The Trouble Girls

by E. R. Fallon

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Where were you last night? Why did you leave me with that lady?”

  “I had something important I needed to do,” Violet replied.

  “For Grandma?”

  “Yes, something like that.”

  “Wasn’t the lady nice to you?” she asked him.

  “She was but I don’t need a babysitter. I can just be on my own when you’re not around.”

  “You’re not old enough,” Violet replied.

  “I’m twelve.”

  “Twelve is too young to be left alone overnight. When you’re a teenager, an older teenager, then you can start doing that. Okay?”

  Tommy seemed to be thinking then nodded. “What did they arrest Grandma for?”

  Violet didn’t want to tell him the truth of course, so she had to think of something to say fast.

  “A parking ticket,” she said.

  “They arrested her because of a parking ticket?” Tommy asked in astonishment.

  “Yes, because she had a couple of unpaid ones.” Violet knew that the more of the lie she told the harder it would be to unravel. “If anybody in the neighborhood tells you otherwise, don’t you listen to them.” She touched his chin and looked at him. “Okay?”

  Tommy nodded. “Can she make, what’s it called, bail?”

  Violet hesitated then answered, “They wouldn’t give it to her.”

  “All because of some parking tickets? That doesn’t make sense. Can they really do that?”

  Violet nodded. “Yes, they can.”

  “Wow. I better remember to pay them when I start driving,” Tommy said, and Violet felt relieved that he believed her.

  “I hope you won’t get any,” Violet said with a smile, and Tommy laughed.

  Seeing his mood improve warmed her soul.

  She and Tommy ate breakfast and then after she cleaned up, she planned to walk with him to school, but Tommy protested.

  “It’s too dangerous to be alone in the city at your age,” she told him.

  “When then, when I’m a teenager?”

  “When you’re an older teenager,” she said.

  “You’re too overprotective,” Tommy complained. “I know you were allowed to walk to school alone when you were my age. Grandma told me.”

  “That was a different time, when the city was safer, and I always went with a group of friends.”

  “Can I go alone if I go with my friends?” Tommy asked her.

  Violet shook her head. “Besides, Grandma wouldn’t want you to go alone. She’d be worried about you, and you don’t want her to be worried, now do you?”

  Tommy shook his head. “Is she okay? I mean, it must be hard for her. Are you going to see her?”

  “Yes, as soon as they allow her visitors. I’m sure it is difficult for her, but she’s very strong.”

  “Is she going to be away for a long time?”

  “I hope not,” Violet said. She didn’t want to think of the possibility that there would be a trial, although she knew it was likely, or that her mother could be sent away to prison for many years, but that could happen. She didn’t want to frighten Tommy, so she chose not to elaborate.

  They both left to walk Tommy to school.

  18

  Camille had heard what had happened to Catherine McCarthy, and she believed it meant that, finally, she had some luck. One had fallen. One more to go—Violet. The arrest, which everyone in the neighborhood gossiped about, had surely weakened Violet, and it propelled Camille to move faster. She reached out to a Russian gang in Brooklyn, a traditional rival of the McCarthys, to propose working together. Their leader was in prison and his wife was now in charge, and she responded to Camille’s invitation that she was intrigued by Camille’s boldness. She knew of Camille’s father’s street reputation and wanted to meet the woman who would dare ask to see her.

  Camille arranged to meet with them at a nightclub they owned in Brooklyn. Despite the heat, she wore her father’s beloved leather jacket during the train ride there. She had arranged to meet the Russians when the nightclub was closed so it was the early morning. The train was crowded with commuters going to and from work, and Camille had to stand during the trip. She exited at her stop and walked to the nightclub, a short distance away. She enjoyed the feeling of the morning warmth on her face as she strode through the neighborhood where most of the shops had Russian writing and most of the people on the streets spoke Russian. She arrived at the nightclub in a few minutes and outside there were a few brightly colored sports cars parked in front, which Camille assumed belonged to the gangsters.

  She spoke to the two obviously secretly armed guards at the front entrance, two hulking men with Russian accents, and they seemed to be expecting her. They searched her for weapons and didn’t find any—she had left her gun behind at home, which she knew was a risk, but she didn’t want to come across as threatening to the Russians. Then they opened the gold door of the dark-red building and gestured for her to enter. Above the door, a neon sign displayed the name Valeria’s.

  Camille went inside and was greeted by a tall, unsmiling young man.

  “I’m here to see Mrs. Valeria,” she said, for that was how the female boss was known on the streets.

  “Yes, I know,” the young man said, offering to shake her hand.

  “Camille O’Brien,” she said, shaking his.

  “I’m Demetri,” the young man said. “Follow me, please.”

  There was a large dance floor inside the dimly lit club with a silver disco ball glittering above it, and an area for the DJ. Tables with chairs were gathered around the floor, and there was a long black-marble bar in the back of the room where a solitary bartender stood polishing glasses. Camille didn’t see anyone else in the club.

  “Everyone’s in the backroom, waiting for you,” Demetri said, as though reading her mind.

  She followed him down a short hallway. Before they entered the backroom, Demetri checked her for weapons.

