Murphy's Keeper (Connor's Point of View)
It was our first mission in three months.
Our target was a fat fuck Russian pimp named Yuri Bucheska that ran a drug ring in south Boston.
This guy was just asking for it and Murph and I were more than happy to oblige.
As we crept down the Ninth Avenue, we saw Bucheska and one of his "associates" on the corner of Ninth and Jefferson.
"Ready?' I asked Murph, pulling my ski mask over the remainder of my face.
"Ready," he answered, doing the same.
Taking our aim, Murph's shot smashed the associate in the chest while my own shot went wide.
At the shots, Bucheska took off into the nearby alley.
I took my aim again, but he disappeared, letting my bullet shatter the only light on the corner, the flashing florescent light that hung on the strip club that Bucheska was just standing in front of.
"Fuck!" I cursed as I quickly reloaded and Murph made for the crosswalk.
"Come on," he called back, "we've got to catch him."
We both crossed the crosswalk with Murph leading the way.
When we got there, there was no trace of Bucheska.
"Where the fuck is he?" Murph asked, more than a little pissed off at our target's disappearance.
Just then, there was a noise in the alley.
Murph slowly leaned his head into the alley, only to have that fat Russian come flying out at him and jump on his back.
"Get the fuck off me!" my brother shouted, struggling with the huge man that adorned his shoulders and pounded on his thin chest, "Connor, help me!"
"Don't worry Murph," I called back, "I'll get him."
I raised my pistol and leveled it to the back of Bucheska's head.
Steadying my aim, I eased my breathing and fired my gun.
At that instant, that fat fuck jerked his head up.
This allowed the bullet to miss his head and bury itself in Murph's back.
Murph gave a cry of pain and fell to the alley floor.
When Murph dropped, Bucheska jumped off his shoulders and disappeared into the shadows of the alley, but I didn't care.
I had to help my brother.
Clumsily, I stuffed my pistol back into my shoulder holster and rushed to help Murphy.
When I reached his side, I fell to my knees and tore off my gloves.
My hands now free, I gently probed my brother's back and chest for the bullet wound.
The wound from my bullet.
That fact was screaming in my head but I had to drown it out.
He needed me and I couldn't let him down
"Murph, are you all right?" I asked, franticly trying to calm myself so I didn't cause any further damage to my brother, "Murphy, where did it hit you?"
"In the back," he answered, his voice more of a cough than an answer, but I understood him anyway.
As carefully as I could, I rolled Murphy so he was lying on his chest.
It took me forever to find the hole in the dark alley.
Finally, there it was.
My hands felt a wet patch on Murphy's back, somewhere between his third and fourth rib.
I heard a raspy sound and could tell that it was Murph's breathing.
It was shallow and uneven and it confirmed my worst fear: the bullet had pierced his lung.
This wasn't something that I or even Da could fix.
My brother needed a doctor and needed it fast.
I could hear sirens in distance.
The police must have heard the shots and were now sending a whole fleet after us.
We had to go.
I leaned in to Murph and whispered, "Don't worry Murph; I'll get you out of this."
In the darkness of the alley, I could see Murph nod.
He trusted me to save him, but did I trust myself.
As carefully as I could, I slid my arm under Murph's chest and pulled him to his feet.
I knew it had to be hurting him, but I had to do this.
I could feel every wheeze Murph tried to breathe as I limped him into the street.
It killed me to know that I did this to him, but I had to stay strong.
When we got back into the light of the street, for the first time, I saw how pale he looked despite the sweat that poured off his face.
"You all right Murph?" I asked, scared to death that I would lose him on the way to the hospital.
Barely able to catch enough breath to breathe, Murph just gave me a weak nod, but I understood.
So we started again down the street, back to the van that we had used to get this far.
We walked for what felt like an eternity.
Finally, I saw the van only about a hundred yards away.
"Murph, there's the van. You're going to be all right," I assured my brother as I limped him closer and closer.
