by E. R. Fallon
Tommy laughed, but she said, “I’m not kidding.” He thought about giving her a false name, but then he told her, “I’m Tommy.”
“Of course you are,” Pillow said. “You look like a Tommy. What’s a handsome guy like you doing in the bar in the daytime? Are you a cop?” she asked him. “Don’t lie to me because I can tell.”
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“You look like you don’t belong in here, and the only people who come in here who look like they don’t belong are usually cops trying to arrest us.”
“For what?” Tommy asked. “I’m not here to arrest anyone; I’m just drinking tonight.”
“They arrest us for existing,” Pillow said, her voice suddenly very serious.
“Who is ‘us’?”
“Us, prostitutes, pimps. What, did you think I was an angel?” Pillow laughed slightly, and he could see that a few of her teeth were discolored, though she was still beautiful.
“You look like an angel,” Tommy said, flirting a little, because he was drunk. “Is your pimp around?”
“Why? You feel like buying me for the night?” Pillow leaned across and put her hand on his thigh.
Tommy stared at her hand on him.
“No, he isn’t around. I came here to get away from this guy I live with.”
“Why? Does he hurt you?” Tommy said, suddenly protective of her, though he didn’t see any marks on her face.
Pillow shook her head. “He’s a heroin addict, and sometimes I just can’t handle it. Need to be alone, so I come here to clear my head.”
“Your pimp lets you have a boyfriend?”
“He’s afraid of him.”
“Your boyfriend’s a tough guy, or what?”
“He used to be.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. But they kicked him out of the mafia. Now he mostly gets high and watches TV.”
“That’s too bad. I’m sorry.”
Pillow shrugged. “It’s not your fault.”
“Why does he get high? Did he have a bad childhood?”
Pillow shook her head. “No, he was in love with some woman, but she didn’t want him.”
Tommy sighed. “I can relate to that. What’s your guy’s name?”
“Billy,” Pillow said. Then she said, “You got woman troubles?”
“Oh, yeah.”
There was a warmness about Pillow that surprised him, and he felt like he could tell her anything, though he hardly knew her. In that way, she reminded him of Dana. Dana had betrayed him. He should be careful with this one too.
“Tell me about them, Tommy,” she said, her voice soft.
“No, you don’t want to hear my problems.”
“I’m still here, aren’t I? I got nowhere else to go. I got plenty of time to listen.”
He didn’t plan to tell her everything, although he knew he’d probably never see her again, and she wouldn’t cause trouble for him.
“I was betrayed,” he said, and took another drink.
“By your woman?”
Tommy nodded, and Pillow ordered a glass of white wine.
“Elegant,” Tommy commented, about her choice of drink.
“For a whore?” Pillow replied with a smile that told him she wasn’t really insulted.
Tommy chuckled slightly. “You seem pretty smart. How’s a girl like you end up on the streets?”
“I’m not that smart,” Pillow said. “I’m just experienced.”
He figured she meant that she knew how to converse with men, that she knew the right things to tell them.
“Do you want to tell me about your childhood, Tommy?” Pillow asked.
“Not really,” he replied.
“Good. Because I don’t feel like telling you about mine. Other than my boyfriend and I, we aren’t so different. We’re alike, you see. Only after I stopped using, I couldn’t get off the streets. So many years had passed by that I didn’t know what to do.”
“You don’t seem old,” he said.
She gave him a wink. “I bet I’m older than you.” She paused then said, “Tell me about this girl of yours. How did she wrong you? She sleep with one of your friends?”
Tommy shook his head. “I can’t say much other than she might have got me fired from my job.”
“How the hell did she do that? She a cop too?”
Tommy nodded. “Yeah, she’s older than me.”
“An older woman. Interesting,” Pillow said, with a little smile on her face. “You must have done something very bad, Tommy. Even I know that it’s not easy for a cop to get fired.”
“I made a mistake,” he admitted.
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want anyone finding out something about me, about my family,” he replied, and in his state of drunkenness he began to think of Pillow as his sort of therapist, someone to help him talk things through. But no matter how drunk he became, he’d never reveal the entire truth. He realized that his mother had taught him well, that protecting the family came first.
“It must have been something big,” Pillow said, “for them to consider firing you. So, this woman, this girl of yours, she told them your secret?”
“Exactly,” Tommy said, putting his head in his hand as the truth sank in.
“Why did you trust her with your secret, if it was so big?”
“I thought I loved her.”
“You’d known her a long time?”
He shook his head, and then was embarrassed.
“Tommy, you’re a romantic,” Pillow said with another smile. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to trust a girl until you know her well?”
“She did,” Tommy said.
“But you didn’t listen. This girl must really be something. Is she beautiful or what?”
“She is,” Tommy said with a sigh.
“Maybe you were in love with her looks,” Pillow suggested, and Tommy saw she’d nearly finished her glass of wine. More time had passed then he’d initially thought.
“No, it was more than that. She and I, we had a connection. At least, I thought we did.”
“You did. Maybe she did too, or maybe she didn’t.”
Tommy nodded at her logic, although the words stung.