  “I promise I don’t have any,” she told him with a smile. “Your men outside already searched me.”

  “I still have to,” Demetri said with a shrug. He patted her less vigorously then the men had outside, as though he was a bit shy. He mumbled, “All right,” when he had finished.

  He opened the tall black door with a silver handle and there were a group of people inside the softly lit room, sitting at a card table. Camille heard the door closing behind her then looked at the table. Two men, one of whom she recognized as Violet’s ex-boyfriend, Anton, a large, tall man with a trimmed beard, and another she didn’t know, a shorter, bald guy, sat across from an older woman who she knew was Mrs. Valeria, a curvy, heavily-made-up blonde with stylish eyeglasses. The two men, unsmiling like Demetri had been, nodded at Camille then rose. Mrs. Valeria said hello but didn’t get up from her seat. Anton and the other man shook her hand then indicated for Camille to sit down to the right of Mrs. Valeria, who finally reached across the card table and shook Camille’s hand once she’d sat.

  She looked at Camille over her eyeglasses. “Camille O’Brien, it’s wonderful to meet you. You’re just as I pictured you,” she said warmly. “My husband, who I’m afraid is not here to meet you today, and I, met your father once. You look so much like him.”

  “It’s good to meet you, ma’am,” she said.

  “Please, call me Valeria.”

  “Valeria.”

  Anton and the other man, who had both sat down, looked at her. “How’s Violet?” Anton asked Camille with a smirk. “Did you know that crazy woman pulled a gun on me?”

  Camille thought that Anton probably deserved it but didn’t tell him that, of course. “No, I didn’t know she did that.”

  “She did,” Anton said. He seemed on edge, looked thinner, and had dark circles under his eyes, and Camille figured he might be using drugs again. Violet had told her about his history with them. “I still love her son, but I hope I never see that crazy woman again,” he told Camille.

&
nbsp; “Can’t say I like her much myself these days,” Camille replied.

  “I thought you two were friends,” Anton said.

  Camille shook her head.

  Valeria looked at her to explain.

  “She and I were friends until I found out the truth about her family. They helped kill my father, her mother did. Max did the actual killing. Do you know him?”

  “I’m familiar with him,” Valeria said. “You must want blood,” she told Camille. “I know I would.”

  “I want what they have. I believe it would have been mine and my father’s if they hadn’t killed him.”

  “I understand, but why should I help you? The Italians have a pact with the McCarthys. If we work with you against the McCarthys then we work against the Italians also.”

  “I’ve spoken to the Alfonsis,” Camille told her.

  The woman smiled at her as though she admired her. “And what did they say?” she asked, as if she doubted they would go against the McCarthys.

  “They responded as you might expect them to, they said no. But I came close,” Camille said, because she believed she had. “And I haven’t given up. I have an in with them because my stepfather is one of them, and my ex is as well. I guess my ex being one of them could be a good or a bad thing,” she said with a nervous laugh. She didn’t tell Valeria that while they were still considering her plan, the Italians had only agreed to allow her to operate in the neighborhood if she gained control; they had not offered to help her get control, because she didn’t know if Valeria would view that as a failure.

  “What is your experience? What did you do before this?” Valeria asked her after a moment.

  “I used to be a bartender.”

  Valeria leaned back in her chair and looked at Camille, who couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

  There was a knock on the door and then a young woman entered with a tray of what looked like tea and set it on the table. Valeria thanked her then the woman exited.

  The man who sat with Anton, who hadn’t introduced himself, poured the tea into the cups and handed one to Valeria first then to Camille and Anton then himself.

  “Russian tea, the best,” Valeria said. “Irish tea is good also,” she added with a smile.

  “My stepfather,” Camille suddenly said. “I have something over him,” she said, without elaborating.

  “You believe he can convince the others?”

  Camille nodded. “In time, yes. The thing I have over him is pretty big.”

  Valeria smiled at her. “You are a smart girl, I admire that. You remind me of myself when I was younger.”

  Camille thanked her. “Catherine McCarthy was arrested; did you know that?” she asked after a moment.

  “I had heard, yes. She and I are certainly not friends, but I don’t believe she has ever been in prison. She will find it difficult, I’m sure. My husband is currently serving time, but at his age he’s used to it by now.”

  “I doubt she’ll be comfortable,” Camille said. “But she’s a hard woman. Anyway, I believe that now is the perfect time for someone like myself to move in. Their influence is slipping in the neighborhood.”

  “You would like my cooperation,” Valeria said, in a way that was more of a statement than a question.

  Camille nodded.

  “I’m sure you’re aware that historically we don’t work with the Irish,” Valeria said. “We don’t usually fight, but we aren’t friends either.”

  “I want to change that,” Camille replied.

  Valeria looked at her and smiled. “I admire your ambition. But I have to ask, what can you offer us? You are only one woman.”

  Camille calculated in her head how much she was willing to give them. If she managed to win over the Italians with Vito’s help then that would leave her with thirty percent, which basically meant they owned her, which she didn’t love, but that’s how it always went with the Italians: The Irish might have controlled the neighborhood but the Italians controlled the whole city.

  “We can work together when needed,” Camille offered.