But, just as we crossed Fifth Street, Murph's legs decided to give out.
He tripped and fell hard on the ground in the middle of the street before I could catch him.
I got a grip on his good shoulder once more and tried to pull him back to his feet.
The sirens were getting louder and louder as the cops got closer and closer.
We had to go, but I couldn't pull him up.
"Come on Murph," I urged, trying to ease him back to his feet, "you got to get up Murph."
Hearing the urgency in my voice, he mustered the strength to pull himself up.
Between the two of us, we got back to our feet and made for the van once more.
As I walked, I heard Murph's breath even and felt his head land on my shoulder.
He had finally lost consciousness.
That would make it easier on him as least.
I was only a few yards away when the cops decided to make their appearance.
As I looked around their ranks, I saw an ambulance and a whole medical team come pouring out.
All I had to do was explain the accident and maybe they would take Murph to the hospital.
It was worth a shot.
In seconds we were swarmed by a group of officers and EMTs.
Before I could even move, the medics pulled in a gurney, put Murph on it, and had him halfway to the ambulance.
I tried to follow them and stay with my brother when three cops slammed me up against a squad car.
"Is that him?" I heard one of the cops ask.
I looked up to see none other than Yuri Bucheska staring down at me.
"Yea, that's the one," that fat ass answered, his breath smelling like cheap wine and bad cheese, "that's the one that shot the guy in front of me."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
That fat fuck had attacked my brother and now played up like he was just an innocent bystander.
I didn't have much time to think because one of the cops reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet.
After looking at my license, he cuffed me and said, "Connor McManus, you are under arrest for assault with a deadly weapon and attempted murder. Anything you say…", but my mind was with my brother.
Through the sea of lights and squad cars, I watched the medics load my unconscious brother into their ambulance and drive away.
Ever since the accident, I was afraid I was going to lose him.
Unfortunately, I lost him in a completely different way.
The ride to the police station was torture for me.
The only thing I could think of was Murph and whether or not he would be okay, or even if he would live long enough for me to see him again so I could tell him I'm sorry for what happened.
I knew our job was dangerous, but we had gotten by all this time with only minor cuts and bruises that we'd forgotten how dangerous it really was.
I had never be separated from Murph in my life.
We had always been close and after Da went to prison, that just seemed to amplify.
It wasn't the kind of closeness shared by Agent Smecker and his "friends".
It was a love and loyalty that was entirely unique to the pair of us, none of which required snuggling on the couch.
We had been together so long, it didn't seem like we could ever be separated, but now that I was staring that idea right in the face, I wondered if either Murph or I could live without each other.
I wasn't willing to try.
By the time I reached the police station, I wanted my phone call more than anything.
I had to call Da and tell him what happened.
No doubt he was on his way to the hospital to see Murph.
If nothing else, Da could at least tell me how Murphy was.
When they finally let me go to the phones, I threw me change into the payphone and dialed the number to Da's cell phone.
Murph and I had gotten it for him for Christmas and made him promise to carry it around in case something happened.
Now, more than ever, I was glad he had it.
The phone rang three times with no answer.
I was almost sure that Da wasn't picking up.
Halfway through the fourth ring, I heard his voice on the other end.
"Hello?" he asked.
"Da, it's Connor," I quickly told him, "where are you?"
"I'm at Liberty Hospital," Da answered, "they called and said that Murphy had been shot."
I swallowed quietly, trying to calm myself, not knowing if I could still talk if I lost it now.
My silence allowed Da to continue.
"What happened Connor?" he asked, "was it Bucheska? What happened?"
"We went after him, just like you said," I explained, "and he was with an associate. Murph got the other guy and Bucheska ran off into the alley. We followed him but he looped back around and jumped Murph. I tried to shoot him, but the fuck moved and I hit Murph. I tried to take him to the hospital, but Bucheska called the cops and they arrested me. Now I'm at the police station."
I could almost see my father nod over the phone.
This time, I took his silence as a sign to continue.
