The Devil's Copper by Jamie Crothall (ebook audio reader .TXT) 📗

Walter shook his head.  “Nah, he said he was done with that. But working in finance, I mean…I’m sure there are ways to get involved in things one shouldn’t.  The cocaine trade has to be a gold mine.”

“Jack wouldn’t get involved with anything like that.”

“Not intentionally.  But he could have been drawn in against his will.  People use financial trades and investments to mask illegal dealings and money laundering.  Hell, he could have stumbled onto a human trafficking ring for all we know.”

I couldn’t help but scoff at his words.  “This is Sudbury.”

Walter shook his head.  “Still plenty of big fish to be eaten by.  Besides,” he concluded as he looked over at me.  “If you were going to start an illegal organization, wouldn’t you go to the arse-end of the world to make it less obvious?”

Of course I wanted to find a number of things wrong with his logic, but it sounded feasible, which I didn’t want to consider.  I opened my mouth to make a number of counter-arguments, but came up with nothing.

“Watch out for the dog!”

His warning came without warning. (As it often does.) I instinctively hit the brake without even seeing said animal in my path.  Fortunately, there was no other vehicle behind me.  Otherwise, I’m sure I’d have been rear-ended.  It was a full five seconds before the dog came running out into the street.

“Sorry,” he offered.  “That was a bit premature.”

I gave my heart a few moments to slow down before setting off again.  There were a few more moments of silence before I changed the topic slightly from our previous game of wild conclusions.

“How did you two meet?” I asked.

He turned my way, then looked back out his window.  “Has he never told you?”

Jack hadn’t properly elaborated.  But I didn’t want to tell Walter that.  “I want to hear your version.”

“I don’t know if it’s my story to tell.”

“Back at the food court, you said we both had to trust each other.  You had me pick a number, for whatever that’s worth.  You still owe me something.  I don’t trust you, Walter.  You know too much and you’re telling me too little.  If you want me to trust you, you’re going to have to give me a little something.  Otherwise, for all I know, you’re part of the conspiracy.”

“Oh, it’s a conspiracy now, is it?”

“Well, this certainly isn’t normal.  How do you know so much?”

“I’m good at reading people.  Plus, I just…know Jack.  I know him well enough.”

“But how?  For all I know, you’re just some bum he took in off the streets.”

“Well, you might be right…” he muttered as he looked out his window again.

“Am I?”

“About the conspiracy part.”

“What?”

“Don’t overreact but…I think we’re being followed.”

I glanced into my rearview mirror. A red pick-up truck followed behind us.  In retrospect, it had probably been there since I braked for the dog.  It didn’t match the vehicle parked beside us at the office, but that could have just been a clichéd assumption on our part.

“Drive normal.”

“How am I supposed to drive normal after being told to drive normal?”

“Stop turning around,” he insisted.  “They’ll know we know.”

“Where do I go?”

“Get onto Lorne.  We’re going to where no right minded person should follow.  The Donovan.”

I did as he said and tried to keep a moderate speed.  At one point, the red pick-up truck ended up about three cars behind us, the consequence of trying to hang back to remain inconspicuous, and eventually turned off down a side street.  We both breathed a sigh of relief until we saw it emerge ahead of us at an intersection and purposely wait for us to pass by before pulling out onto the main drag.  I couldn’t get a clear look, but there were at least three men in the cab.

“Maybe we should..”

“Not yet,” Walter insisted.  Did he anticipate my suggestion to go to the police again, or was he answering some other expected suggestion?  “Go right here,” he instructed.  “Then left on Frood.”

We wound our way up into some sketchy subdivisions but the truck held its position a good thirty feet behind us.

“Up here,” he said, pointing to a turning ahead.

“Where are we going?”

“To the mosque.  That scares off most folk.”

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