by E. R. Fallon
“That could change,” Sheila said.
“I doubt it. My son Tommy’s got Kevin Carmine’s blood in him, and you must know how old man Alfonsi loved Kevin.”
“Kevin. I was sorry to hear he died. Genuinely,” Sheila said, with sympathy in her eyes, and an honest affection passed between them.
“Thanks,” Violet replied to her in the doorway. “I’ve always admired you, your strength.”
Sheila leaned against the doorframe and looked at her like she knew Violet wanted something. “We can’t be friends,” she said. “I’m loyal to my daughter. If Camille doesn’t like you, I don’t like you. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is.”
Violet tried a different approach. “This whole thing that’s going on here, all of this turmoil, it isn’t good for Camille.”
Sheila straightened and glared at her. “Are you threatening my daughter? You’re the one who should watch your back, Violet McCarthy. You never knew my husband, but my daughter has his blood.”
“I don’t believe you,” Violet said. “What could she do to someone like me? She doesn’t even have a gun.” She gave a nervous laugh.
A look appeared on Sheila’s face that made Violet realize Camille had a gun. But she told Sheila, “In the end, she’s the one who will be getting hurt. We McCarthys always win.”
“You sound just like your grandfather. After my husband died, do you know how he treated me? He ordered my husband killed and then gave me nothing. I had to learn to survive. Camille has my strength.” Sheila started to close the door in her face, but Violet stopped her.
“Do you want some money now? If I give you some money will you get Camille off my back?”
Sheila looked at her and her eyes darkened. “You don’t understand, do you? It’s not about money. This is about loyalty and about blood. I encouraged Camille to push you and your mother out. I love my daughter, but both she and I know the risks.”
“Does she really? Have you ever talked with her about them?”
Sheila seemed to be weighing how much she should tell Violet. “Not directly. But she knows them through the stories I tell her about her father.”
“And you’re okay with her possibly dying over this?”
Sheila looked like she hadn’t thought about that before. Then she gave Violet a sly look. “Are you?” she asked with an arched eyebrow.
“My mother and I never think about that. I don’t know many of us who do. It’s always a possibility, of course.”
“My Camille is going to be fine. It’s you who should be worried.”
Violet felt that Sheila spoke that way to comfort herself.
“My mother and I have always been fine,” Violet stated.
“If you’re so fine then why is your mother in prison? You and your mother are slipping up.” Sheila looked straight at her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to shut my door.”
Violet held her gaze. “Where is your daughter now?” she asked.
“Why?” Suddenly, Sheila seemed nervous.
“Because I want to talk to her.”
“About what?”
“About business.”
“What could you possibly have to discuss with her? Unless you’re going to give up now that your mother is gone because you don’t think you can run things.”
“Just tell me where she is,” Violet said in disgust.
“No,” Sheila snapped at her.
“Tell me,” Violet shouted.
Sheila seemed to enjoy enraging her because she smiled and didn’t say anything.
“Fine, I’ll find out where she is myself,” Violet said, and retreated down the hallway to leave the building.
“You leave her alone,” Sheila shouted after her.
Violet wanted to reach Camille before her mother could notify her. She went outside to a payphone and called Pat at home.
“You’ve been keeping an eye on Camille,” she said when he answered. “Where is she usually this time of the day?”
“Sometimes she eats at the restaurant near her mother’s place,” he said, after a pause.
“Which one?”
“The new one, the nice one.”
“She’s moved up in the world now that she’s with the Russians,” Violet said with sarcasm, and Pat chuckled. “It’s a little early for dinner, isn’t it?”
“Maybe she likes an early dinner.”
“Is she usually with that Garcia guy?” Violet asked.
“No, I don’t think so. She’s usually alone.”
Violet thanked him and trudged over to the restaurant Pat mentioned, tracing the outline of her gun in her purse as she walked. She didn’t have that long before she had to pick up Tommy at his friend’s house, which her mother couldn’t do anymore. She had arranged through her mother’s lawyer to visit her mother in prison tomorrow while Tommy was at school. She longed to take the anger she felt towards her mother’s situation out on Camille because she needed to take it out on someone. And although she felt like she could kill Camille, if given the right opportunity and setting, she also knew that it would be a grave mistake. If Camille ended up dead everyone in the neighborhood would think that Violet did it and eventually the police would also.
The restaurant was nice enough that Violet couldn’t just barge in and rush to Camille’s table. The maître d at the front asked her if she had a reservation as she stood waiting in the uncrowded restaurant, given the early evening hour.
“As you can see, we aren’t very occupied, so it’s fine if you don’t have one,” the man with a thin moustache told her.
“I don’t have one,” she replied. “Actually, I’m here to see someone.”
He looked at her hands as she rubbed them anxiously, eager to reach Camille before Sheila could. “You’re meeting them? They’re expecting you?”
“Not exactly.”
A touch of worry appeared on the man’s face and he tensed. “I see,” he said. Violet wondered if he thought that perhaps she might be insane.
