Copper Script

by K.J. Charles

Detective Sergeant Aaron Fowler massaged the base of his skull. It didn’t relieve the pain in his neck, because that was sitting opposite him in an expensive suit.

He regarded graphology in the same light as astrology, phrenology, Spiritualism, and religion, which was to say, he accepted that their believers were sincere in their faith, and considered it none of his affair unless they attempted to foist those faiths on himself.

He carried out his duty as best he could, to uphold the law and help redress a balance that felt permanently tilted against too many people, and that gave his life meaning.

Aaron took half a second to disapprove of the poor manners before he realised Wildsmith only had one hand. The other sleeve, his left, was empty at the end. It wasn’t unusual: London was full of men who lacked hands and arms and legs and eyes, and that was the damage you could see. It wasn’t even the most notable thing about him. That would be the moustache, which was horrible.

as for passing judgement—you’ve come here for me to do this. If you have qualms, the door is behind you.” “You don’t have qualms?” “I have rent.”

You mentioned judgement before. I really don’t try to sit in judgement, or claim the right to do so. But I do think, if I can help people understand one another a bit more, that’s got to be a good thing.”

“The average gaol will offer you bad people, people who made lots of bad decisions, people who made one bad decision, and people who were just very unlucky on one particular day.” “True,” Aaron admitted. “But they all committed offences, all the same. They made the choices that put them in gaol, when other people made different choices in similar circumstances.” “Similar circumstances? Like when the hungry child wickedly steals a penny bun from the baker’s, whereas the well-fed banker standing next to him nobly chooses to pay?”

“It’s the nineteen twenties, you know. We don’t all have to behave like Victorians any more.” “Rolling out of one woman’s bed to make plans for your engagement to another woman sounds more Georgian to me,”

“May I come in?” “Have you a warrant?” “This isn’t an official visit. I’m calling as a private citizen.” “You did that last time. I’m not a great admirer of policemen who pretend to be private citizens. It tends to end badly for the people they lie to.”

He didn’t want to give Detective Sergeant Fowler tea. He wanted to have told him to sod off and shut the door. But he’d let the man in now, and that meant some things had to be done. He hadn’t served in a war for people to go around not offering other people tea.

Fowler made a noise that suggested something had ripped. Possibly his brain, possibly his trousers, who could say.

“What would you do in my place?” “As a proud member of the Metropolitan Police? Beat someone up for a confession, I expect.”

He didn’t know where it had come from. He’d been an outlier all his life: red-haired, obdurately left-handed, a flamboyant show-off at least by the dour standards of his family, but he’d never considered himself psychic or any such damn fool thing. Heaven knew how badly his brother and father would have taken that, since they had been quite sufficiently embarrassed and enraged by him as it was.

The Ministry for Pensions had made things entirely clear in their literature at the end of the war. “You are going back to ordinary civil life,” the leaflet had said, “and it is up to you to make yourself as fit for that work as possible.” Which was not exactly in the spirit of the election promises about making Britain a fit country for heroes, but here they were.

I understand you interpret people’s writing. Fortune telling, sort of thing.” “I use the principles of graphology to analyse handwriting. It’s nothing to do with fortune telling: it’s a scientific study. There’s books on the subject.” “There’s books on palm reading too.” “There’s books on all sorts of subjects,” Joel said sharply, and bit back the urge to give ‘miscarriages of justice’ or ‘police corruption’ as examples.

“It doesn’t help you to assume bad intent of an entire group based on an experience with one man.” “That’s true if you say it about Jews, or Greeks, or redheads,” Joel said. “I don’t think it applies to people who choose to do a particular job.

“So is there a Mrs. Fowler?” he asked, mostly out of desperation. “No. No, I’m not married.” “Didn’t think so. The place lacks a woman’s touch.” “I’ve seen where you live,” Fowler riposted. “You could put up a picture or two.” “Yes, hammering in a nail is very much a one-handed job.”

“What do you know about my friends?” “Someone bet you to grow that moustache. Only a friend would be so malicious.”

