Justice for All (The Outcast Book #1)

by P. T. Dilloway

  “The truth maybe?”

  “Yeah, probably.” She reaches for my hand to give it a squeeze. “I’m really sorry, Robin. You’re such a good friend. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You should have thought of that before you lied.” I get to my feet. I don’t look back as I stomp out of the room.

  ***

  As soon as I get home I go down to the basement. I ignore the pain in my hands as I hit the punching bag. I imagine it’s that lying bitch Josie’s face that I’m pummeling. How could she do that to me? First she had lied to me about her family and then she lied to her mom and the cops about my role in all this.

  That’s it, I tell myself, no more friends. From now on I’m going to be a lone wolf. No friends, no boyfriends, nobody except Jessica and Carol. That’s all I need, right?

  I kick the punching bag with a grunt. The hell with friends. The hell with parties. I need to concentrate on Madame Crimson. The police aren’t going to do anything about her. It’s up to me to find a way to stop her.

  If there’s one thing that’s clear from last night, it’s that I’m not ready to go to war with the mob. I couldn’t even handle one college guy; how can I hope to go up against all the big tough goons Madame Crimson has working for her? I’m still a scrawny little kid, but not for long. Starting right now I’m going to train my ass off until I’m as tough as Ronda Rousey.

  I kick the bag again; it drifts back a few inches as if to mock me. With a scream of rage I grab the bag to knee it a few times. This is the last time I’m going to be the victim.

  “What on earth is going on down here?” Jessica shouts.

  I let the bag go and then wipe sweat from my face. “Just working out on Daddy’s old bag.”

  “Oh, that. Don’t you think you should wear gloves?”

  “They were too big,” I say, my face turning warm.

  Jessica starts to rummage through a box until she turns up a pair of fingerless pink gloves. “I used these when I was doing the tae bo. They should keep you from breaking your hands.” She shakes her head. “I think Zumba or something would be better.”

  “I’m not doing Zumba,” I growl, imagining myself in a leotard with a bunch of middle-aged housewives.

  “All right, fine. Have it your way. Maybe this will help you work out some of your feelings about Daddy dying.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I just wanted to say that what you did was wrong, but I understand it. I mean, it wasn’t that long ago that I was fifteen. My friends used to pressure me into doing stuff. You just need to learn to say no, all right?”

  “Yeah, sure. Are we done with the Lifetime moment?”

  “For now. If you want to talk, you know where to find me. Just don’t cut class to do it, OK?”

  “OK.”

  She squeezes me in a hug and then tousles my hair as if I’m a little kid. “Have fun. Lunch will be ready in an hour or so if you’re tired of beating up this old bag by then.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up.” As Jessica starts to go, I add, “And thanks for sticking up for me with Josie’s mom.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I wait until Jessica is upstairs and then I go back to work.

  Part 2

  Chapter 7

  I toss my cigarette away as the car pulls up. Jessica doesn’t bother to get out; she just lowers the passenger’s side window. “Come on. Get in.”

  I open the passenger’s side door; I haven’t even got my seatbelt on before Jessica guns the accelerator. She must be really pissed off. She’s wearing the white shirt and khakis she wears for her job at Starbucks, which I’m sure is part of the reason she’s so mad.

  She waits until she stops at a light to look over at me. “Five days. What were you thinking?”

  “That bitch had it coming,” I grumble. “She’s been riding my ass all semester.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can call her a bimbo with implants and say she should be working at Jugger Knots instead of teaching.”

  “It’s true. Those boobs of hers are so fake. Everyone knows it.”

  “That doesn’t mean you should say it.” Jessica’s nose twitches. She glares at me. “Have you been smoking again?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Robin. I know you too well.”

  “I might have had a puff off someone else’s ciggy. What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is that you’re sixteen. You can’t smoke for two years yet.” We drive along in silence for a few minutes, until we get to another red light. Then Jessica fixes me with another glare. “If you think you’re going to spend the next five days smoking and watching TV on the couch, you are dead wrong.”

  “What are you going to do: get a babysitter to watch me?”

  “No, you’re coming to work with me. It’s about time you got some direction.”

  “I have a direction.”

  She gestures to my short black top and even shorter black skirt. “Dressing up like the world’s sluttiest zombie isn’t a direction.”

  “Maybe I can get a job at Atomic World. They have a haunted house.”

  “That’s not funny.” Jessica’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel until her knuckles turn white. She’s probably imagining the steering wheel is my throat. “I know the last year has been hard on you. It’s been hard on me too. But you have to stop acting out like this. What do you think Daddy would say if he saw you like this?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second. You always said you wanted to go to the police academy. You aren’t going to get in if you have a criminal record.”

  “I don’t want to be a cop.”

  “Then what do you want to be?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care either.”

  Jessica sighs. She goes silent again for a while, which is just as well to me. We’ve had this argument a dozen times already. Jessica is still pissed that I dropped out of the National Honor Society and stopped playing the bassoon and quit all the other after school crap I used to do when I was a goody-goody like her. She thinks my dressing up in black and wearing Goth makeup is a phase, but it’s not. That bomb at the courthouse woke me up to how life really is: good guys like Daddy get killed while scum like Madame Crimson run around free. Jessica thinks I should bury my head in the sand and go on like normal the way she tries to do, but I can’t.

