The Trouble Legacy

by E. R. Fallon

  “No,” the man said to the woman. “I’ll have one of the girls ring the police while you get her set up.”

  Camille could feel and hear the nurse checking her vitals, then what sounded like another man, a doctor, speaking to the nurse. She heard him mentioning something about her needing X-rays and pondering about possible trauma to her brain. At that, Camille’s eyes shot open. She wasn’t going to allow anybody to poke around her fucking brain.

  “Doctor, she’s awake,” the nurse, who Camille now saw was a pretty, blonde woman, who looked younger than she’d sounded.

  “Ms. Garcia,” the doctor, a tall, older, white-haired man, said. “Ms. Garcia, can you hear me?”

  Camille wondered whether she should lie to make her injuries seem worse than they were, but they probably would figure it out, so she held back.

  “Ms. Garcia, did someone do this to you?” he asked her. “We rang the police.”

  Camille nodded. “I saw who did it,” she spoke weakly. “I know the person. Her name’s Violet McCarthy, and it happened out on the street just now, I…” She feigned struggling.

  The doctor calmed her. “It’s all right; you don’t have to talk just now. The police will want to speak with you when they arrive.”

  Camille nodded and shut her eyes again, though she wasn’t really tired anymore. The excitement of the situation buzzed through her like electricity, and she listened to the sounds of the hospital around her as the doctor and his team worked on her, the sounds of someone coding in another room, and then a woman sobbing, and a child crying. Someone cut off her clothes with what sounded like scissors and then what felt like a gown was wrapped around her. She winced as she could feel something being attached to her chest. A heart monitor? The nurse checked her breathing, then she was giving oxygen, and an IV drip was connected to her arm.

  She heard someone, a man, say, “The police are waiting outside.”

  Then they must have given her some kind of drug to make her relax, because soon she drifted off the sleep.

  Camille woke up in her hospital room to see Johnny punching a wall, and hospital security restraining him. Either Johnny was a good actor, or she really did look like shit. At least her mother hadn’t broken her nose. Well, at least it didn’t feel like she had.

  The security guard told Johnny he would have to leave if he couldn’t control himself. Johnny nodded quietly, his face flushed red.

  A nurse entered the room, and Camille asked Johnny what had happened to her, pretending to be forgetful, as the nurse connected another fluid bag to her IV drip pole.

  “Somebody hurt you, baby,” Johnny said as he approached her bedside. “The good news is that nothing is broken.” He gave her a beautiful smile and smoothed back her hair from her face. Camille nestled into his warm touch and watched her mother coming into the room with two paper cups of what seemed like coffee. She handed one to Johnny and gave Camille a wink, and a look of understanding passed between them.

  “Where’s Phoebe?” Camille asked Johnny.

  “She’s with her friend.”

  “How are you, sweetheart?” her mother asked her. “You still are beautiful.”

  “I want to see what I look like,” Camille said, and the nurse cleared her throat quietly.

  “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Johnny said.

  “I can handle it,” she replied.

  Sheila gave Johnny a look of hesitation, then dug through her purse, handing Camille her small makeup mirror as the security guard left the room.

  Camille took one look at her swollen, purpled face, and shoved the mirror back in her mother’s direction. She’d known she’d look bad afterwards, but she hadn’t known she’d look that bad.

  “I certainly don’t look beautiful,” she joked to her mother with a smile.

  A man who looked like a police detective, in a dark suit, entered Camille’s room and she sat up, eager to finally be able to speak to the police, and the nurse stepped out of the room.

  “I’m Detective Highland,” he said as he approached her bedside, and reached out to shake her hand. “I hear that you’d like to report an assault committed against you?”

  Camille nodded as she smiled and shook the tall, chubby, red-haired man’s hand.

  7

  Violet stood at the stove and put the pasta in the boiling water, as she made spaghetti with meatballs in a red sauce for Sam and herself, when she heard a knock, or more like a pounding, on the door.

  “What the fuck?” she muttered to herself. “Sam?” she called to him in the other room where he watched television.

  “I’ll get it,” he replied, and she heard him rising from the couch.

  Sam opened the door and Violet could hear him talking to someone, or more like, some people. And they sounded like cops. Violet knew the sound of the police well, with that authoritative note in their voices, like they knew they could smack you around and you couldn’t do anything about it. And, hell, they could. But Tommy was a cop, so they must not all have been bad. Well, at least Tommy wasn’t.

  Violet turned off the stove and searched her memories for the latest illegal activity she’d done. Oh, yeah, the heroin dealing. But these cops hadn’t come bursting through the door with their guns drawn, so it didn’t look like a drug bust. So, what the fuck did they want?

  “Ms. McCarthy?” the tall, red-haired man in the suit said, as she approached the small, narrow hallway from the kitchen. “I need to talk to you.” The guy, stood in the doorway, flanked by two police officers, whose faces she couldn’t see, as Sam held the door open.

  Violet didn’t even need the tall man to introduce himself for her to know he was a detective.

  “What’s this about?” Sam asked for her.

  “It’s about an assault that’s been committed,” he replied in a solemn tone.

