The Trouble Girls

by E. R. Fallon

  She gave the guard her name and then stood in line with the other family members waiting to visit their relatives inside. One by one, they were allowed through the front doors inside and then made to give their names again to compare with a list and then they walked through metal detectors and had their belongings searched. Violet watched as a guard went through her purse. She received a visitor’s pass from another guard and then she, along with a group, were escorted to the female wing of the prison. They were led through a large metal door and entered a room with tables and chairs spaced evenly throughout. The guards directed the visitors to the tables, but a few visitors were taken aside, including Violet.

  “Families of violent offenders, come this way,” the female guard said. She was a tall, strong-looking woman in a baggy beige uniform and had a clipboard with her.

  Violet flinched at the word ‘violent’ being associated with her doting mother, but she knew her mother was in jail for her connection to a murder. Violet’s group were led into an inner room with a glass partition separating the prisoners from their visitors. Violet could see her mother, in an orange jumpsuit, seated behind the partition farther down the line. The guard asked for her name then directed her over there, and Violet sat in front of her mother and smiled. She planned to act upbeat, although she didn’t feel that way.

  Her mother looked older than when Violet had last seen her, although it had been only a week.

  Violet picked up the phone attached to the partition and could hear her mother’s voice. She watched her mother’s hands, shaking from withdrawal.

  “Violet. You look beautiful. How are you? How’s Tommy?” Catherine’s eyes brightened at the mention of her grandson.

  Violet imagined they were being recorded so she planned to be careful about what she said.

  “He’s doing well, considering,” she told her mother. “He really misses you and doesn’t understand why you can’t come home.”

  Catherine’s eyes watered and she dried them with her hands. Often it seemed like the only way Violet’s mother would weep would be because of Tommy.

  “Do you think we should get you a new lawyer?” Violet asked her mother.

  Catherine’s eyes widened. “What? No. David’s a good man.”

  “You were denied bail. How good can he be?”

  “It wasn’t David’s fault. They thought I was a flight risk. I never should’ve gotten dual citizenship.”

  “All right, fine, David stays,” Violet replied, irked at her mother’s obstinacy.

  “Think that maybe I can escape from this place?” Catherine joked.

  “Mom don’t say that,” Violet whispered. “They can hear you.”

  Catherine waved her off. “I was only kidding.”

  “Our favorite bartender got friendly with Mrs. V,” Violet said to her mother in abbreviated fashion so as not to draw attention to their conversation.

  The ‘bartender’ was Camille and ‘Mrs. V’ was the Russian, Valeria.

  “How did she manage that?” Catherine replied incredulously.

  “She doesn’t follow the rules, and it seems to be working for her. She doesn’t care that, traditionally, we have never gotten cozy with them. She reached out to them and they accepted her.”

  “The meeting with the big guy and now this. She’s ambitious.”

  The ‘big guy’—the Italian mob boss Joe Alfonsi.

  “I know she’s going to be trouble, so I tried talking with her,” Violet told her mother.

  “You what?”

  “I tried having a conversation with her about she and I playing nice.”

  “Together?” Catherine almost laughed at the absurdity.

  Violet nodded.

  Seeing that she was serious, Catherine asked, “What did she say?” Her mother seemed more receptive than Violet had thought she would be.

  “She didn’t say no.”

  “That can’t be possible. She must have some kind of plan.”

  “No, she wanted something.”

  “What did she want?”

  “Us to ditch M. I only think she’d play with me, though. Not you.”

  ‘M’ was Max.

  “Probably better as I might not be getting out of here,” Catherine said.

  Her mother seemed quite defeated and not in her normal high spirits, which wasn’t unusual given the circumstances she found herself in.

  “Don’t say that,” Violet replied. “Tommy needs you. I need you.”

  “It’s probably better me being in here. It’s stopped me from drinking and might be the only way for me to get sober. You seem to be handling things fine on your own.” She held up her hand when Violet started to protest. “And I’m fine with that. I think it’s good. I always wanted you be to more independent.”

  “You seem positive,” Violet said. “That surprises me.”

  “It helps me get through the day.”

  “I told her no about M, by the way,” Violet said.

  “Maybe you ought to say yes. We might not have a choice. If it would get her to back off, you should consider it.”

  “M has been like a father and grandfather to us both ever since grandpa passed on. We could never do that to him.”

  “He understands that sometimes tough decisions have to be made in business.”

  “M isn’t ‘business’,” Violet replied. “He’s like family.”

  “Sometimes you’re going to have to make hard decisions, Violet,” her mother said.

  “How could you even consider it? I’m not doing that to him.”

  “So, you’re going to tell her no?”

  “I’m not going to tell her anything. I’m going to make her wonder what I’m thinking. I hope it drives her crazy. But she already is crazy.”

  Violet’s comment piqued Catherine’s interest and her eyes lit up. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “She’s got depression or something like that.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “She told me when we were on friendlier terms.”

  “That’s her weakness, then. Do you think we could use it against her?”