  I’m not going to pretend everything is normal. And tonight I’m going to start doing something a lot worse in Jessica’s book than smoking. I’m going to keep the promise I made to Daddy and finally bring Madame Crimson to justice.

  ***

  After I printed out Daddy’s notes, I put them on a bulletin board in the basement. I have to keep it flipped over most of the time so Jessica won’t see it. She would freak out if she had even an inkling of what I plan to do.

  The main focus of the board is an organization chart of Madame Crimson’s syndicate. As I study the organization chart, I practice on the old punching bag. Though she might want to stick around to make sure I don’t get into more trouble, Jessica had to go back to work. Daddy’s life insurance was worth quite a bit, but a lot of that got eaten up paying off the house and Jessica insists on putting away a bunch of money for my college education.

  I work the bag for a good half-hour, imagining it’s Tiny Dashner, a thug low on the organization chart. As much as I want to start with the top, I know there’s no way I can get near Madame Crimson, not without working through a few lower rungs of the organization first. One of them should be able to give me something I can use to get her into the open.

  I finish a flurry of punches and then wipe the sweat off my face. When I first started a year ago I couldn’t go for more than five minutes before I got winded. I’m still not Ronda Rousey by any stretch, but I should be able to hold my own in a fight, especially against someone as worthless as Tiny Dashner.

  I study the bulletin board for a few minutes while I gulp down some Gator
ade. Daddy’s notes indicated Tiny is mostly into collections on the south side. He picks up the protection money from a lot of Mom and Pop businesses and then hands it over after getting his cut. He splits his route up so that every day he covers a few blocks. Thursdays he’s over on Reynolds Road, down by the old meat packing plant. It’s not the kind of area I should be hanging out in; Jessica would ground me for life if she found me there.

  I don’t have my license or even a permit, so I have to take the train, three buses, and then walk six blocks before I get to Reynolds Road. It took so long that I might have already missed Tiny, though I doubt he’s an early riser. And it’s better for him to collect later in the day, when there are less people around, or at least fewer than there usually are.

  I don’t normally waste a lot of time worrying about what to wear, but for this I had to spend a few minutes staring into my closet. I wanted something dark for concealment, but not anything too flimsy. After trying on a couple of looks, I decided on a black hoodie and black sweatpants that should allow me plenty of movement. I don’t put the hood up right away, wanting to be able to see around me.

  The neighborhood is the type that’s rundown with graffiti on everything. I made sure not to bring more than a few dollars for bus fare. I keep my hands in the pockets of my hoodie as I walk as quickly as I can without looking in too much of a hurry. With my Goth makeup on my face anyone who sees me probably thinks I’m here to score some drugs. I know Jessica worries about that, to the point that she ransacks my room at least once a week claiming to be looking for dirty laundry.

  I hear Tiny Dashner before I see him. The high-pitched voice I hear shouting must belong to him. “You better have the rest of the money when I come back here, old man. You got that?”

  He stomps out of a dry cleaner with an envelope sticking out of one pocket of his overcoat. He looks just like his picture: a chubby white guy with thinning brown hair and patchy facial hair he must think makes him look tough. He’s probably a couple inches shorter than me, but he walks like he’s seven feet tall.

  My stomach starts to flutter as I get near enough to smell his cologne. There’s still time to back out of this. I can go to the next bus stop, get on the bus, and then go home. I can do my homework and chat with my friends on Facebook. I can be the girl Jessica wants me to be; the girl I used to be before Daddy died.

  If I do that, then Madame Crimson gets away with it. She never pays for what she did to Daddy and her goons like Tiny Dashner keep taking money from innocent people. Nothing will change; Daddy will have died for nothing.

  I pull up next to Tiny as we near an alley and then cover my head with my hood. When we get to the center of the alley, I hip check him. He stumbles, his foot catching on something. He goes down on his ass; I’m tempted to laugh at how pathetic he looks like that. Then I remember he probably has a gun or knife in his pocket.

  Before he can get to it, I take out Daddy’s pocketknife to hold the blade at his throat. “Don’t say a fucking word,” I growl. With my free hand I take out the envelope I saw him put into his pocket. “What else you got?”

  He doesn’t answer; he just glares at me with hatred. He’s probably as mad at himself for getting caught by a girl as he is mad at me. I pat down his jacket until I find a revolver. That should come in handy later, so I slip it into my pocket. I take his wallet to empty it of cash too. I pat him on the cheek and then smile. “That’s a good boy. If I were you, I’d find myself a new job.”

  “You think you going to get away with this, kid?”

  “Looks like it to me.”

  “You got any idea whose money that is?”

  “Madame Crimson’s.”

  His eyes narrow at me spoiling his big surprise. “You know what she does to people who rip her off?”

  “Probably the same as she does to collectors who get robbed.”

  He glares at me silently for a minute and then says, “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

  “A lot of people would disagree with that.” I pat his cheek again. “We better not run into each other again.”

