Justice for All (The Outcast Book #1)

by P. T. Dilloway

  There’s no way I can jump onto another container now. I drop myself off of it to land hard on the ground. I’m still struggling to get to my feet when someone yanks my head back by the hair. I go for my pistol, but it’s knocked out of my hand.

  Arleigh Carr looks down at me with a wicked grin. “You? You’re the one causing all this trouble?”

  “Surprise, asshole,” I mumble. He doesn’t appreciate my wit; he punches me full in the face. I can feel a couple of teeth come loose and blood filling my mouth. He lets me sag onto all fours so he can kick me in the midsection to break a few ribs. I cough up a wad of blood.

  I’m still coughing up blood when I hear another gunshot. Arleigh Carr pitches forward to land next to me on the ground. I look up and smile through my broken teeth. “Hi, Aunt Carol.”

  She takes my hand to yank me to my feet. Then she hugs me close to her to drag me away from the dock. She waits until I’m in the passenger’s seat of her car before she says, “What the hell were you doing?”

  “Your job,” I say and then pass out.

  Part 3

  Chapter 12

  I wake up shivering with cold. I’m in a dark room that I figure must be a hospital room from all the machines beeping and wheezing around me. I try to get up, but my right leg won’t move.

  I flail around with my hands until I find a light switch. A light comes on above the headboard to confirm I am in a hospital room. The reason I’m cold and can’t get up is that my right leg is propped up in traction. There’s a thin blanket over the rest of me; I brush this aside to see I’m wearing a flimsy floral print hospital gown. Beneath the gown are a bunch of bandages around my ribs.

  I try to mutter a curse to myself, but my mouth won’t move. I feel around with my tongue and right hand and discover my jaw is wired shut. Thinking back to what happened at the docks, Arleigh Carr must have broken my jaw. That was after one of his guys shot me through the leg, which explains why it’s in traction.

  Looking around, I find the call button and then press it. It takes a couple of minutes for a chubby nurse to come in. She doesn’t look happy to see me. “You’re awake now, huh?” she says. I roll my eyes at her. “You in any pain?” I shrug my shoulders. “Is that yes or no?” I finally shake my head; for the moment I feel fine, all things considered.

  The nurse comes over to help me into a sitting position and fluff my pillow. “You’re a very lucky girl,” she says. I roll my eyes again. She picks up the TV remote to press into my hands. “I’ll let your sister and Lieutenant Finnegan know you’re awake.”

  Before she can leave, I grab the hem of her cardigan sweater. I mumble something unintelligible and then pantomime writing on an imaginary piece of paper. It takes a few seconds before she gets it. “You want something to write on?” I nod to her. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I flip through the TV, though the hospital only has about ten snow-filled channels. From the clock next to my bed it’s nine o’clock, probably at night. I settle on some crappy sitcom that is in no danger of making me laugh.

  The nurse returns a couple of minutes later, Jessica and Carol behind her. The nurse holds out a yellow legal pad and a pen. I mumble my thanks as I take these. She turns to Jessica to say, “Ten minutes and that’s it. She needs to rest.”

  “Thank you,” Jessica says. She pulls up a chair to sit beside my bed. I scribble on my notepad: How long? “You’ve been asleep for two days, you pigheaded little idiot.”

  Sorry, I write.

  “What the hell were you doing there?” An explanation would take far too long to write out, so I motion to Carol.

  “She said Madame Crimson had something going on at the docks. I went down there to check it out, but by then it had already turned into the OK Corral. I barely managed to get your sister out of there before they could break every bone in her body.”

  I huff through my wired jaw. Jessica flashes a tired smile. “We finally found a way to shut you up.” I narrow my eyes and then write something rude on the notepad. She only laughs at this. “The doctor says it’ll be about six weeks until your jaw is fixed. Your leg and ribs shouldn’t take as long.” Tears come to Jessica’s eyes. She leans her head against my arm. “You’re so lucky, you know that? They could have killed you.”

