The Trouble Legacy

by E. R. Fallon

“I love you, too,” she replied, not wanting him to leave, but knowing he couldn’t stay.

  14

  Johnny had never loved anyone more than he loved Camille, and he would do absolutely anything to get her bailed from prison. Anything. Money was not an issue, not these days. Although, at one time, it very much had been.

  As soon as he left the prison grounds, he drove to Mickey’s offices in the city, stopping at a gas station on the way there to ring Mickey and let him know he would be arriving shortly.

  In the city he parked near the law offices, and entered the building, past the security guard, who knew him, and toward the elevators. Upstairs in the office, he said hello to Mickey’s voluptuous secretary, who rang Mickey in his office.

  A moment later, a door opened, and Mickey, a short, handsome, muscular man with light hair, in a slick dark suit and red tie with shiny black shoes, stepped out with his arms extended to embrace Johnny.

  “Johnny,” the ever-affectionate Mickey said. “How are you doing? I know you’ve been better,” he said, answering his own question. “And my stepsister? How is she? You’ve been to see her? I was just getting around to visiting her myself this afternoon.”

  “She’s not doing well, Mickey. She’s got an enemy on the inside, and they’re after her. They attacked her. I think they’ll kill her if they can. At the very least, she’s gotta be moved to a different jail.”

  Mickey shook his head in astonishment. “That’s terrible, Johnny. Listen, we’re going to get her out of there, out of jail completely, don’t you worry,” he spoke with confidence.

  “But how? You said so yourself; the judge is a fucking asshole.”

  Mickey glanced at his secretary. “Let’s step into my office,” he said, and touched Johnny’s arm lightly.

  Johnny followed him inside, and Mickey shut the door.

  “Have a seat,” Mickey said, pointing to one of the comfortable-looking chairs in front of the desk.

  Johnny sat and folded his hands in his lap while he waited for Mickey to sit down.

  “How’s Phoebe?” Mickey asked, as he sat across from Johnny, with his hands on the gleaming, immense wooden desk.

  “She’s confused. She’s always thought so highly of Camille, you know, and now she doesn’t understand what’s going on.”

  “Have you explained it to her?”

  “We try to keep her out of our lifestyle because we think that’s best, for her not to be involved. She knows Camille was hurt by somebody, obviously, but she’s too old for me to lie to her, so I’ve just told her someone made a false accusation.”

  “I’d be careful what you say to her,” Mickey replied. “I wouldn’t put it past these pricks to try to get your own daughter to testify against Camille.” He paused. “Anyway, the most important thing now is that we get her the hell out of that place.”

  “What’s your plan?” Johnny asked, his voice filled with eagerness.

  “The judge who’s not giving her bail, the thing about his father’s connection to Camille, I think I can get a new judge on the case. I’ve filed the paperwork needed to do so. I’m claiming his father’s connection to Camille makes him biased.”

  “Then you’re going to, what, bribe the new judge?” Johnny asked, unsure about the idea.

  “No, that’d be too risky. There’s a good chance that the new judge will give her bail. I think this guy just has it in for her because of their fathers’ history. I really believe a new judge will be in her favor.”

  “How long is this going to take?” Johnny asked.

  “Shouldn’t be more than a day or two. You think she can last that long?”

  “Catherine McCarthy, the woman who’s after her on the inside, is a fucking mean bitch, but my Camille, she’s very strong.”

  A few days later, Camille stood outside of the prison’s high gates awaiting Johnny’s arrival in the cool morning air on a cloud-filled day. He’d gotten her out of there like he promised he would.

  She had barely said goodbye to Joy, whom she still wondered if she could trust, and she had never seen Esther again. But Neale had been there to see her off, and she’d told Camille she was “lucky”. Camille wondered what that meant. Lucky to have not been killed by Catherine and her gang? She’d avoided that by never again being alone, and she hadn’t showered in all that time. Or had Neale meant, lucky to have escaped her? One thing was for sure, Camille never wanted to return to that prison again, and would do anything to ensure that didn’t happen.

