Page 13 of Copper

Waiters come and go from a bar area, but there’s an open bar where people can also get their own cocktails or beer. I slide my fingers into Aaron’s free hand as he finishes speaking with the alderman and greets our mayor. I smile and shake the woman’s hand when he introduces us, but I’m too busy trying to find Murphy to focus on the conversation. I know he’ll be here. He wouldn’t miss a chance to socialize with the area elite.

No Murphy as far as I can see, but he could already be in the dining room or running late. My heart stops as my eyes flick over the bar area.

Standing at the bar with a drink halfway up to his lips is the mafia thug who licked my face. And he’s looking right at me.

“Aaron,” I whisper, practically hissing. I tug on his hand a little.

“What is it?” he asks, excusing himself from the conversation between the fire chief and an alderwoman by holding up a finger. Something in my voice must tip him off that he needs to listen to me right now.

I face him and smile like nothing is wrong. But this is Aaron. He knows something’s wrong because he’s known me over half my life. “The man at the bar with the dark hair. He’s not a nice man.”

Aaron looks over my shoulder and keeps the smile on his face. He doesn’t stare or make it obvious he’s looking. It’s the cop in Aaron, and he’s calm and cool about seeing a man staring at me. “The guy practically sneering in our direction? Who is he?”

“He has ties to Beck. That’s all I know.”

Aaron blinks and shakes his head in disbelief. “Wait. What?”

“I haven’t been completely honest about something.”

Aaron lightly grabs my elbow, smiles at the people milling around, and pulls me over to a corner, waving away a waitress with a tray of champagne. “What did you not tell me?”

I need to tell him. “Beck owed some people money. They came looking for it a few months ago, which is part of the reason I took the job at the club. I needed fast money. They want me to pay Beck’s debt.”

Aaron rears back and looks at the ceiling. If we weren’t in public, he’d probably run his hands through his hair in frustration. He glances back at the guy at the bar. The man hasn’t blinked, and he’s not at all intimidated that I’m with the sheriff. “Who is he? Do you have a name?”

I shake my head. “Gangster number one? He has a boss. I don’t know names. They didn’t exactly tell me their life stories over margaritas and pedicures.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed with me or the piece of shit I married. “Is there anything else I need to know?” he asks. “I really wish you would have told me this already.”

“I’m scared, Aaron. They say Beck owes them money.”

“Is it possible that Beck borrowed money from the mafia so he could disappear? Money of the kind they loan is enough to buy a new identity and a small place somewhere off the grid.”

“I wish I knew. If he did use the money for that, it’s pretty shitty to leave me to deal with it. It’s another thing I can add to the list to hate him for.”

Aaron looks at the floor and looks back at me. “What did they look like?”

I subtly jerk my neck in the direction of the bar. “That guy.”

“No, Lucy. What did the other guys look like?”

I bite my lip while Aaron grabs my hand like we’re a couple and just having a nice conversation in the corner. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to pull their faces from memory like I’m describing them to a sketch artist. “The boss was late forties, maybe early fifties. Balding with dark hair where he had it. Glasses.”

Aaron’s eyes widen. “Were there others?”

“Two more, other than the boss and the guy at the bar.”

“Describe.” His voice is clipped. Impatient. He’s on to something.

“The other guys were both early thirties. Maybe late twenties. White. Normal-looking guys. The kind you wouldn’t look twice at if you saw them on the street.”

Aaron puts his hand on the wall behind me, boxing me in. To anyone else, we look like lovers. He may be doing it to show the guy at the bar that I’m under his protection. He may just be thinking.

“If I show you a picture that you’re not supposed to see, would you be able to identify him?”

“I guess.”

“Lucy, you can never tell anyone I showed you this. It’s evidence.” He digs his phone out of his pocket and taps a few things. Turning the picture around, he shows me. “Is he one of them?”

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