A/N:
Gargantuan thanks to my fantastic beta reader, Kristen, for editing the crap out of this, and seeing its potential. It's becoming better with every single suggestion ^.^
"Where the flyin' fuck do ye think yer goin'? It's almost fuckin' one in the mornin'," mumbled Murphy. He sat up from the motel bed and rubbed his eyes angrily. He was never one to wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed, no matter what time it was.
"I need a fuckin' smoke and I'm all out, go back ta fuckin' bed. Greenley 'n Smecker are goin' ta be here at 3:00. And would ye mind keepin' yer voice the fuck down? Yer goin' ta wake Da," Connor whispered angrily.
"Well, thanks ta ye, I'm already awake, and I'm fuckin' comin with ye. Let me put on some damn clothes."
"Well let's 'ave our little chat outside, eh? If Da's half as bad as ye are 'bout wakin' up, I sure as hell am not stickin' the fuck around," Connor said angrily, as he walked towards the aged door, opened it, and ushered his brother outside in an impatient manner.
It had been almost nine hours since the three Saints executed Yakavetta in the courtroom. The media was in frenzy; their somewhat accurate profile sketches were all over the Boston news. No doubt the police were on a rampage after them. The plan was simple: Dolly, Duffy, Greenley and of course, Smecker had snuck the trio across town to an almost unnoticeable motel. It was a fleabag shit hole, but they would only be staying for about twelve hours.
Connor recalled the conversation he had with Smecker on the hour drive to the motel:
"Greenley and I are picking you three up from that place at exactly 3:00 in the morning."
"An' then where do ye plan on takin' us?"
"There's a town about two and a half hours away from Boston, all the way across the fucking state, it has less than five hundred people. Thought you three could lay low there for a while. At least until this man hunt for you calms down."
"An' how fuckin' long is 'a while', here Smecker?"
"Not more than a month. It's necessary. I've managed to set you up with a private telephone line and residence for the time being. If the media calms down, you might be able to return to Boston then."
"An' if tha' don't work?"
"Well, maybe it'll be to some other Podunk town, out of Massachusetts. Maybe you three will have to flee back to where the grass is always fucking green, I just don't know."
"Ireland? You are fuckin' sayin' that if this shit doesn't cool down in a fuckin' month, we're headin' back to Ireland?"
"Like I said, Connor; I don't know."
Connor snapped out of his frustrating flashback and shook his head in exhaustion. He had an earsplitting headache and he just needed a damn cigarette.
"Should we take our guns wit' us?" Connor suggested, contemplating just leaving them there for the maybe fifteen-minute trip.
"Not the Berettas with the silencers we used on every damned scum bag we killed. Too conspicuous. Let's jus' take Da's for now," Murphy said, trying to think logically.
"The PT92's? The stainless ones?"
"Aye, those are th' ones. The nine millimeters," Murphy said, nodding.
"Murph, those are way fuckin' louder than the Berettas," reasoned Connor.
"All I'm tryin' to fuckin' say is that they are smaller than those Beretta's we shot Yakavetta wit an' all tha'. A gun's a gun, Conn."
"But they are louder." Connor was getting aggravated now. This would've just been a solo trip, but now it just feels like he's arguing with a hypothetical wife about what shade of paint to put on a hypothetical wall.
"Well are ye fuckin' planning on shootin' some motherfucker on our way to the gas station?" Murphy raised his voice a little.
"Fuckin' tell ye what. I'll take one, you take th' other," said Connor.
"Fine."
Connor opened the motel door again and put down the doorstop. He grabbed a Beretta from the table adjacent to the door, and slightly tiptoed across the room to obtain one of his father's pistols. He then walked outside again, and closed the door, satisfied that he had not even stirred Noah from his sleep.
"Alright Murph, let's go," Connor said as he slid the gun in the holster inside of his black pea coat.
"Aye," said Murph, taking the silver gun and put it barrel side down in the side of his jeans.
"So d' ye have a semblance of an idea of how to get ta a gas station? I was jus' thinkin' of goin' back behind this here motel, and there should be an alley, er somethin' like tha'." Connor suggested.
"I'm thinkin' down this main road here," Murphy said with utter confidence, nodding to the left where there was a deserted bus stop and a busy street.
"Ye sure there, Murph? Kind of fuckin' obvious and out in th' open if we just stroll down the street," said Connor, raising a doubtful eyebrow at his brother, who clearly wasn't thinking very logically.
"Well I fuckin' know I have a better mental map than you! Who got us lost in those fuckin' air vents in Copley Plaza?"
