by E. R. Fallon
“You know, about Vito. He used to work with him. He knows him better than I do.”
“You’re gonna run to your ex-lover for help instead of your husband?” Johnny said, slamming his fist on the sofa.
Camille retreated from him. “Johnny, take it easy.” She had gotten used to his temper over the years, but also knew he was under a lot of stress. “I go to you for help, always. You know that. But we need to get Phoebe back, safely, and I’ve been out of touch with Vito’s whereabouts for years. Billy might know what’s going on with him.”
“Do you still have feelings for him?” Johnny demanded.
Camille shook her head, though the lie hurt to tell it. “No, Johnny. Think of Phoebe. We got to get her back home.”
Johnny stared at her quietly and seemed to be considering whether he liked her answer. “You don’t gotta tell me that. Phoebe’s my flesh and blood, and I’d do anything to get her back, except sacrifice my wife.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Camille told him. “I love you, not Billy.” Which was true, although she still had feelings for the handsome gangster.
Johnny eyed her like he was considering what she said, and she waited for him to react.
“You really think it’s the only way?” he asked, after a moment.
Camille nodded. “I do, Johnny. It’s the only way, without involving the police.”
Johnny nodded, and they left the house together in silence to get into his sports car.
“What do I tell my mother?” Camille thought out loud from the passenger seat.
“Let’s just get Phoebe back,” Johnny said, touching her hand. “Where’s Billy living these days?” he asked after a second.
“He’s got a girl. He lives with her,” Camille replied, careful about her words.
“You seem to know a lot about him. You’ve been keeping tabs on him over the years?”
Camille knew that Johnny would dislike it if she told him the truth and answered yes, so she shrugged.
“Camille, baby, I asked you a question,” Johnny replied.
“I’ve just heard things. Over the years, I’ve heard things. That’s all there is to it.”
Johnny started the car and didn’t say anything. As they drove, Camille quietly gave him instructions from her seat.
“He better pray I don’t come inside and beat his ass for stalking you,” Johnny remarked after a while.
“It’s not him, Johnny. Billy hasn’t been outside our house; I’m sure of it.”
Johnny murmured something unpleasant that she couldn’t hear, and Camille was happy to ignore it.
Billy lived in a shitty neighborhood in the heart of the city, the kind of place the average person tried not to set foot in after dark. Johnny seemed reluctant to leave his nice car parked outside Billy’s unlit building, but he also seemed reluctant to let Camille go inside alone.
“What’s the name of his girlfriend?” he asked Camille as he handed her his gun. “Take this, and you can go inside.” He knew from experience that she knew how to use the weapon.
“Her name’s Pillow.”
Johnny gave her a funny look then saw that she was serious and just shook his head.
“Hey, be careful,” he said to Camille, grabbing her sleeve. “I’ll wait here with the car running in case we gotta leave fast.”
His words frightened her somewhat. What could happen that they would need to leave quickly?
Camille closed the car door, and with Johnny’s gun hidden in her waistband, she ascended Billy’s steps. The front door to the dark building wasn’t locked so she walked straight inside. Camille touched the outline of the gun as she entered, as though to reassure herself she’d be protected if she needed it.
She didn’t know which of the apartments was Billy’s, so she’d just have to risk annoying the shit out of someone by banging on their door late at night. She started with the first apartment to her right, the first one she saw when she entered the barely lit hallway.
Camille knocked and waited for someone to answer. Then she heard a voice shout, “Do you know what time it is? Go away!”
“Hey, it’s important,” Camille said, having no patience for bullshit.
“Go the fuck away!” the voice, a woman, yelled.
“I’ll leave if you tell me if a guy named Billy lives here. Is your name Pillow?” Camille replied.
“No and no. Now leave me alone!”
The woman sounded as if she hadn’t bothered to rise from her sofa or bed.
Camille quietly left and went to the next door. At the rate this was going, it would take forever. Worry made Camille feel ill. She wasn’t sure how much time Phoebe had.
Camille knocked lightly then could hear footsteps approaching the door. A pretty blonde woman around her height and age answered. The woman seemed calm, and not annoyed that she’d been disturbed at the late hour. She wasn’t wearing bedclothes and smiled at Camille, who could see her teeth were a little discolored.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she told Camille, very friendly considering the situation. “Who are you?”
“I’m Camille,” Camille replied, offering her hand to shake.
“Camille O’Brien?”
“It’s Camille Garcia now.”
“Camille, I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Pillow.” She glanced at Camille’s cane discreetly.
Pillow’s hands were warm and soft, like the appearance of the woman herself.
“Is Billy home?” Camille asked.
“He always is. He hardly leaves the house except to score. I’ve tried stopping him, but he’s a big guy, you know.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Camille replied, and her heart sank. She didn’t dislike Pillow, but, personally, she would have done more than trying to stop Billy from scoring drugs. She would have tied him to a chair if needed.
“You really loved him,” Pillow said.
Was it that obvious?
Camille didn’t reply, and said, “My husband’s waiting outside. I don’t have much time.”
“What’s going on? It must be important for you to come all the way here.”
