“Hi, darlin,’ ” he said with a smile.
He had a gold tooth. A frickin’ gold tooth.
“Not interested.”
“Bitch,” he muttered, and walked away.
What an enlightened age.
It was closer to one o’clock when Mike finally entered the bar. My whole body tensed at the sight of him. Much like the first time I saw him, waiting by my car.
“Tony!” he called out.
“Hey Mike,” replied the bartender. “Where ya been?”
“Locked up,” he proclaimed proudly.
“You’re kidding?”
“Nah, man,” he said, taking a place at the bar only three stools down. “They can’t hold me though, can they? Told them they had no right. You should have seen them nearly shit themselves when they realized they had to let me go.”
The only good thing to come of that exchange was the sideways look the bartender shot me as he walked by. Clearly Mike and I weren’t the only seasoned actors in the establishment. Once the new patron was given his beer, and the bartender found other things to busy himself with, I decided to get myself into character. I found my muse, which was something between every drunken broad I ever watched at closing time, and my mother, once she had a few shots of tequila. Yeah, she and I didn’t have much of a relationship anymore. Or ever.
“So what were you in for?” I asked. I kept my head down to further the mystique, as well as to hide my face as much as possible. I could see him turn out of the corner of my eye, and he didn’t immediately turn away, which was a good start.
He took a sip of beer. “Breaking and entering.”
He was trying to play it cool.
“Interesting,” I replied. “Get to keep anything?”
He shifted in his seat to turn towards me. “It’s not always about stealing, honey. Only junkies steal for quick cash.”
I gave him a quick glance over my left shoulder. “And what do you steal for?”
He shifted over one stool closer. “Oh, honey, I didn’t steal anything except someone’s trust.”
“You must have hated him.”
He shrugged. “It’s not about that. Truth was, he was alright. A bit of a loser. But whatever. Money was too good.”
“I thought you didn’t steal.”
He moved another seat closer. “I’m an artist, I get paid for the work I do. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“Sometimes you just have to send a message.”
“And what was your message?”
“It wasn’t my message, honey. I just passed it on.”
“For who?”
He moved one final seat closer. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”
I was getting too brazen, I had to readjust my course.
“I don’t fuck around with losers,” I said. I then added, “I don’t fuck them either.”
The possibility was enough to break down his meager defenses.
“Well then you and I will be alright, won’t we? Some guy paid me a few grand to fuck up the guy’s place. Easy money, easy work.”
“But you got caught,” I replied with a taunting smirk.
“Part of the plan. Why else do you think I got let out?”
“You sure they didn’t just sell you out?”
“Nah,” he said. But he paused. Maybe he never considered that. “Nah, they’re good to me. Just one of the hazards of the job.”
“That’s pretty hot,” I said.
I was rewarded by having his hand placed on my thigh.
“You don’t know the half of it. Want to get out of here? I kinda hate this place.”
“So who are you working for?” I asked. I immediately cursed myself for my impatience. I felt his hand squeeze my thigh.
“Why are you asking so many questions?”
I sipped the last of my drink. “ ‘Cause I’m drunk, and I’m bored, and everyone else in here is boring.”
“You sure about that?”
Okay. Don’t panic, Billie. “Do they have condoms in the bathroom?”
His hand relented slightly. “I’m good, don’t worry. I’m carrying.”
I put my hand on top of his. “Oh honey, you’re gonna need more than one.”
I patted his hand and he took the insistence. He downed the last of his beer and stood. “Don’t go anywhere. I gotta piss anyway.”
I held in my shudder until he was around the corner. It was good to get it out of my system. I took one last sip from my drink, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and tossed the twenty on the counter.
“This cover him as well?” the bartender asked.
“God no,” I muttered as I quickly made my way out of the bar.
***
I nearly threw myself into Riley’s car, and locked the door as soon as I closed it.
“How’d it go?” Riley asked. “I nearly came in.”
“He’s a creep,” I said.
“I already knew that. I need more info than that for twenty bucks.”
“Jack always spoke highly of him.”
“Billie, focus.”
“I didn’t get a name, but he was paid to mess the place up only. I think they tried to sell him out by calling the cops on him, but he’s dumb enough to think that was part of the plan. Sorry, I didn’t get more than that. I asked too much too quick.”
“Where is he now?”
“Buying condoms from a machine in the bathroom. Can we leave?”
I looked over my shoulder at the door to see if he was coming out to look for me.
What I saw was far more frightening. Shay. I don’t know where he came from, but he was heading toward the door to the bar.
“We need to leave. Right now!”
“What? Why?”
I ducked down out of sight. “Just drive, please!”
Riley held off any further questions and quickly backed out of the parking lot.
Once we were on our way, I explained. “That was the one who was holding me in the apartment!”
“The guy with the sunglasses?”
“Yeah. They call him Shay. Do you know anything about him?”
She shook her head. “Can’t say it’s familiar.”
