by E. R. Fallon
“You know I can’t tell you that, ma,” Tommy said with a smile. He followed the rules by the book.
“Can’t you give me even a little hint?” Violet teased her son, but she really wanted to know.
“No, I can’t tell you,” Tommy said with a slight smile.
“Tommy, please! Tell me.”
Tommy sighed. “Supposedly there’s a heroin ring in your neighborhood, and I’m going to help bring them down.”
“In this neighborhood?” Violet said quietly, feigning shock, but her knees almost buckled. Tommy knew that his great-grandfather and father had been gangsters, and his grandmother had done something unscrupulous to end up in jail, but he thought that Violet had left all of that behind her and now just owned a pub with her boyfriend. If what Tommy was saying held weight, then that meant that Tommy was after her.
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “Right here in this neighborhood. Can you believe it? It’s crazy.”
Violet stood there in silence, thinking about the ring being run out of the secret room they’d built downstairs during the rebuild after the fire. “No, I can’t believe it,” she finally said, trying to act surprised. “That’s really frightening.”
“So, you haven’t heard anything about it?” Tommy asked her. “I know that sometimes people who come to the bar talk.”
Violet contemplated what to say. “I haven’t heard anything, Tommy,” she said after a moment. “But I can tell you that if there’s trouble in the neighborhood, then there’s almost certainly one person to blame.”
“You are going to say Camille O’Brien?” Tommy asked. “I know how much you dislike her.”
“I just don’t care for her. She’s trouble,” Violet said with a wave of her hand.
Camille might have no longer lived in the neighborhood, but she still controlled it afar, from her suburban palace, while Violet was stuck living with Sam above the pub.
“Every cop in the neighborhood knows her family’s reputation, but there’s never been anything about drugs connected to her,” Tommy said.
“That’s not what I hear,” Violet lied.
“Do you know something, Ma?” Tommy said when she didn’t elaborate.
Violet didn’t like lying to her son, but she needed him to stay clear of her and Sam’s operation, for the sake of their relationship.
“All I’m saying is, she’s bad news, and if anyone’s dabbling in smack in this neighborhood, it’d be her.”
“Thanks, Ma. I’ll look into it,” Tommy said, but he sounded doubtful, and Violet was unsure how to convince him, he was so stubborn.
2
To say that Camille O’Brien disliked Violet McCarthy would have been an understatement. She hated that bitch with everything she had, and her hatred ran deep in her veins. It was because of Violet that Camille had to mostly use a cane.
Her mother Sheila had remarried years ago, to a retired mob lawyer, and around that same time she had reluctantly handed control of the neighborhood racket back to Camille and Johnny after Camille recovered from her injury. Through her step-father, Camille got a stepbrother, Mickey, also a criminal lawyer, in her step-father’s former firm.
She and Johnny lived in the suburbs now, but still ran their old neighborhood in the city, where they kept an apartment, and kept watch over everything. They were very much known through the various thugs they employed to be their eyes and ears. The people in the neighborhood very much feared them.
Camille didn’t see much of Violet McCarthy these days, but she knew that Violet still lived in the old neighborhood and still ran her family’s pub. Camille had her men keep a special eye on Violet because she sure as hell didn’t trust her not to try to regain control over the neighborhood rackets that involved illegal gambling, loan sharking and a few other unsavory dealings. But they weren’t perfect, and sometimes they missed things.
In the morning, Camille stirred in bed when she heard someone pulling into the driveway of her house. She nudged Johnny awake next to her.
“What’s going on, baby?” he asked sleepily. “You want to make love?” He grinned.
Camille shushed him. They weren’t expecting any visitors, not at that early hour, and it wasn’t Phoebe coming home after a night out. Camille’s stepdaughter was only in high school, and they kept a strict eye on her.
“Someone’s outside,” Camille said, waiting for them to knock on the door.
“We aren’t expecting anybody. So who the hell is it?” Johnny said.
“Exactly.”
Johnny started to rise. “I’ll go see who the hell it is.”