  A few minutes later, Johnny arrived in one of their less flashy cars. Probably best, in case that detective was watching them from somewhere nearby.

  Johnny parked alongside her and exited with his arms opened widely to embrace her. She’d left the prison in the clothes she’d arrived in.

  “How’s my girl?” he asked with a smile, his eyes shining with affection.

  “I knew I could count on you,” she told him as she held onto his warm, strong body. “How did you manage to do it?”

  “It was mostly Mickey’s doing, but I hurried him along. He got a new judge to oversee your bail because of the other judge’s connection to your dad, and this guy was softer than the other one. And here we are.” Johnny smiled again, and Camille kissed him with passion.

  “I wondered if Phoebe would come here with you,” Camille said.

  “I asked her if she wanted to, but I think she was a little scared. I’m sure she’ll be okay once you’re home. Your mother’s already there; she’s waiting with her.”

  Camille nodded, but inside she hoped their relationship wouldn’t be different.

  “How’s my mother doing?” Camille asked.

  She had rung Sheila a few times from the prison, but her mother hadn’t visited her. It hadn’t upset her, though, because she knew her mother didn’t like prisons because of Camille’s father, and Camille respected her mother’s wishes.

  “She’s doing good. Ready to go home?” Johnny asked her as he opened the passenger side door for her.

  “Hell, yeah, I’m ready,” Camille said with a genuine smile, but once inside the car, her heart sank a little with the reality of having to face a temperamental teenager at home. She and her stepdaughter were close, but they had drifted apart because the older Phoebe became, the more she seemed to miss her late mother.

  A few hours later, they arrived home, and Camille had somewhat anticipated seeing the media or their neighbors queued up to watch her, but the street was mostly empty despite it being a weekend.

  Sheila ran out of the house as soon as Johnny parked in the driveway.

  “Darling,” she said to Camille as she wrapped her up in a tight embrace. “I knew they’d never really be able to hurt you in there,” she said. She had told her mother about Catherine’s gang on the phone.

  “Never,” Camille said.

  “That’s my tough girl,” Sheila said, patting her back tenderly.

  “Where’s Phoebe?” Camille asked eagerly. She had expected the girl to greet her outside.

  “She’s in her room,” Sheila said, touching Camille’s hand, knowing Camille’s concern because she was a mother herself.

  Then Camille wanted to run upstairs and yell at the girl, scream at her for being so selfish when her mother had just come home. They’d always had a good relationship, even before Camille’s marriage to Johnny, but, now, something seemed to have changed between them, and Camille hoped she could fix whatever that was.

  Camille hadn’t brought any belongings to the prison and she didn’t have anything to take home with her, so Johnny just closed the car doors and they went inside the large, beautiful white house. Johnny had mentioned that the police had gotten a search warrant to search the house after they arrested her, but that he’d stashed their guns at a safe house in the city.

  The day had gotten hotter, and inside the air conditioning felt like a relief to Camille’s skin. The prison had been so unbearably warm most of the times, and a lot of other things had been unbearable as well, but Camill
e had made it out alive and well.

  “Do you want a glass of wine?” Sheila asked, despite the early hour, for she knew her daughter well.

  “No, thanks, I’ll wait,” Camille said and went straight upstairs to Phoebe’s room. Johnny followed but she motioned that she wanted to do it alone.

  “I’ll go downstairs and take your mother up on that drink,” he said with a smile.

  15

  In the hallway, Camille found Phoebe’s door closed, and rather than open it outright, she knocked lightly.

  “Who is it?” Phoebe said, although she must have known who it was. Her bedroom window overlooked the driveway.

