by E. R. Fallon
“That might be true, Miss McCarthy. But I think it goes without saying that your family has quite a reputation in this city,” he told Violet and her mother. “It’s well known around here how the McCarthys own the waterfront.”
“I can’t help who my father was,” Catherine said. “But I’m not like him, and neither is my daughter. O’Rourke is just dragging us into this because of my father.”
Violet thought about how good of a liar her mother was.
“O’Rourke used to work for my father,” her mother added.
“Ms. McCarthy,” the detective said to her mother. “Your father died before this murder was committed.”
“So, because we’re related to him, we must be like him?” Catherine nearly knocked over her cup of coffee as she stood up from the bar to face him.
“I never said your daughter was,” Detective Seale replied, as though her mother had put the idea in his head. “Are you denying that Frank O’Rourke worked for you after your father’s death?”
“No, he worked at this pub, like I said.”
“And what did he do here? Why did you let him go?”
“He helped behind the bar sometimes. Look, I did him a favor because my father knew him. But he turned out to be lazy, so I got rid of him. That’s the extent of our contact with him. Did he commit a crime or something and is now lying to you and giving you false information in the hope that he’ll be let go?”
Detective Seale looked at Catherine and seemed to be deciding what to say.
“We arrested Frank O’Rourke for a robbery, yes, but I believe he’s telling us the truth about Robert Shane.”
“He’s obviously lying and hoping you’ll release him.”
The detective ignored her mother’s conjecturing.
“What is this O’Rourke guy saying exactly?” Catherine asked the detective when he remained silent.
“That you ordered him to kill Robert Shane and then gave him money afterwards as an incentive to keep quiet.”
“What would I have against this man that I’d want to kill him?” Catherine asked.
“Shane headed the dockworker’s union, and from what he told me back then, you had been squeezing him for money ever since he was elected. But he refused to pay you. So, you had motive. The man who replaced him, I assume he’s paying you.”
“I don’t like your accusation,” Catherine said. “We’re decent, family-oriented people, not murderers. We’ve lived in this community forever. Do you have a warrant?”
Seale shook his head. “Not at this time.”
“Then I think you should leave now,” Violet suddenly spoke up. Just his presence made her uncomfortable.
“I think you ordered the killing of Robert Shane and your daughter knew about it,” Detective Seale said to her mother. “I’ll be keeping an eye on both of you,” he said to them, as though he couldn’t resist getting in the last word. “Good day.” He nodded at them then left.
Violet made sure the door was closed after he left.
“We’re screwed,” she said to her mother as she watched the detective walk down the street to his car from the pub window.
“Don’t say that,” Catherine replied. “Frank O’Rourke is a moron who’ll tell anybody anything. Soon this detective will come to see that.”
“Yeah, but it’s the truth, and you know it. O’Rourke’s not lying. You asked him to eliminate that guy and I knew about it. I don’t like this detective sniffing around us. It means we’re being watched and have to be very careful.”
“We’re good people,” her mother insisted, and Violet thought it was perhaps to make herself feel better. “We don’t sell drugs or do any of that. We care about the neighborhood. Robert Shane knew that we’ve always overseen the waterfront, and that we do it so nobody else can move in and take advantage of the people who work there. We’ve always treated them fairly and saw that nobody bothered them. Then he had to go and act like he was a tough guy.”
“I told you that you shouldn’t have had O’Rourke kill him. I knew he was unreliable. We should’ve had a professional do it, or Max.”
“Max doesn’t do that anymore.”
“Then Derrick then.”
“O’Rourke was cheaper,” Catherine reasoned.
“Cheaper isn’t always better.”
“What’s done is done. We can’t change that.”
“This is going to put a lot of pressure on us,” Violet thought out loud.
“No charges ever stuck to your grandfather or us before, so why should this be any different? And believe me they tried really hard with your grandfather.”
“That was a different era,” Violet said. “They had a different relationship with law enforcement back then. I’ve been reading about in the newspapers lately how the district attorney is cracking down on organized crime.”
“Yeah, but they’re talking about drug dealing. We don’t dabble in any of that, we stay clear of it.”
“I think you ought to be a little more concerned.”
“I’m not relaxed about it, all right? I’m just not as panicked as you are. I’ve got years of experience on me, honey, and I know from seeing your grandpa experience what he did, that these things usually pan out. The DA will probably not bother to press charges because they’ll know how bad this O’Rourke, a career criminal, will look testifying in court. It’ll never go to trial, trust me, sweetie.”
“I’m not sure about that. Can we somehow talk to O’Rourke and coax him back to our side? Maybe we can offer him something in exchange—money.”
“Maybe, but once a rat, always a rat,” Catherine said. “We couldn’t trust him not to decline the offer and tell the police we tried to bribe him. It could backfire badly.”
“So, you think that, what, the best thing to do is to wait it out and see what happens?”
“Yes, I think that’s best.”