  “How? If her mind isn’t right, maybe she’ll crack and mess up, right?”

  “One can only hope.”

  They were silent for a while then her mother asked, “How are things going otherwise?”

  “The boys didn’t want to listen to me at first, even M, and you know how the others follow his lead, but now everything is settled.”

  “I’m disappointed to hear they resisted, and especially to hear that about M. Maybe it means it’s time for him to bon voyage.”

  “No,” Violet said. “Everything is fine now. There’s no need to shake things up. If he’s gone, it will only hurt the morale. M stays because I want him to.”

  “All right, I understand. I love him like family.”

  “I know you do. You just have a funny way of showing it sometimes. Our favorite bartender’s not going anywhere, and her getting chummy with Mrs. V means that she’s serious and knows what she’s doing. I’m glad the big guy remains with us but there is the connection he has to her. That could be a problem for us someday.”

  “The big guy loves you and Tommy. He’s not going anywhere.”

  Violet felt that her mother’s confidence was unwise, but perhaps she needed to remain positive to cope with her circumstances.

  “There is one way to make you fly,” she told her mother, meaning ‘set you free’.

  Catherine waited for her to explain.

  “Have the rat go for a swim,” Violet said, meaning that they should eliminate Frank O’Rourke. “I could have someone in there give you the details.”

  “No,” Catherine said sharply. “Nobody is going for a swim. I’m just glad you’re all right, and that’s the way it must stay. Tommy needs you. You don’t take any risks for me. Do you hear me?”

  Violet looked at her and nodded, because like she was right about a lot of things, her mother was right about this.
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  21

  Camille loved Johnny Garcia Jr. in a way that she hadn’t loved anyone else before, not even her mother or Billy. And he had told her he loved her as well.

  She wasn’t expecting a visitor one morning when someone knocked on her door. Camille got out of bed and put on her bathrobe and tied her hair. Who could be calling at this hour? Was it Johnny? Filled with excitement, she peered through the eyehole at the visitor on the other side and didn’t recognize the woman, who appeared around her mother’s age, and was attractive and well-dressed. Not feeling wary, she opened the door, a little disappointed it wasn’t Johnny.

  “Can I help you?” she asked the light-haired woman, who was around her height.

  “Camille O’Brien?” the woman asked uncertainly.

  “That’s me. Who are you?” Camille became more on edge. Had Violet sent the woman?

  “My name is Lucille Byrne. I was a friend of your father’s.”

  Camille had never heard of her before, but she became less tense. “My mother never mentioned you,” she said. The last time she spoke to Sheila, she’d found out that Violet had lied about Sheila telling her Camille’s whereabouts, which wasn’t too surprising.

  “I don’t believe your father talked about me with your mother,” Lucille said.

  “Were you lovers?” Camille asked.

  Lucille shook her head. “We were very close friends.”

  “He’s dead, my father is,” Camille said.

  “I know.” Lucille looked down at her purse in her hands. Then she looked at Camille again. “It devastated me when I heard about it.”

  “I was very young when it happened. I never really knew him.” Camille paused. She changed the subject to something less grim. “Do you live in the neighborhood? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before.”

  “No, I live in the suburbs, with my husband. Our daughter is around your age.”

  “Did your husband know my father as well?”

  “Not personally, no.”

  “He just knew of his reputation?” Camille asked with a smile.

  Lucille nodded.

  “Come in,” Camille said, extending her hand to the doorway, feeling at ease because of the woman’s connection to her father. She shut the door behind Lucille after she entered. “I was just about to make coffee. Would you like some?”

  “That would be very nice, thank you.”

  Camille pointed to the red couch in her living room and Lucille sat. Camille walked into the kitchen and could see Lucille from the doorway. They spoke as she made coffee.

  “Do you want a muffin or something?” Camille asked her. She checked the cupboards and the refrigerator. “No, wait, I don’t have any,” she told her. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s all right, I’m not hungry.”

  “Do you work in the city?” Camille asked her from the kitchen as she prepared the coffee.

  “No, I was just a mom up until my daughter left for university.”

  “How does she like school?” Camille asked as though she knew the girl. “I never went myself.”

  “She likes it very much.” Lucille paused. “You remind me so much of your father,” she said, looking at Camille in a pensive way.

  The idea filled Camille with sorrow. “What does your husband do?” she asked, to talk about something else.

  “He was a policeman,” Lucille said. “Now he’s retired.”

  “Pretty ironic my father being friends with you,” Camille said.

  “What do you mean?” Lucille sounded hurt.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it. You do know what my father did for a living?”

  “Yes, I do, and I never judged him for it.”

  “You were a good friend to him,” Camille concluded. “Why didn’t he want to tell my mother about you? Was she jealous? I could see her being jealous of you.”

  “I’m not sure, but, yes, that might have been the reason.”

  Camille finished making the coffee and came out and set it on the table in front of the couch.