  “Phoebe, you know who it is,” Camille said, slightly exasperated. She turned the doorknob but found it locked. “Don’t be like this. Open the door,” she said, twisting the knob frantically. Part of her wanted to kick the door down, and the other part of her wanted to cry. Instead, she said, “You’re being selfish, Phoebe. I haven’t seen you in almost a week.”

  Camille heard movement behind the door, and after a moment, it opened slowly. Phoebe stood there at the other end, looking at her.

  Camille smiled. “How’s it going, gorgeous?” she said to the pretty teenager.

  Phoebe shrugged without a smile. “How come you were sent to jail?” she asked.

  “Can I come in?” Camille asked, gesturing to the door.

  Phoebe nodded, and Camille entered and sat on her stepdaughter’s bed.

  “It was a misunderstanding,” she told her.

  Phoebe gave her a doubtful look. “Grandma wouldn’t say when I asked her, but I know that isn’t the truth. You can’t hide it from me forever. Someday I’ll find out.”

  Camille recalled back to the conversation she’d had with her own mother, when she was young, about her father being a gangster, and considered how much she should reveal to Phoebe, how much could she handle at once? It was true Phoebe would eventually grow up and discover who and what her parents were. She and Johnny had decided they would protect her for as long as they could, but that someday they’d have to tell her.

  “I’m not naïve. I know my dad’s been to prison,” Phoebe said from the doorway.

  Camille gestured for her to sit next to her on the bed.

  “Just tell me,” Phoebe said.

  Camille sat there, looking at her strong, beautiful step-daughter.

  “How much do you think you already know?” she asked Phoebe.

  “Enough to know you’re not like other parents. Which is cool. Enough to know that you and Dad aren’t saints.”

  “Nobody is,” Camille replied. “My father,” she started to tell her then stopped.

  “What about him? You’ve hardly told me anything about him, and when I asked, all you say is he died when you were too young. You never told me how he died though.”

  “He was murdered,” Camille said quietly.

  Phoebe sat up and looked at her in shock with her mouth open. “Oh my God, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

  “It was a very long time ago,” Camille said. “I don’t really think about it that much anymore. But when I was younger, I did.”

  “Is it okay if I ask how it happened?”

  Camille nodded, but she wondered whether Johnny would be upset with her revealing the truth about them and about her father, and she considered that she was making a mistake. She told the girl anyway.

  “My father was a gangster, and he was murdered because of that.”

  “What, like the mafia?”

  “The Irish one, yes.”

  “That’s crazy. Wait until all my guy friends find out. They’re going to think it’s really cool.”

  “Phoebe,” Camille stopped her, “you can’t go around telling anyone about us. The people in this town, in this neighborhood, they think we’re just like them. You don’t know how people will react if you tell them the truth. They could treat you, us, differently, badly. People can be very judgmental.”

  “Everyone in the neighborhood already saw you getting arrested,” Phoebe said, rolling her eyes.

  Camille sighed, knowing that was the truth. “Yeah, but your school friends don’t need to know.”

  “Soon everyone will know,” Phoebe said. “That’s how it works in the suburbs, right? So, what’s the point of hiding it?”

  “If they’re gonna find out on their own, we don’t need to remind them.”

  “So why did the police arrest you? Dad tried telling me it was a misunderstanding, but I don’t buy that.”

  Camille was silent, thinking about how to answer her. “There are things about us you don’t know,” she said, reasoning the girl was old enough for them to be honest with her.

  “If this is about your sex life, I don’t want to hear it,” Phoebe said with a giggle.

  “Phoebe,” Camille scolded her. “Watch your mouth.”

  They had had “the talk” a couple of years ago.

  “Sorry,” Phoebe said, and gave her a sheepish look.

  “There are things about us, complicated things, that you should know,” Camille told her after a moment.

  “What are they?” Phoebe asked, seeming somewhat afraid.

  “Remember when we told you we run our own business?”

  “Yeah, you’re both always so busy.”

  “I know,” Camille said with a smile, hoping that could change someday. “Well, the truth is sort of like that, we’re business owners.”

