The Devil's Copper by Jamie Crothall (ink ebook reader .txt) 📕

I reached into the bag and cradled the gun, as the fight-or-flight instinct took a startling turn.  Shay had no idea I had the gun.  He would never see it coming.  One shot to the head.  That’s all it would take.  If I killed him outright, he wouldn’t be able to ‘snap’ back.  If I missed, I’d be dead for sure, but I’d have the element of surprise.  Could I do it though?  One could argue for its necessity.  But did I have it in me to shoot a man dead?

Fucking right I could.

I just kept telling myself that.  I could.  I fucking could.  I had to.  I had no choice.  It was out of my hands.  I gripped the gun in my right hand.  I glared at it and willed it to stop shaking.  I cursed myself to stop crying, and gather all my courage.  I stood up, and flushed the toilet to sell the story, then approached the door.  I could do this.  I could do this.  I could fucking do this.

I opened the door, raised the gun, and pointed it at the first human-shaped figure I saw.

***

“What the hell Billie??”

Officer Riley had her gun drawn as well, and it was pointed back at me.

“What are you doing here??” I asked.

“What are you doing with a gun?” she retorted.

“Where’s the other guy??”

“What other guy?”

“I don’t know what to do!!”

“Put the gun down!”

“I don’t know how!!”

Clearly some training kept in as she tried to de-escalate the situation.  My eyes darted all around the room, but we were the only ones there.  The officer slowly began to lower her gun while she kept the other hand outstretched in a calming manner.

“I’m putting it away, okay?”

“…okay…”

“I’m coming over to take yours, okay?”

“…okay…”

“I’m taking a few steps forward.”

“…please hurry…”

She kept to the side of my wavering aim and gently took the weapon from me.

I dropped to the floor and fell into a pathetic, emotional mess.

“I’m not even going to ask where you got this.”

“How did you know I was here?” I managed to ask.

“I looked up your friend in the system.  I got his name out of someone who was familiar with him.  I checked your place, first but it was quite a mess.”

“There was someone else here.  He was watching me.”

“There was no one here when I arrived,” she assured me.

Why would he have left?  Unless he was able to ‘see’ her coming, and got out of the way.

“We’re not safe here,” I said.

“There’s no one else here.”

“They’ll be back.  They took Jack.  And now they took Walter, and left someone to guard me.”

I should have been more careful with what I was sharing, but I had no filter at the time.

“Who took him?”

“I don’t know, some man named Frankie.”

She offered me a tissue.

I blew my nose.

She offered me a hand to stand up.

I looked up at her.  “You’re not wearing your uniform.”

“No, I’m not,” she replied.  “Tell me something.” She reached into her coat pocket.  “Do either of these men look familiar?”

She withdrew a photocopy of a photo.  It was poor quality, but clear enough to make out one defining feature.

“That guy,” I said, my finger trembling as I pointed to the vague image of a policeman with a big, bushy mustache.  “I don’t know about the rest.”

“Close enough.”

“Are you in trouble?” I asked, turning the tables slightly.

“I might be if I keep this up,” she said.  “A black female police officer in Northern Ontario…you learn to keep your head down.  But I’ve had enough of that.  I’ve had my eye on these two for a while, but couldn’t prove anything.  The man you mentioned is probably Frankie Chambers.  Two-bit mobster who worked his way up to five-bits over the last few years.”

“We have mobsters?” I asked, blowing my nose again.

“Oh, honey.  What version of Sudbury do you live in?”

I liked my version a lot better.

“My boss knows him.”

“You think he’s…?”

“No.  I don’t think he knows who he is.  Or at least what he is.”

“Who’s your boss?”

“Joey Linden.”

“Ah, porta-Joey?”

I nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “I doubt he knows who he really is either.  Frankie Chambers likes to parade as an upstanding member of society.  I think Murray and Jones work for him.  They released Michel Lussier last night without any charges.  I want to talk to him, but I have no idea where to find him.  His address, conveniently, is no longer on file.”

“I know where to find him,” I said.  “I think.  I was going to try to talk to him.  Get some info out of him.  That’s why I’m dressed like this.”

She looked me up and down.  “It works for you.  Might work for him.”

“I doubt it.”

“Lussier is dumb enough to talk, given the chance.  I think he’s treating this like a game, and would be willing to brag to anyone willing to listen.”

“I can do it,” I insisted.

“No.  It’s too dangerous.  I can’t let a civilian do that.”

“You’re not in uniform,” I reminded her.  A little bit of determination was coming back to me. I resented the amount of weakness these men had drawn out of me.  “Besides, as you say, you’re a black woman in Northern Ontario.  You’ll stand out.  He’ll remember you.”

“And he won’t remember you?” she asked with one eyebrow raised.

“I haven’t seen him in a year.  I doubt he’ll remember me.”

She mulled it over.  “Tell me where he is, and I’ll think about it.”

“Well, think quick before I change my mind.  He’ll likely be at the Laurentian.”

“What an ass.”

“I know, right?”

“Are you sure about this?”

“No,” I said with