Disclaimer: I do not own the Saints or...anything related to them. So...no need to sue me!
Epidemic- Chapter 1- The Beginning
Harsh, humid wind whipped around the car as it sped down the vacant highway. Even with the air conditioning on, the air inside was suffocating. The back of his arms clung to the vinyl seat, tearing away unpleasantly every time he moved, beads of sweat rolled a millimeter down his neck every second.
At the bottom of a steep, winding incline, the engine groaned, slowing the car to a near halt. The accelerator creaked as more and more weight pressed down on it, squishing tiny pebbles even deeper into crevices of old rubber.
He groaned. "Whatthefuckinghelliswrongwiththisgoddamnpieceofshit?" His words strung together in complete and total frustration as his foot remained glued to the pedal.
"Shut off the air." She mumbled, barely holding a cigarette between her lips, and fumbling for her lighter in the pocket of the door.
He reached over, pushed the button, and returned his hand to his outer thigh, tapping his fingers over the soft, worn denim. The car seemed to speed out of the wind, the humidity, and up the winding road towards the top of the mountain. Why hadn't he thought of this before? Of course her piece-of-shit car would need the a/c off to function properly. Everything else connected to her never seemed to work right, why should the car have been any different?
Her hand complete with freshly tacked on nails, courtesy of a very pleasant, smiley Korean girl, gingerly moved towards her eye. She can't do shit with those nails. He thought. They're long enough to skewer a squirrel halfway down the River Shannon. The muscles in his leg tightened as he debated slamming on the brakes. There was no one behind him; no chance of a collision. He'd just get to see those nails finally get some use, aside from being the cause of the scars and scratches on his back. The worn rubber on his shoe tottered towards the pedal. Too late. She had returned her hand to her lap and was now facing towards him.
"I'm real glad to be leavin' this shit hole." She said finally. "I'm gonna make a name for myself over in America." She grinned, her newly whitened teeth popping out from behind her ruby lips. He didn't even want to know where or how she had gotten the money for her little "makeover." She was still talking. "People are gonna appreciate me there, Murphy."
"Aye?" He didn't bother with any other remark, and let the silence fill in around them, or maybe it was the humidity returning as the neared the bottom of the hill. Either way, he much preferred the somewhat stuffy feeling to the chatter. The airport was only 16km away. Thank God.
She felt no need to fake sorrow or regret about leaving, or to say how much she would miss him and how she'd always cherish the memories they had together. Like the time Murph bailed her out of jail for prostitution or the time he paid her dealer off so she wouldn't be killed. Nope. None of that mattered anymore. She had been waiting to leave all her life. And there was nothing that was going to stop her. Lord knows Murphy wasn't even thinking about stopping her. In all honesty, he wouldn't miss her at all, and she felt the exact same way.
A woman's voice echoed through the huge building, announcing the departure of Flight 101 to New York. She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and turned towards the gate without a word. He liked it better that way. Being able to watch her walk out of his life in silence, without another snotty remark, was more than worth the hundreds of dollars he'd wasted on her and her "habits". She got closer and closer to the departure gate, then suddenly turned around.
He had just put on his sunglasses and was turning towards the exit. "Motherfucker. Somebody fuck me in the ass." He muttered, roughly thumbing the rosary around his neck. It had all seemed too good to be true.
"Murphy?" Her hand reached into her dark gray coat and pulled out a key. "Take my car. I don't need it." She said, tossing the key to him. Without a smile or a wave, she turned round again, and disappeared through the gate.
He stared at the dull metal for a minute before pocketing it and walking back towards the car. There, rusting in the sunlight was his new car. He chuckled. She'd never been a very good gift giver. First was that rather nasty rash she gave him for St. Patty's Day the year before, and now this rusted piece of shit. Sweet lass. He thought to himself, climbing into the car.
He arrived back into his hometown late that afternoon, sold the car to the highest bidder- a whopping 476 Euro- and walked back to his flat- the fifth floor of an abandoned warehouse in the south end of town. With two brand new cases (minus 4) of Guinness in one hand, he opened the door and stumbled in. The place was exactly how he had left it: Two mattresses on the floor, covered with clothing and a few sparse sheets on the east wall, three industrial showerheads lining the north wall, one with the curtain drawn. Beer bottles and cigarettes littered the table and couch.
"Murph!" Someone, slightly shorter, but more built than Murphy threw back the shower curtain. "You're back!!" He paused, his eyes drifting towards the slightly goofy smile on his twin brother's face, then down towards the cases in his left hand. "And you've got beer!!! Corripe Cervisiam!!"
He laughed and slapped his, still naked, brother on the back. "Aye, Connor. I've got beer. It's been a good day, man. A good fuckin' day."