  “I wasn’t sure if you liked cream or sugar, or both, so I brought out both,” she said.

  “This looks great, thanks. I appreciate you inviting me inside, since you don’t even know me.”

  “You looked trustworthy, and I can take care of myself,” Camille said with a smile.

  There was a sparkle in Lucille’s eyes, and she smiled as well. “Just like your father. You look just like him, you know. He was a beautiful looking man.”

  Camille sat down on the couch, a seat down from Lucille. “I’ve seen pictures of him, but I look like my mother as well. I’m like her also, in a lot of ways. I’m sorry, but why did you come here? How do you know where I live?”

  “An old acquaintance in the neighborhood told me you live here, but I used to live downtown, where your father did for a long time. I came here because I’ve always wanted to meet you. Your father talked about you.”

  “I understand,” Camille said. “I’m glad you came. I enjoy meeting people connected to my father because it makes me feel closer to him.”

  “I’m so sorry about what happened to your father. He was gone much too soon.” Tears formed in Lucille’s eyes and Camille offered her a tissue from the table.

  “Thanks,” Lucille said, plucking one from the box.

  Camille put sugar in her coffee and told Lucille about her plans for those who took her father’s life. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. But for some reason, I trust you, because I assume my father trusted you, despite who your husband is. Do you know my father’s secrets?”

  “Some of them, I’m sure.”

  “Tell me one,” Camille said as she stirred her coffee. “I want to know him better.” She lifted the cup and drank from it.

  “I don’t think that would be right,” Lucille said, putting cream into her coffee cup and then sipping.

  “I promise I’ll never tell anyone else. It will help me feel closer to him. My mother will tell me about his family, but not his secrets.”

  “You already know what he did for a living, so that’s not a secret. But the only thing I can tell you is what your father suffered a lot early on in his life and had a lot of sadness.”

  “I know that from what my mother said.”

  “He survived sexual abuse as a boy.”

  Camille put her cup down and stared at Lucille. For a while she didn’t say anything; she just absorbed what she’d heard. She had trouble breathing as she filled with sorrow, and her hands trembled. “I never knew that,” she said quietly after she’d composed herself. “Did he talk to you about it? What happened to him?”

  “It was someone close to him who did it.”

  “It wasn’t his father, was it?”

  Lucille shook her head. “No, it wasn’t him. He didn’t say much about it, just that it happened.”

  “Are most of his secrets like that, sad?” Camille asked, trying to decide whether she wanted to hear more of them.

  “Not all of them,” Lucille said.

  “He must have told you secrets about my mother, about their relationship. What was it like? She’s never told me. Did they get on? From how she talks about him, I’m assuming they did, but who knows?”

  “He loved your mother very much,” Lucille said, but Camille sensed she was holding something back.

  “But he loved you more,” Camille said. “Isn’t that what you’re trying to say?” When Lucille hesitated, Camille said, “It’s all right. I always sensed that about my mother and father’s relationship, but I never told my mother that. You were the love of his life. Why weren’t you ever together?”

  “It was complicated. I was older than him.”

  “And then my mother became pregnant, right?”

  Lucille nodded.

  “I’m planning to avenge his death, you know,” Camille said.

  Lucille set her cup down on the table and had a worried look on her face. “You mentioned that. But how do you plan to
do it?”

  “By taking over the Irish mob,” Camille said casually.

  Lucille looked at her with a stunned expression. “How do you plan to do that?”

  “I guess I can trust you, because my father trusted you with his secrets, even though you’re married to a policeman.” Camille told Lucille a little bit more about her plans.

  “The McCarthys are dangerous people,” Lucille cautioned her. Camille’s cat came up to them and rubbed against Lucille’s legs and Lucille stroked her shiny fur. “They killed your father.”

  “I know they did, that’s why I want them gone. Can you imagine what his final moments were like? He must have been so afraid. They deserve what’s coming to them.”

  “Does your mother know your plans?” Lucille looked concerned.

  “She does. In fact, she was the one who convinced me that my rightful place would be as the leader of their gang. I would have led with my dad, had he lived. My mother is helping me.”

  Lucille didn’t seem surprised to hear that about Camille’s mother. “You don’t want that kind of life,” Lucille told her. “Your father wouldn’t have lived it if he’d had a choice. He would want something better for you.”

  “I was working as a bartender up until recently, for the McCarthys, actually.”

  “Your mother never told you what they did?”

  “That they killed my father? No. I didn’t know until recently.”

  “She was protecting you from them,” Lucille said.

  “I was sort of friends with Catherine McCarthy’s daughter—she and her mother ran the mob until Catherine got sent to jail. Now it’s just her daughter Violet running things. I started working at their pub, and by then my mother thought it was too late to tell me the truth. Now that I know the truth, I know what I must do. I don’t have a choice.”

  Lucille touched her hand and the kind gestured startled Camille because she didn’t know her well. “You always have a choice,” Lucille said, looking her in the eye.

  “Is that what you told my father?” she asked, not rudely.