"Have you heard anything from Murph?" I asked, the simple not knowing driving me to distraction, "Is he okay?"
I could hear footsteps over the phone and then static.
The phone wasn't dead.
Da just wanted to hear the news first and decide whether or not he wanted me to hear it too.
I could hear mumbling noises that didn't make any sense.
I just wished that whatever it was, they could hurry up and tell me.
A few minutes later, the static was back and was instantly replaced by Da's voice.
"That was the doctor," Da said, "he said that Murph was in the ICU, but it was only until they get him stabilized. They took good care of him, and they think he'll be just fine. He won't be able to go on any missions for a while, but he should be good as new in a few months."
"I wish I could say the same for me," I said, glad that Murph was okay, but for the first time, realizing my own predicament.
"Don't worry Connor," Da assured, "Murphy will tell them what happened."
"Even so," I said, but Da interrupted me.
"Everything will be fine Connor," Da promised, "I'll come and see you when I can."
"All right," I agreed, "thanks Da."
I hung the phone up and turned around into a cop.
"All right," he said, "time to go."
The cop recuffed my hands and led me to a holding cell at the end of a long row of identical cells.
Unlocking the door, he led me into the cell and locked the door behind me.
This was the kind of place that criminals like Bucheska spent the rest of their lives.
I just hoped that wasn't my fate.
The next week passed like a miserable punishment.
Exactly six days after the accident, I had my court hearing.
They loaded me into a truck in handcuffs and drove me and two other prisoners to as courthouse on Crick Avenue.
That building looked very dark and damp, like a cave of death ready to swallow anyone society deemed as a criminal, guilty or not.
It looked so different from the courthouse Murph, Da, and I snuck into to attend Yakavetta's trial/funeral.
Fate looked a lot less forgiving when you're seeing from the other side of the table.
My case was last.
The first of my comrades was there for speeding, some kind of strange offense.
He was given a warning and a fine, his case settled out of court.
Unfortunately, I knew mine wouldn't be quite that easy.
The next one was one for the books.
His name was Mitch Macyn and if I hadn't been at my own hearing, he would have been a prime target.
He was accused of nine counts of drug possession with intent to sell, fifteen counts of robbery, fourteen counts of forced prostitution, and nearly ninety counts of rape.
The man was a complete waste of time, energy, and skin, and I knew it.
But what kind of judge was I, standing here for the apparent attempted murder of my brother, even though it was an accident.
Mitch was given a court date and a bail set at five million dollars.
Now it was my turn.
"Mr. McManus?" the judge called.
"Yes sir," I said, standing from my seat on the front row.
"You are charged with one count of assault with a deadly weapon and one count of attempted murder, is that correct?" the man asked.
"Yes sir," I replied, keeping my head up and eyes in his, though I didn't feel like I deserved that luxury.
"Those are some serious charges," the judge said, "and due to the extent of the charges, I am required to send this to a higher court. With the combined sentences, you have the possibility of between five and forty years in prison. Until your court date, you will be sent to North Hires Federal Prison. If you are proven guilty, the time you spent until the arrival of your court date will be deducted from your sentence and you will serve the remainder of your sentence there or at a prison decided by your assigned judge and if you are proven innocent, you will be reimbursed for any money lost to you while you were incarcerated. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir," I replied.
Then it was over.
I was escorted from the courtroom by three cops back to the truck to take me to North Hires.
Walking down the aisle, I saw that there were a lot more people here than before.
All eyes seemed to follow me down the rows, out the door, and into the truck, not one smile, no confidence, just cold stares and frowns.
This is what they see: a man who shot his brother.
They don't see my hazel eyes or my dirty blonde hair or even the rosary around my neck.
All they see is an attempted murderer.
I just hope they never see me as a murderer: the murderer of my brother.
When I heard that I had a visitor, even my dark cell seemed to get lighter.
Something told me that it was Da and he had finally come to give me the news that I had been deprived of during my stay at North Hires.
