by E. R. Fallon
“No, I’ll be fine. I don’t think she’s got anyone inside with her,” Camille replied. She had to go in immediately, for she knew she might not have the courage to go in at all if she waited, so she opened the car door in the front, where she sat with Johnny.
Billy touched her shoulder from the backseat. “I want to let you know I’m not going anywhere, Camille, because I love you,” he told her, as though these could be her last moments on earth.
Johnny yelled at him and pushed his hand off Camille.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked Billy.
Billy told Johnny to keep his hands off him.
Camille stopped and looked at both men. “Enough,” she said to calm them. “I can’t deal with this right now. We’ll talk about it when I return.”
“Are you saying—” Johnny said.
“When I get back,” she cut him short, then she stepped outside and closed the door, glancing at Derrick as she crossed the quiet street.
Johnny and the other men waited in the car, with the engine running and the windows down so they could hear.
Camille heard the crunching of her shoes treading over broken glass. The summer heat felt thick and sticky on her bare arms as she walked to the warehouse. Did she trust that Violet would be alone inside? Camille had her gun with her, of course, and she assumed Violet would have hers. The warehouse looked large and ominous in the night, and without the guidance of the moonlight, Camille struggled to find the door in the dark. Then a door opened, and she saw light and heard Violet’s voice.
“Camille.”
She approached Violet carefully, with her hand over her gun tucked in her waistband.
“Are you armed?” Violet asked her.
“Sure.”
Violet didn’t say whether she was also, and from her silence, Camille confirmed she was.
“Thanks for coming,” Violet said. “I’m surprised you came.”
“I wanted to see what you had to say,” Camille said, but Violet looked at her warily.
“You didn’t have to kill Max, you know.”
“Oh, yes, I did.”
Violet watched her in silence with a look of hate on her face. Then she invited Camille inside.
In the warehouse, Violet didn’t look well, she looked like she’d been up all night drinking and perhaps she had been. Violet shut the door.
Violet finally had Camille standing in front of her, alone. Their voices echoed in the open space. Camille stared at her in silence, as though she was debating how to proceed, then she said, “I can give you some money.”
“That’d be great,” Violet said, and forced herself to smile. She carried her purse with her, with her gun inside. She reached in for it.
“What are you doing?” Camille shouted, and her hand disappeared as she reached around for what Violet assumed was her own gun.
Violet’s purse fell to the floor from her hands and the noise of it dropping filled her ears. “You really thought I’d ever negotiate with you?” Violet laughed as she pointed her gun at Camille, who now aimed her own gun at Violet.
Camille perspired heavily as she stood facing Violet, their guns drawn, and she knew that whoever was the better shot would win. Violet probably assumed she was the best, but Camille had practiced regularly with Johnny.
“This is for everything, and for Max,” Violet said, her voice sounding especially harsh in the bare room.
Camille’s hand that gripped the gun tensed then she pulled the trigger. An astringent smell filled the air. Then she felt a sharp pain in her chest and something wet, and she saw bright blood seeping through her shirt.
Violet touched her neck and fell to the ground. “You shot me,” Violet screamed as Camille’s legs gave out and she collapsed to the floor. She heard the door opening, footsteps, and Anton calling Violet’s name and Johnny’s voice.
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THE END
A note from the publisher
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About the Authors
Best-selling authors E.R. Fallon and KJ Fallon know well the gritty city streets of which they write and have understanding of the localized crime world.