“Your family know about your troubles?” Pillow asked him after a moment.
Tommy wondered whether she’d order another drink and continue to sit with him.
Tommy shook his head. “I haven’t told them yet.”
“You got a father? A mother?”
“A mother,” Tommy said. “My father died when I was young.”
“Sorry to hear that. Is this secret about her, about your mother?”
“Sort of,” Tommy said. “What about your family?” he asked her, not just to be polite, but because he was genuinely curious.
“It’s not important,” Pillow said, and he didn’t bring it up again. “You’re lucky you have a family. You should tell them what’s going on. They can help you, because they know you best. They can help you more than I can.” Pillow started to rise from her seat.
“You’ve already helped me,” Tommy told her. “You’ve helped me more than you know.”
Pillow smiled at him, and he knew she wouldn’t stay for another drink. “Tommy, go see your family, go see your mother. I should be getting back to my guy, make sure he’s doing okay. Go see your mother. Talk to her. She’ll know what you should do, better than me.”
“I will,” Tommy said, as he waved goodbye to Pillow, somewhat regretting he hadn’t asked for her phone number, though he’d come to think of her as someone who’d merely pass through his life just the one time. But he didn’t want to talk with his mother, he wanted to confront her.
He watched Pillow walk away.
Where would Violet be at this hour? At the pub with Sam. Tommy had never really cared for his mother’s live-in boyfriend, but he was surprised she hadn’t married him after all these years. Then again, his mother had never married his father, either. Growing up, Tommy had viewed
his father as a mysterious figure, as a man who’d wanted little to do with him over the years, and they had a scant relationship up until his father’s death. But Tommy very much loved his mother, and they were very close. Which was why his disappointment about her return to her old ways had double the impact. Did she know what a burden it was to carry the McCarthy name? She knew he was a police officer, and what that meant, and how the connection between them could tarnish his career. It was bad enough to have the McCarthy name, and then she had to go and return to her old tricks? He was angry with Dana, but he was also angry with his mother. He’d known all his life that she wasn’t a saint. But he’d thought all of that was behind her now.
Tommy made a fist and tapped it against the bar, thinking. He normally didn’t mind a confrontation or a fight, but if there was one thing he dreaded, it was a confrontation with his mother. Not only did he hold her in the highest regard, he also feared her.
He paid his tab then drunkenly left the pub, looking around for Pillow outside, but she was long gone by then. He’d probably never see her again, and he somewhat regretted that, as despite having not known her for very long, he’d become fond of her.
He tried getting a taxi to stop, but it seemed nobody wanted to pick up a drunken man, so he slowly made his way to his mother’s pub, wobbling as he did so. One of a group of tall young men elbowed Tommy as they made their way past him, laughing together.
“Fuck off,” Tommy shouted at him, then remembered he wasn’t a cop at the moment, nor did he have a gun.
“Shut up, old man,” one of them said then had a laugh.
Old man? Old man! They were barely younger than him. But Tommy knew he wouldn’t be any match for them in a fight. There were more of them, and he was drunk. Tommy continued on, hoping they would forget about him, but they turned around and followed him down the street as he walked.
“Fuck,” Tommy mumbled to himself. He didn’t need this shit, but it was following him anyway.
“Hey, you,” one of the kids shouted at his back, and Tommy could feel them getting closer to him.
He turned around and said to the group, “I’m a cop. Back the fuck off.”
The boys laughed.
“You ain’t no cop,” one of them said. “You’re a fucking drunk.”
“I am,” Tommy replied over his shoulder, as he continued to walk down the quiet street. “Get the hell out of here. Go home.”
“Maybe he is a cop,” one of the boys whispered to the others. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
He relaxed a little when he turned around and saw them walking away in the opposite direction.
19
Tommy finally reached Violet’s pub and found her setting up for the evening crowd inside. He hadn’t greeted her upon entering, and just said, “Where’s is he? Where’s Sam?”
“Tommy,” his mother said, putting down the glass she polished with a small white towel. She stepped out from behind the bar and seemed to want to give him a hug, but Tommy moved away from her so that she couldn’t.
“Where’s Sam?” he said, again. “What I have to say to you involves him as well.”
“Tommy, are you drunk?” she said, staring at his face. “What are you doing, drinking so early? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Yeah, I should be at work, but, thanks to you, I can’t be.”
“Tommy, I don’t understand,” Violet said, reaching out to touch his arm.
Tommy pulled away from her, as Sam stepped out of the backroom.
“Hi, Tommy,” he said, keeping in line with the noncommittal politeness that had developed between them over the years.
“Tommy’s drunk,” Violet told Sam when Tommy didn’t return his greeting.
“Oh. Is everything okay?” Sam asked.
“No, it isn’t,” Tommy said, moving closer to where they stood.
Violet looked around at the few customers they had in the place. “Tommy, can’t this wait until afterhours?”
“No,” Tommy said.
“Well, then, I’m going to have to ask you to not speak so loudly. It’s hard enough to get business these days with so many new places moving into the area every day.”
“Is that so? I would’ve thought business was great, why, with the high demand for your product in the area.”