My court date was scheduled three months after my hearing, and for those two and a half of those months, I had received no news of my father or my brother.
As I walked into the visiting room, I saw the line of phones and the face of my father through a three inch thick slab of glass.
In a federal prison, we didn't have open visiting rooms and had to talk to family and loved ones through telephones, but that was good enough for me.
All these months of just not knowing were killing me so any news was good.
I quickly sat down at the phones and picked up the one on my side of the glass.
"Hi Da," I greeted, the eagerness spilling out of my voice, "How is Murph?"
My father could see my impatience so he didn't keep me waiting.
"I won't lie to you Connor," he said, "it's really hard on him. Don't worry though, he promised to come to your trial and help you."
Anymore, I didn't care what happened to me.
I was more concerned with Murph.
Most of the time, my guilt kept me from sleeping and drove me to the point of distraction.
Knowing that he was going to be ok brought my mind some ease, but I still had my doubts on whether he would be able to forgive me or even want to help me.
Time could only tell, but right now, I didn't want to wait that long.
I could feel Da's eyes pour into mine and see the fears that lay just on the surface.
"He forgives you Connor," he said, "Murphy just wants to get better and for you to get out of here."
What Da said made sense, but I just couldn't accept it.
"How do you know?" I asked, the words coming out faster than I could control, "How do you know he forgives me?"
Da sighed and reached into his pocket.
With one smooth motion, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
Flipping up the lid, he punched in a few numbers and held the phone up to his ear.
I could hear the ringing on the other end.
After two rings, there was a voice on the other line.
I froze.
It was Murph.
"Hello?" Murph asked, his voice sort of crackling with the static from the phone.
His voice sounded a little weak, but he still had that tone to his voice that was distinctively Murph.
"Murph, it's Da," my father said, "I've got somebody that wants to talk to you."
There was a bit of a pause.
"All right," said Murph, sounding a little confused.
Da held the cell up to the pay phone speaker.
Now it was Murph's voice coming through the phone to me.
"Hello?" he asked again.
"Hey Murph," I answered, not really sure what to say, "It's Connor."
There was a slight pause on the other end, then...
"Well fuck me," Murph said, "you do know how to use a fuckin' phone."
I was shocked to hear him talk like that.
Fuck always played an important role in our language, but this was just weird
"What do you mean?" I asked him back, "It's not like I can just give you a ring whenever I feel like it in here."
I heard what sounded like a snort on the other end of the line.
"Well when you call, they have to let me talk," Murph fired back, "I have to beg and plead just to call down stairs."
Da then decided to add his side of the story.
Snatching the phone, Da said, "You didn't call downstairs, Murphy McManus. You ordered a fucking pizza!"
In spite of everything that had happened, I had to laugh.
Only my brother would order a pizza to a hospital.
"Well I really didn't have a fucking choice," Murph argued, " Hospital food sucks. Besides, it's not like I called a fucking escort service."
By this time, I was busting a gut laughing.
All these months seemed to disappear in one instant as I listened to the quarrel between my father and brother.
Somehow I knew that everything was going to be all right.
Then Murph spoke again.
"Well I know you didn't call just to pester me Da, even though it would break up my day," Murphy stated, quickly ending the pizza/phone argument, "let me talk to Connor."
"All right," Da agreed," but don't take too long. You have to get some rest if you want to testify in court for Connor here."
You could almost hear my brother roll his eyes over the phone.
"Fine," he said, "there's nothing to do here anyway. This place doesn't even have basic cable."
"Oh you poor baby," I cooed sarcastically.
"You can stuff it," Murph replied back, "you got what, 20 channels?"
"30," I answered, "in digital cable."
"Da," Murph said, "let me at him. I don't have to reach him, just throw the phone at his big fat thirty channel face."
At this I smiled while Da propped the cell phone up to rest by the pay phone's speaker.
"I'm headed out for a smoke," he said, "I'll be back in a bit."
I nodded to him and continued my talk with Murph.