  I pat her on the back since I can’t say anything comforting. She’s right that I could have been killed. Carr might have done something even worse first if Carol hadn’t shown up when she did. But if she had done her job in the first place I wouldn’t have needed to go there at all.

  After a couple minutes of sobbing, Jessica wipes the tears away. She motions to Carol. “Aunt Carol has already smoothed everything over with the cops. If anyone asks, she was the one who threw those grenades and stuff. You’re just a dumb kid who wandered onto the scene and got beat up. You got it?” I nod. Jessica squeezes my hand. “After all this is over, we’re going to have a really long talk.”

  I nod to her again. On the notepad I write, Thank You. She tousles my hair. “That’s what sisters are for. Get some rest.”

  She gives me a careful hug before she heads for the door. Carol pats me on the shoulder. “It’ll be all right. I’ve got a guard on the door in case any of her people show up, not that I expect them to. What you did was really brave. Stupid, but brave. Madame Crimson is going to be a lot more careful from now on.”

  That seems like a pretty small victory to me given how bad I got roughed up, but at least it’s something. I nod to her and then tap the notepad where I wrote thank you. “I’ll see you tomorrow, kid. Don’t try sneaking out until then.”

  I couldn’t sneak out right now if I wanted to. I blow out a sigh through my wired jaw and then settle back on my pillows to watch crappy TV until I fall asleep.

  ***

  Carol brings me a newspaper from a couple days earlier that recounts the battle on the docks. In the newspaper version, Carol went there on an anonymous tip and then got into a fight with some of Madame Crimson’s goons. An unidentified dumb kid—me—blundered onto the scene and was nearly killed. She squeezes my hand and then says, “Thanks to you I’m getting a promotion. You’re looking at Captain Finnegan now.”

  If I could, I would smile at this news. I squeeze her hand back and then write, Congrats. “Thanks, sweetie. The best part is they’re reshuffling things so I can take over your dad’s old job.”

  I give her a thumbs-up. There’s no one Daddy would rather have taking over his old precinct than Carol. She had been his protégé ever since they were first partnered together as detectives.

  There are newspapers from the last couple of days too. The police commissioner and mayor promise they’ll clean up the docks, though I know those are idle words. They might beef up the police presence for a few weeks, until everyone has stopped noticing. Then things will go right back to normal. I can hear Jessica saying I shouldn’t be so cynical at my age, but I’ve seen too much corruption to believe in any real change. At least not while Madame Crimson is still free.

  A middle-aged Indian doctor visits me after Carol. He says pretty much the same stuff Jessica told me. I should be able to move around on crutches in a week or so and then after a few weeks I’ll be able to walk again. So long as I don’t do anything too stupid, my ribs and jaw should heal themselves within six weeks. From what the doctor says there’s no serious damage. “You’re a very lucky girl,” he says. I want to grumble that I don’t feel very lucky at the moment, but I don’t feel like writing that down.

  Jessica spends a couple of hours sitting by my bed, flipping through the channels on the TV. She brings my phone to me so I can at least browse the Internet and stuff. That makes being laid up and having to do my business in a bedpan slightly more comfortable.

  A couple of times I catch a glimpse of the cop stationed outside my door. Carol told me the guard will only be there a couple more days, until they’re sure no one is going to come after me. Not that I would know anything from what the newspapers say.

  If I stil
l had any friends at school they might come to visit me. I get a few messages on Facebook, but most of the time I’m alone in the room. This gives me plenty of time to think of all the ways I screwed up. I shouldn’t have gone there with only a wrench for a weapon. I should have studied the layout of the place first to know what I was getting into. I should have been more careful when I jumped from the container.

  As soon as I get out of here I’ll have to start training myself again. I’ll really need to build up some more strength. Maybe it’s time to consider getting a real superhero-type outfit, something with padding to help absorb any bullets that come my way. A mask would be a good idea too. I flip to the back of the notepad to scribble down some ideas. The problem will be paying for any improvements. Maybe I should get a job; I’m already pretty experienced at janitorial work.

