The Devil's Copper Jamie Crothall (i like reading books TXT) 📖

more than that.  You put the bullets in the round thing instead of the handle.  I had only held a prop gun before. I wasn’t expecting the real thing to be so heavy.

“You ever fire a gun before?” he asked.

“Once,” I said.  Which wasn’t a lie.  He didn’t specify a ‘real’ gun.  “And I can do it again if I have to.”

Walter gave a ‘calm down’ gesture but abandoned it halfway through when he saw me open the chamber and count the bullets.  “How many?”

“Three in the chamber.”

“Which begs the question…”

“Did he ever fire the other three?” I said, finally finishing one of his sentences.  I put the gun in my purse, which now weighed heavily on my shoulder.

“…one…two…we should leave.”

“What?”

Walter peered around the corner out into the hall.  “We have about six seconds to get the hell out of here.  Come on, hurry up!”

As much as I distrusted him, I felt compelled by his overall urgency.  “Barry?” I asked as I scuffled towards the door.

“No, not Barry,” he replied.  He grabbed my arm and held me in place as he looked out into the hall again.  “Okay, this way…no, this way,” he insisted, launching us both into the hallways and heading the opposite way we had originally arrived.  For lack of any other action I matched his step and glanced over my shoulder whenever he did.  I couldn't see anyone but I definitely heard other footsteps.  Once we breached the door and fell into the daylight we both managed to take a deep breath.

“Who were they?” I asked.

“Not sure, but they weren’t standard security.  I think they had guns.”

“You think?” I asked.  “Did you see them?”

“Sort of.  Look, let’s just get the hell away from here.  You drove, right?”

I pointed to the car, which was now sitting beside a dark SUV.  Very clichéd.  We both gave it a daunting look before scrambling into my car so I could get us the hell away.

“Don’t drive home just yet,” he suggested.  “They’re not following us, but let’s just…drive…anywhere…”

***

It wasn’t until we were halfway to the other end of town that my heart rate settled.  Even Walter seemed more composed.  We hadn’t said a word between us since we fled.

“So what’s your plan?” he asked.

“My plan?” I countered with my own incredulity.  “You’re relying on me to have a plan?  What are your thoughts?”

“Well,” he started, but then paused as he focused unnecessarily on the traffic ahead.  “People are driving like idiots today,” he said.  I had no idea what he was referring to.  “Anyway, I figure we could look at every instance of his meetings with this ‘T’, chart the locations on a map, and see if it forms any kind of symbol.  Like a pentagram or a penis or something.”

“This isn’t a game, Walter!” I spat.

“I am aware of that,” he replied flatly.

I thought about going back to the police.  I didn’t trust Watler as much as I wanted to. (And I scarcely wanted to.)  I was in way over my head.  This was the kind of thing you saw in movies.  You weren’t supposed to deal with this in real life.

“It’s a bad idea,” Walter said, unprompted.

“What is?”

“Going back to the police.”

It was as though the breath had been drawn out of me.  How did he even know I was thinking that?  I hadn’t said a thing.  My mind went reeling through all the things he knew without me telling him, and came to an absurd, yet oddly rational conclusion. Did he have a way of reading my mind?  My rational brain argued with my terrified brain until they both agreed to conduct a simple experiment to determine once and for all if the mere idea was worth contemplating any further.

I thought a thought.

I thought a thought so absurd, so outrageous, so unexpected, that if there was any way Walter could read it, there would be no way he could hide his reaction.  I won’t say what it was, but it was something he’d regret reading.  If he could.

Walter made no reaction.  He didn’t even flinch.

I shook my head.  I couldn’t help but laugh at myself.

“What’s up?” Walter asked.

“Nothing,” I muttered.  “Just…everything.  This is all so…”

“Ridiculous?”

“Yeah.”

“I only ask you about a plan because I don’t have one yet,” he said.

Was that his way of apologizing?

“You and me both,” I conceded.  “I was actually thinking of going to our church.”

“Church?” he asked with a scoff.  Any sense of tact he put up was quickly gone.

“Yeah,” I replied indignantly.  “Church.  In case he went there at all.  I’ve recently gotten back into it, thanks to Jack.  I fell out of it for a while for…personal reasons.  But when he saw I missed it, he helped me get back into it.  He’s been very encouraging.  He often comes with me, I’ll have you know.”

“Jack was never religious,” he said.  “He was humouring you.  Religion is the alcohol for people who are bored with real life, or too blind to really drink it in.”

“You know, just because you’ve known him longer doesn’t mean you know him better,” I said coldly.  “Maybe the versions of him you think you know are just outdated.”

“You say he often goes with you?”

“Yes,” I replied indignantly.

“Interesting.”

Insert an awkward moment of silence, where we were both waiting for the other to continue.  I ended up taking the bait.

“Why?”

“His meetings with ‘T’.  There were a few that happened on a Sunday morning.”

“What…what are you…”

“Suggesting?  Nothing.”

Again with the silence, wherein neither of us liked where that suggestion was leading.

“It is possible he got involved with some bad dealings,” Walter eventually offered, as though it were a more reassuring option by comparison.  In a way, it was.

“Cards?”