“I disagree. I don’t think this detective is going anywhere. I think he’s going to be watching us around the clock. This guy was his friend, he’s not going to take what we did lightly.”
“What would you have us do, then? I already told you that trying to bribe O’Rourke isn’t a good idea.”
“I don’t know. Maybe we should take care of O’Rourke.”
“We could,” Catherine said, sitting down at the bar again and finishing her coffee. “But that detective would suspect us immediately, and it could make things worse. Better to wait it out and I’m sure nothing will happen.”
Violet walked behind the bar and touched her coffee cup and it felt cold, so she didn’t drink it. She was so quiet that her mother asked her, “Don’t you agree?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “I don’t know what to do so I guess we shouldn’t do anything.”
“You don’t sound happy,” Catherine remarked as she set her coffee aside.
“You know that I told you we shouldn’t get rid of Shane, that we should find a way to try to work with him. Grandpa always said don’t kill anyone unless it’s really needed.”
“It was needed,” her mother interjected. “Sometimes that’s how we have to deal with someone. Your grandfather knew that very well. Shane would never have backed down and worked with us. He was a very stubborn man, and you know that.”
Her mother had a point, after all, the guy who had replaced Robert Shane as the union representative was being much more cooperative with them.
“I hope you’re right,” Violet said as she watched Max approach the entrance door outside.
He opened the door and greeted them. Then he said, “What’s wrong? Both of you look like death warmed over.”
“Thanks, Max. That’s just what every woman wants to hear,” Catherine joked.
Max removed his hat and held it in his hand. “What’s going on, ladies?” he asked.
“A detective was in here before, asking about Robert Shane.”
“Shane—isn’t that the guy we bumped off last year?”
Catherine nodded. “Violet th
inks this detective fellow is going to cause us trouble.”
“He was close friends with Shane,” Violet explained.
“Then he has no business investigating it,” Max replied.
“That won’t stop him. You know how these cops are, they think they’re gods,” Catherine said.
“Still, any jury would see that he had no business,” Max said. “What have they got on you?”
“Frank O’Rourke—remember him?”
“Yeah, he’s not a very reliable fellow, are you sure the cops aren’t just messing around with you hoping you’ll confess?” Max asked.
“I think he’s serious,” Violet said.
“What’s this O’Rourke saying?” Max asked her mother.
“That we asked him to eliminate Shane and then paid him as an incentive to keep quiet.”
“He’s trying to get out of a charge?”
“Yeah, robbery.”
“What a no-good rat,” Max grumbled. “But he’s an unreliable witness. My take is that the police are using him to make you sweat. His words give them an excuse to keep an eye on you. They’re hoping to catch you somehow.”
“You don’t think we should be worried either?” Violet said to him, exasperated.
“I think that anytime something like this happens it’s cause for concern, but I wouldn’t worry too much,” he replied. “The thing is, Violet—”
The door began to open, and Catherine shushed him. Camille walked inside.
“Good morning,” she said, cheerfully.
What did she have to be so happy about?
Max eyed Camille in a guarded way. Violet didn’t know why he didn’t like her, but she was beginning to like Camille less and less herself. Catherine and Violet greeted Camille but Max retreated upstairs without so much as a glance at the girl.
“What did that Garcia fellow say to you when he was in here?” Catherine asked Camille. “What did he come back here for anyway?”
“Don’t worry, he knows he’s not welcome,” Camille replied, rather sarcastically, thought Violet.
“He certainly seems to have no problem coming in here,” Catherine retorted.
“Oh, who cares?” Violet said angrily. “No offense,” she said to Camille. “But why do you care who she sees?” she asked her mother. “She isn’t your daughter.”
Catherine ignored Violet. “Does your mother know he’s been bothering you?” she asked Camille.
“He isn’t bothering me,” Camille replied.
“You welcome his attention?” Catherine said.
“I like him, and, yeah, my mother knows,” Camille said.
“And what does she think about it?” Catherine asked her.
“She doesn’t like it.”
“Exactly,” Catherine said. “Yet you’ll ignore her and continue seeing him, am I right?”
“I’m a grown woman.”
“You girls,” Catherine remarked, “have no idea what you’re in for with a man like that. He’ll get you into trouble. Your mother is right, Camille, listen to her.”
Violet disliked how her mother included her in the statement about ‘you girls’ since she had nothing to do with this Garcia person.
“Thanks for the advice,” Camille said as she stepped behind the bar and tied her smock around her waist. “But I know what I’m doing.” Camille frowned.
Violet looked at her mother and thought that it was time for her to realize that Camille wasn’t perfect.
8
McBurney’s filled with customers as the night began. Camille had trouble keeping up with the drink orders, something that rarely happened to her, there were so many people in the place. Violet and her mother helped her with the orders and even Max came downstairs to assist on the floor while ignoring Camille. Just before midnight a guy at the end of the bar spilled his drink on the man seated next to him and they started arguing.
“Did you do that on purpose?”
“I didn’t.”
“I think you did. You’ve ruined my jacket.”