  ***

  I’m relieved when the doctor has me fitted for a pair of crutches. At long last I can use the toilet like a big girl. No more needing a nurse or orderly to change my bedpan every couple of hours. For the first time in about two weeks I can feel like a real person instead of a baby.

  It’s a little uncomfortable sitting on the toilet with my right leg still all wrapped up in bandages. At times like this it would be a lot easier if I were a boy so I could pee standing up. I make do and manage to go without getting it all over.

  As I’m washing my hands, I notice for the first time that my hair has gone back to the same boring light brown as Jessica’s. It’s almost to my shoulders now too. My face doesn’t have any makeup on, though my skin is still about as pale thanks to weeks without sunlight. If I could, I would grimace to see myself almost back to the goody-goody I had been before Daddy died.

  I ask Jessica for some dye and my makeup, but of course she says no. “You can worry about that after you get out of here,” she says. “It won’t kill you to look normal for a few weeks.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and glare daggers at her. She doesn’t relent. She’s probably glad to see me this way, her mousy baby sister again.

  I try Carol too, but she says the same thing. “Plus it’ll help you stay incognito,” she says. That’s something I hadn’t thought of. It makes sense since any of Madame Crimson’s people who saw me had seen me with my black hair and Goth makeup. I nod my understanding to her, though I’m still not happy about it.

  With my phone I follow the news, not that there is much about Madame Crimson. She’s lying low for the moment. She did the same after Daddy died and the charges against her were dismissed. It took about six weeks before she started up her business again. It might not be as long this time since the media is already moving on from the battle at the docks.

  I wish I could do something, but there’s nothing I can do in this shape. I just do the homework Jessica brings to me, watch TV, and check stuff on my phone. It’s pretty much how my life used to be before Daddy died; why hadn’t I realized before how boring it was? Well I did have that rat Dylan in those days. He of course hasn’t visited or even sent me a text.

  Since I don’t have a guard on me anymore, the doctor allows me to make a few trips down to the cafeteria to build up strength and alleviate my boredom. I can’t eat anything with my jaw wired shut, but I can buy some milk to drink through a straw. I’d kill for a cup of coffee, but hot beverages and straws don’t mix.

  It’s on one of my trips to the cafeteria that I notice a beefy guy giving me the eye. He might as well be wearing a T-shirt identifying himself as a mob goon. I pretend not to notice as I limp over to get some milk. This time I get a cup of coffee too.

  I awkwardly hop over to a table facing away from the mob goon. I’m not sure if he’ll try anything now or wait to try to get to me in my room. I wish I’d thought to bring my phone, but the hospital gown doesn’t have pockets on it.

  I’m almost done with my milk when a hand clamps down on my shoulder. I look up at the mob goon. “You and me need to talk, kid,” he says. Without asking he sits across from me. He doesn’t take out a weapon, but his arms are thick enough that he could easily snap my neck before anyone could stop him. “Madame Crimson has a message for you. She says even after they take those wires off you better keep your mouth shut. Got it?”

  I don’t have my pad and pen either, so I can only nod to him. “You say anything to your cop friend or the newspapers, you’ll be going down to the morgue. Capiche?” I nod again. He flashes a smile with a gold incisor that glints at me. “Good. You look like a smart kid. It’d be a real shame if something happened to you. Or that sister of yours.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. My right hand takes hold of the coffee. It’s probably not scalding anymore, but it would be a good distraction. All I have to do is throw it at his face and then in the confusion hit him with the crutches. They aren’t real strong, but they could probably do some damage. And then—

  And then Madame Crimson will send more. Carol could put another guard on the door, but who’s to say that guard won’t decide to use the bathroom or take a smoke break at a convenient time for someone to walk in and kill me? Besides, at this point they just think I’m a witness; they don’t know that I’m the one who threw those grenades. If they did, they would probably have already sent someone to kill me. This is just Madame Crimson covering her butt.

  I relax my grip on the coffee cup and then shed a few crocodile tears to make the guy think I’m scared. He gets to his feet so he can loom over me. “See you around, kid,” he says and then chuckles at his own wit.

