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

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