The Devil's Copper

by Jamie Crothall

  She nodded.

  “Can we make our own way there?”

  “By all means.”

  “Good,” he said. “We’ll race you.” He then ushered me forward, using a small bit of force to urge me to keep up his pace. “Just kidding about the racing part!” he called back to her.

  “What the hell was that all about?” I gasped.

  “She knows something we don’t,” Walter said. “I hate when that happens. Let’s get there before the others do.”

  “What others?”

  “The others stuck doing their job, despite their interest in our presence. Rather, your presence.”

  Being that we were already downtown, there was no reason to go back to the car.

  ***

  It was a short walk to the station. When we arrived, Officer Simpson was already waiting for us in the main foyer.

  “I may have been kidding about racing here. But you weren’t,” Walter quipped.

  “This way please,” she said.

  She guided us past the front counter, into a room down a long, sterile hallway. I had never been this far into the station before. I found it unsettling. Even if I hadn’t done anything illegal. Then came the stifling realization I had a revolver in my purse.

  “Have a seat,” she said.

  She ushered us into a small office. It didn’t look like an interview room with two-way glass, like in the movies. But it wasn’t a conventional office either.

  “Look, I’m not sure what you think I’ve…”

  “Oh, I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong,” the officer assured me. “But that doesn’t mean you’re entirely safe.”

  “What do you know?” Walter asked.

  “He’s with you?” she asked, half-pointing to him.

  I nodded, while he looked somewhat insulted.

  “Have you found your boyfriend?”

  I shook my head, doing my best to feign embarrassment. “Oh, that, yes. Turns out it was just his friends playing a joke.”

  “On you? Or him?”

  “Both of us, really.”

  “And where is he now?”

  “Uh, away on business.”

  “Can you name these friends of his?”

  “Uh…”

  “Why were there so many cops around the medical centre?” Walter asked, thankfully saving me from my inability to lie on command.

  “We weren’t outside the medical centre, but the building next door. You know, the one where Mr. Jacky Spry has an office.” She turned to me. “You’re familiar with the office, Billie?”

  I nodded.

  “It was broken into last night. The landlord saw the busted door and called us.”

  “Did they take anything?”

  “Doesn’t look like it. They just messed the place up. Any idea why they might do that?”

  “No,” I insisted.

  “None at all?”

  “I don’t even know who would do such a thing.”

  “Well, here’s the interesting part. We caught the person who did it. Are you familiar with Michel Lussier?”

  “Mike?” I asked with a gasp. “He’s one of Jack’s employees! I have no idea why he would…”

  “The only reason I’m talking to you now is because of your visit the other day. If there’s something I need to know, you need to tell us, Billie. And if you’re afraid of someone…anyone…then you need to say so. We can look out for you.”

  It was heavily implied that ‘anyone’ referred to Walter, sitting next to me. I was a bit naïve, but I caught on to that pretty quick.

  “Riley, isn’t it?”

  The officer and I were both caught off guard by Walter’s interjection.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Officer Riley Simpson,” he continued. “I knew I recognized you. We’ve met.”

  “I honestly don’t think we have.”

  “Yeah. It was last year. We met at the New Year’s bash at the arena! You were there with your sister.”

  There was an awkward pause. “I really don’t see how this is relevant.”

  “I thought it was relevant, but I guess not.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “I’m implying you have a butterfly tattoo on your thigh and..”

  “That’s enough!” she snapped. She looked to me. “I have never met this man in my life.” Then back to Walter. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Walter sat back and put his hands up in a meager surrender. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I think I got mixed up. I assure you I haven’t been drinking.” He turned his attention to me. “Billie, do you mind counting to ten?”

  “I don’t think that’s…”

  “You don’t have to listen to him,” she insisted.

  “Consider it a sobriety test,” he explained, not that it would have made much more sense to the officer.

  “Look, I’m trying to be helpful, but if you want to help Jack then…”

  I cursed myself for doing it, but I started. “One…”

  Walter leaned forward.

  “Two…”

  “Billie, I think that you should…”

  “Three…”

  Walter sat back.

  “You’re right,” he said, putting up his hands. “I’ve been far too argumentative. I’ll leave. This way?” he asked, needlessly pointing to the door. The officer nodded. “I’ll be waiting outside, princess.”

  We both looked bewildered as he left.

  “Billie, are you…”

  “He’s okay,” I said, though I was hardly convincing, as I wasn’t sure myself. “He’s not all there. He’s a friend of the family. Anyway, I should go too.”

  She reached out across the desk and put her hand on mine as I attempted to stand. “I’m here to help you,” she said softly. “Do you understand?”

  I slowly nodded. “I understand. Thank you.”

  “You have my card,” she said as she withdrew her hand.

  ***

  Walter had already left the building when I reached the lobby. I caught up to him leaving the station grounds.

  “What did you do?” I accused.

  “She’s a tough nut, that one. She doesn’t look like much. But she’s tough.”

  “What happened?”

  “Let’s just say she has her suspicions about a few fellow officers. Well, more than a few. But moreso officers Murray and Jones. Can’t say I’ve heard those names before.”

  “How did you get her to tell you that?”

