by E. R. Fallon
She sat up in bed and the phone rang again. It could be Johnny. Camille considered whether to answer it after what her mother had told her.
She lifted the receiver and put it to her ear. “Hello?” she said and braced herself to hear his voice.
“Morning, beautiful,” Johnny said. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Sorry I had to leave you last night. I hope Pedro walked you home all the way.”
“Pedro was an absolute gentleman,” Camille said. “If a little young to be working for you.”
“I know, I tried to tell him that, but he won’t stop hanging around us. If I kick him out, I figure he’ll just get into trouble elsewhere, but if I keep him close by then at least I can keep an eye on him.”
She smiled at his reasoning. “Make sure he finishes school,” she said.
“For you, I will.”
Camille could almost feel Johnny’s warmth. “How are you?” she asked. “Did everything work out with your guys last night?”
“Yeah, I put them in line.”
“Did you ever get that guy you hassled in the pub to pay you?”
“It was taken care of.”
“Does that mean you beat him?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“You should know up front that I won’t be one of those women who you can keep in the dark.”
“That’s all right, I like that. I got the guy to pay me, minimal beating required. I won’t lend to him ever again, that’s a rule I have. If someone won’t pay up, then I don’t work with them a second time. It minimizes unneeded violence.”
“That’s a good rule,” Camille said.
“Are you working today?”
“Yeah, later. I have a couple of errands to run beforehand.”
“You have time for breakfast?” he asked, shyly.
Camille checked the time. “Sure.” She paused. “My mother told me to stay away from you. Give me a reason not to.”
“Why doesn’t she like me, because I’m Cuban?”
“I’m not sure why,” Camille replied, not wanting to give away her secret about her father and his. Then again, maybe Johnny already knew, and if so, why wasn’t he saying anything about it?
“Let me take you to breakfast and I’ll prove to you I’m worth it.”
“All right,” she said. “I’m not an easy woman to be with,” she said, thinking of the difficulty Billy had with understanding her depression and her family’s history of it. If she would defy her mother, she needed to be sure Johnny was worth it.
“Give me an example and I’ll give you an answer, then you can decide if I can deal with it.”
“I take medication for depression. My grandmother had depression as well.”
Johnny didn’t hesitate. “That’s okay, I understand. My sister takes medication for something similar.”
“Really, or are you just saying that?” she asked.
“No, she really takes pills. What she has, it’s one of the reasons I’m not as close to her as I would like, because she has a hard time letting people get close to her because of what she has going on. She isn’t close to my mother either.”
Camille found herself wondering what his sister might be like.
“That’s too bad,” Camille said, and then she thought that his sister sounded a little like her.
“When do you have time to get breakfast—now?” Johnny asked.
“Sure, I can meet you in a half an hour.”
“Great, what’s your address?”
Camille gave it to him.
“I’ll wait outside for you,” Johnny said.
Camille liked that he was gentlemanly enough to avoid stepping into her apartment until he knew her better. “How about I treat you since you paid for the movies last night?” she asked.
“You don’t have to do that,” Johnny said. “I enjoy treating you.”
“I insist,” she replied sweetly.
“Okay, then. Thanks.”
They said goodbye and Camille rose to take a shower and get dressed. She would run her errands after meeting Johnny.
She left her building and found Johnny already waiting for her outside.
He smiled. “I got here early so we wouldn’t have a repeat of the last time. I actually live not far from here.”
“Interesting. We have an excuse to see one another often, then,” she replied with a smile.
“I heard there’s a good diner not far from here,” Johnny said.
“Yeah, I’ve eaten there many times.”
“So, you must like it then. I assume it’s a good place. I’ve never been there myself.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” she said, as they began to walk there.
Johnny’s warm hand reached for hers, and thinking about her mother’s warning—how bad could the secret have been?—she hesitated for a second before holding his. In silence she considered asking Johnny if he knew what the secret was, but that could be risky.
“Pedro said you look out for him,” she said instead.
“Yeah, I make sure the little man stays out of trouble. Pedro’s a good kid, if a little lost at the moment.”
“That’s why he wants to be a gangster?” Camille asked honestly.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“I think I can understand why he feels that way,” she said, thinking of her father.
“You sound like you know from experience,” Johnny said, and then paused as though waiting for her to elaborate.
How could Johnny not have known who she was? But he didn’t seem to. Unless he did, and like her, was pretending not to, but she didn’t want to think that way.
“Not really,” she lied. “But I could see what that would feel like. You should make sure Pedro stays out of trouble. He’s a good kid.”
“You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?” Johnny said with a smile. “You have a soft spot, Camille, and I like that. It’s not often you find that in this neighborhood.”
“I certainly don’t get it from my mother,” she said, thinking of Sheila’s toughness.
“Maybe from your father, then?” Johnny suggested.
“Maybe. I never knew him,” she said quietly.