“Her name is Camille O’Brien.” She couldn’t see into the rest of the restaurant from where she stood even if she craned her neck to look. “If I could just look to see if she’s in here . . .”
“I’ll go check. Please wait here,” the man interrupted. “What’s your name so that I can tell her?”
“It’s a surprise,” Violet said with a smile.
“Oh, okay. One moment, please.” He watched Violet over his shoulder as he walked away as though he didn’t quite trust leaving her alone there. When he left, a waiter walked past her then stopped and smiled at her.
“Do you need anything?” he asked her.
“No, that’s all right, thank you, he’s already helping me.” She gestured at the maître d.
The man nodded and went on his way.
The maître d returned. “I’m sorry but she told me she isn’t expecting anyone and doesn’t want to be disturbed. Perhaps you could try her at another time, somewhere else.”
“But it’s very important that I be able to speak with her. It’s an emergency,” she spoke with a sense of urgency because she knew that could persuade him. She could have very well slipped him some money, but he didn’t seem like the type of person to accept such an offer.
“All right,” he said uncertainly, “Let me show you to her table.”
Violet thanked the man and followed him. As Violet walked toward Camille’s table, she could see Camille looking in her direction to see who was there to see her. When she saw that it was Violet her face paled and her expression darkened. If looks could actually kill, then Camille’s would have.
She stood up and gestured at Violet. “What is she doing here?” she demanded to the maître d.
“She said it was an emergency,” he replied quickly.
“She’s lying,” Camille said loudly.
“Madam, please lower your voice.”
“You want me to lower my voice? I wouldn’t be this angry if you hadn’t let this person, who I don’t want
to see, come to my table.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that, she said—”
“I don’t care what she said, it isn’t true,” Camille cut him short. She glared at Violet. “How did you know I was here anyway?”
“Your mother told me,” Violet lied, looking down at Camille’s half-eaten spaghetti.
“You talked to her?” Camille said, aghast.
Violet nodded. “I went to her apartment.”
“Leave her out of this.”
“I didn’t do anything to her. We talked, that’s all.”
“I can’t believe she talked to you, and I can’t believe you went there.”
“She isn’t to blame,” Violet said, suddenly feeling the need to protect Sheila from her daughter’s wrath because she, too, knew mother-daughter relationships. “I would have found you anyway.”
“You need to leave now, madam. Please,” the maître d told Violet.
“Not so fast,” she replied, and looked at Camille. “I need to speak with you. How dare you work with Anton behind my back. You know my history with him.”
Camille looked at the maître d as though she didn’t want to discuss the matter in front of him. Then she looked at Violet.
“Let’s talk about this outside.”
Violet nodded.
“Excuse me, madam, you need to pay first,” the maître d told Camille.
“Of course,” she said, going through her purse on the table. She took out her wallet and handed him some money. “This should more than cover it. But I’ll be back to finish my food when I’m done. Can you reheat it when I return?”
The maître d nodded. “Of course, madam.”
Camille looked at Violet. “Let’s go.”
Camille grabbed her purse and Violet walked slightly behind her as she followed her outside.
“You made this even more personal by bringing my mother into this,” Camille said over her shoulder.
“It already was personal,” Violet replied.
They exited the restaurant and Camille stopped in the street. The fading sunlight cast a glow on her face and with her classic beauty, made her look almost angelic, and Violet smiled at the irony.
“What do you want?” Camille asked her.
“I can’t believe you had the nerve to work with Anton.”
“I didn’t seek to work with him directly. He works with Valeria.”
“Valeria,” Violet said in exasperation. “Everyone knows the Russians traditionally don’t work with the Irish. Anton only worked for me and my mother because he was sweet on me.”
“I’m changing that,” Camille said.
“You’re willing to work with a junkie like Anton,” Violet emphasized.
“You should talk,” Camille said coolly. “You used to be one yourself.”
“How dare you bring my past into this. This has nothing to do with that.”
“Does your son know his mommy used to be a druggie?” Camille said with a cruel smile.
Rage coursed through Violet’s body and she tensed. “Damn you!” Violet reached into her purse and before she knew it, she had her gun out in the open street.
Camille quickly pulled hers out of her own purse and pointed it at Violet before Violet could point hers at her.
“Don’t even think about it, Violet. You’ve really gone mad.”
“You’re pointing a gun at me,” Violet said. “What am I supposed to do?”
It was the early evening and the street was quite crowded, but in the kind of neighborhood theirs was most wouldn’t bother to call the police. Most people ignored them because the sight was common in the neighborhood. Still, a few people stopped walking to stare at them, with Camille pointing her gun at Violet in the daylight, and the part of the street where they stood became quiet. One man shouted that they were “cowgirls.”
Violet held her gun firmly in her hand. She couldn’t resist telling Camille, “How’s Johnny doing? It’d be a shame if something happened to him.”
“Don’t you threaten him.”
“What are you doing, Camille? You’re going to kill me with all these people watching?”
