1.
How the hell do I get myself into these things? Maggie wrapped her bomber jacket tighter around herself to ward off the icy breeze that had just picked up. She leaned against her old, beat up Volkswagen bus and wondered if the word hell was worthy of a drop in the cursing jar sitting back at the bar. Was hell really a curse word anymore? Certainly the dear sisters at St. Anthony's middle school would argue a resounding 'yes'. Then she would get ten raps on the wrist for uttering such a profanity.
A puff of steam billowed out of her mouth as she let out a slow breath. It made her want a cigarette. She missed smoking and often contemplated taking up the habit again just for the hell of it. A loud siren blasted, turning her attention to the wire fence that housed the prison yard. Moments later several inmates of the most notorious maximum-security prison in the state wandered out for their hour of fresh air.
Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled out her sunglasses. The bright sun reflecting off of the snow was blinding. Her thoughts drifted back to the reason she was hanging out in front of The Hoag in the first place.
The sun was barely up when Father O'Donnell showed up at the bar. She was still trying to sleep off the late night before, having worked until closing. She invited him in for coffee, and it didn't take long for him to get to the point of his visit.
"I need you to pick someone up for me day after tomorrow," he said, "and give 'im a place to stay for a few days."
"Father, you know that I've been trying to keep my nose clean. And I've got a lot of stuff going on..."
"This is a very special person, Maggie," Father O'Donnell insisted.
He quickly filled her in on the plan. What he could tell her anyway. She had the distinct feeling that he was holding something back. But, being from a staunch catholic family, Maggie's Da had made it clear that when a priest comes knocking for a favor, you don't say 'no'.
It didn't make the flavor of the plan any more palatable.
An uproar from the yard brought her back to the present. The inmates had gathered at the edge of the yard where a fenced corridor stretched from the gates in front of her back to the Hoag's main building. A series of whistles and yelling echoed across the yard. Another siren sounded, and gates squeaked open slowly.
Connor McManus, dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a black t-shirt, stood at the gate with two guards flanking him on either side. Even from where she stood, she could see the cuts and bruises on his face. He had nothing with him, save an over sized manilla envelope that he carried in his unbandaged hand. When the gate stopped in the open position, Connor limped his way to freedom.
Maggie waited until he was well away from the gate and made eye contact before acknowledging him. "Connor,"
He shielded his eyes against the bright sun, but she could see the mistrust in his expression. He approached cautiously.
"Name's Maggie," she said. "Father O'Donnell sent me to pick you up."
He stopped. "Did he now?"
Maggie's jaw ticked. "You look like shit." Oops. She gave herself a mental kick and reminded herself to make a deposit in the jar when she got back to the bar. Not to mention the fact that insulting the man was not the most eloquent way to win his trust. She took a breath and counted to ten. "I've got a hot shower and a meal waiting." She shivered again. "Now, if you don't mind, I do have other things to do today. And I'm freezing."
Connor seemed to be considering her offer, but Maggie was not in the mood for indecision. "Fine," she said, and walked around the bus to the driver's side. By the time she climbed into the seat, Connor was already closing his door. She watched him for a moment as he settled into the uncomfortable seat. "Good.
"Where are we going?" Connor finally asked after what seemed like a million hours of silence.
"Some place safe," she answered. "I told Father O'Donnell that I'd give you a place to crash for a couple of days. Then they will send for you."
"They?"
Maggie kept her eyes on the road and said nothing.
Connor began looking around the van, digging through the various empty containers that were at his feet, then moving on to the console.
"Looking for something?" Maggie asked, not even trying to hide her annoyance.
"Got any smokes?"
"Glove box."
Conner retrieved a half crushed pack of cigarettes. He opened the manila envelope in his lap and dug out his zippo. With a quick flick, his cigarette was lit. He offered her the pack.
"No thanks."
He shrugged and turned his attention back to his envelope. Not wanting to pry, Maggie kept her eyes forward, but in her peripheral she could see him pull out a string of beads with a large cross at the end. Without a thought, he pulled it on over his head. Then he turned his attention to the passing landscape outside his window.