  “She doesn’t have much evidence. Mostly just caught them taking bribes. Not enough to risk her career over. She’s suspicious there’s more to it though.”

  “Jesus, Walter! Stop for a second,” I snapped. He finally slowed his pace. “How did you get that info out of her?”

  His response was quite simple. “Princess, don’t ask the butcher about his job if you want to enjoy the steak, okay?”

  He continued walking, separating us by a few feet before I started to catch up to him again. I wanted to ask more questions, but I didn’t know if I wanted to know. It was all theoretical anyway; the officer was clearly in one piece and unscathed. I shook my head and refused to give in to his delusions.

  “Why would Mike rob Jack? It makes no sense!”

  “That’s half the question,” he replied. “The other half is why would he do it if he knew he’d get caught?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Walter started counting off on his fingers. “One, Mike knows Jack doesn’t keep any cash in the office. So he had nothing to gain. Two, he would be stupid to risk it if there was any chance Jack was around.”

  “You mean…?”

  “I think Mike was paid to rough the place up. And I think he only did it because he knew Jack wasn’t around.”

  “Do you think they’d let us talk to Mike?”

  “I doubt it. He’ll be out in less than twenty four hours anyway. She doubts they’ll hold him longer than they have to, especially if he
has help from the inside.”

  “So let’s wait twenty four hours then,” I said.

  “I don’t know where he lives. Jack probably has a record of that. But I don’t think heading back to his office would be a wise idea. Unless you know where we can find him…”

  “Jack said that Mike’s favourite place was the Laurentian.”

  Walter rolled his eyes. “This guy keeps getting worse and worse.”

  “Why don’t we go there tomorrow and talk to him?”

  “I like how you’re thinking. Could be dangerous though. You still have the gun, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. As long as we still have a weapon with two bullets we should be safe.”

  “Three bullets.”

  “Whatever.”

  ***

  It was a quiet drive back to the apartment. Walter’s math concerned me, but I decided not to overthink it. We parked and made our way to the front of the building. As we were about to round the corner, Walter stopped, reached his hand out, and thrust me up against the wall.

  “Jesus Christ!” he gasped.

  “What the hell?”

  Walter looked at the corner that we nearly approached. His eyes were wide and his hand, which still held me against the wall, was shaking.

  “Walter, what’s going on?”

  “You were just shot.”

  “What?”

  “In the head.”

  “What??”

  “I just saw you die…”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “You can’t go home.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Give me your jacket.”

  I didn’t feel the need to question him. I simply took off my denim jacket and handed it to him. He looked down and found a broken hockey stick. Because it was Northern Ontario, and of course there was a broken hockey stick nearby. He hung it on the edge and poked it around the corner. There was almost immediately a loud cracking sound at which point my jacket moved as though caught in a small gust of wind. He released it immediately and we both turned and ran back to the car. I had never run so fast, I had never driven so fast, and I had never breathed so fast in my life.

  “My place,” he finally found the breath to say. “We’ll lay low there.”

  ***

  I had never been to his apartment before. It was an old building off Barrydowne Road I hadn’t noticed before. Walter had me park around the back. We both sat quietly in the car a moment before we dared get out. I followed him around to the side entrance, and through a series of halls. It looked like the interior of a prison complex.

  At his door, he rattled through a series of keys before finding the right one. He locked the bolt and chain once we got inside.

  I don’t know what I was expecting. It certainly wasn’t what I thought it would be. I always saw Walter as a lazy slob, so I imagined him living like a hoarder, wallowing in his own filth and having a kitchen piled with dirty dishes and empty bottles. In actuality, his place was barren and minimalistic. There was no clutter, as there was very little to clutter the place with. No knick-knacks, no ornaments, no magazines, no dirty mugs…he only seemed to have the bare minimum he needed to survive. Everything had its place and was kept there. It was an OCD person’s dream.

  Walter drew the curtains, turned off the kitchen light, and double-checked the lock on the door.

  “You good?” he asked. I nodded. “You, uh, need a hug or something?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “What about you? You just saw me get shot.”

  “No, I saw you die. It was very disturbing.”

  “Well, I’m alive. And…I mean…thanks to you? I guess?”

  Was I really buying into this? Did I have a choice at this point?

  “So now what do we do?” he asked.

  “We stick to the plan,” I said. “We need to talk to Mike and find out why he sold out Jack.”

  “That’s probably not the safest thing right now.”

  “What else can we do?”

  “What are we going to say when we find him?”

  “Not ‘we,’ ” I insisted. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll try to reason with him.”

  Walter shook his head. “That won’t work. I’ve met him a few times. He’s an arrogant little shit. Good actor, but not much good for anything else. Have you ever met him?”

  “Only once, when he pretended to be a fan of my future self. Jack spoke about him a lot. But I suppose I’ve never actually met him.”

  “I have a plan then. Some of my ex’s clothes are still in my closet. You were about the same size. Why don’t you see if her dress fits you? Maybe you can try charming some information out of him.”

  “You want me to what?”

  “You don’t think you can pull it off?”