“It’s about my step-daughter. She’s been kidnapped, and Billy might be able to help me find the people who took her.” Camille didn’t feel the need to explain anything more to Pillow, because she felt the woman already knew about Camille and Johnny’s lifestyle from Billy.
“You better come in fast then,” Pillow said, and hurried Camille inside her apartment.
26
Upon entering the apartment, Camille expected to find an utter wreck of a home, but evidently someone took care of the place. Pillow probably. Cigarette smoke caught in her throat as she approached the sofa where her former love sat smoking with the television on low and creating a glow in the otherwise dim room.
“Baby, who’s there?” she heard Billy say to Pillow. She recognized his voice—low, warm—immediately. Just the sound of Billy’s voice practically made her melt. She’d once been in love with every inch of him, including the way he talked.
“It’s an old friend,” Pillow told Billy.
“Who?” Billy looked up from the television and his eyes met Camille’s. “What are you doing here?” he said, not sounding overjoyed to see her.
“Billy, it’s been a long time,” Camille said.
“I thought you forgot about me. Years have passed, and I haven’t received a single word from you, not even a letter.”
Camille tried to hide her shame as she replied, “I know, Billy. I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t give a shit about me so what are you doing here now?”
Billy was angry with her, and rightly so. She’d all but abandoned him when he became addicted and needed a friend.
“I got married, Billy; my life got complicated,” she replied.
“Your husband didn’t want you seeing me?”
It took a moment for Camille to nod, and then Pillow shut the door.
“Want some coffee?” she asked
Camille. “Or something stronger?”
“Coffee would be great, thanks.” She didn’t realize how exhausted she was until then.
“Sit down,” Pillow told Camille when Billy didn’t offer her a seat.
Camille eyed the sofa where Billy sat, then settled on an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair at the other side of the room.
“You look good,” she told Billy, after a moment. He did, with good looks, a little rough around the edges, a little gaunt in the face, with stubble and his hair disheveled. His body also looked a bit thinner.
“What did you expect me to look like? Terrible?” Billy asked with a chuckle.
“I wasn’t sure. I’ve heard a lot of stories over the years.”
“I’m not dead yet,” Billy replied with sarcasm. Then he looked at her, closely, in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. “You haven’t changed, Camille.” He chuckled again, eyeing the gun on her waist. “But you’ve done well for yourself. I’ve heard you got a house in the suburbs now. Not bad for a one-time gang girl. Of course, I would imagine that Johnny’s running the show now, am I right?”
His remark irked her a little, but it was true. After she became a wife, she’d surrendered to Johnny in a way.
“Pillow seems like a great girl,” she told Billy, ignoring his remark.
“She is. She’s not as good in bed as you were—you were fucking wild—but she’s a good woman.”
“Billy, stop it; that’s disgusting,” Camille shushed him, worried Pillow could overhear him in the kitchen.
“She doesn’t care if I say things like that. She understands me,” Billy replied casually.
Camille hadn’t understood him sometimes, and she knew that.
“I’m surprised your husband let you come in here alone,” he told her. “What if I’d been alone?”
“He knows you have a girlfriend.”
Pillow returned with cups of coffee for each of them and set them down on the table in front of Camille. She handed Camille and Billy their cups, and Camille thanked her.
“What’s going on, Camille? Why are you here?” Billy asked as he gulped his down.
Camille drank some coffee and found it very hot and didn’t know how Billy could stand it, but he’d always been resistant to pain, from what she remembered.
“You must want something to come here after all these years,” Billy said when she hesitated to answer him.
“She needs your help, Billy,” Pillow told him.
“My help? What does she need my help for when she’s got her husband?” Billy scoffed, and his words wounded Camille.
First, she had to get something out of the way. Because ever since Johnny had made the suggestion, she couldn’t not think about it, despite believing it wasn’t true. “This is going to sound crazy, Billy, but have you been driving by my house?” she asked him.
Billy gave her a look like she’d just slapped him. “I don’t even know where you live, Camille. Now you’re accusing me of stalking you?”
Even Pillow seemed put off by the suggestion. “What’s going on?” she asked Camille.
“Did your husband put that idea in your head?” Billy asked.
Camille didn’t want to tell him the truth and she believed him, so she said, “That’s not why I’m here.” She paused. “You remember how Johnny has a daughter from another woman? Well, after the girl’s mother died, we got full custody.”
Billy gave her a concerned look. “You couldn’t have kids after your injury?” he asked delicately.
“Billy, I don’t want to talk about this with you right now. The reason I came here is because someone’s taken her. They’ve taken my daughter. Her name’s Phoebe, and they took her right in front of me tonight.”
Sensing her urgency, Billy seemed to become more alert. “Who were they? Another gang?”
“No, I don’t think it’s got to do with any kind of a turf war. At first, I thought it was Violet McCarthy.”
“She’s still around?”
Camille nodded. “And she’s still causing me a headache.”
“You know my opinion about her, and it hasn’t changed.”
Years ago, Billy had told her she should kill Violet, get rid of her, once and for all.