Camille touched his arm. “I’ll go with you.”
“No, you’re the woman, you stay,” Johnny said with a smile, as if teasing her. He reached for his gun on the dresser.
Camille smiled back. “We do everything together,” she reminded him.
“All right,” Johnny grinned. “We’ll go together.”
Camille put on her own bathrobe. Just because she used a cane didn’t mean she needed help all the time, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to ask anyone for it. But Johnny knew to offer her help when she really needed it, and so he put her slippers on for her.
They left their bedroom and checked on Phoebe, who was snoring lightly in her bedroom. The knock came from outside, and they walked downstairs quietly together, with Johnny assisting Camille down the steps.
Was it the police? Johnny kept his gun drawn when he shouted, “Who is it?” through the door. A lot of people wanted them dead, people such as cops and other gangsters.
“Hey, Johnny, it’s Anton,” the familiar voice said.
“What the fuck?” Johnny replied.
Camille stepped out from behind him to open the door. Anton worked for Mrs. Valeria and her husband, a Russian gangster who’d recently been released from prison. Camille and Johnny had made a pact with the Russians long ago and they still did business with them. They trusted Anton.
“Jesus, Anton, you scared the shit out of us,” Camille told him.
“Sorry about that,” Anton said in his heavy accent. “Guess I should’ve called ahead. I forgot to.” He smiled sheepishly.
Johnny invited him inside and shut the door.
“I know it’s early,” Anton said.
“Yeah, Phoebe’s sleeping,” Camille replied.
“Want some coffee?” Johnny asked their guest.
“Yeah, I’d love some.”
They walked into the sun-filled kitchen and Johnny prepared the coffee while Camille and Anton sat at the table.
“Okay, I’ll keep it short,” Anton told them. “Mrs. Valeria wanted me to personally invite the both of you to her birthday party. It’s the first big one she’s had since her old man was released from jail.”
This wasn’t an invitation they could think about, so both eagerly agreed to attend. They started to drink the coffee and Anton said, “I saw Tommy the other day, Violet’s son.”
“I know who he is,” Camille said. They trusted Anton, but both knew he had a soft spot for Tommy, from dating the guy’s mother years ago.
“Tommy mentioned that he’s looking to bust a huge heroin ring in your neighborhood,” Anton said carefully. He knew Camille had a temper.
She and Johnny knew Violet was selling some drugs, but it was so small time they didn’t give a shit about it. Hell, it was practically nothing. So who the fuck was dealing big time in her neighborhood?
“Wait a second,” Camille said, her face heated from rage. “It’s Violet. That bitch has grown her operation.”
“Yeah, looks that way,” Anton said quietly. “Of course, Tommy doesn’t know it’s his mother who’s behind it.”
“Who’s giving her the goods?” Johnny asked.
“We aren’t supplying her,” Anton reassured both. “I heard it’s this new guy. They call him the Swede because he’s from there. I don’t think Tommy knows this yet.”
Camille used to worry that moving out of the city neighborhood and into the suburbs wo
uld mean they couldn’t keep a proper eye on things, and now her fear had come true. Although she and Johnny had never had children of their own— the doctors had told her she couldn’t—she had become like a mother to Phoebe over the years, and perhaps it had softened her heart. Perhaps a little too much.
Camille and Johnny looked at each other, and each knew what the other was thinking: Violet was becoming too powerful, and there was no fucking way they were going to let her control the neighborhood like she had years ago, before they’d won control. They’d get what Violet apparently now had, no matter what it took.
With Johnny and Phoebe, Camille acted like a normal wife and mother, and so she prepared dinner for her family that night. Afterwards, Phoebe went to see a movie with her friends and Camille sat with Johnny in the living room, watching television. Suddenly, Johnny got up and went to the window and pulled back the curtain.
“What’s wrong?” Camille asked him over the sounds of the TV show. “Phoebe won’t be back for a while.”
“I noticed a car parked outside earlier, and I want to make sure it isn’t still there. Someone was sitting inside it. I got a bad feeling about it.”