"So Connor," Murph said, "How've you been? You doin' all right?"
I couldn't believe this.
I put him in the hospital and he was asking me how I was doing.
"Yea Murph," I answered, "I'm doin' fine."
"Well don't you worry 'bout anything," my brother promised, "after I set them straight in court, you'll be back in no time. We'll go to McGinty's and have a pint yea?"
"Sure Murph," I replied, "whatever you say."
He must have caught the half-heartedness in my voice.
"Connor, what's the matter?" Murph asked, "This isn't like you."
"I know," I admitted.
"Come on, tell me," he urged, "or I'll have Da throw the phone at you again."
I laughed at his logic, even though I didn't feel it.
"Well," I said, "it's just..."
"Is it about the accident?" Murphy asked, hitting the nail on the head.
"Yea," I answered, knowing that I couldn't deny it.
"Connor, it was an accident," Murph said, sure to stress the 'accident' part, "it wasn't your fault. If that fat fuck hadn't moved, your bullet would have been buried in his brain and everything would be fine."
I couldn't believe the calm in his voice.
"Murph," I said, "don't you understand? That shot could have killed you. I could have killed you."
"But you didn't," Murph stated, cutting me off.
Then he added "Connor this wasn't your fault. I know it was an accident and forgive you. If you had left me in that alley, I'd have a good reason to be pissed with you."
What he said made sense and for the first time, I was seeing it too.
"So are we good now?" he asked after a long pause.
"Yea," I replied, "all better."
Just then, Da walked back in, flicking the butt of the of his cigar onto the concrete floor
"Da's back," I told Murph, as Da walked down the line of pay phones to where we were.
"All right," my brother answered, "I'll talk with you later Conner."
"See you in court," I replied.
I heard Murph laugh and the quiet click as the call ended.
"Are you good son?" Da asked as he picked up the cell phone, turned it off, and put it back in his pocket.
"Yea Da," I answered, feeling the huge weight fall off my shoulders, "I'm fine."
"I'll see you in a few weeks Connor," he told me, "keep the faith son."
"Always Da," I promised as Da walked out of the room, "always."
That was the last I had heard from my family in over two weeks, so it was a shock when the guards woke me up at 2:30 a.m. three days before the trial and told me that I had a phone call.
I drowsily got up and followed the array of cops to the pay phones, but instead, we went into the office to the private phone.
As I sat down at the desk, I knew something was either very important or incredibly wrong.
"Hello?" I asked, hoping it was more the former than the latter.
"Connor?" asked the voice on the other line that could only be my father.
"Da, what is it?" I asked, hoping something wasn't the matter with Murph.
My fears, unfortunately were correct.
"Connor," Da said, "Murph had a heart attack."
My stomach fell into my shoes.
"What?" I asked, hoping that I had heard wrong.
Unfortunately, I had heard right.
"He's in surgery right now," Da explained, "the doctors are supposed to give us any news that they have any moment now."
Resting my head on my right hand, I prepared for a long night.
I wasn't disappointed at all.
After nearly four hours on the phone and no word, my nerves were at an end.
Then, finally, I heard a voice ask, "Are you Mr. McManus?"
I froze.
"Yes," Da answered, "how is my son?"
"Your son had a relatively severe heart attack," the doctor explained, "We've moved him back into the ICU. He will probably be there for about a week until we know for sure. We'll keep you updated and let you know if there are any changes."
"I want to talk to him," I said, "let me talk to Murph."
"Can I see him doctor?" Da asked, trying to find Murphy.
"He's in room 212," stated the doctor, "I can show you there if you like."
"Thank you," Da said.
I heard footsteps as Da and the doctor walked down the hall to Murph's room.
When the footsteps stopped, I asked, "How is he?"
"He's still unconscious," Da replied, "listen, I can't take the phone in his room. I'll talk to you as soon as I can."
"All right Da," I said, setting the phone back on the hook.
So that was it.
Murph had had a heart attack... because of me.
