Thoughts Of A Saint

By

BigBadWolfyBoy

I always knew Murph and I were different than everyone else. Ever since we immigrated to America and decided to try our bloody luck at the 'American Dream', well, I knew we were fuckin' different.

For instance, no matter what, we always went to Mass. As early as it was and all, Murphy and I upheld our Irish Catholic upbringin' to go and thank the Saints and God for whatever we had.

However, I never could've fuckin' guessed that we'd be earning the title "Saints" one day.

Smecker was being a fine yank by joining our path on eliminating evil about South Boston. He was one smart son of a bitch and did a bloody good job of leading people in circles when it came to trying to catch us. Da was also a big help, what with his nasty reputation and all.

We'd been taking out the scum of the Earth for three years now and our exsistence was something we'd find debated about quite often when Murphy and I would go to a pub. For the most part, we learned that the majority of South Boston loved what we were doing.

And as I sat here, a cool drink in me hand, and a smoke in the other, I realized that Murph and I were doing the right thing. Fuck, there were prisons overflowing with inmates 'round the whole United States because there were sick, perverted fucks having a good ol' time sitting on death row on whatever number of appeal they'd filed.

Fuck that! Rocco was right and if we were able, I knew that we Saints would be in every major city. After all, we'd make sure the prison populations would go down. Maybe we'd just start up a call for the fuckers that were meant to be having their arses in a damned electric chair or what have you just be taken behind the prison and shot.

I took a cold sip of my brew, feeling the liquid start to settle the fire that had started to burn in my gut.

"Connor, let's go," Murphy said and I looked to me brother, giving him a nod.

I glanced at the clock on the wall just before we stepped out of the pub. Murph and I walked in silence until we stood no more than a few feet from the entrance to a huge warehouse where illegal smuggling of women was being done.

"Time for the Saints to clean up the Devil's mess," I said, smiling as I pulled out my guns from their holsters.

"Fuckin' right!" Murph said, smiling back.

"And shepherds we shall be

For thee my Lord for thee

Power hath descended forth from thy hand

So our feet may swiftly carry out thy command

And we shall flow a river forth to thee

And teeming with souls shall it ever be

In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti"

Please R&R. I know it was short. No flames!