“I—we—would have to. Policing is a contract. The public agrees to give people like me the power to ask impertinent questions, give orders, or even deprive people of their liberty, under a strict set of laws and circumstances and restrictions that govern our behaviour. If we don’t respect our part of the contract, the public can’t be expected to respect theirs.

And if the public decides that the police don’t deserve to be obeyed, or that we don’t serve a useful purpose—well, you considerably outnumber us. Corrupt police officers don’t just harm individuals, they strike at the rule of law and the structure of society.”

“You could very usefully shed the cardigan,” Aaron observed. Joel had forgotten he was wearing the ghastly thing. Shit. “Probably for the best, yes. It may have moths.” “It looks like it has moths.” “They might have moved out in disgust.”

I’ve taken on a job that involves enforcing the law on other people. You can’t justifiably do that and break them in your spare time.” “Bad laws ought to be broken,” Joel said. “First, because obeying bad laws is a mug’s game, and second, because if nobody breaks them, why would anyone see the need to change them?”

“If enough people say I’m not doing it your way, they’ll sodding have to change it, won’t they? It’s like you said about the police. If people stop agreeing to be ruled, the authorities have a problem.”

Joel cleared his first plateful like a starving wolf and leaned back. “I am taking a breather, and then I’m going to eat literally everything else and not move for days,” he said.

Relatable

That evening was the only good thing that’s happened to me in some time and I didn’t want it snatched from me before it had to end.” “That’s nice,” Joel said. “Glad to be of help. It’s made my life considerably worse, but the food was wonderful, so I dare say it’s swings and roundabouts.”

“Well, I thought I’d mention that you gave me details of an ongoing case and then sucked my cock. That should sort everything out nicely for us both. What the hell do you think I’m going to tell him?” Aaron wasn’t sure how this level of aggressive sarcasm could make him feel so warm inside.

“Could you possibly do or say something reassuring?” Aaron wished he could think of what that might be. “Pudding?” “What?” “They do delicious puddings here. Would something sweet help?” “My life is falling apart and you’re recommending pudding.” “Feeding you has always helped so far,”

“I’d call you an idiot except that I didn’t have any lunch because of all the fuckery and actually I am in no hurry to find out how my life is going to be upended for the, what, fourth time, so yes, why not, let’s have pudding. You’re paying.”

Joel took a spoonful. His face convulsed. “Oh God. Oh my God. This is— Can I eat all of this?” “I don’t think I’m up to fighting you for it.” “Well, you’re bigger, and trained, and you have more hands. But I’m motivated, because this is in the top three of things I have ever put in my mouth. Mph.”

I want— Oh, bloody hell, I’m just going to say it. All I’ve been doing for so long is living with things. Keeping on with them, putting up with them. And then I met you and now this, you and me, it doesn’t feel like ‘living with’ at all. It’s living. Actually having things that matter instead of the days just passing.

there went Joel’s heart again, squeezing painfully, because Aaron flirting ineptly was so much better than the most practised seducer.

I was rather hoping you’d be able to give me some ideas.” “Me? You’re the police!” “Yes, and look how well we’ve done,”

A reckoning with his profession was probably long overdue,

“You are the most aggravating man who has ever walked the earth,” Aaron said with feeling. “Thank you; I try.”

I don’t want your gratitude, your thanks, or your obligation,” Joel said. “I simply want wholehearted admiration of my courage, integrity, and intelligence, which can be demonstrated by a good shagging at any time.”

I haven’t felt like a person for so long, and then you came along with your ridiculous talent and your appalling attitude and your hair. And—Christ, Joel. I spent three hours lying on the floor thinking I was going to die tonight, and I realised that you were what I’d miss.

yes, let’s have meals and evenings, and also nights and breakfasts and everything else. Because I’m sodding sick of losing things, and I’m not losing you if I can help it.”

It felt like relief from a pain that had lasted so long, he didn’t know what it was like not to feel it.

Stay with me, Joel. I want to go to sleep with you next to me, and find out what it’s like to wake up with you. I’m quite sure you’re foul-tempered.”

“I love you, I want us to live, and from now on, if you find yourself living with anything, I want it to be me.”