  What kind of fucking nonsense was this? Violet thought to herself. She hadn’t beaten anyone in quite a while, and neither had any of her guys, from what she knew.

  He introduced himself as Detective Highland and then she begrudgingly allowed them into her living room.

  The two uniform cops, a younger man and an older woman, quietly stood by as though they were waiting for the detective’s orders like obedient dogs. They were there as backup, and Violet knew that.

  “Am I under arrest?” she asked the detective, with Sam at her side, holding her hand, which she suspected comforted him more than it did her.

  “We need to speak with you,” he said, not answering her question. “You’ll need to come with us to the station.”

  “She hasn’t done anything,” Sam said in her defense.

  Detective Highland ignored him and said to Violet, “We need you to come with us now.”

  “It’s not like I have a choice,” Violet said, eyeing the two uniformed officers near him who had stepped closer, as though they were prepared to restrain her if she lashed out.

  “I’ll go with you,” Sam told her, with a concerned gaze.

  “No, honey, you haven’t eaten dinner, and this’ll probably take a few hours. Right?” She looked to the cops, using her sweetest concerned partner voice.

  Highland nodded.

  “What station are we going to?” she suddenly asked him, hoping it wasn’t Tommy’s, as she didn’t want to embarrass him.

  He gave her the name of one that wasn’t her son’s, and she exhaled in relief.

  “Are you sure?” Sam asked her, again, as she collected her purse and jacket from the hallway. “I don’t like the idea of you going alone.”

  “I’ll be fine, call Jake,” she said, accustomed to the routine of talking with the police. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Once I get to the station, I’m not opening my damn mouth until he’s there.” Violet kept their lawyer, Jake, on a retainer for things like this.

  Sam kissed her goodbye. “I’ll finish dinner.”

  “Sweetheart, you don’t have to,” Violet said as she stroked his face.

  “No, it’s fin
e, I’ll do it.”

  Violet kissed him again then said to the detective with a smirk, “Aren’t you going to cuff me?”

  He glanced at the two other officers. “I don’t think that’s needed, do you?”

  Violet shrugged. She didn’t feel much like joking with a cop. “Just so you know, when we get there, I’m not talking to you until my lawyer gets there.”

  “Of course you aren’t,” the detective replied, sarcasm thick in his voice.

  “I hope this won’t take too long. I haven’t had dinner yet.”

  She left the apartment with Detective Highland and the two police officers, and followed them down the stairs to a police car parked outside on the street. A few of her neighbors waved to her and didn’t so much as give a second glance. The sight was normal in the community. Violet smiled and waved back to them.

  “Tell me what this is about,” Violet said to Detective Highland ahead of her.

  He didn’t reply. She kept asking him, and he kept saying, “Down at the station.”

  Once inside the car, “What? You aren’t going to put on the sirens?” Violet quipped to the female officer seated next to her in the back.

  Detective Highland overheard her from the front, where he sat with the male officer, who drove the car.

  “We can’t put them on just for you,” he said.

  Had he made another joke? Perhaps her interrogation wouldn’t be so dull after all.

  The car stopped and they were stuck in traffic for a few minutes. Then they continued on, and soon they reached the police station. Violet knew the routine by heart. The cops parked in a special area reserved for bringing in suspects, then she followed them inside the ordinary brick building. This time, no fingerprints were taken, and she was escorted directly into an interrogation room and told to sit at the table. Whatever the hell this was about, they wanted to get it done immediately. Detective Highland sat across from her without offering her a coffee or something to drink first, and so Violet knew this was serious. She expected that Sam had rung her lawyer and he would arrive very soon.

  “So, are you going to tell me what this is about, or what?” she said.

  “Somebody said you assaulted them,” he replied coolly.

  Violet sat back in her chair and made a face. “What? That’s bullshit. I didn’t do nothing. Who the hell said this? No, wait, I want my lawyer here.”

  Highland cleared his throat. “Very well.” He didn’t move, and she wondered if he’d spend the whole time waiting for her lawyer to arrive staring at her.

  Violet searched through her purse, which one of the officers had searched before, for a piece of gum, anything, to distract her while she waited. She didn’t like him looking at her, it made her a little nervous, and, normally, cops didn’t make her nervous. But there was something about Detective Highland that spelled trouble. Even though, this time, she hadn’t done anything wrong, she couldn’t help feel on edge.

  After what felt like a long time sitting in silence in the small room, the door opened and her lawyer, Jake Precise, entered, trailed by a young-looking male uniformed cop.

  “Do you need anything, sir?” the cop asked Detective Highland.

  “No, we’re fine,” he told the guy.

  Violet knew there had to have been other detectives watching from the other side of the mirror behind her.

  Jake greeted Violet and sat down next to her. “I’d like a few minutes alone with my client,” he told Detective Highland, who nodded firmly and rose.

  Violet waited until he’d exited to tell Jake, “What the hell is this all about? Have they said anything?”

  “Camille Garcia was assaulted and she’s told the police that you were the assailant.”

  “When did this happen?” Violet said, too shocked to process what she’d just been told.