She stole a glance at him. He looked tired; like he hadn't slept the entire year he had been locked up. She felt a sudden pang of empathy. She knew firsthand what being on the inside could do to person - even a person with a reputation like Conner McManus - having your freedom taken away was only the beginning of the nightmare. Getting released and trying to live a normal life was a whole other monster all together. His set jaw told her that he had plans now that he was out. She had a good idea what that might be.
"Where are we headed?"
Maggie jumped and snapped her eyes back to the road, feeling more than a little foolish that he may have felt her eyes on him. "I was thinking that since your a free man and all, a celebratory shot might be in order." He turned to look at her. This time she met his gaze. Then he smiled.
2.
"I never thought I'd see this place again," Connor said as Maggie pulled the van in front of McGinty's Pub thirty minutes later. To his surprise, she didn't stop. Instead, she drove down a block and pulled into the ally behind the bar.
"Why the back?" he asked.
She put the van into park and sat back to watch him. "There's a possibility that someone might have eyes on the place. Better safe than sorry. Come on, we're late already.
"For what?"
"The wake," she said as if it was most natural thing in the world. "I need to get inside before the natives get restless."
The pieces began to fall into place. As she opened the door, he grabbed her wrist. "Margaret McGinty. You're Doc's kid, huh?"
Her whole body stiffened. She narrowed his eyes at him before jerking her arm back. "You don't miss much, do you?"
"Hey, I didn't mean to..."
"And don't call me Margaret. That's reserved for my parole officer and my da." The door slammed shut behind her. Conner sighed. You really have a way with the women, asshole. He shook his head, he had more important things to give a shit about. Like finding out what happened to Murphy and getting his brother out of the can.
A loud rap on the window pulled his attention back to the present. Maggie banged on the glass with her fist.
"You comin'?"
He climbed out of the van and started for the back door. She grabbed his elbow. "Listen, I'm doing this as a favor. But if you're gonna be crashing here for a few days, the least you can do is come in, sling a few shots, swap a few stories with the lads, and keep your ass out of trouble." She growled and stomped her feet on the ground. "Another fucking quarter. Now that's two. Come on before I owe the jar my next three paychecks."
Connor cocked his head and smiled as she walked away. "Whose wake?"
She stopped at the door and glanced back over her shoulder. "Doc's." She yanked open the service entrance to the bar and disappeared inside. Connor watched her go. She was a strange one indeed.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the storage room as the door closed, shutting out the bright, snowy afternoon behind her. She didn't need light to make her way to the far door that led into the bar. She stopped briefly, put a smile on her face and stepped into the smoke filled bar. A round of cheers went around at her arrival. The bar was full, mostly regular, but also a few new folks who had wandered in off the street.
"Maggie, me dear, I was wonderin' if ye were goin' to make it." Jim Flannery, one of Doc's oldest friends, sat at the end of the bar with a pint in front of him.
She smiled at him, pulling her ginger hair back, twisting it into a messy bun, and secured it with a hair clip. "You know I wouldn't miss this one, Jimmy." She turned to the young man wiping up a spilled drink from behind the bar. "Thanks for lookin' out for the place, Brad."
Brad smiled warmly. "No problem, Maggie. Anything for you and Doc."
She returned the smile and clapped him on the shoulder. "You're drinks are on the house tonight, luv. Now get out from behind my bar."
"Where'd you go anyway?" Brad asked taking his usual stool near the service area.
"I brought you all a gift," she said. Most of the bar turned its attention to her now. She turned to look behind her. "If he decides to make an appearance."
On cue, Connor walked through the door, and bar erupted into a barrage yells and curses. He was shepherded around the bar into hug after hug, greeted, kissed, and welcomed by everyone inside. Maggie watched from behind the bar. Everyone seemed to liven up, even Connor. She knew that in his heart that he couldn't stop thinking about his brother, but for just a moment, he looked at peace. It suited him, she decided.