"Oi! Ye shut it! That plan was a fuckin' success! We're takin' the alley, fer fuck's sakes," Connor said, giving Murphy a good slap to the side of his head.
"Fuckin' A!" Murphy growled, following Connor to the left while passing a couple of chipped and beaten down cars in the tiny parking lot.
The brothers walked side by side on the very slight gravel trail behind the motel when they came across the alley that Connor had predicted would be there. They took a left where on one side of the asphalt was a chain link fence, and on the other, broken down apartment buildings and houses that couldn't have had more than ten feet of space in between them.
"Well would ye look at tha'? A gas station! Admit it, I was right!" said Connor jubilantly with a slight bragging tone, pointing towards the bright-lit buildings that were ahead of them.
"Shut it ye dumb wop," said Murphy with a small smile and a roll of his eyes.
Connor and Murphy had just passed a run-down building with an alley of its own, when they heard a brewing argument coming from it.
"Jus' keep walking Con…" Murphy mumbled quietly.
Connor nodded in agreement, but halted when he heard a voice, a girl's voice. It didn't sound like a run of the mill conversation either. It sounded like it was escalating; it wasn't going to end pretty either way.
"Please, just leave me alone," she said quietly in a neutral tone.
"Hold the fuck on. There 's a lass," Connor insisted.
They crouched on the east side of the building, out of sight of the three arguing people. Murphy poked his head just enough around the corner to see what was going on in his peripheral vision. There were two gargantuan looking men, closing in on a tiny girl. From this angle, she didn't look much older than maybe seventeen or eighteen. She probably wasn't even that old. The dim porch light on one side of the worn building showed the three slightly shadowed figures and their faces, but just barely.
"Murph! What the fuck is goin' on?" whispered Connor.
"Conn, we need ta get in there as soon as they aren't lookin'," said Murphy.
The men were at her one o' clock and eleven o' clock positions, crowding in more as they closed in.
The girl, who had a look of disdain on hatred for the men in front of her, drew her mouth into a hard line. "Téigh trasna ort féin. Go Fuck Yourself," she said coldly.
Murphy raised his eyebrows at his brother. It was Gaelic.
"What the fuck did you just say to us, you little bitch?" the one on the right yelled in her face, as he pulled out a switchblade and shoved it threateningly close to her throat. His Russian accent was heavy as he threatened the girl.
"Well little one, it looks like your time is up. Maybe it'll teach you to not go rudely prying for information," said the one on the left with a menacing tone.
Simultaneously, the boys bolted up from their crouching positions and ran out from behind the corner, shooting the men in their heads before they even had a chance to see that the Saints of south Boston were about to have them meet their maker.
The attackers dropped to the ground almost instantly after being shot, leaving the girl they had, standing stunned against the wall, trembling. After crossing themselves, the boys cautiously walked towards her, arms slightly up in the air, as if trying to let her know that they weren't going to harm her.
"Are ye alrigh' lass? Are ye hurt?" said Connor, edging closer, offering his hand.
She waited several moments before abruptly nodding her head and uttering a soft "I'm fine."
"Maybe ye should come back with us so we can check on ye?" Murphy asked.
"No, thank you," she muttered, cracking her knuckles.
"How old are ye, love? Wha's yer name and all of tha'?" said Connor.
"Just…Eva? I'm nineteen. Thank you…for saving my life," she said with short pauses.
"Eva? Well, that's a nice name ye have," said Connor.
"Shite, you're nineteen?" said Murphy, shaking his head trying to see if he heard correctly.
"Yes. Um, I'd better get going. Thank you, gentlemen," she said with a quick nod and a faint smile, as she began to walk away, black boots clicking down the alleyway.
"Lass, let us just walk ye home, it'd make us feel better," said Connor.
She turned around abruptly and took a few steps back towards them, untying the front belt of her trench coat.
The brothers raised a questioning eyebrow, once they realized what was on the inside of the jacket. Six Beretta pistols, three on each side, were holstered to fit.
"Boys, I'll be fine. I've been doing this for a while, as have you. Please don't worry about me, there's a gas station just up ahead, presuming that's where you were walking to. Have a good night," she finally said with another small smile.
"Oh, and before I forget," she remarked, pointing to Murphy's gun. "That nine millimeter was pretty loud. Assuming anybody around here heard it, the cops will be here in about seven minutes, but that's just a rough estimate. Better make a quick trip," she said with a slight smirk before she turned around and walked away again.
Connor and Murphy stood stunned in the middle of the alley, watching the young girl walk and turn the corner.
"Okay, now I really need a fuckin' cigarette," said Murphy, scratching his head.
A/N:
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