  “It was recently.”

  “She’s a fucking liar!” Violet screamed, banging her fists on the table, then standing up and shaking her hands in rage. “I never fucking touched her.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” Jake said, with a touch of irony in his voice, for all those other times when she hadn’t ‘really done it’, but he’d known she’d had. “Regardless, you know the drill. The police have to take the complaint seriously.”

  “Are they going to charge me?” Violet said, unable to calm herself enough to sit down again.

  “They haven’t said.”

  “Why is she doing this?” Violet asked, more to herself than to Jake. But deep down inside, she knew the answer: Camille must have somehow found out about her heroin dealing. And what did Camille plan to do, send her to jail for life? Probably. Violet sensed Camille’s intentions, because although they were enemies, they thought alike.

  “No need to tell me,” Violet said to Jake. “I think I know the reason.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s not important,” Violet said, unwilling to admit to the crime, even in front of her lawyer, and especially not while she was in what she was certain was a room with a recorder. “You just need to know I didn’t do this.”

  “They’re going to talk with you, but remember, you don’t need to say anything,” Jake reminded her.

  “Yeah, I know the routine,” Violet said. “Let’s just get this over with. But I want to make one thing clear: I’m not going to jail over that bitch.”

  Good lawyer that he was, Jake patted her hand and said, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

  He rose and left the room and came back with Detective Highland, who sat down across from Violet. Jake sat next to her and opened his briefcase, removed a legal pad and pen, and set them on the table.

  “Your lawyer has explained why you’re here?” the detective asked her.

  Violet nodded in silence.

  He started asking her questions about her whereabouts and she stopped him. “I haven’t seen Camille in ages.”

  She’d decided to speak to the police because, this time, she really hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “Are you aware that she’s been hospitalized because of the extent of her injuries?”

  “I didn’t know that, no, but I assumed it. Anyway, I couldn’t have done it. I was at the beauty salon getting my hair and nails done.”

  “They’ll confirm this?”

  “Of course,” Violet said, and gave him the name of the salon.

  “Your hands,” Detective Highland said.

  “What?”

  He gestured at her hands. “I need to check them.”

  Unsure of what to do, Violet looked to Jake for guidance, and he nodded at her to go on.

  “I’ve got nothing to hide,” Violet said, shoving her hands close to the detective.

  Highland examined her skin with his cold touch, and his hands felt a little too smooth for a man. Violet pulled back from him when she felt he’d spent enough time checking her.

  “Find what you were looking for?” she said.

  He didn’t reply, but she knew he’d found nothing because she had nothing to hide. “No marks, right?” she said, and he stared at her with a frosty gaze. He must have known about her reputation, and Violet could tell he didn’t think she was a nice little lady. She didn’t fool him one bit.

  “If you’re done here, I’d like for my client to be able to go home now,” Jake interrupted them.

  Detective Highland looked at him and simply replied, “All right.” Violet could feel his anger as he left the room before them.

  “I don’t think he’ll drop it,” she said to Jake when they were alone.

  “You told me you have nothing to hide,” Jake said, patting her hand. “If that’s the case, then you’ll be fine.”

  “It is the case,” Violet said, not liking that he doubted her, although she’d given him cause to so many times before.

  “Let’s get you home; I’ll drive you,” he said.

  They walked past Highland standing with an older woman who also looked like a detective near the rows of desks, and Violet could feel
their eyes on her as she left the station with Jake at her side. She had a heavy feeling in her heart. She thought of her mother and knew how wrong these things could go.

  8

  Dana had spent most of the day briefing Tommy on the heroin case, and they had had a long day. So when Tommy suggested they get dinner afterwards, she agreed to it, though her instincts told her not to. She hadn’t eaten much that day, but her gut told her that she shouldn’t get to know Tommy after hours. Her attraction to him was too strong, and she didn’t date co-workers, and especially not those who worked under her. But when Tommy gave a woman that charming smile, there was little she could do to say no.

  “Do you want to go to a bar instead?” Tommy asked her as they stood on the station steps, smoking cigarettes before they left.

  “I thought you said you wanted to go to dinner,” Dana replied. Tommy was younger than her, but at her age she didn’t frequent bars that much anymore, much less with a younger man. “I need food, not booze and a headache in the morning.”

  “I do want to go to dinner, but you do know that they usually have a menu at the bar?”

  She knew he was young and probably wanted to unwind after work.

  “Fine, I’ll go to a bar,” she said because he had that smile. She flicked her cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with her foot.

  Tommy continued to smoke as they walked and they had a conversation about a new law banning people from smoking cigarettes in pubs.

  “Where are we going?” Tommy asked her after they had walked for a few minutes.

  “Wait a minute, I thought you had a bar in mind,” she said.

  He looked at her and shook his head and they started laughing.

  Dana looked around the crowded street, searching the shopfronts for a pub. They moved off to the side of the street, away from the middle, so that the impatient pedestrians wouldn’t bump into them. The bright city lights illuminated the tired faces around them.

  “You’ve worked here the longest,” Dana teased him. “You find a place.”