All day, it felt like a weight was pressing down on my chest.
I still couldn't believe that all of this had happened because of me.
Heart attacks were scary enough, but at our age, that sort of thing almost seemed impossible.
My hopes of winning the trial without Murph's help were pretty much shot now, but that was the last thing on my mind.
'Well this is just perfect,' I thought as I sat at the picnic table of the compound's courtyard, 'if the gun shot didn't kill him, the heart attack will."
The next few days until the trial were an utter misery.
I received no word from Da and all I could think about was Murph.
Even as I walked up the steps to the court room, my mind was with my brother.
I sat through Bucheska's testimony and could have hurled at his utter stupidity and bold-faced lies, but I wasn't in the fighting mood.
After nearly three hours of words clashing against words, I was at my nerves end.
I almost wanted to just receive my sentence.
Anything so that I could see my brother.
After Bucheska and I, without Murph, testified, the court seemed to have already decided that I was guilty.
The judge however, had other plans.
"Mr. McManus," the judge said to me, "in such a delicate case, I am allowing one final court day on your case for any other evidence. Is that understood?"
"Yes your honor," I replied, knowing that the only evidence I could possibly have was lying in a hospital bed in the ICU of Liberty Hospital.
"All right," the judge said, banging his gavel, "Court is adjourned until nine o'clock tomorrow morning."
'Great,' I thought as I was led away by my giant entourage of police officers, 'one more day. One more day until I find out just how long I have to stay in jail. One more day until I find out if I need to send my father flowers for Murph's grave.'
I sat in my cell counting the hours towards the next part of my trial.
It felt like everything was just falling apart.
I was so consumed with my thinking that I nearly jumped out of my skin when one of the officers unlocked my cell.
"What?" I asked, startled by the sound.
"There's a call for you," the guard said, opening the door and letting me out.
I raced to the office and sat down at the desk, picking up the phone as I sat down.
"Hello?" I asked, praying that it was Da.
Fortunately, that was the first thing that had gone right all day.
"Connor, it's Da," my father said, his voice making my whole day better.
"Hi Da," I answered, not even bothering to hide the excitement of his call in my voice.
"I'm sorry we couldn't make it to the court today," Da apologized, "Murph just couldn't leave."
"It doesn't matter, Da," I assured, no longer caring what happened to me, "is Murph all right?"
"Well," Da started, only to be interrupted by, "let me talk to him."
"Murphy please," Da cooed, but Murph would not be consoled.
"Da, don't argue with me," said Murph's voice sternly, "give me the phone."
Da handed over the phone and my brother's voice filled the speaker.
His voice sounded cracked and weak as he spoke.
"Hey Connor," Murph said, puffing hard to get the words out, "I-I-I'm s-s-sorry I-I-I c-couldn't h-help you today. I-I-I'm really s-s-sorry Connor."
My brother's words tore at my heart.
He sounded horrible.
Each word must have been painful for him, all that pain being caused by me and yet he wanted my forgiveness.
It was almost more than I could take.
"Murph," I said, trying not to lose it, for both our sakes, "it's all right. I'm not mad at you. Just get some rest and get better okay?"
"B-b-but C-conner, " he stuttered, trying so hard to make the words come out right, but I cut him to the chase.
"No Murph," I said firmly, not wanting to lose the one chance I had to talk with Murph before my sentence was carried out, "none of this is your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for."
I was going to make this count.
"Listen to me Murphy, it doesn't matter what happens to me do you hear me. You need to focus on getting better. Da's going to need you while I'm in prison and you won't be much help in a hospital bed. You have enough to worry about. Forget about me and just get better."
"But Connor?" Murph tried, but I couldn't stop now.
"Fuck it Murph! Forget me! I'm too far gone!" I shouted before I slammed the phone back on the hook.
I sat at the desk for several minutes, shaking with rage at my behavior, anger at what had happened, and fear that I would never see my brother again, at least not in this life time.
After all that had happened, I could feel the tears well in my eyes.
