The Trouble Girls

by E. R. Fallon

  “Listen,” Max said, sitting up and looking at her. “There’s no point in your being here. I’m loyal to Violet and her mother. I’m loyal to their whole family, especially Violet’s kid, and have always been. That’s not going to change. Violet needs me right now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  Camille had noticed over the years that Max had a soft spot for Violet’s son.

  “You’d risk the Italians wrath?” she asked him, thinking that he wouldn’t dare.

  “No one knows for sure if Violet’s going down with her mother.”

  “Regardless, she’s going down, and I’m making sure of that. You might as well be on the winning side, right?”

  “Why do you hate Vi so much? I know why you don’t like me, but I thought you were friends with her.”

  They stared at each other with a simmering hatred, as each was very much aware of the unspoken conflict between them.

  “She’s a part of that family, that’s why,” Camille said.

  “But you’re willing to work with me? I’m the one who . . .” Max didn’t finish his sentence but Camille knew what he’d been about to say.

  “I don’t like you,” she told him. “This is strictly a business strategy. If I get you, then the rest of Violet’s guys will follow you, and then Violet’s all alone and I take over the neighborhood.”

  “And what happens to me?” Max asked, as though he doubted she’d let him live after everything he’d done.

  “You continue to work with me.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m willing to forget some things for the sake of my business, that’s why.”

  “You’re willing to forget what I did to your father?” Max asked with a skeptical look.

  “I won’t ever forget it, but I’m willing to overlook it.”

  “You’re like ice,” he observed, “like your mother.”

  “Don’t talk about my mother that way,” Camille said, stepping closer to him, and Derrick moved with her.

  “Your father had a softer heart, but not very,” Max said.

  Max didn’t get to talk about Camille’s parents, especially her father, not after what he’d done, but at the same time she knew that to show emotion would make her appear weak and she didn’t want Max to think he’d gotten to her where it hurt the most, although he had.

  “Pat and Danny are with me,” she reiterated.

  “But not Derrick,” Max said, looking at the clock on the wall, as though he really was expecting someone. “What did you give them to get them to turn on Violet and her mother? A little something extra?”

  The innuendo in his voice disgusted her but she couldn’t let him get to her. “More money. More power,” she said, as if that was her slogan.

  “Of course, you did,” Max said. “And I’m not surprised they fell for it. Danny here doesn’t know the McCarthys very well and so his loyalty is thin, and Pat is an idiot. Derrick is a sharp man, though, as am I, especially since, with Derrick still in, I know I’m not the only one. So, no thank you, Miss O’Brien.”

  He’d insulted her and she knew it, and she detested him more than ever. For a few moments they glowered at each other.

  “Come on, Danny,” she said. “We’re leaving,” and he followed her out.

  “Good—bye,” Max sang to them and she wanted to turn around and eliminate him once and for all. But a good gangster used restraint, and so at that very tense moment, she did. But she did tell him, “You’re making a big mistake.”

  “You should stop, Camille,” he replied.

  But Camille didn’t stop, although that wasn’t the last she saw of Max. She’d lost Johnny but business still had to be dealt with, and with Catherine in prison and Violet under the police’s scrutiny, and with Pat and Danny and the Italian mob already on her side, she had a golden opportunity to move in permanently. She began collecting ‘protection’ money from some of the businesses in the neighborhood, so that they could do business without anyone bothering them, including her. Then she moved in on the McCarthys’s—and Max’s—neighborhood loan shark business, and one day Max confronted her in the street as she was on a way for a meeting with her crew at a local pub. She’d hoped that soon they would no longer have to meet in the backrooms of generous pub owners, as she had her eye on a few pubs of her own to purchase, and had the cash needed to do so.

  “You can’t do this,” Max shouted at her, preventing her from crossing the street.

  “I have the Alfonsis on my side, so I certainly can,” she told him with a shrug. “Please move out of my way.”

  “I get you want to punish me, but why do this to Violet and her mother?”

  “They were a part of what happened to my father.” Camille tried to walk past him, but he wouldn’t let her. A few people in the area recognized them and stopped to watch the confrontation unfold. “I made you an offer, Max, and you said no.”

  “I don’t trust you,” he said, “that’s why I said no.”

  “That’s too bad because I was being honest with you, and I meant what I said.”

  “I can’t work with you, not after your father.”

  “I already told you that I’m willing to forget.”

  “You should know that your father wasn’t a saint. He did bad things, like me. I’m no different from him, really,” Max said with uncertainty—and a little fear—in his voice.

  “I don’t want your opinion of him,” she stated calmly but inside she swelled with hatred for the man blocking her way.

  “I heard you ended things with the Cuban.” He smirked. “Sorry to hear that.”

  Camille wanted to hit him, but not in the street, so she restrained herself and stared him in the eye.

  “It’s a shame because something could happen to him, or to your mother,” Max said.

  Fury, and fear, shot through her entire body. “Are you threatening them?”

  Max shrugged. “I ought to kill you for what you did, for taking my business,” he said.

  Camille figured he meant that she’d moved in on his loan shark business.