  “But?” Phoebe said.

  “But not everyone agrees with what we do for a living.”

  “Like the police?”

  “Yes, you could say that.”

  “What do you do, anyway? Is it illegal?” Phoebe didn’t seem as surprised as Camille assumed she’d be. But Camille didn’t want to tell her more, because she didn’t want to alter her perception of them too much.

  She simply replied, “Some people don’t like it.”

  “It’s okay. I already figured it out a while ago. I just wanted you and Dad to tell me to my face.”

  “What? Really? You did?”

  Phoebe nodded.

  “You didn’t tell anyone, did you?” Camille asked.

  Phoebe shook her head. She didn’t say anything, and Camille said, “Phoebe, promise me you won’t say anything. It’s very important.”

  “All right,” Phoebe sighed. “Tell me about your dad.”

  Camille set her hands in her lap. “There’s not much more to tell. I didn’t get a chance to know him.”

  “Did he spend time in jail, like you and Dad?”

  Feeling that honesty would be the best answer, Camille nodded.

  “How long was he in jail?” Phoebe asked softly.

  “A long time. From when he was very young.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He killed someone, a terrible person who was hurting his sister.”

  “The guy deserved to die?”

  “If anyone did, he did,” Camille said with candor.

  “What did the guy do to his sister?”

  “He hurt her in the worst possible way you can hurt a woman.”

  “Oh,” Phoebe said quietly, and Camille knew she’d understood what she’d meant. “I wish you could’ve known him.”

  “I do too,” Camille said, and gave her a hug.

  “Why were you beaten?” Phoebe asked her.

  “That’s a long, complicated story.”

  “Tell me, please.”

  “Someday when you’re older.”

  Downstairs, Johnny met her at the landing with a cola in his hand.

  “Did you two talk?” he asked Camille.

  She nodded.

  “And she’s okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Camille said. “I told her the truth about us.”

  “You what?” Johnny almost dropped the soda bottle on the floor.

  Sheila came into the room from the kitchen to see what the commotion was about.

  “Are you two arguing already?” she asked, a glass
of wine in her hand.

  “Camille told Phoebe what we do for a living,” Johnny said.

  Sheila gave her a look of surprise. “Now, why the fuck would she do that?”

  “I don’t know, but she did.”

  “I also told her about my father, who he was,” Camille said. “But I didn’t say anything about yours,” she said to Johnny. “I didn’t go into details.”

  “Christ, I hope not. The girl’s probably damaged enough already.”

  “Doesn’t matter anyway. Because she already knew.”

  “What?” Sheila asked, drinking her red wine.

  “Phoebe had already guessed what we do.”

  “How?” Johnny asked. “We’re always so careful.”

  “She’s a smart girl; she figured it out.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Johnny said.

  “It’s for the best,” Sheila declared as she sipped her wine, looking Camille over. “Your face,” she said to Camille after a moment. “I hope you get your looks back. Johnny, don’t you hope so?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Johnny said, though he didn’t seem to be paying much attention.

  Sheila walked up to Camille and stroked her face. “You were so pretty. I hope I haven’t wrecked you for life.”

  “Looks aren’t everything,” Camille replied.

  “It’s nice to believe that, isn’t it?” Sheila said, with a touch of bitterness, and Camille shook her head.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” she said.

  16

  Dana had received an interesting phone call from a detective named Seale, who asked to meet her at a café near the police station, alone, to talk. Apparently, Detective Seale had investigated Violet McCarthy and her mother, Catherine, who was now in prison, years ago. He was retired now, but heard about her investigation through a friend who was still on the force, and said he had some things he wanted to tell her, and she wanted to hear them.

  Violet. Tommy’s mother. Dana still hadn’t decided what to do about Tommy. She didn’t like lying to her superiors, but she didn’t want to hurt Tommy either. She developed genuine feelings for him over the time they worked together.