“You think the cops are watching us?” Camille asked.
“Not sure,” Johnny said. “The fucker’s still there,” he sounded exasperated.
“What are you going to do? You can’t kill them just for parking outside. Come, sit down, watch TV.”
“I don’t like the looks of it,” Johnny said, dropping the curtain. “Like I said, I got a bad feeling.”
Camille sighed, annoyed. She thought he was overreacting and wanted to resume watching TV.
“Is it a man or a woman?” she asked to appease him.
“I think it’s a guy.”
“You think it’s him again, don’t you?” Camille said, because this wasn’t the first time this had happened.
“Yeah, I do.”
Him. Billy. The only other man she’d ever loved besides Johnny, and the man she’d almost married. They’d broken up, but Billy had pursued her again years ago as she recovered from her injury, but she’d stuck with Johnny. Not long after that, Billy was kicked out of the Italian mob for being a heroin addict. Camille hadn’t known about Billy’s addiction, but when she’d heard the news she’d been devastated for him. She hadn’t been in touch with him for years. The last she had heard of him, he was living with a prostitute named Pillow.
“We don’t know it’s him,” Camille told Johnny. “We’ve never seen them; it could be anyone.”
“Who the hell else would be stalking you? That guy was fucking obsessed with you, remember?”
Camille remembered, all right. The only other person who had loved her as intensely as Billy was Johnny.
Camille waved him off. “That was such a long time ago. He’s probably forgotten about me.”
“But you haven’t forgotten about him,” Johnny remarked. “You met him when you were both teenagers, how could you ever forget your first love?”
“I don’t have feelings for him anymore, but I do feel sorry for him.”
“I’ve had enough,” Johnny said, storming out of the house without his gun, but with his fists ready.
“Stop,” Camille said, rising from the couch. “You don’t even know it’s him—” Her voice broke, because as much as she loved Johnny, she did still have feelings for her first love, Billy.
But it was too late. The front door flew open and Johnny was outside, running down the steps, ready to pummel the shit out of Billy or whoever was in the nearby car. Camille rushed after him as he ran the length of the sidewalk and chased after the car, an older model, as it sped away.
“Johnny, leave it be,” she told him, rubbing his back as he panted. “You’re too old to be doing this, you’re gonna get yourself killed.”
“If I’d brought my gun out with me, then I could’ve shot the bastard’s tires and he wouldn’t have got away. I shouldn’t have let him get away like that. Now he’s gonna keep on coming back, bothering us.”
“If you’d done that, then the cops would show up and we don’t need that right now. Remember, in this neighborhood people think we’re good people, not like how they view us in the city. Anyway, I’m not sure it is a guy,” Camille stated.
“If it’s not Billy, then who is it?” Johnny asked.
“I’m not sure,” Camille answered honestly, suddenly very concerned. “In the meantime, we should have some of the guys watch our house. Just one car, though. The neighbors won’t like it if there are more.”
They lived in what you would call a “respectable” suburban neighborhood, a far cry from the urban tenements of their childhoods, and the men who worked for them weren’t what you would call respectable types. They very much looked like the mean thugs they were.
“You’re frightened,” Johnny said, noticing her trembling. “I don’t like anyone scaring you.” He touched her arm to comfort her.
“I’ll be fine,” Camille said, unwilling to let her guard down even in front of the man she loved. “Come on, let’s go back inside,” she said, holding his hand.
Narcotics detective Dana Fitzpatrick sat across from her informant in the crowded diner. She had just moved to New York City from across the river, and had only recently settled into her new job. The informant, a tall, hulking young man named Joseph, looked directly at her and lied. Dana knew he was frightened, as most men in his shoes would be. He had agreed to snitch in order to not be sent to prison. But now he was having second thoughts.
“I think you know who could be behind it,” she said to him, about the neighborhood heroin ring she was trying to bust. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
“You don’t know these people like I do,” he said, shaking his head, his voice trembling.