  She recoiled but scowled. “Careful, Max, I doubt the Alfonsis would like that,” she told him.

  “Maybe I don’t care,” he threatened. “A man has got to have pride. You can’t hide behind them forever, Camille.”

  She frowned at his veiled threat. “I don’t like what you’re saying, and I’d be careful if I were you.”

  “See, I knew that you hadn’t gotten over the history between your father and me,” Max said. “You can’t fool me.”

  “Get out of my way,” she said, shoving past him.

  “I’m watching you, Camille,” he shouted out to her as she walked away, and the crowd thinned out. She took his words to mean, ‘I’m going to get you.’

  Not if I get you first.

  28

  Violet had noticed Detective Seale watching her over the past few days—she was certain that the man in the car was him—but she didn’t think he had enough evidence to charge her with anything since he never approached her. The last Violet had heard, the wife of Joseph O’Connor, the man who had owed Max, was too afraid to call the police.

  Catherine was set to go to trial for murder and racketeering charges, and Violet knew that wouldn’t be the end of it, that Seale would continue to watch her. One thing was for certain, though, she knew her mother would never rat on her, for if there was one thing that Catherine McCarthy was not, that was a stool pigeon, and so far, Frank O’Rourke had only implicated her mother. Violet wasn’t sure why that was, exactly, it wasn’t as though she and O’Rourke were close, but he was aware that she had a young son, and so Violet liked to think that maybe that was why he hadn’t said anything about her to the police. But she couldn’t be sure, so Seale’s constant, close presence still put her on edge.

  Her plans to move to the suburbs had been derailed, and she didn’t even have enough money to rebuild her pub, and the local construction workers who, through Max, had offered their assistance free of charge,
had withdrawn their offer. They’d told her they didn’t want to get on Camille O’Brien’s ‘bad side.’ So, that’s how it was now. Camille was queen. Violet thought that maybe Camille had something to do with it, that she had told them not to work for her, but she didn’t have proof. Camille hadn’t just taken some of her men, she’d taken most of her business, including, recently, the ‘protection’ money she made from local businesses and the money she made from loansharking.

  Violet wondered how far Camille would go. Would she kill Violet? And how far should she, herself, go? Should she kill Camille? She might not have a choice. But didn’t want Tommy to be left alone if that happened and Violet was caught. She had a lot to lose.

  Which was why one day Violet rang her grandmother who lived in the country, from a payphone, in case Detective Seale was listening in, and asked her to take Tommy.

  “I’ve been meaning to come to the city to visit my daughter,” her grandmother told her. Her grandmother’s voice was the opposite of a sweet older lady, as was the rest of her. “How is your mother doing?” her grandmother asked her.

  “Better than you might expect. She’s optimistic, and so is her lawyer, but I don’t know.” Violet paused.

  “Violet, what is it?” her grandmother asked. “Do you need money?”

  Violet did, but she didn’t want to ask her grandmother, because she knew her grandmother hadn’t been left with much after her grandfather’s death, due to his lavish spending.

  “I’m all right, gran,” she said.

  “You’re sure? I know you don’t have any money coming in from the pub,” her grandmother said, though that wasn’t where Violet and Catherine had made most of their money. They’d made most of their money from the businesses that Camille had stolen. Violet’s grandmother already knew about Camille because she’d told her.

  “That girl is still giving you trouble?” her grandmother asked.

  “Yes, she’s practically taken everything. Just you wait, next thing she’ll buy a pub,” Violet joked, yet cringed at the thought, because it was possible.

  “And you’ve just let her?” Her grandmother spoke in a tone that implied, ‘What are you going to do about her?’ because her grandmother and grandfather had a lot in common.

  “The Italians are on her side,” Violet said. “There’s not much I can do.”

  “You can get rid of her. That’s what your grandfather would have done. Get rid of her and then the Italians will be back to working with you.”

  “I’m not sure if they’ll like it if I get rid of her, they’ll view me as having stepped out of line.”

  “They might be angry at first, but after a while they’ll forget about it and you’ll be back in with them.”

  “Hold on a second,” Violet said, and put more money into the payphone. “Ever since Mom’s arrest, I’m being watched by this cop. If I get Camille, he could catch me. So, I don’t think I can do anything at the moment. But I need you to take Tommy for a little while.”

  “In case you end up in jail?”

  “Yeah, or she kills me. I don’t know how far this woman will go.”

  “Do you think she could harm him?”

  “Maybe. She’s dangerous.”

  “I’ll take him,” her grandmother said, seeming very concerned. “I’ll speak to the school here to get him enrolled. He can stay with me for as long as you need him to.”

  “Thanks, grandma.”

  “Anytime, sweetheart. How are things with your fellow? Sam?”

  “He’s stayed with me,” Violet said. “That’s the one good thing that’s happened to me lately.”

  “That counts for something. He’s a good man. He’ll make a good father to Tommy.”

  “Tommy doesn’t like him.”

  “He’ll learn to. It always hard for boys at first when their father is gone.”

  “I’m worried about Tommy. He’s been through so much. But thank you for taking him. Please look out for him for me.”

  “You know I will, sweetheart.”