“I’m sorry. What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, if that’s okay.”
Johnny became quiet and she didn’t know if she’d offended him. “Sure, that’s okay, I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said in an easy-going way.
“Maybe later, at some point,” she said, for she knew that if they were to continue seeing one another into the future then she couldn’t keep secrets from him. Sooner or later, the truth would have to come out, but she planned to keep it until later.
They reached the diner and he held the door open for her. Camille walked in ahead of him.
She turned around and smiled at him over his shoulder. “Remember, I’m treating you this time.”
The woman at the front of the diner seating people eyed Johnny warily and Camille wanted to shake her. How dare she judge Johnny. Camille glared at the woman and took Johnny’s hand in hers, making it clear they were together.
“Table for two,” she said to the woman.
The woman stared at them with an unfriendly expression and then nodded. She picked up two menus and led them to a table far in the back when there were several empty tables closer.
“We want to sit in one of those,” Camille said, pointing to one of the free tables. She wasn’t going to let anyone try to hide her and Johnny.
The woman set the menus down on the table and pointed. “You can sit here.”
“Why, when those tables are free?” Camille asked.
“What’s going on?” Johnny whispered to her.
Camille gestured that she would take care of it.
“Those are reserved,” the woman stated.
“For who?” Camille was very familiar with the diner, and it didn’t look like the tables were being set aside for anyone.
“Please calm down or else I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the woman responded and gestured to a large man in a chef’s hat behind the counter.
“I’m just trying to have a nice meal with my girl,” Johnny replied.
“Maybe it’s better you two ate elsewhere.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Camille snapped at the woman. “I’ve eaten here plenty of times before with no trouble.”
“You can’t force us out, we’ve done nothing wrong,” Johnny said.
“Me and my husband own the place, so I can do whatever I want,” the woman replied.
Camille had lost her appetite but didn’t want anyone to get away with treating Johnny and her that way. She looked at Johnny and he seemed to feel the same way.
“You’re a terrible person,” Camille said to the woman.
“And I’m sure your food is terrible also,” Johnny added.
The woman gasped and scowled at them. “Get out of my diner!”
With few other options, Johnny grabbed Camille’s hand and they walked away. Outside, Camille felt like she might cry, something she didn’t do often, but the experience had rattled her—and angered her.
“What a horrible person,” she said.
Johnny shrugged. “I’m used to it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some people in this neighborhood aren’t exactly welcoming of guys like me.”
“Because of where your family’s from?”
“Yeah, and they also might know who I run with. I’m sorry about this whole thing.”
“It isn’t your fault,” Camille said.
“Let’s go somewhere else to eat,” Johnny suggested. “If you have time.”
“There’s a fast-food restaurant a few blocks down, we could go there.”
“Sounds good,” Johnny said. “I know where it is.”
They walked to the restaurant without a lot of conversation, there was a quiet sadness between them because of what had happened at the diner.
Then Johnny suddenly said, “It’d be a shame to let that lady ruin our morning. Unfortunately, I’m used to it, but you seem really upset.”
“I’ve heard of people being that way, but I’ve never experienced it until now.”
“I have,” Johnny said, “And you never get used to it.”
“I’m sorry, Johnny,” she said. “I’ve lived in this neighborhood my whole life and I’m ashamed at how that woman acted.”
“You aren’t like them, I can tell. You’re different. There’s something about you that’s special.”
“I’m not sure how special I am,” Camille said, and felt her face becoming warm.
“I think you are,” Johnny said with a smile.
At the fast-food place there were few free tables left by the breakfast crowd, but they eventually found a vacant one and sat down with their food.
“I still can’t believe that happened,” Camille said with a sigh. “I’ve gone in there countless times.”
“Yeah, but that was when you were alone or with someone who didn’t look like me, right?”
“I’ll never set foot in that place again,” she declared.
“I like you,” Johnny suddenly said as they began to eat. “A lot. Go out with me again, even if your mother doesn’t like it.”
Camille smiled to herself. “All right,” she agreed.
7
Violet wasn’t having a good day. She’d woke Tommy up late and then decided to take the public bus with him to his school because she thought it’d be faster, but they had encountered traffic and so he ended up being late for school anyway. And last night she’d found Catherine had had too much to drink, again, after the pub had closed, and Violet had to tend to her and help get her into bed.
Violet poured her and her mother a second cup of coffee so they could enjoy it before the pub opened for the day. They were alone in the pub, as Max and Camille hadn’t arrived yet.
Her mother held her forehead as she drank her coffee.
“I guess it’s not true that you never get a hangover,” Violet observed.
Catherine smiled grimly. “Did Camille go somewhere with that Garcia character last night?” she asked after a moment.
Violet shrugged and rolled her eyes out of view of her mother. “I don’t know. Why?”
“I’m just looking out for her, the same as I would for you.”
