DISCLAIMER: no, contrary to my hopes and dreams, I do not own any of the rights to The Boondock Saints.
NOTE: I won't be writing in a thick accent. If you watch the films, they don't say "me" rather than "my" and they also pronounce "you" rather than "ye" (see the courtroom scene) but for clarity and so my dear readers aren't completely sucked out of my story, I'll use it here and there. Just hear the accent in your heads please….I'm sure you've all seen the movie enough times to know how each of the character's accents sound.
"The Hoag isn't just any prison."
"Wrong. That's just what it is: A prison. Run by men. And men, as we both know, are fallible."
Eunice Bloom went over these words in her head again and again as she sat across the table from Paul Maximillan fucking Smecker. They had arrived at the monastery that Bloom was to be taken to for security purposes. Smecker looked off into the distance as he lit another cigarette, taking a drag before connecting his line of sight with Eunice. She saw instantly that an idea had come to him and tilted her head at the devious smile that had taken over his features. He was proud of himself for this one. Eunice was surprised at how quickly everything was happening and was still attempting to stop her head from spinning. It had only been a week since the incident with the Old Man and since the boys had been carted off the Hoag maximum security prison, and already, Smecker knew how he wanted to get them out.
"We need a con. One who is more creative than us both put together. Now, Eunice, would you happen to know any con artists who posses a certain creativity for getting out of tight situations involving johnny law?" Smecker asked, already knowing the answer to his question.
"You think she'll help us?" she asked, tilting her head even further.
"Well I can't see why not. She is the woman responsible for my 'death.'" he mused.
"I should have known. No one else would have been able to get away with it."
"She's a smart little girl. Means well." he reasoned. "Her crimes may be petty, but the accuracy with which she executes her plans is so meticulous….I really don't know of anyone else who would have a better chance at getting them out safely and without raising suspicion."
"I don't know if I'd call stealing over five million dollars from a Russian crime syndicate from right under their noses petty, Smecker."
"Compared to what I'm about to proposition her with, stealing from the mob is child's play. I think she'll enjoy the challenge of breaking the boys out of the Hoag. Gives her a chance to prove herself in the big times. Give all the punks that doubt her talent a reason to choke on their words. She'll do it."
"I guess we'll be giving her a call then?" Eunice questioned.
"Indeed. Call Dolly and Duffy and tell them to find her. Ringo is our ace in the hole."
Two days later, Paul Smecker was in New York and Ringo Carson was face to face with the man she had 'killed' some years earlier. Smecker smiled at her briefly before walking into the loft apartment she occupied. Ringo hadn't understood why Smecker had needed her help again, but figured that it had something to do with the same reasons why he asked her to help him fake his own death several years prior.
"Paul." she said pleasantly.
"My dearest Ringo. How have you been darling?" he inquired.
"I've been decent. Taking some time off, as it were. No need to pull jobs every week anymore. The Russian money never seems to run out." she remarked with a dark grin. She certainly didn't look like the type who could rip off a major mafia family. Short, only about 5'2" with pale skin and blue eyes. She had bleached her hair since Smecker had seen her last and he had to admit to himself that he enjoyed the bright blond. Some pictures had circulated of her after she had 'killed' him and the change was necessary in order to remain untouched by the police.
"Can I interest you in a job?" he asked cautiously.
"What kind?"
"Big time."
"Details, Paul."
"I'm sure you've heard of the Saints?" he questioned.
"Everyone on the fucking east coast has, Paul. Fucking shame that the FBI got to them. Do you know that crime has risen by twenty percent in the past week in South Boston? Fucking twats know they can get away with murder now."
"That's why I'm here."
"You want to get them out of the Hoag?" Ringo guessed, a look pf pure mirth overtaking her face. Smecker nodded slowly and a smile formed on Ringo's lips. She knew what he wanted of her. He wanted her to help.
"I need you to do what you do best…" he told her.
"Shouldn't be too difficult. It may be the Hoag, but it's still just a prison." she mused. "What kind of shape are they in?"
"They're injured. Both boys were shot, couple of times. The Mexican suffered more severe damage. Last I heard, he was still on life support." he informed her.