  I hesitated. Could I? “I mean…I probably…”

  “I know, I know,” he said. “Goes against the principle of feminism. Using your looks instead of your brain. But if you charm him a bit, he might be willing to give a few details. Just tart yourself up a bit.”

  I didn’t like the idea. I had plenty of good reasons, not all of which I wanted to get into. “Can we call that Plan B?”

  Walter threw himself onto the couch without even removing his coat or shoes. “Suit yourself. We’ll talk in the morning. Her stuff’s in my closet. You can sleep on the bed.”

  “Can I get a shower?”

  “Mi casa es su casa.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “Oh and Billie?”

  “Yeah?” I asked, pausing to look at the back of the couch.

  His hand raised over the back to point at me. “Don’t call that cop.”

  I didn’t reply, but he didn’t follow up.

  ***

  His bathroom was as clean and unencumbered as the rest of his apartment. I didn’t snoop through his medicine cabinet or anything, but there was little to be found except for a cleanly rolled up tube of toothpaste, one bottle of all-in-one shampoo, and another bottle of liquid soap. And just enough folded towels to fit the basic needs. I had a quick, hot shower, and wrapped a towel around me to head into the bedroom. When I made the quick transition into the hall, I could already hear him snoring. I sealed myself in his room and took it in. A neatly made bed, one plain dresser, and a bedside table with an alarm that was blinking 12:00. The only bit of flourish was a dog collar and leash on top of his dresser. I assume that once belonged to ‘Shep.’

  I opened his closet and looked inside. It felt invasive, but it was by his own invitation. I pushed aside a number of clean plaid shirts, and found a few feminine items pushed to the far right. There were two dresses, one of which I would not even justify with consideration. There was also a denim jacket, though it was cut shorter, like a bolero jacket. I figured I’d claim that in exchange for the one now lying in my apartment parking lot with a bullet hole through it.

  Reluctantly, I pulled out the grey mini dress and held it against my body before trying it on. It was meant to be form-fitting, and only went down to mid-thigh level. Trying it on felt weird. I told myself there was no reason I shouldn’t, but it felt unnatural. I wasn’t sure about the overall image reflected in the mirror on the back of his door. But when I put the denim jacket over it, and topped it off with an old Sudbury Wolves baseball cap, it wasn’t so bad. It was enough of a compromise to make me feel a little bit more comfortable. Actually, when I looked at the overall image in the mirror, I started to feel someone ‘okay’ with what I saw. I ran my hands over my stomach and sides as though to smooth out the rough spots. But ultimately, I had to come to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, I might be able to pull it off. The dress, that is. The whole task of charming a recently released criminal was a whole other ordeal to wrestle with.

  Ready for the next day’s task, I laid down on Walter’s perfectly made bed and stared at the ceiling until I fell asleep.

  SEVEN

  It was a dream. Let me state that outright, so you don’t get even a fr
action of the hope I did. I hate my brain; it knows just how to torture me sometimes, and that night it chose the worst way possible. I dreamt I was woken up by Jack. I was in my own bed – our bed – and he gently nudged my shoulder to wake me up without startling me.

  “Billie,” he whispered in my ear. It was the most soothing sound I had ever heard.

  Even in my dream, I felt like I was waking from a nightmare.

  “Don’t ever leave me again,” I scolded as he lay down beside me.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. His words echoed in my head as I woke. “I won’t do it again.”

  The gentle nudge of his hand on my shoulder carried through into wakefulness. Only it was translated by a cold prodding by something small in my arm. I didn’t want to open my eyes, but as the veil cleared, I had no choice.

  I looked up and saw a man standing over me. I had no idea who he was. He wore dark clothing, but had spikey blonde hair and sunglasses. He put his finger to his lips in a stern instruction to be silent, but he could tell as well as I could that the involuntary impulse was racing up my throat. I tried to stifle it, but I was losing the fight. He reached out his left gloved hand and put it over my mouth. His right still held the gun that had poked my arm.

  “Make a sound and you’re dead. Understand?” he said.

  His voice sounded like sandpaper being dragged over concrete. When I was able to gather my senses, or at least as much of them as I could, I nodded obediently. He removed his hand to test my compliance. I wasn’t about to disappoint him. Not with the gun so close to my head.

  “Get up,” he said.

  I was wary my legs wouldn’t hold me, but I shifted into a seated position and attempted to stand. The dress made it difficult. He looked me up and down and smirked, shaking his head as though I were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen.

  “Out,” he said, gesturing to the door with the pistol. “Don’t make a sound.”

  The door was ajar. I slipped through it to avoid making it creak. When I entered the living room, I couldn’t see much. The lights were out, but I could make out the shapes of three other men. The man with the shades nudged me to stand in front of the couch. He never left my side. One of the other men reached down and turned on a lamp, illuminating the room enough to make out some faces. Walter was still asleep on the couch, hence the silence I supposed. There were two generic younger men, hired heavies I imagined, and between them was a face unknown to me until two days ago. He was an older man with greying hair. The man my boss had in his office. He looked at me and winked, giving me the same smile of familiarity he had when he departed. When he was assured that everyone was in place, he stepped forward and kicked the couch, enough to wake up Walter. He jumped with a start and swirled around as he sat up, taking in his surroundings.