They stared at each other intensely in silence, and Violet didn’t know what Camille would do but she wasn’t about to yield. Then, seeming to sense the crowd forming around them, Camille said, “Put your gun away and I’ll put mine away.”
Violet didn’t quite trust her, so it took her a while to agree. She nodded. Camille put her gun away in her purse after she did and then the small crowd around them dispersed.
Violet hadn’t misjudged Camille’s brashness, but Violet’s mother certainly had. Then Violet thought of something crazy, but maybe it wasn’t such a crazy idea after all. She and Camille were alike in many ways, and, once, they had been friendly.
“Maybe we can work together,” Violet proposed. “We used to be practically friends.”
20
Camille looked at her like she had ulterior motives. Then she laughed. “Are you joking?”
“No, I’m not.”
“I’d never work with you, after what your people did to my father.”
“That was a long time ago. It had nothing to do with me. My mother’s in prison now, so it would be just you and me.”
“And Max, don’t forget about him. He was the one who pulled the trigger.”
Camille must have really hated Max.
“You don’t have to interact with him,” Violet said.
“Let him go and I’ll consider it.”
“I can’t just do that.”
“Why not?”
“Max has worked for my family for a very long time. He’s not going to just go away.”
“He will if you tell him to.”
“People don’t just ‘retire’ from this business, Camille. Maybe you don’t know that. So, no, he isn’t going anywhere.”
“Then we’ll never be able to work together. That’s my offer. You get rid of Max and I’ll think about what you said. I'm not asking you to kill him—I know you would never do that—I just wouldn't want him around."
“You wouldn’t see him. You don’t understand, my mother will never allow me to let Max go.”
“I thought you were calling the shots now.”
“I am, but what you’re asking me to do, it’s not possible. My mother will view it as a betrayal because she loves Max.”
“Then we’re done here.”
“You’ll work with anyone, Camille, even a lowlife like Anton,” Violet said, unable to resist getting in one last punch. “That’s no way to do business. It’s no wonder the Alfonsis want nothing to do with you.”
Camille seemed frozen in place as she stared at her. “That will change,” she spoke with such defiance that even Violet herself believed her words. “Anyway, you should talk, you dated him.”
“Now that I know he’s a junkie again, I’d never do business with him. Did you know that about him?”
“I assumed he was,” Camille admitted. “I’m not doing business with him. I’m working with Valeria. He works for her. It’s not the same thing.” She held Violet’s gaze.
“You still have practically no one. I have the Alfonsis.”
“I have to finish my meal. I really don’t care what you think, Violet.”
Violet watched Camille walk back into the restaurant and admired her resolve though she also despised her. It was Camille’s confidence that made Violet think that she herself might lose their battle and that frightened her. Camille was a lot like her, but, Violet suspected, she was, in some ways, stronger.
Violet picked up Tommy at his friend’s house and took him home. The next day after she walked him to school in the morning, she had coffee and went to the train station on her way to visit her mother in the city jail where she was being held. She’d left her gun at home, of course.
Violet couldn’t find a seat in the crowded train, so she had to stand. She looked around at the other passengers and tried not to make eye contact, an unspoken c
ity rule. A man stared at her and smiled but she didn’t return the gesture, another city rule. Lots of people exited at the second stop and Violet finally could sit.
When she was a little girl her mother had taken her to visit her grandfather in jail, the same jail her mother was now in, and it had frightened her. She hadn’t understood why he was in there and her mother had trouble explaining the reason to her. So Violet came to a conclusion about it on her own, and she decided that for her grandfather to be in jail it must have meant he’d done something bad, but she loved him anyway because he’d always been nothing but gentle with her. He was only in there for a few days until the charges were dropped because the witness decided to retract their statement, which now Violet figured probably had something to do with Max threatening them.
Violet sat staring ahead with her purse in her lap. When she’d visited her grandfather in jail as a child, she and her mother had taken the train there. As an adult, Violet knew that, logically, her mother being in jail didn’t mean that she wasn’t a good person, it just meant she had made a mistake. But she also now had inside knowledge about her mother’s transgression, because she had helped her commit it. Did that make her a bad person?
Sometimes, as she entered and exited her apartment or the pub, she felt as though she was being watched, and it was entirely possible that Detective Seale and his team were watching her. She had told Max and her other men to be careful, and perhaps she should have listened to her own advice. Had he seen her arguing with Camille? And if so, what did he think about it? Would Camille soon be watched by them also? Camille was naïve in the sense that she didn’t know what was ahead of her like Violet did. Camille wanted to avenge her father, but she wasn’t thinking about the consequences of being a gangster. Then again, she didn’t have a child like Violet had, and so maybe she had less to lose.
Perhaps Seale was getting closer to arresting Violet, and she wondered, would Tommy’s great-grandmother take him on the train to visit her?
The train arrived at her stop and Violet exited, left the station and walked to the jail. She knew she had to sign in at the front gate. Her mother’s lawyer, a top man, but Violet had come to doubt him somewhat after her mother had been denied bail, had arranged for her to visit so they would be expecting her.