  “You seem confident the Italians will eventually work with you. What is the percentage they would want?” Valeria asked her. “If we are going to work together, we will have to agree to a regular percentage each of us will get from the other.”

  Anton grunted in agreement with Valeria.

  “They’ve asked me for seventy percent,” Camille replied.

  “And you’ve agreed to it?”

  Camille nodded.

  “Of course, you did. We also are allowed to operate with the cooperation of the Italians and give them a slightly lower percentage. They are ruthless negotiators, but not as good as us Russians,” Valeria said with a wink. “What do you think we should give each other, then?”

  “All right,” Camille said, thinking. “How about we each give the other five percent of what we make?”

  “What are you making now?” Valeria asked.

  Camille was ashamed to admit the answer was ‘nothing’ so instead she said, “I’d rather not say.” She took a sip of her tea.

  “You are all alone, you are probably not making much. Am I correct?”

  “I’m alone, yeah, but not for long. The Italians—”

  “What if they say no in the end?”

  “I’ll make it work.”

  “The Italians’ cooperation is crucial to controlling your neighborhood, like it is crucial to mine. The only reason the McCarthys can operate there is because the Italians let them. If the Italians say no to you then you can’t operate there even if you are able to gain control from the McCarthys.”

  “I’ll get them to say yes,” Camille spoke with confidence.

  “Whatever you have over your stepfather, it must be terrible,” Valeria said admiringly.

  “It is.”

  “You know, when you first reached out to us—where did you get my phone number anyhow? I don’t believe you ever said.”

  “From an old friend,” Camille said, even though Vito had given her Valeria’s number.

  “When you first reached out to us, I thought to myself, who is this Irish girl that she is so brave to ask to meet with me? I wanted to see what you looked like. Then when I realized you were Colin O’Brien’s daughter I knew where you got your spirit from. I’m hesitant because you are on your own, but because of your confidence, I am willing to take a chance on you. I never liked Catherine McCarthy or her daughter much, I always felt they thought they were too good for everyone else. So, all right, Camille O’Brien, if you need anything, let me know, and when you start making some money, then we will discuss a percentage.” Valeria smiled.

  19

  Camille wasn’t alone anymore, and Violet felt that could spell trouble. She had heard that Camille had made a pact with Mrs. Valeria and her Russians, who included Anton.

  Sam had stayed with her despite witnessing her mother being taken away to jail, and Violet felt relieved because he offered stability in her life, although Tommy still didn’t like him. She knew that seeing her mother arrested must have made both Sam and Tommy think about how it could have been Violet being taken away instead.

  But Catherine’s arrest put a lot of pressure on Violet and when she heard the news from Max about Camille’s partnership with the Russians, she went searching for her while Tommy was playing at his friend’s home. The most obvious place to find Camille would have been her apartment but when Violet checked, she wasn’t there. She knew Camille was close to her mother, so she went to Sheila’s apartment to see if she knew Camille’s whereabouts. She also wanted to speak with Sheila to see if she could get Sheila’s assistance with defusing Camille and making her stop this madness. If she could get Camille’s mother to see Camille’s plan for what it really was, lunacy, then maybe Sheila would talk with Camille and discourage her, and Camille would go away.

  Sheila answered the door with a frown. From the way she acted, Violet didn’t think Vito was home.

  “I heard about your moth
er, Violet. I’m sorry,” Sheila said, as though she knew she had to be polite to Violet because of the working relationship Violet and Catherine had with Vito.

  “Thanks,” Violet said, to play along. “I know Camille is out for revenge,” she said to cut to the chase.

  “Do you want to come inside?” Sheila asked.

  “No, thanks. I’m fine here.”

  Sheila stared at her. “After what your mother and that Max did to my late husband, Camille’s father, is it any surprise she wants revenge?”

  “That was a long time ago. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Your mother did.”

  “She’s not around anymore.”

  “She was denied bail?”

  Violet nodded. “And if this thing goes to trial, she could be locked away for a long time since it’s a murder charge.”

  “What will you do without her?” Sheila asked coolly.

  “I’ll manage. I have Max’s help.”

  “I’m sure you do, that bastard.”

  “I’ve always found Max to be a decent guy.”

  “That’s because he didn’t kill your husband.”

  “Look, whatever Max did all those years ago is in the past.” Then she considered saying, ‘I’m sure he had his reasons’ or ‘He’s sorry’ but knew that would outrage Sheila.

  “I live with my husband’s death every day. It was because of Max and your mother that Camille never had a father.”

  “I’m sorry for what they did,” Violet said, trying to smooth things over. “But it had nothing to do with me. Are you sure it was even them?”

  Anger flickered across Sheila’s face. “As sure as I am that you are standing here.”

  Violet had her doubts, but she said, “You and I both know Camille will never win. She’s only got herself,” to try to reason with Sheila.

  “Actually, she told me she’s working with the Russians now, so she isn’t alone. I’m proud of my girl.”

  Violet had wondered if Sheila knew about Camille’s pact with them. “That doesn’t matter. The Italians say we can control the neighborhood, so we control the neighborhood. If they don’t want Camille in, then she’s not in. That’s how it always worked, and how it always will,” she said resolutely.