The Devil's Copper

by Jamie Crothall

  “Which one?”

  Good point. “The one he never introduced.”

  “Oh, him. Yeah. I’m pretty sure this is the guy,” he said, scanning his notepad. “He called yesterday. Asked Joey to call him back. Frank…something-or-other.”

  “You got a phone number?”

  “Yeah. You want it?”

  The fact that I immediately stood and walked over was all the answer he needed.

  Pat quickly scribbled it onto a sticky note and handed it to me.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” I said.

  I went to the back office to use a private phone. I rehearsed my dialogue a few times and gave myself a moment to work up the courage before calling the number.

  “Greater Sudbury Chamber of Commerce,” a voice greeted. “How may I direct your call?”

  Are you frickin’ kidding me?

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m looking for Frank Chambers?”

  Was his last name a pseudonym? Or one hell of a coincidence?

  “Just one moment please. I’ll put you through.”

  Well what do you know?

  The hold music was playing ‘Lovers in a Dangerous Time’ by the Barenaked Ladies. It was halfway through the entire song by time someone picked up the call.

  “Joey,” he said. “I told you I’d get back to you in a few days. I guess you’re more eager than I thought about that disposal permit.”

  “This isn’t Joey,” I said flatly.

  There was a pause, as he questioned whatever form of caller I.D. he had.

  “Who is this?”

  “Billie.”

  Long pause.

  “Walter’s friend.”

  His tone changed dramatically. “What makes you think you can contact me? Here, of all places?”

  “Look. I’m just trying to wrap this up and get you what you want. I have Walter’s book of notes. Apparently your man Campbell wasn’t available.”

  “My man Campbell is dead. Apparently he killed himself yesterday afternoon. Shame though, so near the end of his contract.”

  I tried not to relay any reaction. “I’m sorry to hear that. Walter kept up his end though. I have the notebook.”

  “How is Walter?”

  “Tired, as you can imagine.”

  “Maybe I should swing by and thank him for his good work. Is he home?”

  “No.”

  “Well, where is he now then?”

  “I’d rather not say,” I replied. “I have the notebook. I’d like to give it to you. Can we do that?”

  “We certainly can. I’m willing to meet with you and Walter…”

  “No Walter. Just me.”

  He laughed. “Fine. Meet me in the parking lot of the Waste Management building at eight o’clock tonight.”

  I did not immediately reply.

  “Is there a problem with that?”

  “You might see how I’d find that a little concerning.”

  “You’re braver when you’re on the phone, aren’t you? Alright. Eight o’clock at the parking lot in the back of the Southridge Mall.”

  Best place to go if you don’t want to run into anyone else. At all.

  “And you’ll have Jack?” I asked.

  “I told you. I don’t have Jack. But I can get him for you. Give me what I want, and you’ll have what you want in no time.”

  He hung up before any more could be said.

  ***

  I finished my day optimistic it would all be over soon, overshadowed only by Joey’s dog crying out for it’s master again. Pat made sure to keep the dog away from me. Joey returned, regaled us with tales of the lodge meeting, then took his dog home just after four o’clock. At the lead–up to quitting time, I debated whether to contact Riley and fill her in, but decided not to. I hated leaving her out of the equation, especially after she placed so much trust in me. But I couldn’t risk everything going awry with police involvement. I just wanted to hand over the notebook, get my Jack back, and be done with the whole thing.

  I ended up working late that evening. I really had nowhere else to go. At seven o’clock, I took the keys to one of the service vehicles and locked up the office. It was a pick-up truck with a club cab, which I figured I could use to sleep in, if I had to. I made my way to the other end of town and waited in the parking lot. It was overcast, making it appear darker than it already was. Eventually another car arrived, a white Lincoln Town Car. Two generic heavies got out, (likely the two police officers on the take), followed by Frankie. I did not see Shay.

  “Where’s Walter?” called Frankie, as I approached.

  “I told you he wasn’t coming,” I replied.

  “I thought you were joking,” he said.

  Oh god. Was this going wrong already?

  “I have what you want,” I said. “Isn’t that good enough?”

  He gestured me forward. “Show me.”

  I eyed the two men carefully as I stepped forward. The fact that Shay, his ‘good shot’ was not visible had me worried. I felt as though a bullet could strike me at any given moment.

  “I never wanted anything to do with this,” I said, holding out the book. “Not me or Jack. I just want this to be over with.”

  I put the notebook in his hand. He kept his bemused look fixed upon me as he opened it before finally scanning the contents. He then handed it to one of his men.

  “We’ll assess this info and verify it. If it’s what we want, you’ll hear from us soon.”

  “Thank you,” I stated, firmly as I could.

  It was just starting to rain.

  Frankie had his men get back into the car.

  Frankie hesitated. “Oh, one thing though. You’re a bit misinformed, I think.”

  “About what?”

  “You said neither you or Jack wanted to be a part of this.” He then shook his head. “You’re only half right. Your boy Jack knew what he was getting into. If you see him, and I mean ‘if,’ remind him this is what happens when people don’t pay up.”

  Frankie started to get into the car.

  I had to toss his implications aside to ask one more question before he left.