“Tommy, what are you talking about?” his mother asked him.
“You’re really going to stand there and lie to me?” Tommy said.
Sam looked at Violet and said, “I think we should go into the kitchen to talk about this.”
“See, he knows what I’m saying,” Tommy told his mother.
They moved into the kitchen where the cook hadn’t arrived yet for the night, and Tommy leaned against one of the counters with his arms crossed, while Sam and Violet stood opposite him.
“Tommy, you’re scaring me. What the hell is going on?” Violet asked him. “Why aren’t you at work? Are you ill or just drunk?”
“I’m not at work because of you and because of him,” Tommy replied, glancing at Sam.
“What are you talking about, Tommy?” Violet said, and made him feel like a small boy again. “Sam and I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Tommy laughed like a mad man. “I might lose my job because of you!” he shouted. “After grandma got sent to prison, you promised me you were done with your old ways, but you’re not. You never were.”
“Tommy, that’s the truth. The past is behind me; I promise you,” Violet said, but Sam seemed to comprehend they’d been caught.
Sam touched Violet’s arm. “I think he’s saying he knows, V, about what we’re doing.”
Violet stood there in silence, staring at Tommy like she’d seen a ghost. “What does that have to do with your job being at risk?” she finally said.
Tommy didn’t know how much he should tell her, how much he could tell her.
“Tommy, how do you know? What’s going on? Tell me,” Violet said, approaching him and grabbing his arm.
Tommy pulled away and shook his head then he left the kitchen, ignoring his mother as she ran after him, calling his name. He avoided her grasp and looked over his shoulder to see Sam restraining her as she raged at him.
Tommy knew what his legacy was, and, so far, he’d managed to avoid it, but now everything was catching up to him, and he didn’t know for how much longer he could live an ordinary life.
Camille wore her only suit to the prosecutor’s office. It was the one she usually wore to Mass on Sundays or to funerals. And with her sleek black cane at her side, she felt like she was back to being her old self.
She’d been called to the office by Mickey, and she’d only seen the prosecutor one time previously, in court, and the woman hadn’t seemed to like her very much. In fact, the woman seemed like a mean bitch and looked the part.
Johnny donned one of his many fine suits to accompany her there, but they took one of their more modest cars, so as to not draw too much attention to themselves. Mickey was forever advising her to always seem humble in the eyes of the law, and that certainly didn’t include zipping about in a Ferrari, though Johnny owned two.
Once they arrived, they had to park in an underground garage and then get past security. Mickey hadn’t told Camille what was going on exactly, but she knew it had something to do with her case. Camille suspected that even Mickey didn’t know, or perhaps he did and didn’t want her to get her hopes up too much. She wondered if they’d offer her a plea deal, but she really didn’t want to spend any more time away from her family behind bars and away from her business.
Mickey met them in the lobby, once the security officers checked them for weapons.
“What’s going on, Mickey?” Johnny asked him, as eager for news as Camille was.
“Even I don’t know,” Mickey replied. “They called me in here this morning and asked you to come along.”
Then something occurred to Camille, something she really didn’t like. “I hope they aren’t gonna ask me to snitch on anyone
.” Camille didn’t know how much the prosecutor’s office knew about her and Johnny’s lifestyle and their business, as they kept a low profile, but they must’ve known something about it.
“I’m not sure, Camille,” Mickey said, swinging his briefcase lightly in his hand. “But you might consider it, if they do.”
Camille glanced at Johnny, and wondered what his thoughts were. She knew he wouldn’t want her to be sent away from him and Phoebe again.
They rode the elevator upstairs with Mickey and then sat in the prosecutor’s waiting room until she called them inside. Camille looked around the room while she waited, squeezing Johnny’s hand. She wondered what it would be like to be the prosecutor. After all, the woman had a lot of power, and, probably, a lot of money. But Camille knew she’d never be able to send her friends away to jail, although it would be nice to send a few enemies there, she thought with a smile.
Johnny noticed her look. “What’s on your mind?” he asked her, seeming to find her smile strange, given the situation.
“I was just thinking how I wouldn’t mind seeing Violet McCarthy sent packing,” Camille whispered to him, glancing at the prosecutor’s secretary, who was staring at her from her desk in the corner. Camille wanted to ask her what the hell she was looking at, but she didn’t think that would go over well with the prosecutor.
After what felt like hours, but was only about 30 minutes, the prosecutor’s office door opened, and the tall, thin, elegant white-haired woman emerged. Mickey quickly rose and shook her hand. The woman looked at Camille and Johnny, both now stood and nodded. Camille nodded back, and even gave her a smile. She figured it couldn’t hurt to play nice. The prosecutor didn’t return the gesture, and Camille was left feeling slighted. But what had she expected? The law would never be her friend.
The prosecutor escorted them inside her office, with an expansive view of the river that was illuminated by the sunshine. Camille sat down next to Mickey and Johnny and looked at the glittering water. The prosecutor cleared her throat and Camille turned her attention back to the matter at hand.
The woman sat behind her polished desk as if sitting at a throne. Camille smirked to herself at the image.