  A few days later she sent Tommy on a bus to the country to stay with his grandmother. Tommy wasn’t happy leaving his friends behind but went. Violet only hoped that he would forgive her someday.

  Flush with cash, Camille bought an old neighborhood pub that she’d always liked—it had been the first pub she’d gone to—and planned to renovate it and turn it into a playground of sorts for herself and her crew. She planned to run her operation out of the pub and to launder her profits through the legitimate business.

  Camille was there with a local carpenter one day when the bell at the top of the door sounded. She looked away from the carpenter’s rough hands wiping sawdust off the bar he worked on, to see who’d entered.

  “Hello,” Johnny said. “I heard you own this place now.”

  “Yeah, I bought it recently,” she replied, stunned to see him, having only dreamt of this moment, and not sure what to do now that he was there.

  “Congratulations,” he said with a smile.

  “Thanks.”

  Camille told the carpenter he could take a break and the man stepped outside. “What are you doing here?” she said to Johnny when he’d left.

  “I’ve missed you. I wanted to see you. How are you?”

  “I’m . . . okay.” She paused. “It took me a long time to get over what happened, but I have.” Her words were untruthful because every bit of her still longed for him.

  “I haven’t gotten over you,” he said.

  Camille stepped behind the bar. She could see the carpenter smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk outside. “I was just about to make coffee,” she said to Johnny, but she hadn’t been, really, but she wanted to physically distance herself from him to resist the temptation to reciprocate his sentiment. She’d lied to him, but he’d hurt her, and she wanted to protect herself.

  “Camille,” Johnny said, stepping closer and reaching out, as if to touch her, though he couldn’t at that distance. “Don’t walk away.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, I’m making coffee,” she replied quietly.

  “I’d never hurt you or your family,” he told her from where he stood in front of the bar.

  “I know that,” she replied and felt the truth in her heart.

  “I said some things that were untrue, and I want to apologize.”

  “You don’t have to. You were angry. I understand.”

  “Please, let me.”

  Camille nodded at him to go on.

  “I’m in love with you, Camille, and I’m sorry I said those things. I was angry, and I didn’t mean any of them. And I can’t stand not being with you.”

  “You had every right to be angry,” she told him. “I shouldn’t have kept that secret from you. It was terrible for me to do that, so I’m sorry as well. But why would you ever want to be with me after what my father did?”

  “Because I love you, Camille. You aren’t your father, just as I’m not mine. We’re our own people.”

  “And my mother, you don’t want anything to happen to her?” she asked him.

  “Of course not,” Johnny said, and moved to embrace her over the bar. “I love you, Camille, and so I love your family.”

  Camille stood still then hugged him, and he buried his face in her hair and held her tightly.

  “But we can’t be together,” she said, pulling away.

  “Why?” Johnny asked, hurt evident in his voice.

  “Not after what my father did. I don’t believe that you could ever move past it.”

  “But I have,” Johnny insisted, reaching out to her.

  “No, it will always come between us, I just know it. I love you, Johnny, I do, but I don’t believe we should be together.” It pained her to utter the words, but she knew they had to be spoken. She’d dreamt of this very moment, of him returning to her, but, in the end, she felt that the idea of them wasn’t in her cards.

  “Camille, please don’t say that. How can you say that? You must not mean it. You’re upset, and
I understand, but can’t we—” he said desperately.

  “Please, go, Johnny,” she told him, looking away and waiting for him to walk out the door.

  Then he got down on his knees and belted out Jimmy Ruffin’s “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted” to her from the other side of the bar. And Camille covered her hands with her mouth to hide her grin because his voice was terrible, just awful, and he seemed to know that, but he continued to sing anyway, and so he must have really loved her. His display of vulnerability endeared him to her.

  As he struggled to finish the song, she motioned for him to stop. She didn’t want to laugh at him, but then he got up and started laughing and so she did also. The carpenter was staring at them through the window. Camille walked out from behind the bar and embraced Johnny.

  “All right,” she said, looking at him. If he was willing to forgive her big secret, then he must have loved her.

  Sheila eventually came around and accepted that Johnny would be in Camille’s life and he wasn’t going anywhere. Camille had told her mother that Johnny knew about their fathers but still wanted her in his life. “Yes, I already know,” she’d said when her mother gave her a look.

  “How?” Sheila had asked.

  “It’s not important,” Camille had replied.

  Then Johnny did something that Camille was certain he’d never thought was possible: he joined forces with her. Out of his love for her. This was despite initial resistance from Rafael and from Pat and Danny. But in the end, each managed to convince their respective crews that the partnership would mean larger earnings for all, and each were willing to forget for the sake of money, because, in the end, money always won.

  There still was one problem: how to deal with Max. Camille had never forgotten what he’d done to her father, or how he’d threatened her mother and Johnny, and she knew she wouldn’t stop thinking about Max until she did something. She saw Violet’s continued bad luck as an opportunity to take over, and Max stood in her way. It was Johnny who suggested they get rid of him. At first, he’d said it jokingly, but when she told him that she had considered it, he warmed to the idea. It would be Camille’s first time killing someone, but clearly, not Johnny’s.