Dana knew how scared he must have really been, for the voice of such a big man to tremble this way. She struggled to breathe amongst the smoke from the customers’ cigarettes. A city-wide ban on smoking indoors was merely a week away.
“We can protect you,” she offered. Then when he still hesitated, she said, “We’ve already done a lot for you. You owe us.”
“I’ve told you everything I know. I don’t know their names.”
“I don’t believe you,” Dana replied. “If you’re so frightened of them, then you must know their names.”
“I don’t get nothing in return for helping you this time. I’m already out of jail.”
Dana made a fist and slammed it on the table. A couple of people stared in their direction for a moment, but quickly looked away. If Joseph wanted to be difficult, then she would let him know her displeasure. Dana knew that while Joseph was a big, strong guy, anger, even from a woman, unsettled him.
He leaned away from the table. “How much do you want to know?” he asked her quietly.
“I need a name and a location, if you have one.”
“You’re new to the area, right?” Joseph asked her.
Dana nodded slowly, wondering what he was about to ask her.
“So, you don’t know the history of this neighborhood.”
“I know some of it.”
“But not everything.”
“You see, my sources tell me that the McCarthys are back,” Joseph said.
“The McCarthys?”
“Yeah, Violet McCarthy. She and her mother used to run things in this neighborhood, before her mother got sent to jail.”
“I thought that Johnny Garcia and his wife, Camille, ran things, and everyone knows that drugs are not a part of their operation, at least, not currently.”
“Now they do, but going years back, it was Violet and her mother who ran things. And before that, Violet’s grandfather was the boss. Her grandfather didn’t deal with drugs, but Violet’s different. She’s willing to try anything. That’s the word on the street.”
“For a man who didn’t want to tell me anything, you’ve said an awful lot,” Dana quipped. She paused. “Johnny and Camille are letting Violet get away with doi
ng this in their neighborhood?”
“I don’t think they know how big it’s gotten. They live in the suburbs and aren’t in touch with the happenings around here, like they used to be. I reckon they believed that as long as Violet had a little bit of the action, she wouldn’t cause trouble. But they never would let her get away with what’s she’s doing if they knew the truth.”
“Who’s helping Violet McCarthy? She can’t be on her own.”
“Her boyfriend’s with her.”
“His name?”
“I don’t remember his name, but they run McBurney’s, you know, the pub down the street? I see them in there together all the time.”
“Any idea who their supplier is?” Dana asked.
Joseph shrugged. “I got no fucking clue.”
“I’ll check what you told me,” Dana replied, unsure whether to believe him, when she hadn’t a reason not to before, and also thinking that she might stop by there after she’d finished here.
Joseph sipped his coffee.
“Hurry up,” she told him, so she could pay, as she always did.
Joseph gulped down the rest. “Same time and place next week?” he asked.
Dana put some money on the table and rose from her seat. “Maybe,” she said, getting on her jacket.
“Maybe what?”
“It depends on if I need something from you,” she told him with a tinge of sarcasm in her voice and slight smile on her face.
“It’s nice to know how you think of me,” Joseph said, but he knew the score, and that she had the upper hand, and so he thanked her.
“No problem,” Dana replied, leaving the diner after him.
3
Dana walked outside, to find the day warmer, but at the lunchtime hour, the city was filled with more noise than when she’d entered the diner. Dana walked quickly, as she felt a lot of pressure to solve this case, and solve it fast, from the higher ups in the police. There were many overdoses in the neighborhood, and people wanted someone to be held accountable. Dana made her way to the place Joseph had mentioned, McBurney’s pub. She stepped under the green awning. Outside it was bright, but when she opened the heavy wooden door to the pub, she walked into cool darkness. The place hadn’t appeared crowded from the street, but inside it was packed with lunch customers, mostly groups of workmen enjoying a chat with each other along with a sandwich and beer. The interior was worn, with fraying decorations on the walls, and a cracked mirror behind the faded wood bar. It didn’t exactly seem like the kind of place that attracted an upscale clientele, and if the owners were making big money from dealing smack, it wasn’t obvious, but perhaps they were saving their money.