  I haven’t ever tried to pistol whip anyone before since I never owned a pistol. From the bloody cut that opens up on Tiny’s forehead I might have done it too hard. He collapses onto his back, but he’s still breathing. That’s a lot better off than Daddy was a year ago.

  I leave him there and then start back towards the bus stop. It’s not until I’m on the bus that my body turns to jelly. I did it. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it’s a start. The journey of a thousand miles and all that. Tomorrow I’m going after bigger game, but for now I can relax. I look out the window at the city and think of Daddy. It’s started, Daddy. All for you.

  Chapter 8

  The next morning I check the newspapers online, but there’s nothing about a low-level mob goon being ripped off. There’s also nothing about Tiny Dashner’s body turning up in the river, though there’s still time for that. Daddy used to say it took two days for the current to wash a body up and another day for someone to notice, so it’ll probably still be two days at least if Madame Crimson’s people decided to finish what I had started.

  I check my phone throughout the day as I sweep up coffee grounds at Starbucks. Jessica didn’t find out about me sneaking out last night, but she decided that sitting around watching TV during my suspension wouldn’t be a punishment, so she has me wearing an apron and doing the janitorial work no one else wants to do. Plus this way she can keep an eye on me to make sure I don’t get into any more trouble.

  I don’t mind working at the coffeehouse. Jessica’s friend Casey is pretty cool; she has blue hair, a bunch of rings on her face and ears, and tattoos all down her arms. I’d like to get the piercings and tattoos, but until I turn eighteen I need a guardian’s permission and there’s no way Jessica would ever let me do that.

  During one of the many slow times during the day I tell Casey how I got suspended. She laughs and says, “Oh my God, that is so awesome! I bet she was totally freaking out!”

  “She was pretty freaked.”

  “So freaked she got Robin suspended for five days,” Jessica says. She turns to glare at Casey. “Don’t encourage her.”

  “Oh come on, Jess, you used to call that bitch Balloon Tits. Remember?”

  “Not to her face.” Jessica wags a finger at me. “Don’t you even think about saying that to her.”

  “I won’t—Jess.”

  She narrows her eyes; she always hates it when I call her “Jess” or “Jessie.” As revenge she shoves a bucket and toilet brush at me. “Go clean up the bathrooms. Make sure no one is in there first.”

  “I know. I’m not an idiot.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  I roll my eyes and then go over to the ladies room. I knock on the door as hard as I can. No one answers so I open the door and then get to work. Being alone in the bathroom gives me a chance to think about what I have to do tonight. Tonight I have to work up the next level on the organization chart, to one of the guys Tiny reports to—Frankie Lutz.

  This isn’t going to be nearly as easy. I can’t ambush Frankie the way I did Tiny since he mostly stays in the same location. That location is upstairs from a bar, a place I can’t go in without a fake ID. I’m sure Casey knows where I can get one of those, but I might not be able to get one before tonight. I could always postpone my visit, except I want to hit Madame Crimson’s people as hard and fast as I can to keep them off-balance. I don’t want them to have a chance to figure out what’s happening to them or especially who’s behind it before I can reach the top.

  I finish with the ladies room and then knock loudly on the men’s room door. No one answers, so I go in. I make sure to keep the door open as I work. I just about jump to the ceiling when Jessica says from behind me, “You did a good job on the ladies room. I can see myself in the toilet bowl.”

  “Why were you looking in the toilet bowl?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Can’t you just accept the complime
nt?”

  “Sure. Thanks, Jess.”

  “Do you always have to be such a pain in the ass?”

  “My goodness, such language. You should wash your mouth out with soap.”

  “You’re impossible. Anyway, Casey and I are going out after work. Can I trust you not to burn the house down or anything?”

  “Oh, please, like I’m that stupid.”

  “I don’t think you’re stupid. You’re irresponsible.”

  “Irresponsible? I’m the one scrubbing toilets.”

  “Because you got yourself suspended from school. Look, don’t give me a hard time, OK? I need a night out.”

  “Fine. I won’t get into any trouble.”

  “Good.” She looks around the bathroom and then nods. “This looks clean enough. Wash your hands and then you can take a break.”

  “Whatever you say, Jess.”

  She mutters something under her breath as she turns away. I have to resist the urge to cheer at this development. Now there won’t be anything stopping me from going out tonight.

  ***

  Like the night before I have to take a train and a couple of buses to get to the Silver Pony Bar. It’s on the east side of the city, in a neighborhood not much better than Reynolds Street. The bar is a rundown hole like Moe’s on The Simpsons, only grimier. I’m sure if I opened the door I’d find three or four old barflies on their stools.

  There’s an alley in the back with piles of trash that probably have been building for months. I have to bite down on my lip when I hear rats scurrying around in the trash. I remind myself I’m supposed to be a big, tough vigilante now, not a little girl scared of smelly, gross rodents.

  I force myself to climb up a pile of trash so I can reach a window on the second floor. It’s so rusty that I can’t get it to open at first. I shift on the pile of garbage to get some more leverage. I bite down harder on my lip as I hear the rats shrieking with protest. I just hope none of them tries to climb up here to take a bite out of me.