"You've got someone on the inside?"
"Just an informant. Not high up enough to give me the help I need." Smecker replied.
"I take it they'll be in the prison infirmary for a while, then?" Ringo asked, beginning to see the start of a brilliant plan.
"At least another week. Why?"
"If you can get your hands on some Tetradoxin, I can get them out." she finally decided.
"Blowfish poison?" he asked.
"It comes from the Fugu blowfish's liver and is toxic if you ingest too much. However, if you take the Tetradoxin and sprinkle just a tad on your chest right above the heart, the poison will penetrate through the skin cells. It slows your heart rate down so much so that an EKG can't even pick it up. The monitor will say you're dead. You won't have a pulse. Then, you've got about twenty four hours until you come out of it." she explained.
Smecker looked at Ringo in awe. Here sat this tiny little girl, one who had been hardened by growing up witnessing her father and her uncles conduct business, Russian mafia style. She made no excuses for her upbringing. She let it teach her. She had remained in the family until she turned sixteen. She witnessed her father and mother being murdered courtesy of an underboss that was unhappy with her fathers performance. She was the only surviving member of her immediate family and she didn't take that lightly. The case, worked by none other than Special Agent Smecker, had her right in the middle of a mutiny. Smecker advised her to get out of town, and she did. She changed her last name and moved out of Boston. After living in fear for several years, and secretly smuggling money out of their secret accounts that she'd inherited from her father, she received news that the branch to which her family had be involved with had self destructed and the only living members had fled back to Moscow. It was then, finally, that Ringo was able to focus on her own career. Crime was all she knew, but murder she refused. She spent her time with monetary gains. Cheating casinos, cheating the mafia families in the area, ect. She was a con artist, and a damn good one. Her execution of her master plans was perfect. She'd never been caught.
"How are you going to get in? Smecker asked.
"I figure that forgeries are my specialty. Shouldn't be too hard to get my hands on some paperwork stating that I've been certified by the medical board of Massachusetts as a doctor." she reasoned. "Shouldn't be much harder to flash around a name tag and get access to the infirmary. It's all in the paperwork. Then I figure I 'kill' all three of them with the Tetradoxin. The MacManus' boys won't have a pulse and the Mexican's monitors will say his heart has stopped. No one will question why. They've all been shot…complications with that and all should hide suspicion. Figure we can pay off the coroner to corroborate the story. Pronounce them dead at the prison and then offer to cart the bodies back to the city morgue. Then all of Boston mourns the deaths of the Saints. I'll need a driver though. Maybe one of those detectives that called me. Duffy seems capable."
"I knew you'd come up with something out of a movie." he teased. "Connor will appreciate the Bond style." Smecker silently applauded her quick thinking. As silver screen as the approach seemed, he knew she wouldn't suggest it if she didn't have full confidence that she could pull it off. Ringo only nodded and waited his decision.
"I can do it, Smeck."
"You will. Two days. Can you get the paperwork by then?" he asked. Ringo nodded and Smecker got up from the chair he was sitting in and made his way to the door.
"The Tetradoxin?" she questioned.
"You'll get it tomorrow afternoon. I'll have Dolly drop it by." he promised.
"Have him bring it to my house. I figure the boys will need a place to rest and heal the rest of the way. I'll set up a few things for them when I go back to Boston tomorrow morning. I should be home by three." she informed him. Smecker nodded, remembering the residence she kept back in Boston. He smiled at the irony of the fact that it was nothing short of a mansion that had once belonged to the Russian's that Ringo had once fled from.
Two days later, as per instructed by Smecker, Ringo found herself walking into the Hoag maximum security prison. She smirked at the ease at which she was able to simply flash her nametag and fake drivers license and get right into the main building. She sat down with the warden and explained that she'd like to volunteer in the infirmary a couple days a week treating the prisoners. The warden, ecstatic that she didn't ask to be paid for her time, immediately allowed her access. He then did a background check that came back clean. (Ringo had been smart enough to use a real doctor with a squeaky clean background and simply forged the rest of the paperwork).
