No, but I’ll try it. Thanks.”

  I went back into the private office and called the number. It rang about twenty times, but I refused to give up. Someone eventually picked up, and informed me it was a public payphone. When I returned to my desk, I saw Joey walking his visitor out of the office. They seemed cordial, regardless of what they were talking about. The older man, possibly in his late sixties, offered me another warm smile and said “pleasure to see you again,” as though we had met before. Who knows? It’s hard to remember the faces of all Joey’s visitors. I simply smiled back.

  ***

  By the end of the day, the drivers started coming back with empty trucks and full invoices, dropping off cash or cheques or purchase order numbers. I got on well with some of them, whereas the others did not seem to appreciate my presence in the office. I guess there was a certain normalcy in an industrial office that my presence did not conform to.

  “Is this enough?” one driver asked suggestively.

  He dropped the invoices and cash on my desk. He was a grossly overweight and under-showered middle-aged man, perfectly suited for a life of pumping other people’s shit.

  “Not for you it isn’t,” I muttered. I hated touching the money when they dropped it off.

  “Maybe next time I’ll make more,” he said with a snorting laugh as he glanced at one of the other drivers.

  His name was Todd. He was always one of the worst. At least he was gone. The others were more tolerable by comparison. You’d think after five years, they’d be more accepting of me. I guess I’m the fool for expecting that.

  The only up-side was today was a nice distraction from everything surrounding Jack’s abduction. It was nice to be stressed out by minor things for a change, rather than literal life-or-death scenarios. Normally, I felt nothing but relief when it was time to leave the office. But today, I simply did not want to leave. I made my way back into the city. I contemplated stopping at the store, but remembered I had no working cards, and no cash on me, so I just drove straight home.