  “You’ll leave us alone?”

  Frankie got into the car, rolled down the window, grinned and then nodded as the car drove away.

  I stood there in the rain until the realization I had survived the ordeal struck home. I got into the truck and started to drive away. I wasn’t sure where I was going. Eventually I simply decided to go home. If Frankie was to be believed, perhaps I might be safe now after all.

  I found my place in no further disrepair than when I was there last. I checked each room. The place was empty. As if tempting fate, I lay on the bed, waiting for sleep to come. It surprisingly didn’t take too long.

  NINE

  I didn’t want it to be a dream. Not this time. Jack’s hand gently touched my shoulder. His voice softly whispered in my ear. He drew me out of a deep sleep with such feather-like care that it was the most natural and seamless transition I had ever experienced.

  “Billie.”

  “…”

  I was afraid to open my eyes in case I was wrong.

  “Billie,” he said again, a tickled laugh in his voice.

  I allowed the world to come into focus. He remained a blur as everything sharpened. So wary was I to confirm what I needed to be true.

  “How long have you been asleep?”

  “I don’t…”

  “Your beeper is going off.”

  My eyes sprung open. Why did it take that to get my full attention? The room was silent, except for the pouring rain beating on the window. Nothing was said by me, and nothing was said by Jack. Jack, who sat on the edge of the bed waiting for me.

  “…is this real?”

  He smiled and squeezed my hand.

  “It’s real.”

  I scooted up into a seated position and took it all in. It had to be real. He didn’t have a halo, or a perfect completion. Rather, he looked roughed-up and worse fo
r wear. He had a partially healed black eye, and scratches on his arm. And he was still wearing the same clothes from Saturday night.

  “You’re…alive?”

  He nodded.

  I lunged forward and hugged him. I wrapped my arms around him, felt he was real, and refused to let go. I sobbed like the fragile mess I was as I gripped his shirt and buried my face in his chest.

  “I missed you so much…”

  “I can’t believe everything you did for me,” he said.

  “I wore a dress,” I pouted.

  “And I missed it?”

  “I almost shot a policewoman.”

  “Wait, what?”

  I pulled away. “It’s a long story. Don’t worry, she’s cool.”

  “Billie, we need to go.”

  “Where?”

  “Away. Far away. Just for a while.”

  My heart sank. Though the concept wasn’t terrible, his motivation disturbed me. “Why? They said we were free.”

  “I don’t trust them,” he said. He put his palm on my cheek and though he tried to speak calmly his words were dire. “Pack a bag. Just one bag. And we’ll get out of here. We’ll go down south for a few months.”

  “None of our cards work.”

  “I can get some money.”

  “The car isn’t here.”

  “We’ll call a cab. Please, Billie. Just get some things together, okay?”

  “Wait,” I insisted, clutching his arm as he tried to pull his hand away. “Frankie said you should have seen this coming.”

  “Billie, now is not the…”

  “You got into some shit. I get it. You’ll explain it all to me. I just need to know if there’s anything else.”

  “There’s nothing else.”

  “No, don’t just say it,” I insisted. “Look at me. Tell me that there’s nothing else I should know about.”

  Jack held my face in his hands. “Billie, there is nothing else. I promise you. I got involved with Frankie. I’ll explain it all later. But that’s the only loose thread. I just want to leave until things settle down.”

  “Do we have to even come back?”

  He gave a slight chuckle then shrugged. “No, I suppose not.”

  We kissed, then scrambled to gather a few necessities. We mentioned things we needed as we criss-crossed paths through the apartment, looking for the bare essentials. When we were done, we stood at the door, each with one packed bag in hand. We took one last look over our shoulders at our apartment before heading to the door.

  “Think we could use the truck for a few weeks?” he asked, clearly having seen the service vehicle parked outside.

  The phone rang just as the realization hit. No, really. It happened just like that – one of those coincidences you only see on TV.

  “Don’t answer it,” he insisted.

  But I knew I had to.

  I picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Billie, it’s Pat. Why aren’t you here?”

  “It’s…kind of a long story. Is Joey on the rampage again?”

  “It’s worse than that, Billie.”

  Pat was typically rather calm. So his tone was unsettling.

  “What is it?”

  “We had another backlog of emergency calls, because of the rain and thaw. Joey’s gone out and done a few jobs on his own.”

  “That’s his problem,” I sighed. “If he gets pulled over he gets pulled over. How many times can we…”

  “He took the ’79 Mack.”

  “Oh fuck.”

  “That’s what I said. I tried to distract him, but he was determined.”

  “Was Walter still in there?”

  The mention of his name caught more of Jack’s attention.

  “He was when I arrived at seven thirty. I checked on him for you.”

  What a sweetheart. “Where’s he headed now?”

  “You know that old mansion out in Azilda? Apparently we have to go there, like, twice every spring? He’s probably halfway there by now.”

  “You’re priceless, Pat. Thank you.”

  I hung up and turned to Jack.

  “We have to go help Walter.” To his credit, Jack looked conflicted, but he was leaning more to one side than I expected. “What’s the matter?”

  “Walter can take care of himself,” he said. “He’s…resourceful.”