  I don’t report the incident to Carol or especially Jessica. There’s no need to worry them about nothing. The real problem is now Madame Crimson knows my name. Not only my name, Jessica’s too. That will make it that much harder to do anything even after I’m healed. Again I complain to myself for being so sloppy. Daddy would definitely have used a lot more sense, not that he ever would have done something like this. I’ve managed to put a slight dent in Madame Crimson’s operations, but now I’ve put Jessica, Carol, and me in danger.

  Chapter 13

  When the doctor decides my injuries are healed enough to not need constant monitoring I get to go home. It has been about a month since I last got to sleep on my own bed. Even better is that I can wear a loose T-shirt and shorts instead of a hospital gown.

  The disadvantage is that Jessica is my nurse now. I get to drink her disgusting soup through a straw and have her help me into the shower, where I have to sit like an old person since my right leg isn’t strong enough to hold me up yet. I’d rather stay in the hospital even with the danger of mob goons, but the insurance company won’t cover any more time in the hospital, not when the doctor says it’s not necessary.

  Since I’m home I can put on some makeup on my face and around my eyes, though I obviously can’t do my lips thanks to my broken jaw. Jessica still won’t let me dye my hair either. It’s long enough now to pull into a medium-sized ponytail, which makes me feel about twelve years old.

  I do get to visit the hospital after a week to have some X-rays done of my chest and leg. It’s after the tests that I see the same mob goon waiting around. He stares at me pointedly, the threat implied. I nod slightly to him when Jessica isn’t looking.

  That night I limp over to my bedroom window to look down at the street. I don’t see any strange cars lurking. How did that guy know when we were going to the hospital? With all the time Jessica has spent away from the house, they could have planted a bug somewhere. If they did, I have no idea how I’d find it without some specialized equipment.

  I collapse back onto my bed and sigh. It’s like I’ve become a prisoner, first in the hospital and now in my own house. Madame Crimson has eyes everywhere and thanks to my sloppiness they’re trained on me. I tell myself to relax; after a few weeks she’ll realize I’m not going to do anything and stop watching. Not even Madame Crimson has the resources to watch someone 24/7 for years.

  I remind myself that she doesn’t need years. All she has to do is wait until I’m by myself, waiting for the school bus o
r something, and then snatch me up, put a bullet in me, and drop me in the harbor. She probably could have done it already, but she might figure there’s too much heat on her.

  I limp down to the kitchen the next morning to find Jessica and Carol waiting for me just like the morning before I went to the docks. There’s not a newspaper in front of them this time; instead it’s a brochure for someplace called St. Martha’s Academy for Young Ladies. I pick up the brochure to see girls about my age in white blouses, plaid skirts, and blue blazers.

  According to the text on the brochure, St. Martha’s Academy is a premier school for “troubled girls.” It promises a “no-nonsense education steeped in Catholic tradition.” I stab a picture of a nun with my finger and then furiously shake my head. I start to scribble something not very nice on my pad of paper.

  “I’m sorry, Robin. Carol and I think this is for the best after what happened to you,” Jessica says.

  I tear up the note I had been writing to scrawl, I’m NOT troubled!

  “Then what would you call it? You almost got yourself killed! You think I’m going to let you go out and do that again?”

  Perhaps even worse than the thought of being surrounded by nuns is that the school is located in New Hampshire. The brochure describes it as a “pristine backdrop of New England scenery.” Which is to say it’s in the middle of nowhere. I shake my head furiously again. I write, I’ll run away. You can’t keep me there.

  Carol takes my hand to give it a squeeze. “Robin, please, this is for the best. It’s not safe for you here. Six months or maybe a year and you can come back, but right now you need to lie low.” I think of the mob goon at the hospital and know Carol’s right about lying low.

  There has to be somewhere else, I write.

  “We can’t afford to send you anywhere else,” Jessica says. “Your medical bills have already put a serious dent in your college fund.” Jessica fakes a smile. “It’s not so bad. Mom went there.”