“Yeah, but she’s not your daughter,” Violet replied carefully, for she knew her mother had a temper and didn’t like anyone talking back to her.
“It’s complicated.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I knew her father a long time ago.”
Violet wondered what her mother meant by ‘knew’. Catherine, a beautiful woman still, had been quite a beauty in her day, or so Violet had heard, and she wondered about her mother’s relationship with Camille’s father.
“Her father, the one who died?” Violet asked.
Catherine nodded.
“How did he pass anyway? No one seems to want to talk about it.”
Her mother shrugged. “There’s not much to say really.”
“Well, how did it—”
“Violet,” her mother cut her off. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. Okay?”
“I don’t understand, why is it such a big secret?”
There was a knock on the door that kept her mother from answering her.
“We aren’t open yet,” Violet called out.
The person kept knocking.
Violet sighed and trudged over to the door. She looked outside and saw a man in a suit. When he kept knocking, she opened the door. “Listen, I said we aren’t open. You’re gonna have to wait…” She stopped when she saw that the person standing in front of her, a tall man in his forties with a black mustache, was clearly a cop. He just had that look of authority about him.
“Detective Seale,” he said, holding up his badge. “Violet McCarthy?”
He must have looked up her driver’s license because he recognized her. “Yeah. What’s this about?” Given her and her mother’s line of work, she was used to dealing with the police, who were mostly friendly because a lot of them lived in the neighborhood themselves, but something about Detective Seale seemed different. For one thing, Violet didn’t recognize him from around the neighborhood.
“Is your mother around also?” he asked.
Violet gestured behind her. “Yeah, she’s right over there. What’s this about?”
“I need to speak with you both,” he replied. “I’d like to come in.”
Violet could say no but that would make them look suspicious, so she nodded and stepped aside for him to enter. She tried to think of which crime he might be talking about.
“What kind of detective are you?” her mother turned in her bar stool and asked the guy before he even opened his mouth. She, too, knew right away that he was law enforcement.
“I’m a homicide detective,” he answered.
Violet tried to think of which homicide he could have meant, and she knew right then that he wouldn’t be going anywhere and would be a force in their lives from then on.
“What’s this about?” Catherine asked, not offering to shake his hand like she did with the other cops they knew and liked, and Violet saw that her mother would take the lead on this one.
“The death of Robert Shane,” he answered.
Robert Shane. Violet remembered him. He was a union leader of the dockworkers who was resisting paying them off like his predecessor had. Dating back to Violet’s grandfather, the McCarthys controlled the waterfront. Catherine had ordered their men to kill Shane over a year ago, and when nothing had come of it afterwards, Violet and her mother had figured they were in the clear.
“I don’t know anything,” Catherine replied.
Detective Seale looked at Violet.
“I don’t know anything either,” she said.
“It happened around a year ago. He was shot in front of his home. Whoever did it sped away.”
“I’m sure you have the license plate, then, so I don’t know why you’re bothering us,” Catherine said.
“Actually, we do. The car was registered to a man named Frank O’Rourke.”
Violet’s body tensed. Frank O’Rourke was a guy with bad teeth who had worked for them on and off for years until a few months ago when he disappeared, and no one knew what happened. He was an alcoholic and Violet and her mother had assumed he’d died.
“Does that name sound familiar to you? Mr. O’Rourke said he used to work for you two.”
“So, maybe he did. So what?” Catherine replied.
“At the pub?” Detective Seale asked.
“Yeah, here,” Catherine said, and Violet knew it was a lie. “I don’t see what this has to do with us.”
“Frank O’Rourke is claiming you asked and paid him to shoot Robert Shane,” Detective Seale said to Catherine. “He only mentioned your name, but I’d like to hear what your daughter has to say.” He looked at Violet.
So, they had a confession. Violet tensed further.
“She knows nothing,” Catherine told the detective. “We know nothing. O’Rourke is a liar. Can’t you see he’s trying to blame us for a crime he committed? Imagine the nerve of that guy, blaming two women!”
Detective Seale ignored her and kept his gaze on Violet.
“Did this victim have a family?” she asked, when she already knew the answer, but she wanted to play innocent.
“He was single, but he has elderly parents, and a lot of friends, me among them.”
That explained Seale’s determination. He’d been friends with Shane. Violet knew that she and her mother wouldn’t get out of this easily. Her mother appeared calm as she often did in these situations, when Violet imagined she herself looked stressed. She tried to control her emotions so as not to look guilty in the detective’s eyes but struggled.
“You can’t threaten us,” Catherine said. “How dare you come in here and—”
“I’m very sorry to hear about what happened to Mr. Shane,” Violet said to the detective, interrupting her mother. “But I have to echo my mother’s words. Mr. O’Rourke isn’t being honest with you. He must’ve had an issue with Mr. Shane himself and killed him. We have nothing to do with it.”