The warden told her that she was welcome to start at four pm, and so Dr. Allison Marx did just that. She followed a guard to the infirmary and once inside scanned the room for the Saints. She knew that he job would be much more difficult it one or more of them had already been taken back to regular cells. Much to her relief and luck, all three were still there, sleeping under the cover in many bandaged. Romeo was still on oxygen, but the life support had been removed. Ringo smiled at the guard and began to check the charts of the patients. She mentally laughed at herself because she was making notes on each chart that probably made absolutely no sense. She was a con artist, not a doctor. The guard, convinced that everything was manageable, sat back in the chair he was previously occupied by the door and re-immersed himself in the television program that was playing on the TV in the corner of the dimly lit room. Ringo decided that now was as good as time as any and pulled out one of the three vials of Tetradoxin she had in her lab coat pocked.
She lifted back the sheet on top of Murphy MacManus's chest first. He stirred, but did not awake. She emptied the vial onto his chest and pulled the sheet back, but not before pretending to check the gauze that covered the bullet wound on his stomach. She followed in suit with Romeo. She looked behind herself several times to make sure the guard was still pacified with her "treatments." Finally, she moved to her final victim, Connor MacManus. She lifted the sheet as she had done previously. But as she grabbed the final vial of Tetradoxin, she saw his eyes flutter and his blue eyes pierced into hers. He looked at her in confusion and distrust and opened his mouth as if he was to speak. Ringo quickly put her finger to her mouth to shush him. She then leaned down, seemingly to get a better look at the bullet wound on his shoulder.
"Trust me." she whispered, before emptying the vial into his chest. Connor stared at her in horror and made to sit up and wipe if off, but she held him down, he eyes praying that he did what she asked. She saw his eyes flutter before closing completely and she knew the blowfish poison had done its job.
Ringo left the prison and waited outside in her car for the call she knew that she would receive in a few hours. Two hours later, the warden called, frantically telling her that there was an emergency and because she was the doctor on call for the weekend, he needed her there right away.
"What's going on?" Ringo asked as she walked through the doors into the room where all three bodies were laid.
"We tried to wake them up for their dinner, but they wouldn't wake. And they've got no pulse!" the warden cried. He was visibly upset that he had allowed the most wanted men in Boston to die on his watch. Ringo looked concerned and checked each pulse, finally agreeing that they were all indeed, dead.
"How could this happen!?" the warden asked, running his hands through his hair. "They were fine this afternoon!"
"Gun shot wounds cause a lot of stress on the body," Ringo explained. "I won't know more until the coroner makes a report. But one thing I do know, we need to move the bodies. Get them to the city morgue. I'll call them and ride down with the bodies. We need to find out what killed these boys before the media gets a hold of this. You'll all be accused of foul play if we don't have an official statement from the coroner."
"Oh, thank you!" The warden and guard cried, obviously wanted no part of being blamed for the deaths.
"It's no problem." Ringo said as she smiled sweetly. Inwardly, she relaxed. Her plan had worked. As soon as Duffy arrived with the coroners van, they could take the boys to her house. On the ride there, she made a call to the local news media. Within a half hour, news vans swarmed outside the Hoag, eager to know what had happened to the Saints and why they were getting calls reporting that they were dead. In no time, rumors would swirl about prison yard brawls, neglect from the medical staff and even suicide. Ringo smiled at Duffy who seemed happy that it was all over. Ringo, once home, burned all of her paperwork and took off the red wig she'd worn to the hospital and threw that into the fire as well. The prison might have taken a photo of Dr. Allison Marx, but they'd never find her. Ringo told herself to call the warden the next day to inform her that she no longer wished to volunteer after what had happened. In a few weeks, the shit would hit the fan and someone would figure something out, but right now, all that mattered was the she had gotten Connor, Murphy and Romeo out of the Hoag, no worse for the wear.
"Good job, Ringo." Smecker told her. "Couldn't have faked a death better myself." Ringo laughed and glanced into the room that she had made up for the boys to stay in. She had stolen the oxygen tank from the infirmary for Romeo. She cleaned the boy's wounds and re-dressed each wound before pacing nervously around the house, awaiting the moment when they would awake.