She was well aware of the McManus legacy. Hell, anyone who lived within a two hundred mile radius of Boston knew of the brothers. But watching Connor now, it was almost hard to believe that he, along with his brother and father, had killed dozens of men (all of whom deserved their fate), calling a halt to the entire Italian and Russian mafias in Boston, all in the name of a higher power. It had been a blood bath. She had seen it up close. And it had changed her life forever. She wondered idly if she would every be able to forgive the McManus family for that.
Her thoughts drifted to her father. The reason they were gathered at the bar that day. He had loved Connor and Murphy like they were his own. And they had looked after him, as well. He would tell her that she must forgive them. That what they did was for the glory of God, something bigger than herself, she scowled. She had no need for such fairy tales. She hadn't seen the inside of a church in almost five years. Connor had situated himself at the end of the bar, talking to two men who appeared to be old drinking buddies.
"How the hell did you get out?" the taller of the two ask. "You got a life sentence, didn't you?"
Connor slugged back another shot that had been bought for him, and Maggie was amazed that he was still able to talk straight. "Right place at the right time," he said. "Believe it or not, I helped stop a riot. And kept the governor's cop son from getting his throat slit. I guess he thought it deserved a pardon."
Maggie set an empty pint glass under the keg tap and started pouring another beer while she eavesdropped. She had to admit that she had been curious (but too much of a chicken shit to ask) how exactly Connor had gotten himself released from prison.
"Maggie, dear," Jim was calling. He pointed to the clock behind the bar. "It's time."
She nodded and reached for the bottle of whiskey on the top shelf behind the bar. She lined the shot glasses up neatly and began to pour. When the glasses were full, she rang the bell at the back of the bar one time. On a normal evening, the bell was used to let everyone that last call was in effect. This night, however, she rang it in tribute.
The bar quieted and all eyes were on Maggie. She swallowed hard and raised a shot. "Top of the hour lads."
Each of them filed up to the bar to collect their glass. "This is for Doc." She paused and cleared her throat. "Or as everyone else knew him..." She stopped short, glanced at the curse jar glaring at her from the corner of the bar, and then shifted her gaze to Conner. He seemed to understand.
"Here's to FUCK ASS!" he said loudly. "Slainte!"
"Slainte!" the crowd answered.
Maggie let out a long breath as the bar chatter resumed. It was done. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Connor watching her. She met his gaze, then nodded and gave him a small smile of thanks. He returned the gesture before turning and disappearing into the crowd once again.
After the last person had left, and Maggie stood behind the bar counting her earnings for the night. It had been a busy evening and she was silently grateful that Connor had been there. He had stepped up and helped her out when she began to get overwhelmed. Now that it was all over, she felt drained and wanted nothing more than to climb upstairs and crawl into bed. She didn't even look up when the front door chimed.
"The bar's closed," she called.
"Even for someone who wants to pay his respects to the deceased?"
Maggie stopped mid-count and looked up. She glared at the man across the bar. Mikey O'Rourke stood only a foot away from her, and it made her skin crawl. Glancing behind him, she saw two of his goons standing by the door. "Did you forget about the restraining order, Mikey? Or should I call the cops and have your ass thrown in jail to remind you?"
"Easy, Luv," Mikey said, holding his hands up innocently. "As I said, I'm just here to pay my respects to your father."
"Bullshit," she said. "What do you want?"
Mikey dropped his hands. His smile faded to a scowl. "Word's out that Connor McManus has been released from prison. I know that Doc was close to the family. I was just wondering if he had been around. You know, to pay his respects."
Maggie chewed the inside of her cheek. Mikey was never good at the whole passive aggressive thing. He was trying to intimidate her. She would have none of it. "I've gone legit, Mikey. As you can see, I'm just trying to earn an honest living."
He raised an eyebrow. "Really?" Without warning, he reached across the bar and grabbed her wrist. He wrenched it and pushed up her sleeve. "What about your beauty marks here?"
