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

but stopped short when he came face to face with the barrel of his gun.

“Put the gun down!” Riley ordered.

“Or what?” he laughed.

Shay’s laughter was cut short when a shot rang out.

A hole opened between his eyes.

It took us all by surprise.

Shay wavered. He dropped the gun.  He remained upright another moment before collapsing, dead.

Behind Shay sat Walter, barely conscious, holding the smoking gun I had left beside him.

“Drop the gun, sir!” another voice called.

Walter wasted no time in dropping it.

“Move in!” Riley’s voice commanded.

I crawled over to Walter, an act more painful than anything I’d ever endured before.

Walter managed to meet me halfway.

We both fell into each other, and leaned upon one another.

“…you okay, princess?”

“…no…”

“If…if I die…” he gasped, “I…I want to pass my power onto you…”

I tried to raise my head.  “…can you do that…?”

“…I have no idea.”

“Is that some kind of Indian shit?” Riley’s voice asked.  She loomed overhead like a blurry silhouette.

Walter coughed.  “That’s racist.”

“You’re not going to die,” Riley muttered.  “You were shot in the leg.”

“…huh…”

When the coast was clear, Pat emerged from the office and joined my side.  Everyone gathered around us.  Everyone except for Jack.

In the distance, some of our tank trucks started to return.

Moments later, Todd towered over me, alongside another officer.

“Where should I put this cash?” asked Todd.

“Sir, can you give us a moment?” Riley asked, her tone hardly cordial.

Riley gestured to another officer to lead Todd away.

Riley looked down at me.  “You alright, Billie?”

I nodded, and it hurt.

“You realize you’re going to have to explain all this, right?”

EPILOGUE

There was no ‘me and Jack’ after that.  I was sympathetic, to a degree.  His sense of loyalty to Walter went deeper than I realized.  He went to great lengths to keep him out of trouble.  I guess he got in over his head so much, he was desperate for a resolution.  Maybe I didn’t understand loyalty before I met Jack.  But I certainly came to understand it after getting to know Walter.  He was still a pain in the ass, and inadvertently the cause of a lot of Jack’s troubles.  But there was always another way to resolve the issue.  It didn’t have to come to this.  There was no way it had to.  Jack had my sympathy, but he and I were done as a couple.

I returned to our home one last time, to leave him a farewell note.  I didn’t want to talk to him; I didn’t want to give him the chance to talk me out of it, or embarrass himself further.  The note simply read:

‘Thank you for making me feel important.  But more so, thank you for making me realize what’s more important.’

I didn’t have thirty pieces of silver to leave him. So I left thirty coppers.  I doubted he’d get the significance.  But I didn’t care.

I didn’t take anything else from the apartment.  There was nothing I needed.  I took my self-respect.  Anything else, I could rebuild myself.  Maybe with a little help from others.

I told Riley everything I could, omitting Walter’s ability.  It left holes in the story, but I had the luxury of playing dumb.  I left gaps to be filled by speculation, left by the corpses of those who played their part.  I have no idea what Jack told them; I never bothered to find out.  I thanked Riley for looking out for me.  We were both outsiders in a closed-minded community.  She saw that from the start.  She fully believed things would eventually change for the better.  To my knowledge, she still serves the community to this day.

I gave Joey my notice, effective immediately, the moment I could return to the garage.  Joey had some fancy new doors installed.  The insurance helped replace the old Mack truck, though he kept the husk of the thing in the back of the yard regardless.  The whole ordeal was good for business, once it made the news.  He’d found new renown in the community, so I’m sure he was drinking that in.

Pat got my old job. In my last conversation with the kid, he said he managed to get Joey to informally refer to the business as the ‘Shit Kickers.’

Walter recovered from his ‘near-fatal’ leg wound in little time, though he would walk with a limp for some time.

Walter and I met for breakfast at the food court shortly after.  He paid.

“I still don’t know why I couldn’t dodge that shot,” he said.  “It was like it just…didn’t work.  It really threw me.”

“Does it work now?”

“How do you think I paid for this?” he asked.  “Side note: I don’t think I should go to that lotto kiosk anymore.”

“Were you familiar with Shay?” I asked.

I had been wanting to ask for some time but I had a hard time broaching the subject.

He pulled his lip and shook his head.

“Never?” I asked.

“New guy, as far as I could tell.  I don’t know where the hell Frankie got that psychopath from.”

Maybe I should have told him my suspicions, but I never did.  Maybe that was wrong of me.  I don’t know.  Shay was dead now, so perhaps it didn’t matter.  He never seemed that bothered about the origin of his own ability anyway.  I was always afraid he might find out and be angry I knew.  But it’s not happened yet, and perhaps never will.  It’s also possible he did know, and was the one trying to protect me.

“Have you spoken to Jack at all?” I asked.

“Fucking assholes,” he spat.

“What?”

“They didn’t give me any syrup.  Are we not in Canada?”

“Walter…I know it’s a touchy subject, but…”

“You know what we should do?” he asked, upbeat.

“Go down