"I'm sorry Murph," I sobbed as the tears streamed down my cheeks, "I'm so sorry."
As I sat in the court room the following morning, I knew the verdict before the session had started.
Today was much like yesterday.
Bucheska got up and told the same story he'd spun out yesterday.
He had just been walking along Ninth Street when he saw Murph and me fighting.
Then when he tried to break us up, I pulled out my gun and shot Murph in the back.
At least he didn't tell the jury that we tried to kill him.
Other than that, there was no truth or benefit from his yarn.
Then I told my version that Murph and I saw Bucheska and an associate doing something questionable so we followed him.
He ran into the alley and when we passed, he jumped Murph.
I tried to protect my brother by shooting Bucheska off Murph's back, but the shot missed and hit Murphy in the back.
It didn't take a genius to figure out that they didn't believe a word that I said, even though it was the truth, except for the fact that we were out to kill him anyway.
The judge however was far more forgiving than the jury.
"Before the jury goes into council, do we have any last information, testimonies, or witnesses?" he asked, giving me one last chance.
But I had nothing to present.
Now it was in the hands of twelve people I didn't even know.
Not much to trust you future with.
"All right," the judge said, a little disappointed at my lack of further evidence, "the jury may now..."
But there was a call from the end of the court room that made everyone freeze.
"Wait a minute," the voice said, "there is one final witness."
Everyone in the court room, including myself, looked up.
I couldn't believe what I saw.
It was my father and in the wheelchair in front of him was...Murph.
There sat my twin brother, IV bag and all sitting in the doorway of the courtroom.
"This is our surprise witness," Da said as he pushed Murph towards the judge's stand, "I bring to the stand Murphy McManus. He was the one who was shot in the alley that night. If anything, he could tell us what happened."
While Da rolled Murph towards the judge's stand, I shot a quick glance over to Bucheska.
He was positively green at the appearance of my brother.
I gave a small smug smile, but I knew that the game wasn't won yet.
Bucheska still had a few tricks up his sleeve and he wasn't afraid to use them.
"Your honor," said Bucheska, "I really must protest."
"Why is that Mr. Bucheska?" the judge asked curiously.
"Well first," offered Bucheska, "if they both have the last name of McManus, they could be related. What would stop one from covering up for another.
A few of the jury members nodded and mumbled in agreement.
The judge looked at me and asked, "Is he related to you?"
"Yes your honor," I replied, "he's my brother."
The jury's mumble seemed to get louder at this revelation.
Fortunately, Murph decided to intervene.
"Even though I am his brother," Murph suggested, " wouldn't I want him behind bars just as much as everyone else if I really thought that he was dangerous."
This made Bucheska take a new angle.
"Besides," reasoned the Russian, "how do we know that's the guy in the alley?"
The jury members began to mumble again, but Murph had an explanation for that too.
"Well," he said, "I have nice hole in my back if you need any convincing that I was there."
Some of the people in the crowd chuckled at Murph's statement while Bucheska tried to find another loophole.
"But, but," tried Bucheska, but he had run out of excuses.
"That's quite enough," stated the judge, turning to Murph, "Mr. McManus, you may approach the bench."
Murph looked down at his wheelchair and up at the stairs up to the witness stand.
"In all due respect, Your Honor," said Murphy, "I don't think this chair will take those stairs very well."
"Very well," declared the judge, "you may stay there."
A few minutes later and Murph was sworn in and relaying his testimony to the court.
He told them about finding Bucheska, getting jumped in the alley, the accidental gunshot, and of me taking him back to the car to go to the hospital.
By the end of his story, Murph and I both knew that we had it in the bag.
Bucheska, however, wasn't as lucky.
With both of our stories finding him guilty of perjury, he was bound to get at least a few years of jail time for just being an "innocent bystander'.
"Is that everything Mr. McManus?" the judge asked when Murph was finished.
"Yes Your Honor," replied Murph honestly.
"All right," the judge stated, "the jury will now go into council for their verdict."