Maggie stared down at her arm. Even the brightly colored tattoo that ran from her shoulder to her wrist couldn't cover up the track scars. She wrenched her arm away from him. "Those are ancient history," she hissed.
"What's going on here, then?"
They turned their attention to the new voice. Connor stood behind Maggie, carrying a case of beer in his arms. He set the box on the bar.
"Nothing," Maggie said. "He was just leaving."
Mikey looked from Connor to Maggie. "Oh, you've gone legit, alright. You must be the infamous Connor McManus. Tell me, Maggie, how long did it take you to start sucking his dick?"
Connor took a step forward but was stopped by Maggie.
Then he looked at Connor. Then he laughed. "I still haven't met anyone who does it as good as she does."
Having enough, Maggie grabbed the glass of whiskey in front of her and threw it in his face. He howled loudly.
"You stupid bitch!"
By the time he had wiped the whiskey from his face, Connor was already over the bar and ready to swing. Maggie pulled her sawed off Winchester from under the bar and pointed it at Mikey's face. At the door, Mikey's thugs also had their weapons drawn. Mikey motioned for them to hold.
"Now, now, Maggie," he said. "There's no need for..."
"Get your ass out of my bar," Maggie said.
Mikey put his hands up again. "Alright, Maggie, girl, alright. We're going." He backed up to the door. "Doyle is going to love knowing that you've got a McManus hold up in your place. Oh, and if you ever need a history lesson," he pointed at her arm, "I'm the man you're looking for." Then he glared at Connor. "And I'm sure I'll be seeing you again."
Then he was gone. Maggie dropped the rifle on the table.
Connor walked to the door and secured it when they were gone. This was not what he had been expecting on his first day out of prison. "What the fuck was that all about?" Connor said, moving back to the bar.
"How about a drink first?" Maggie pulled two shot glasses down and filled them up with whiskey. She noticed Connor looking at her still exposed arm. She didn't bother to try and hide it. "I dropped out my senior year of college when I started using. My life was kind of fucked at the time." She reached in her pocket, pulled out a dollar bill, and tossed it in the jar.
Connor raised an eyebrow. "I thought you only threw in quarters."
She shrugged before picking up the bottle again. "Call it a preemptive strike. Anyway, Da cut me off when he found out what I was up to." She paused to toss back her drink and refresh both of the glasses. "So, I did what most junkies do when they run out of money for their habit. I started selling...drugs among other things..."
There was no need to explain further. Connor could guess what 'other things' meant.
"I finally got busted. Did three years in the can; six months in rehab. That was almost a year ago. Been clean ever since." She took the shot. "If not necessarily sober. So, when I got out of rehab Da took me back in." Her voice dropped. "But the cancer had already taken hold. His dying wish was for me to stay and take care of this place." She laughed at the irony. "I guess he figured it would keep me outta trouble."
Connor absorbed the information for a moment. He had to give her credit. Most would be embarrassed with such a fucked up past. But she seemed to have made peace with it. She didn't let it own her. He respected her for that. "And what about this Mikey fucker?"
"He was my dealer. He works for a guy named Doyle. They were small time upstate before you took the Yakavetta syndicate down. I guess now they're trying to move into the territory."
Connor grabbed the bottle and took his turn pouring. "Do you miss your da?" He wasn't really sure what made him ask, but it seemed like something to talk about.
"Yeah, I do," she said with sadness in her voice that almost made him sorry for asking. "Don't you miss yours?"
He shrugged. "I never really got to say goodbye, ya know. Everything happened so quickly. One minute he was there, then he was gone, then Murph and I got arrested."
"That's so sad."
The change in her tone made him pause. Her cheeks were flush and her eyes a bit glazed. He smiled. The whiskey was doing its job. And if he was to be honest with himself, it was beginning to have an affect on him as well. "Now, I just need to focus on getting Murphy outta there. When I left he was in solitary. If they put him into gen pop, there's no one there to watch his back."
