The Trouble Legacy

by E. R. Fallon

  “Does something amuse you, Mrs. Garcia?” the prosecutor asked her.

  Shit, Camille thought. She didn’t like this woman, but she could make Camille’s life a living hell.

  “No, sorry,” she murmured.

  The prosecutor stared at her for a moment then looked at Mickey. “Thank you for bringing your client here today.”

  “Of course,” Mickey said, giving her the smile he used when he wanted something, a look Camille knew well. “Thank you for seeing us.”

  “I’ll cut right to the chase,” the prosecutor said to them. “Today’s your lucky day,” she told Camille.

  Camille sat there, still not believing what she was hearing, and to think, she’d entered thinking it would be something awful.

  “Excuse me?” Camille said, stunned.

  “You’ve been deemed a non-violent offender,” the prosecutor told her.

  Camille wanted to smile at the irony, at how much the woman didn’t know, but she restrained herself. “I don’t understand,” she said, looking at Mickey but not wanting to seem too surprised.

  “My office has a backlog of cases so we’ve decided not to bother with yours, with a trial and such, if you accept a plea deal with time served.”

  “I won’t have to return to prison?”

  “That’s correct,” the woman said with a sigh.

  “Baby, did you hear what she said?” Johnny told Camille as she sat there quietly. He rose and wanted to embrace her, but she found herself unable to move.

  When she finally did move, the prosecutor had taken a phone call, and waved them out of her office. Johnny went to embrace her again in the lobby and this time she accepted. Mickey also gave her a hug.

  “I have to say, you’re fucking lucky, Camille,” he said with a grin.

  But Camille didn’t believe in luck, at least not in the traditional sense, and she especially didn’t believe in saying aloud how lucky you were, for fear it could jinx you.

  “Don’t say that,” she told Mickey. “You know how I feel about that.”

  “Yeah, sorry, but you are.”

  “Let’s go out to celebrate,” Johnny said. “Mickey, you’re coming with us.”

  Mickey agreed to go, and they planned to meet at a restaurant down the street. After a long meal and plenty of drinks, Johnny and Camille said goodnight to Mickey who lived alone, and then drove home to the suburbs.

  20

  As Camille and Johnny approached their house, she saw that strange car parked nearby and pointed it out to him.

  “What the fuck?” Johnny said. “What does this guy think he’s doing?” He slowed the car down and parked farther away from their home.

  “Wait here,” he told Camille as he opened the driver’s side door with the engine still running.

  “Johnny—” Camille said, wanting to go with him.

  “Stay here,” he said, as if he thought the driver could be dangerous. Normally, someone might call the police in the same situation, but Camille and Johnny preferred handling such things themselves.

  Camille nodded as he closed the door and watched him from inside the car. Johnny slowly walked toward the strange vehicle, but as he went closer to it, the driver took off, speeding away down the street, tires screeching. Johnny grabbed the closest object he could find, a somewhat large rock, and hurled it at the back of the car, barely missing it.

  “Fucker!” he screamed at the car as it disappeared into the evening.

  Camille got out of their car and ran up to him.

  “Do you think it’s cops spying on us?” she asked him, touching his shoulder.

  Johnny turned and looked at her. “I’m not sure, but whoever it is, they got some nerve. We’re gonna find out who it is. Nobody fucks with us. If it’s that Billy, he’s gonna be a dead man soon.”

  “Don’t say that,” Camille replied, suddenly defensive of Billy, her first love. “It’s not him; he wouldn’t do something like that.”

  “He was fucking obsessed with you, baby. He still is, for all we know. It’s him.”

  “No,” Camille said, shaking her head. “The last I heard, he was too messed up to even leave the house.”

  “It’s him. I just know it. He’s fucking dead,” Johnny said loudly.

  Camille shushed him, suddenly aware of their quiet suburban neighborhood. By now, their neighbors already thought they were trouble. She didn’t need them thinking anything worse. She also still cared about Billy, and knew what Johnny could do.

  “Let’s go inside,” Camille said to Johnny. “Phoebe and my mother will want to know we’re home.” Sheila had stayed with the girl while she and Johnny went out with Mickey.

  Johnny nodded. “I’ll go inside,” he said, returning to their car with her. “But if it is Billy, he’s finished.”

  His words shook Camille, but she couldn’t let him know how much they frightened her. As far as Johnny knew, Billy was in her past, but sometimes Camille wasn’t sure.

  Tommy’s absence left a void in Dana’s day. She had gotten used to him over the past weeks, had gotten used to having a partner. Now she was solo. And Tommy? What would happen to him? Dana knew he could lose his job, that it was a very real possibility. She tried not to think about Tommy’s fate, because doing so upset her. After all, she wasn’t made of ice. The hardest part was that she had to focus on work; she had to solve the drugs case. She knew she could do it on her own, she knew that she was capable, but she couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d betrayed Tommy. They’d both used each other, but she cared about him. Her decision to go to his boss hadn’t been easy, but police work was in her blood, and if there was one thing her father taught her, it was that the law came first. She suspected that might not be true of Tommy, and his revelation to her about his mother had concerned her. At the end of the day, Dana felt she had made the right decision, and that was how she continued to function.

