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

mistrust at first.  Mike then pulled out a cassette tape, likely insisting it contained some original material that influenced him when he was younger.  The vocalist then had the same expression I likely had – too smart to believe it, but hopeful enough to want to.  This ‘Mike’ was a good actor. He was selling a believable story, probably telling him how much the vocalist’s music changed his life.  He had genuine tears in his eyes while doing so.  He stood, pulled one of the band’s posters off the wall, and set it down in front of him with a pen.  Reluctantly, the vocalist signed it, his face plastered with a self-deprecating smile.  There were a few more comments exchanged before Mike claimed he had to leave.

“This is where I’m needed,” Jack said.

“Why?”

“We use a rigged strobe light to make the flash but Mike forgot it.  It’s in the car.  I need to go get it for him and make enough of a flash that our friend sees it through the window in the door.  I’ll be right back.  Don’t’ take your eyes off of him, this is the best part.”

Jack casually left moments before Mike made his “I must return to my own era” escape.  I did as suggested, and simply watched the vocalist as he looked down at the table and wrestled with the thoughts in his head.  He was smiling and gave his head a shallow shake, but it was clear there was a bit of renewed determination in his expression.  He was fighting off his skepticism, trying to think “yes, but what if it was true?”.  Then, to punctuate it, he was momentarily distracted by a bright flashing light from the small window on the main door.  He laughed to himself, got up and prepared for the next set.

He had hope, and my boyfriend gave him that.  Well, my boyfriend and his paid actors.  But screw them; this isn’t their story.  I was proud of him.  It wasn’t his money that made him happy, but those ‘ah ha’ moments where maybe, just maybe, he might have helped someone avoid giving up on a dream.

Yeah.  He was getting some that night.

I waited for him.  But five minutes later, Jack still hadn’t returned.  Once the band started playing again, I knew I had to leave.  I went outside to see what the problem was.

When I got outside, I saw Jack standing by the corner, under a floodlight, talking on his cellphone.  He seemed mildly vexed, so I knew it wasn’t work related; he’d have his professional game face on for that.  I approached quietly, so as not to intrude on the conversation, but intrude on it nonetheless.

“…so you have no idea?” he asked.  “No.  No, it’s fine.  No, I’m not mad.  No, it’s fine.  We…yeah, we were almost done anyway.  What?  Well that’s none of your…  Oh shut up.  You wish.”

Annoyance, punctuated by sarcasm.  A clear sign he was talking to Walter.

Jack cupped his hand over the phone.  “He’s not quite sure where he is.  I think he’s downtown.”

“What the hell was he doing?” I asked.

“What?  No, no, it’s Billie,” he said back into the phone.  “Yeah, we’re just…so what do you see?  A what?  Oh, okay.  I know where that is.  Yeah, I can.”

I shook my head sternly.  He gave me a simple expression that said ‘I love you, but I have no choice; please understand, I am naught but a mere male with a great ass.’  Or something to that effect.  I let him off the hook by looking away, and specifically not letting him know he was off the hook.

“Okay, I’ll be right over.  Just don’t go anywhere.  Okay, bye.”

I waited until the phone was put away before saying anything.

“This is mental.”

“He’s…he just needs my help.”

“He needs help, Jack.  Professional help.”

“He just gets really tired.   It's hard to explain why.”

“Drunkenness,” I said, counting my fingers, “narcolepsy, severe neurological impairment…  If you really want to look out for your friend, look out for his well-being, rather than covering for his dumbass behavior.”

He shook his head.  “You don’t understand.”

“No,” I insisted, “I don’t, but if I’m going to be as important to you as he is, maybe you should help me understand.”

He hesitated, his head literally bouncing from side to side as he fought with the various retorts and counter-arguments.  “Okay.  Later, okay?  Get a cab home, there’s no reason for you to come with,” he said as he waved at a parked cab waiting for it’s next drunken fare.  It’s lights came on and it slowly crawled towards them.  “I love you.”

“I love you too.  Just…be careful.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted.

“One more thing,” I said as I opened the cab door.  Side note, it smelled like a urinal puck in there.  “Did he call me a princess?”

Jack hesitated.  “…yeah.”

“Tell him I said ‘fuck you’, okay?”

“Yeah.”

***

Cabs are stupid expensive.  Just sayin’.  This was well before Uber.  When I got home, I realized my beeper had been going off for a while, so I had to make a number of calls and inconvenience a few drivers.  As if they didn’t hate me enough.  Monday was going to suck.  It was at least 30 minutes of that nonsense before I had the time to slip into something more comfortable and get into bed.  And a further 30 minutes until Jack finally got home.  He entered the bedroom looking frazzled, but at least he was alone. He must have taken Walter home.

I was going to ask how it went, but thought better of it.  I threw the sheets back and urged him to come to bed.  He quickly undressed and threw himself down next to me.

“It’s hard,” he muttered.

“Is it?”

I heard him laugh into the pillow.  “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“It’s not