Riley’s walkie-talkie crackled to life. It was difficult to understand what was being said.
“There’s a shooting,” she explained.
“Where?”
“Guess.” She picked up the walkie-talkie. “Dispatch, this is 519. Do you have a responder?”
“Copy, 519,” the radio crackled. “530 is en route.”
“Huh,” said Riley. “530 is Murray and Jones. Rather quick response, wouldn’t you say?”
“Are you going back there?”
“No. That would look suspicious as well. I need to get you out of here.”
“Where the hell am I going to go?”
“You can stay at my place tonight. I’m sure you haven’t had a good night’s sleep for a while.”
She wasn’t wrong. At least I would feel somewhat secure for once.
“Thank you,” I said. “I mean it. You’re really sticking your neck out for me.”
“Hey, solidarity right? Us girls gotta stick together.”
She had no idea how much that meant to me.
EIGHT
It took a lot of convincing to get Riley to allow me to go to work the next morning. And let's face it; I didn’t have that many good arguments to my name. I reminded her I did not necessarily ‘escape’ Shay; he simply fled, leaving me behind. By disappearing altogether, I could end up endangering Walter. Also, we had no reason to think they knew about my rendez-vous with Mike before they…did whatever they ended up doing to him. Merely ‘appearing’ at work like all is well, especially when Frankie is known to visit, would be a sign of good faith. Don’t get me wrong; I thought the idea was insane too. But until Walter and Jack were safe, I had to do what I could. I just needed Riley’s blessing, to feel like I wasn’t losing my mind.
&n
bsp; I also needed a ride, because I was broke, and my car was at Walter’s place.
“Don’t leave the office,” she insisted. “You’re most likely to be safe if you stay somewhere you can be accounted for.”
I nodded. “What are you doing today?”
She shrugged. “I’m going to check in and pretend everything’s normal until I hear anything to the contrary. You let me know the moment you get any kind of contact from anyone. You have my number still?” I nodded. “Call me. Leave a message. If I’m not at my desk, I’ll be checking in all day.”
“One more thing,” I said.
“I’m not giving you your gun back.”
“No, not that. I need a ride.”
“You need a change of clothes, too. I’ll get you some.”
***
“Where were you yesterday?” was the first thing I was assaulted with when I entered the office.
Fortunately, it was from Pat. But his urgency meant that question had been circulating a while. I was late as well.
“Is that Billie?” a booming voice demanded. For once, Joey wasn’t the most intimidating person in my life. Yet his bluster was still not something I wanted to deal with.
“I’m here,” I called out.
Joey emerged from his office, fists on hips and dog in jacket. His scowl was more severe than usual.
I invested in a few wild assumptions.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said. “And I’m sorry about yesterday, I would have called but…”
He reached into his jacket and held out his bichon frise. “Take her.”
“…what?”
“You’re on dog duty today. I have an important meeting at the lodge.”
This was hardly in my job description, but if it got me off the hook, I was okay with that. I awkwardly took the dog from him. It began to panic and whimper the moment it was handed over. The damn thing was rarely away from him.
“Take care of her,” he said.
Only I couldn’t hear him for the dog’s yelping. “What?”
“I said take good care of her,” he shouted. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
He left, but he left the dog behind in my care and it began yelping all the more frantically when it saw him depart. Right in my damn ear.
“You’re lucky,” Pat said. “He obviously wasn’t going to trust me with it.”
I put the dog down on the floor to let it roam.
It just sat there, in the middle of the floor, and continued to cry out for it’s parasitic master. Eventually, it cowered over by my feet under the desk and continued, only this time with an echo.
The phone rang. I wanted to answer it, but there was no way I would be heard.
“Shut up,” I hissed at the dog.
It kept wailing.
“Dammit, be quiet!” Pat shouted.
It continued.
I reached down and shoved the dog, hoping the sudden physical reaction would startle it enough to break it’s fixation. Nope. It only got louder.
“How the hell are we supposed to work?” Pat asked, his hand hovering over the phone that was still ringing.
Then the dog stopped. Pat didn’t see what happened. All he saw was my body shift a little bit, followed by a sudden stop to the whimpering.
The dog then slowly crept away.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“Pat, don’t ask the butcher about his job if you want to enjoy the steak. Answer that, will you?”
I think he was a little afraid of me. I was starting to realize I was okay with that.
Once the dog stopped being a nuisance, the morning was able to proceed as normal. Or as near to it as I could pretend. In truth, any time a vehicle pulled into our lot, I braced myself for the worst, convinced it was Frankie, or his thugs. Worse yet, Shay.
Shortly after lunch, a cab pulled into the lot and right up to the building. The driver got out and approached the office.
“Hey. Is there a ‘Billie’ here?”
I gulped. “That’s me,” I replied.
Was I being sent for? Was I going to be taken somewhere?
“Okay, cool. Uh…I have a delivery? I guess you could say?”
I stood, not so much to approach, as to face my fate on my own two feet.
“What is it?”