  Now came the hardest part, to continue on with work as if Tommy had never been there. But Dana went about her duties, and one afternoon she parked some distance from Violet McCarthy’s pub, where she still had a view of the alleyway behind it, and she waited. She had a plan that she wanted to test out.

  Dana waited for hours. She had the radio on at low volume, but she wasn’t listening to it, it merely filled the void that Tommy had left. She waited until dawn nearly arrived, and she saw Sam Paul exiting the back entrance of the pub with the trash he carried out to the alley every late night after closing. Dana had been staking out the place over the past few nights, and she’d come to notice a pattern, that Sam always left after Violet, that he stayed on to carry out the closing duties.

  Dana quickly shut off the radio and stepped out of her car, closing the door lightly. She approached Sam slowly, so as not to alarm him. He had his back to her as he moved the full garbage cans around, but then turned around fast when she stood behind him.

  He took a step back, recognizing her immediately. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to talk with you, Sam,” Dana replied, and showed him her badge, although he already knew who she was.

  “What do you want?” Sam asked.

  Dana had wondered how much Tommy had told Sam and his mother about their investigation, if he’d told them anything, but now she knew he hadn’t, and that wounded her. It seemed Tommy had done the right thing after all. Perhaps she’d judged him too harshly, and she had a touch of regret about going to his boss.

  “Sam, do you have a moment?” she said.

  “I’m closing for the day,” he replied, returning to his task. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

  Dana had wanted to get him on his own without Violet. She knew about the time he’d spent in prison, and about his assault there, and that he’d do anything to avoid serving more time. Of the two, she reasoned Sam would be the easiest to break, and with what Detective Seale had said about Violet being the leader.

  “Sam, it’s in your best interest for you to speak with me,” she told him. />
  “You have some nerve,” he said, turning to her again, displaying an angry side that she didn’t know he had. “You have some nerve sneaking up on me like this, even if you are the police.”

  “Sam, I have a proposal for you,” she said, looking around to confirm they were alone. “I want you to consider helping me.”

  “You mean you want me to snitch on her, on Violet?”

  Dana nodded. “I know about your record, Sam. You don’t want to return to prison, which is where you’re going to end up sooner or later because we’re going to catch you two. So I’m asking you to consider helping us out, and in exchange, I’ll speak with the District Attorney on your behalf, and you can avoid prison.”

  “What makes you think I’ll turn against her? She and I, we’ve been together for a long time. I love her; I love her to death.”

  “Sam, remember what prison was like for you? You still have your golden boy good looks; it’s going to be even worse for you in there this time around,” Dana said, hoping to push him over to her side.

  Sam scowled at her. “You’re a sick person,” he told her. “You cops, you think you can do whatever you want to get your way. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, that’s it.”

  “Those guys who assaulted you, I heard they’re still serving time. You do know you’ll be sent to the same prison once you’re convicted?” she said to him, although she wasn’t certain. “I bet they’re just waiting to have another go at you.”

  Then his face changed, going from pale to reddening. He was quiet while he seemed to be thinking. Thinking really hard. “This deal you’re offering,” he said after few moments. “Is there an expiration date on it?”

  Dana shook her head. “But I’ll need to know your answer sooner rather than later.”

  “How do I get in touch?”

  She handed her card to him. “You can give me a call.”

  Sam wiped his brow and accepted the card.

  21

  Through Anton, Camille and Johnny had arranged a meeting with Violet McCarthy’s supplier. Although Violet was encroaching on their territory, and they were certainly within their rights to act, they’d decided on a meeting for now, rather than an all-out gang war, to stake their claim on the neighborhood.

  The supplier, a man called the Swede, worked out of a renovated warehouse on the riverfront. Camille and Johnny parked outside the address Anton had given them, and waited for him to arrive. They had arranged to meet the Swede in the evening, and the sunlight faded above the water, casting a subtle glow over its shores.

  “What a beautiful night,” Johnny commented to her as they waited. “Camille?” he said, when she didn’t answer him.

  “Sorry,” Camille finally replied. “But you know how I get before big meetings.”

  “I know. I’m the same way,” Johnny said, putting his arm around her and pulling her in close. “At least we came prepared,” he said, patting his gun at his side.

  Camille spotted Anton’s blue Mercedes in the rearview mirror and watched him pull up into the secluded, gravel-strewn area where they were parked.

  “Here he comes,” she told Johnny.

  Anton parked, stepped out of his car, and approached Johnny’s window. He tapped on the glass, and Johnny rolled the window down.

  “You ready?” Anton asked them.

  Johnny nodded, and he and Camille exited their car, meeting Anton outside. They approached the building as a group, and then Anton stopped in front of a large red door of the nondescript warehouse and made a call on his cell phone.

  “We’re here,” he spoke into his phone.

  After a moment, the door opened, and a hulking bald man dressed in black came outside to greet them.

  “Please follow me,” he said politely to the three of them.

  Once they were inside the place, Camille noticed it seemed very professional, like an actual office, not an old warehouse. A second man approached them, also hulking.

  “I need to check you for weapons,” he said in a flat tone, and seemed the type of person who rarely smiled.