Another sudden change in her demeanor took him off guard. "Well," she said, seemingly more upbeat, "there's nothing you can do about that at this hour." She slid off the bar stool and grabbed the bar to steady herself. "But there is something that I might be able to help you with." She pulled her coat from the back, tossing him his, and shrugged into it. "Let's go."
"It's two-thirty in the morning. Where are we going?"
She gave him a sloppy grin. "It's a surprise." She snatched up her keys and headed toward the door.
"Fuck that!" he said, reaching for her keys. "I'm not getting a car with you. You'll kill us both."
She snorted then giggled with embarrassment. "You are correct, good sir. That is why we shall be walking. It's not that far."
3.
More snow had fallen since earlier in the day and it glistened under the streetlights as they walked in silence down the sidewalk. Not much had changed in the neighborhood since Connor had last been there. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he and his brother had walked down the same street on Saint Patrick's Day. They had left McGinty's in shambles after a particularly nasty bar fight. That's when it had begun. That walk home had changed their lives forever.
He was so lost in the memories that he almost knocked Maggie over when she stopped short. He cocked his head as he looked at the tall steeple before him.
"Saint Katherine's Cathedral? It's a little late for confession..."
Maggie snickered. "I haven't been in a church in five years. We're going there."
Next to the church was a modest house with a well-tended garden and a statue of a Saint Frances of Assisi by the front door. The light on the outside was on, and Connor wondered why it would be lit at such an ungodly hour.
"The Sisters look after the church," Maggie said. "This is their convent. Come on."
She started up the stairs. Connor ran behind her and took her elbow. "Hold on, now," he said, "I don't think they're going to be too fucking happy to answer the door at two-thirty in the morning."
Maggie blinked at him. "First of all; let go of me." She wrenched her arm away from him, strolled up to the door and knocked softly. "And second, relax, I've got this."
The door opened to an older woman dressed in her nightclothes. Her cropped black hair was graying at the temples. When she smiled at Maggie, her green eyes sparkled under stoop light. "Maggie, dear," she took Maggie into her arms. "It has been a while."
"Yes, Sister," Maggie answered. Then she stepped back and motioned to Connor who was still standing on the sidewalk. "This is Connor..."
"McManus," the nun finished. "I've read all about you in the paper."
Connor rubbed the back of his neck, and walked up the steps to greet her. It still embarrassed him when he was recognized.
"Connor," Maggie continued, "this is Sister Mary Lucille."
He took Lucille's outstretched hand and gave her a nod. "Sister," he said, "apologies for the late call."
She smiled broadly. "Not at all. I've been expecting you." Both Maggie and Connor raised their eyebrows. Lucille laughed. "Connor, you and your brother are not the only ones who receive messages from God. I knew that I would be receiving some special guests this evening. Come in."
Maggie walked in, but Connor stayed on the stoop. He was not so sure that he was comfortable with the situation.
Lucille planted her hands on her hips. "Connor McManus, get your ass in here this second."
He shoved his hands into his pocket and walked through the door.
"Sister," Maggie said, "I was wondering if we might make a quick visit..." Her voice trailed off, but Sister Lucille seemed to understand. Then she gave Maggie a look that made Connor take pause. A look like they shared some sort of secret that he had yet to be let in on.
"Yes, of course, child."
They waited in the hallway as Lucille closed and bolted the door. Connor noticed a long barreled shotgun resting in the corner. "Expecting trouble, Sister?" he asked with a smirk.
"That? Oh, that's just for show." She began leading through the darkened hallway. "This is not the safest neighborhood. It stays empty, but it is enough to scare off any potential threats."
"I see," Conner said. He fell behind as they walked on and listened idly as Lucille gave Maggie the latest goings on around the convent. When they reached a door at the end of the hall they stopped.
Lucille unlocked the door and pushed it open. It led outside into an enclosed garden. What would have been blooming with lush greenery and flowers was now barren under the snow. Lamps lit a stone pathway leading away from the house and around the garden; joining again at the entrance. From where he stood, Connor could make out small, unassuming, stone crosses lined neatly in rows.