“It’s nothing your old lady can’t wash out with soap and water.”
“I don’t have an old lady, so I’ll have to do it myself.”
“It was an accident.”
“Like hell it was.”
The drink spiller threw a punch at the other man, who ducked out of his way. Then both men stood up and faced each other.
“Fight! Fight!” a few of the rowdier patrons started chanting, but most of the customers retreated away from the pair and looked around for the owners to intervene. The drink spiller threw another punch at the guy and hit him in the face.
The man held his bloodied chin and said, “You cut me!”
McBurney’s didn’t need a bouncer because most people knew better than to fight in Catherine McCarthy’s establishment, but the big Max, who sometimes acted as one when needed, ran over to the two men and intervened. He grabbed the fighter by the sleeve of his jacket.
“You. Out,” he said.
“He started it,” the man pointed at the other. “He spilled a drink on me.”
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have hit the guy,” Camille overheard Max replying as she watched the scene play out.
Suddenly, the taller drink spiller swung at the other guy and punched him in the forehead, and blood trickled out.
“Hey!” Camille shouted. “Stop it!”
To her surprise, Max, who was taller than either of the men, yelled at the man who’d just been punched and ordered him again to leave. He seemed to know the drink spiller.
“Are you okay, Jim?” he asked the man and patted his shoulder.
The other guy shook his head and mumbled to himself and then stumbled out of the bar. Camille signaled to Catherine to take over the bar and then followed the man outside to make sure he was all right. He had been hit hard and seemed unsteady on his feet and Camille didn’t want him to fall into traffic and get hurt.
The guy sat on the sidewalk outside the bar and leaned against the building’s façade. The neon sign flashed above him, creating an ethereal glow across his pale face. He sighed and held his head in his hands.
“Are you all right?” she asked the man.
He took his hands away from his face and looked up at her. “Are you an angel?” he asked with a grin.
Camille shook her head and couldn’t help laughing. “I think you’re fine,” she told the man.
“What’s with the big guy in there?” the guy asked her.
“Who, Max?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know him?”
“Sort of, but not that well.”
“I think he’s friends with the guy who hit you, but you did hit him first.”
The guy shrugged. “He spilled beer on me, what else was I supposed to do?”
“You could’ve just forgotten about it,” Camille suggested.
“True, but he should’ve apologized. What’s your name, anyway, sweetheart?” He smiled up at her. He was a heavy, older man, and he had a friendly face.
“Camille.”
“That’s a lovely name. What’s your last name?”
“O’Brien,” she said.
“Are you Colin’s daughter?” he asked her.
Camille took a step back because he’d surprised her. She didn’t know how he knew her father and if she should be concerned about his intentions. “Yeah, I am. Why?”
“I knew your father, young lady. He and I were sort of friends. I knew him when he lived around here.”
Camille thought about how the guy had said he ‘sort of’ knew Max and thought that the guy probably ‘sort of’ knew a lot of people, so she didn’t know how well he really knew her father.
“What’s your name?” she asked the man.
“Albert Peters,” he replied, reaching up to shake her hand.
She held her hand limply in his, then shook his, still unsure of what he wanted from her.
“I’m surprised you work here,” he said.
“W
hat do you mean by that?” she asked, letting go of his hand.
“Don’t you know your father’s history with this place and these people? I don’t come here that often and this is the first I’ve seen you, or else I would’ve told you already. But . . .”
Camille retreated farther away from him. “I don’t know what you want.”
“I don’t want anything. I was friends with your father, I’m telling you as a favor to him.” Albert stood up from the sidewalk and dusted off his pants. Standing, he towered over her and Camille felt unsure around him. He didn’t seem threatening, but she didn’t quite trust him.
“What are you saying?” she asked at a distance.
“The McCarthys killed your father,” he said.
“No,” Camille said, stepping farther back. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” Albert said. “I’m afraid I’m telling you the truth. I’m sure it comes as quite a shock to you.”
“No. Why are you saying this?”
“Because it’s the truth. Your father—he’d want you to know about it. He wouldn’t like you working here, for the people who betrayed him.”
Her mother had never given her the precise details of her father’s death, just that he’d been shot. But had she known the truth all along and kept it from her? And if so, how come she’d allowed her to continue working at McBurney’s?
“How well did you know my father?” Camille asked, suddenly believing Albert.
“Fairly well. He and I used to play cards with some other guys every week. I couldn’t believe it when I’d heard he’d been shot in Los Angeles. That’s where the McCarthys killed him, you see. They waited until they got him out there, so it was far away from the friends he had here, friends like me.”
“Did you know my mother?”
“Sheila? Yeah, I knew her back then.”
“Did she know what really happened to my father?”
“Yeah, I think so. She must. Why? She doesn’t seem to have told you, otherwise I’d doubt you’d be working here.”
Camille didn’t know this man, yet she felt he wasn’t lying, and if he wasn’t, that meant her mother had lied to her and allowed her to continue working at McBurney’s.