  Johnny looked to Anton. Camille knew he didn’t like entering unknown territory without backup in the form of a weapon, but since they were on the Swede’s turf, they would have to play by his rules. Anton had told them that the Swede was a very powerful person who had connections to the cartels and the mafia, so she and Johnny wanted to show him respect, as well as let him know they—not Violet—owned the neighborhood. Owning one neighborhood in the city wasn’t much from an outside perspective, but it had been quite profitable for them over the years, and she and Johnny wanted to keep it that way.

  “You can search me,” Johnny told the man. “But I can already tell you I got a gun. My wife, she’s got one on her too.”

  “I’m gonna need to take them,” the guy replied to Johnny. Then he looked at Anton. “You got one on you? If so, I’m gonna need it.”

  Anton nodded and handed his gun over to the man.

  Camille stood there, shivering in the very cold building. They must’ve had the air conditioning down fucking low.

  Anton waited patiently as the guy patted him down, then Johnny handed his gun over, and the guy patted him.

  He stopped when he came to Camille. She reluctantly handed hers over to him, but Johnny shouted, “Don’t you fucking touch her,” when the man began to pat her down, a little too slowly for his liking.

  “Hey, hey,” another man shouted as he approached them. “Are we going to have a problem here or what?” he said.

  Camille turned to look at the man who’d spoken, a tall, youngish, fit man, with striking, fair good looks. Before he even introduced himself, she knew he must be the Swede.

  “I don’t want him touching my wife. He seems like he’s enjoying it a little too much,” Johnny said to the Swede.

  “All right, all right.” The Swede spoke to Camille, “Did you hand in your gun?”

  Camille nodded.

  “Have anything else on you?” he asked her, his breath smelling strongly of tobacco.

  “No,” she said, and she saw that he’d taken her word for it because she was a woman. Which could have been a big mistake.

  “Then we’re all good here,” he spoke to his men, his words an order. “Welcome to my home,” he told Johnny and Camille. Then he exchanged pleasantries with Anton, whom he seemed to know well. His clearly armed men followed closely behind them as he led the group into the inner part of the building where there were white leather couches and a very large television in a room with a pool table. There were pieces of artwork on the walls, which Camille assumed must have been expensive.

  The Swede motioned for his men to leave then asked the group to sit down. Obviously, he felt confident enough to be alone with them.

  “Any of you care for a drink?” he asked, walking to the small bar in the room.

  Johnny and Camille sat down and glanced at each other. She sensed both wanted to remain alert and sober for the meeting, so they declined. Anton sat next to them and said yes to a drink.

  “Vodka with cranberry?” the Swede asked Anton, which Camille knew was his favorite drink.

  Anton accepted the drink with thanks, and the Swede took a seat on the couch opposite them. Camille could feel Johnny shifting next to her, and reasoned he must have been as eager as she was to begin the conversation.

  “I think it’s no secret that we’re here today because I know Anton,” the Swede said, sipping his drink.

  “We’ve got no problem with you,” Johnny told him. “It’s Violet McCarthy we have troubles with.”

  “Violet,” the Swede said with a chuckle.

  “She isn’t supposed to be dealing in our neighborhood, and she knows it,” Camille spoke up.

  The Swede stared at her with an amused expression on his face. “I was surprised to see you brought your woman with you,” he said to Johnny. Camille noticed he had a very slight accent, as though he came to the country as a child.

  “C
amille’s a part of this, too,” Johnny replied.

  “Camille. Violet. We’ve got lots of powerful women in this city,” the Swede said, with a smile like before, that made Camille want to slap him. He paused and seemed to only look at Johnny when he spoke. “You want me to stop supplying Violet and start supplying you?”

  Johnny nodded.

  “That’d be very disrespectful to Violet,” the Swede said.

  “We can handle her,” Camille replied. “We have before.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” he said, grinning at her. If Johnny hadn’t been in the room, Camille imagined he would have winked at her. “You’re not going to give me a choice, are you?”

  Johnny seemed hesitant to agree, and Camille felt the same way, as agreeing would mean that they were willing to start a war with the Swede and his associates. But the possibility hung there in the air, for some time, as Anton sipped his drink next to them and the Swede sat there, looking at them.

  “If I might be frank,” Johnny suddenly said. “It was bold of you to sell to Violet. You must know that Camille and I control the neighborhood.”

  The Swede gave him a slight smirk and touched his gun at his side. “Are we going to have a problem? Do I need to call my men back in here?” He chuckled a little.

  “No problem,” Johnny said. “All I’m saying is that you must have known this could happen, when you did what you did. We can give you some time, but not very much.”

  “You must realize this puts me in a difficult situation.”

  Johnny gave him a shrug like that wasn’t their problem. “Like I said, we can give you some time, but not much.”

  “I don’t think there’s much of a decision to make,” the Swede replied thoughtfully. “It’s you or we go to war, correct?”

  “I’m sure you already know the answer,” Johnny said, then he looked at Camille and gestured that it was time for them to leave.

  Camille followed him, and Anton rose to say goodbye to his friend. Outside, Johnny spoke to Anton about the situation.

  “What do you think he’ll do?”