“I know how you feel, Billy. The thing is, it’s not Violet who took her. It was Vito Russo’s daughter.”
“Vito? How the hell did you find that out?”
“We got this guy in the police department on our payroll,” Camille explained.
“You’re gonna ring the police?” Billy asked, using the remote to turn off the television volume. Then he faced her.
“No, Billy. I know you’ve been out of the scene for a while now, but you know, people like us, we don’t ring the police. You’re the only one who can help me get her back. Vito trusts you; he always liked you. He’ll listen to you.”
“I haven’t seen the guy for years. He probably doesn’t remember me, and if he does, he must remember how I hate his fucking guts after you told me what he did to you.”
“Billy, I got no one else to ask. I need your help.”
“Is Johnny waiting outside?” Billy asked, with a slight sneer.
Camille nodded.
“Too afraid to face me man to man?”
“No, Billy, you know it isn’t like that. He doesn’t want to leave his car alone in this neighborhood.”
“The neighborhood’s a real fucking mess, isn’t it?”
“I’ve seen worse.”
“Of course you have.” Billy smiled at her and seemed to be thinking.
“You should help her,” Pillow interjected, and Billy quieted her.
“I can’t help you, Camille,” he said after a moment, looked away and turned up the television’s volume.
She wasn’t going to beg him, so she got up in frustration and headed for the door, thanking Pillow for the coffee. She turned to Billy on her way out. “Damn you, Billy. You used to have a fucking heart!”
“Camille, wait,” Billy said, as she opened the door to leave.
Camille’s heart raced with anticipation.
“I’ll help you,” he said. “But, first, I need to sober up.”
“You’re drunk?” Camille said with a smile. “I couldn’t tell.”
“I’ve become good at hiding it.”
Pillow rose and looked at their empty cups. “I’ll get us some more coffee.”
“You think Vito’s sent his daughter after you?” Billy asked Camille when she was alone.
“Either that, or she’s acting on her own, but I doubt it. He drinks now, or so I heard.”
“He’s fucked up, like me,” Billy said. “But Vito’s not a good guy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he convinced his daughter to take your Phoebe, to get back at you.”
Pillow returned with their coffee, and Camille sat down again.
“What’s your plan?” Billy asked Camille.
She shook her head.
“You don’t have one? Johnny must have a plan.”
“We’re gonna go to Vito’s place, make him hand her over to us.” Then something horrifying occurred to her. “You don’t think he’s hurt her, do you? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if he did.”
“I’m sure he hasn’t, Camille,” Billy said, and she sensed his words were spoken to calm her, and so she was unable to settle. “You’re just gonna hope he listens to you? What if he won’t comply?”
“He’ll listen to you, Billy. You can make him listen.” She paused. “You still have a gun?”
Billy nodded. “You think I’m gonna need one?” he asked.
Camille shrugged. “Maybe. Better bring it, just in case.”
After many cups of coffee, Billy shut off the television, then got up and went into another room, returning with his gun. He signaled to Camille, then put on his leather jacket, which seemed to overwhelm his thin frame, and kissed Pillow goodbye. Camille rose and followed him. Billy tucked his gun into the small of his back as they walked outside.
“I think he’s still living in the same place,” Billy replied. “It’s not too far from here, a little suburb outside the city.”
Outside, Johnny had the car still running, and sat there quietly, waiting. Billy made a whistling sound as they approached the car.
“Looks like your man’s done well for himself,” he remarked to Camille. “Who would’ve thought you’d become a rich woman back when we were dating. It’s a good thing you didn’t marry me or else you’d have ended up poor.”
“Don’t say that, Billy. Money doesn’t mean much to me anymore.”
“Still, it’s nice to have it,” Billy replied.
Camille tapped on the car window, and Johnny reached over to open the door for her. He eyed Billy distrustfully.
“Billy’s going to help us,” Camille told Johnny through the window.
Johnny nodded at Billy, who, in turn, grunted at him in reply. That would have to do for now, Camille thought.
Billy got in the backseat, and Camille sat with Johnny at the front of the car. Billy provided instructions as Johnny drove them out of the city, over a quiet bridge, and into Vito’s suburb.
“Do you know anything about Vito’s daughter?” Camille asked Billy as Johnny drove.
“No, I don’t even know her name,” he replied.
“Her name’s Marie. I pray our Phoebe is okay,” Camille said.
Johnny glanced at her. He hadn’t spoken much ever since Billy entered the car. “She’s gonna be fine,” he told Camille. “We’re gonna make sure she’s fine.”
27
Billy instructed them to a small red-brick house on a corner street with a modest fenced-in yard in the crowded suburb. Johnny parked nearby so that Vito couldn’t see them from his window and shut off the engine.
“You’re sure this is where he lives?” he finally spoke to Billy.
“The last time I visited him, yeah.”
“I don’t think we can just knock on the door and demand they let us in,” Camille remarked.
“I’ll go first, see if it’s him, and pretend I’m here for a visit. Then I signal to you from the doorway, and the two of you follow me inside. We’ll pull our guns on them.”