  “Yeah, I know he is. Why didn’t you tell me he could see forward in time?”

  “I, uh…he told you?”

  “What are we waiting for? We have to help him! He really stuck his neck for you. For both of us!”

  “So, he’s in a truck?” he asked, piecing together the conversation I had.

  “Yeah. We get him, then we take him with us. Like you said, until things cool down. Look, I don’t like him cramping our style any more than I used to, but we owe him this. Why am I even explaining this to you?”

  He shook his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. The last few days have just…really shaken me.”

  He didn’t know the half of it.

  We headed to the truck and tossed the suitcases into the open back. He seemed surprised when I went for the driver’s seat.

  “You drive stick?”

  “I figured it out on my way home last night,” I said.

  We lurched out of the parking lot and made our way out of the city.

  ***

  I drove into the boonies, toward Azilda. It was mostly farmland and bushes, with a few collections of houses and stores scattered about. Fortunately, I knew where this house was. I had to look it up on a map several times to guide the drivers.

  Joey’s old Mack truck was easy to spot. The truck’s 800 gallon tank stuck out like a golden beacon, the bright blue letters proclaiming ‘JOEY,’ as though it meant something momentous. I pulled into the driveway and alongside the truck, opposite to the side facing the septic tank in the back yard.

  “Wait here,” I said.

  If Joey thought anything was out of the norm, he’d want to know more so he could wrestle some control over it.

  The sound of the pump churning away on the truck was deafening when I opened the door. I rounded the tanker and saw my fearless leader leaning over the opening of the septic tank, guiding a large hose as it sucked up sewage and rainwater. He had a pipe in his mouth and his dog in his jacket. I watched and hoped that one would fall into the tank, but in the end it wasn’t the one I really had my money on.

  “Shit,” Joey shouted.

  His pipe fell into the open tank. He pushed the hose to the side, then reached in to retrieve his pipe. He examined it, wiped it against his overalls, took out a dirty rag to give it an extra polishing off, then put it back in his mouth.

  “Jesus,” I muttered.

  Luckily, I was drowned out by the pump. At least the malaria would distract him while I got Walter out of the truck.

  I returned to the opposite side of the tanker, and climbed up to the cab. I opened the door and looked behind the seats. I pulled the blanket away and found Walter; still alive, still in one piece, and still sleeping.

  “Walter, wake up,” I snapped.

  Having sufficiently rested, he was a little easier to rouse this time.

  “What the hell is that noise?”

  “A septic truck pump.”

  He glanced around. “Where the hell am I?”

  “This would be said septic truck. Look, there’s no time to explain. I have Jack and we need to get you out of here. We’re going to go hit the casinos down south.”

  Though he looked like he was fighting a severe hangover, he managed to rally himself to the cause. “I’m in.”

  “Come on then,” I urged.

  I helped him get to his feet.

  “What’s happened?” he asked warily. “How long was I out?”

  “I gave Frankie the notebook, and he let Jack go. We’re in the clear.”

  “No,” he muttered. “No, we’re not.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  I
tried to help him get his leg over the stick shift.

  “I barely escaped, Billie. His cops tried to kill me.”

  “What?”

  As we tried to navigate his way around the driver’s seat, he stumbled and accidentally hit the steering wheel, nailing the horn.

  “Shit,” I muttered. I hurried him down and grabbed the sheet still trailing from him. “Get in the back of the pick-up.”

  Walter jumped in and put the blanket on him.

  I gestured to Jack to get down.

  “Billie?” my boss called.

  He appeared around the corner of the tanker.

  “Hey Joey,” I replied, doing my best to act natural.

  “What are you doing out here? Who said you could use a service vehicle?”

  “Pat told me you were on a job, so I thought I’d best check to see if the truck was still licensed. I couldn’t get you on the radio, so I came out. Sorry, I knocked the horn.”

  “The truck is still good,” he insisted.

  “I know. It’s a good truck. And it’s still licensed, I just checked.”

  “Well since you’re here, you might as well see what it’s like on a job site. You’ve never been to a pumping job, have you?”

  “Not one this big!”

  “Well now, it’s time to get educated. Come with me.”

  Joey patted his overall pockets and produced a package of tobacco. He juggled the pipe, the tobacco, and his clipboard while trying to pack his pipe.

  “Can you hold…”

  “I’ll hold the clipboard,” I insisted.

  He packed and lit his pipe, then nodded and took back the clipboard. My stomach churned just thinking about it.

  “Right. So, over here is the septic tank. It's normally about ten feet away from the house. You have to go into the basement and find the outlet, then follow it out into the back yard.”

  “Okay. Ten feet.”

  “Most times, you have to dig up the grass to get to the lid, unless they have some kind of removable one. People don’t like the risers showing, so they normally prefer to cover them up.”

  “Cover the risers,” I repeated, looking over my shoulder.

  When was the malaria going to kick in?

  “I already did the digging, so you’re lucky. I’m nearly seventy years old and I can still do it in about ten minutes. Some of the drivers are in their twenties and complain if they have to do any digging. I swear, Todd nearly had a heart attack the other week, and he tore up half their yard looking for it.”