"911, What's your emergency?"

"Oh God! Jesus Christ! He's dead! They shot him! He got shot! Help! Please! He's bleeding! Fucking Christ!"

"Sir? Where are you? Who has been shot?"

"Corner of Athens Street, South Boston! Hurry! I can't hold them off long!"

BANG-BANG-BANG

"Sir! What's going on!"

"I don't know! It was supposed to be quick! Only three! 'BANG' . . . Ssshit"

"Sir? Sir?! Sir! Can you hear me! SIR!!"

"We're sorry. The number you have reached has either been disconnected or is no longer in service, please hang up and try again. . . We're sorry. The number you have reached has either been disconnected. . ."

2 hours later

The smell of thick copper filled the polluted Boston air as Smecker dunked down below the yellow crime scene tape. He was unto happy about the call from the police department, only for the fact that they had called him two hours into the investigation. He grumbled a 'thanks' to the courteous cop that lifted it for him and hissed his way to the every growing swarm around the bodies. A heavy scowl seemed to be painted onto his face, deepening as he neared, feeling a annoyed heat building up inside his chest, ready to explode. Smecker liked being there for his unknown victims. It gave him a chance to set everything in motion of what he could do for those who where wronged by the world and having to be called in two hours later was not his idea of helpful.

As Smecker entered the throng of blue, it took all that he had not to shove them aside due to the aggravation that already settled in before he arrived, but half way through the crowd of police he lost it.

"All Right! Unless You Want Something Shoved Up your Asses-MOVE! Paul Smecker! FBI!" Smecker boomed over the white-noise of the cops, holding up his chained badge.

And like Moses parting the Red Sea, the cops smashed themselves into each other to make a small walkway for Smecker to stalk his way to the John Does. Know he was pissed and it was far from being extinguished, nothing was going to stop him from going off on the next guy that said one word, one FUCKING word to him.

As he cleared the last few feet of scampering law-enforcers, Smecker spied Greenly; back to Smecker as the man made his broad signature hand gestures. This was going to be fun.

"So dat Mudder-Fucker over here pops dis Fucker over dere. . ."

"Greenly!" Smecker snapped.

Greenly flinched away from the harsh tone of his superior. He looked over his shoulder and saw fire burning behind Smecker's eyes. Greenly gulped and started rubbing the back of his head in shame. Smecker motioned for him to follow as he moved to a location with fewer people to listen in. Greenly shivered, but followed anyway with his hands in his pockets and shoulders slumped in fear.

"Greenly! What the hell is going on!" Smecker hissed sharply as he spun around to face the cop.

"You know just as much as everyone else, Smecker. The bodies. . ." Greenly started.

"I'm not talking about the bodies, you dolt! Why the fuck was I not contacted earlier!?"

"It's South Boston. The first-on-the-scene thought it was a drive-by," Greenly said defensively.

"A drive-by? And it took you TWO FUCKING HOURS to figure out that it wasn't!"

"Well. . ."

Greenly carried on, defending himself and the other cops that have already been on the scene as Smecker's attention went to a small gap that had formed from the circle of forensic investigators. A white sheet attracted his eye, covering the body from head to toe with a smear of blood that was seeping up the hem. The body was being hoisted up onto a gurney, jostling around recklessly. An arm fell free of the white sheet and Smecker nearly lost his dinner. Time stopped for a split second as Smecker grew cold. He eyed the fallen arm, watching it riggle and bounce as the body was wheel away. Time picked itself back up and Smecker made his move.

"Stop! Stop right there!" Smecker pushed past Greenly to stall the gurney that was heading towards the ambulance.

His heart was pounding frantically in his chest from shear panic. It couldn't be! It just can't! Smecker kept saying to himself. They were too good to be shot and killed! They had the best skills of evading death and to be shot on the streets in South Boston was unheard of and unthinkable to Smecker, but as he neared the finally stationary gurney, Smecker eyed the fallen arm. The Celtic cross on the forearm, Aequitas tattooed onto his right hand and a tufted of brown hair that also escaped the cover of the white sheet.

"Please! Please! Don't let it be Murphy!" Smecker pleaded with himself as he raised the white sheet with shaking hands.

This is the story that I promised Betty-Boo. I hope you like it! I know it's short, but this is all I've had time to type. Better this than nothing. I've gotten a lot from the chapters that you gave me and then some! So feel free to tell me if you hate it or love it or you just want me to quite while i'm ahead. Reviews are loved!