"You can see yourself the rest of the way?" Maggie nodded as Sister Lucille handed her a key, "I must get back to bed. These old bones don't take kindly to late night romps like they used to."
"Thank you, Sister," Maggie said, "We can see ourselves out."
Lucille looked at her for a moment then reached up to tuck a stray piece of Maggie's hair behind her ear, "Don't stay away so long next time, dear."
Connor saw shame paint Maggie's face.
"I just haven't..."
"I know," Lucille said. "You and the Lord haven't been getting on lately."
Maggie nodded. "We'll work it out."
"I'm sure you will."
"Good night, Sister." With that, Maggie stepped out into the darkness.
Before Connor could follow, Lucille touched his arm. "And you, young man, I know that you and God have your own special relationship."
He couldn't help but smile. "You could say that."
"We are all called to do the Lord's work in different ways. Perhaps you can help Maggie with her own demons."
The statement took Connor off guard. He looked out the doorway to see Maggie stopped in front of a headstone. "I don't think I'm the right person to..." he started and turned back to Lucille. She was nowhere to be seen.
Taking a deep breath and pushing away the nagging feeling that he was getting in way over his head, he pulled his coat tighter around himself and walked into the cold night air. A rod iron fence ran the perimeter of the garden, and Connor guessed that it was a private cemetery reserved for the sisters of the convent and their families. When he reached Maggie, she was still in the same place. He glanced down at the headstone. Sister Mary Claire.
"She was my sister," Maggie said without prompting, and he wondered if she was even talking to him. "She was the good one. She was stabbed while volunteering at a homeless shelter. Two guys got into a fight over a pair of shoes. She got caught in the middle."
"I'm sorry," he said, but it sounded hollow. He didn't know what to say at that moment.
Wiping a stray tear from her cheek, she shrugged. "This is not why I brought you here."
She stepped over to the next stone. It was different than the rest. Not a cross, but a flat, standard headstone. Leaning closer, Connor could see a name etched into the front.
"Doc," he read.
Maggie knelt before the stone and motioned for him to do the same. Taking his hand, she guided it over the smooth, cold granite to the side. He felt the engraving, but couldn't quite make out what it was.
"Have another look," she said.
Peering around the side of the marker, Connor felt his heart stop in his chest. The engraving was a simple one, but very recognizable. It was a Celtic cross. Underneath were the words, In Nomeni Patri, et Fili, Spiritus Sanctus. "Da." he barely recognized his own voice even as he said the word.
Maggie stood. "Doc wanted a proper burial for him. No one but us and sisters know that he's buried here."
He was grateful when he heard her footsteps crunching in the snow; leaving him alone. Hot tears left a blazing trail down his cold cheeks. While he had been in prison, he had often wondered what he would say to his father if he ever got the chance to say goodbye. Now he had his answer. There was nothing to say. Not yet, anyway, perhaps someday.
He wiped what was left of the tears from his cheeks, crossed himself, and got to his feet. There's still work to be done, he thought. It was true. There would always be more scumbags waiting in the wings to be smote. But where would it end? Would it end? Probably not. But one thing he was sure of was that he could not do it on his own. He had to get Murphy out the Hoag.
Half way around the circle path, he found Maggie sitting on a bench close to the iron gates that led to the outside world. She was inspecting a fountain next to her. The granite lion's head was most likely a sight to behold in the summer when the flowers were in bloom and the water flowed from its open mouth. It was not running now. It had been shut off and emptied for the winter.
Maggie glanced up at him as he approached, and Connor wondered if she would ask about his father. Instead, she held up a bronze key and pointed to the gate. "We can go out this way."
He followed as she pushed the creaky gate open then slammed them shut again. She locked the gate behind them then tossed the key over the tall wall back into the cemetery. He heard it hit rock and then fall into the fountain. "Sister Lucille will find it in the morning. Let's go."