He seemed a little out of his depth. “You’re going to want to come and see.” He pointed to Pat. “You may need to help with this.”
“You don’t have to get involved,” I told Pat, putting out a hand to hold him at bay.
Pat laughed. He didn’t see how the seriousness of my tone could match the awkwardness of the situation. He followed me as we stepped outside the office and approached the cab.
“He asked me to bring him here,” the driver said, opening the door.
Walter was huddled up asleep, wrapped in his trenchcoat.
“He’s not moved since,” he continued. “To be honest, I pulled over once to see if he was still breathing. I think we’re going to have to lift him out. Unless you think he needs to go to a hospital?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head vigorously, both in insistence and relief. “He’s fine. He just has narcolepsy.” I turned to Pat. “Can you help me?”
“You know this guy?” asked Pat. “What are we going to do with him?”
Good question. We couldn’t just leave him in the office, in case Joey came back. I had no car to drive him somewhere, and really had no ‘somewhere’ to drive him to.
“The old Mack,” I said.
We had an old Mack truck at the back of the lot. It was a 1979 tank truck, barely roadworthy, but Joey insisted on keeping it licensed. People would come and offer to buy it for scrap metal. But Joey insisted it should remain operational. I assumed it was a sentimental attachment, rather than a bad business decision. Either way, it hadn’t moved since 1995.
“Go get the keys,” I insisted.
Pat ran back to the office.
I turned to the driver. “Did he pay you?”
“No. He said it would be C.O.D.”
I rolled my eyes. “Grab the petty cash box,” I called out to Pat. Then, back to the driver, “Extra ten bucks if you help us move him and never mention this again.”
“Deal.”
Fortunately, all the drivers were out on jobs, and the phones were quiet. We moved Walter from the cab to the unused truck at the back of the building, traipsing through overgrown weeds and weaving through old equipment and machinery Joey refused to get rid of. We managed to hoist Walter into the truck, stretching him across the storage space behind the two front seats. Not once did Walter stir during the whole ordeal. If his sleep patterns were based on his mental exertion, I shuddered to think how many days worth of work he did in the last twenty-four hours.
“You sure he’s okay?” asked the cabbie.
“This is hardly the first time this has happened,” Pat insisted.
All right, kid. Nice one. He totally had my back despite not knowing what the hell was going on.
I paid the cab driver. He left us, with only the distant ringing of a phone and an awkward silence between Pat and me.
“Look, I know this is probably…”
“Your life, your business,” he said.
I smiled. “You’re a good kid.”
“Tell Joey that. As many times as possible. I’ll go get the phone.”
I returned to the old Mack truck to see if I could rouse Walter. Which was doubtful; our awkward transportation of his limp, lifeless body didn’t seem to.
“Walter,” I called, shaking him.
When that didn’t work, I tried raising my voice. I was in the back lot of a garage in an industrial park backing on to the woods. What did I have to be subtle about?
“Walter!!”
He shifted slightly. It was only after a vigorous shaking that he finally opened a single eyelid.
“…whuh?”
“Walter! It’s Billie. Are you okay?”
“…buh…” he
muttered groggily as his hand reached out. He ended up putting his hand about ten inches away from where my shoulder was.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I said. “It’s okay, don’t worry. You’re safe. No one will find you here.”
“…guh…”
“Hey, don’t go back to sleep. Focus. Did you do what you had to do?”
“…yuh…”
“Good,” I said. I exhaled a breath it felt I’d been holding for hours. “So you gave the info to their inside guy?”
“…nuh…”
“What? Hey, wake up!”
He shook his head slightly as he tried to find the ability to speak in more than grunts. “…gone…”
“Gone? Who’s gone? Their guy?” Oh god, what the hell was his name again? “Campbell, right?”
His head gave a shallow nod.
“…pocket…”
With that, he lost consciousness again. There would be no more rousing him anytime soon.
I checked his coat pockets. Go figure it would have to be the pocket he was resting on. After shifting him around, I was able to extract a small notepad. I flipped through it and found a bunch of scribbled codes and passwords. It meant nothing to me, but hopefully it meant something to Frankie.
I threw an old sheet over Walter as a makeshift blanket, and stroked his head as though he were a sleeping puppy. I climbed down from the truck and returned to the office.
“He good?” Pat asked.
“He’ll be fine.”
“Are you good?”
I had to ponder that. “I think so.”
“We have three more jobs at the Creighton mine. Everyone hates that run. Should I give them to Todd?”
Everyone hates Todd. “Absolutely.”
I spent some time debating what to do next. It seemed Walter did the job he was sent to do. But for whatever reason, their inside guy was unavailable. I had the book of codes, but without contact from their inside guy, they may have thought that Walter wasn’t playing ball, so to speak. As much as I hated the idea, I figured I had to contact Frankie myself, to tell him we had the information he wanted.
“Pat, you remember that guy Joey had in his office the other day?”
The Devil's Copper Page 9