The jury disappeared into their small meeting room to discuss their decision.
When the jury left, Murphy and Da rolled over to see me.
Stopping right in front of me, Murph looked me straight in the eyes.
For a long time, he didn't say anything, then...
"Fuck you Connor," Murph shouted defiantly, but I was too happy to be mad at him.
Standing from my seat, I reached across the table and looped my handcuffed hands around his neck and pulled him into a hug.
"I'm glad you're okay," I told him quietly, not caring who saw, even though we must have been a sight, me in my jumpsuit and handcuffs and him in his hospital gown and wheelchair.
Apparently, Murph did realize this because after our heartfelt reunion, he quickly broke away from me.
"Easy Connor," he said, giving one of my restrained arms a gentle pat, "we don't want anyone getting the wrong idea."
"Of course not," I agreed, "but I still don't get it."
"What?" Murph and Da asked in unison.
"How did you convince the hospital to let you come?" I asked Murph curiously, "I mean, you were in the ICU for fuck's sake."
"Well," said Murph, scratching his head, "there's a funny story about that."
"What do you mean?" I asked, mystified by these strange answers.
"Gez Connor," Murph said, "for fuck's sake. What fucking difference does it make how I got here? All that matters is that I'm here."
I had to laugh at Murph's philosophy, still very curious about the course of action that had brought my brother from the ICU into the courtroom.
Fortunately, Da was a little more loose-lipped.
"Well," Da explained, "we used the back service elevator, even though it took a few trips."
"Okay," I said, following along so far.
"Then we got on the bus," relayed Murph casually.
"You took a bus?" I asked, baffled by the behavior of my father and brother.
"That's what just fuckin' said, isn't it?" Murph fired back sharply.
"I just meant that they let you take a bus in a hospital gown with an IV in a wheelchair?" I said, making sure I had the story straight.
"We had a convincing story," Da explained nonchalantly, giving Murph an interesting look.
"All right," I nodded, kind of understanding.
"Well when we got off the bus, we stayed out for a bit, to keep up the story," relayed Murph.
"Okay," I said, tired of inside jokes, "what story."
At my look of utter confusion, Da explained.
"The story that your brother came up with to get himself out of the hospital," Da explained, " That we were street performers and his hospital gown was a costume."
I couldn't believe it.
Only my brother.
"So how did it go over?" I asked, saying the first thing that came to mind.
"All right," Murphy replied, "I was a news anchor."
Now it was my turn for the interesting look.
Fortunately, Da explained once again.
"He used his IV like a microphone," Da said.
"Are you serious?" I asked laughing at the sheer comedy and audacity of what my father had just told me.
"Worked pretty well too," Murph grumbled, "til that asshole squeezed the bag."
"So we kind of cut the game short after that," Da added.
"Yea, I'll bet," I agreed.
Just then, the jury emerged with their verdict.
"Good luck," Murph whispered as the three of us awaited their answer.
"What is your verdict?" the judge asked.
One jury member rose from his seat and said, "Since the shooting was an accident, we have dropped the attempted murder charge. Unfortunately, because of the circumstance, we still feel the need for the second conviction."
"That's not bad," Murph said, "one instead of two."
I nodded solemnly as I waited for the rest of what the jury had to say.
"However, we have also found it important to the case that we convict Yuri Bucheska with perjury and feel that suit should be followed with that as well."
"How about that," Da said while Murph laughed at the look on Bucheska's face.
"Very well," said the judge, "Connor McManus, I am charging you with a misdemeanor count of assault with a deadly weapon and sentence you to nine months in prison. Subtracting the three months that you have already served, you have six months in prison as your sentence. As for Yuri Bucheska, you are charged with felony level perjury and are sentenced to five years in prison with five hundred thousand dollar bail. Court is adjourned."
"That's not too bad Connor," said Murph, "You'll be out before you know it."
"I could have never done it without you Murph," I answered.
Getting to my knees, I gave Murph a goodbye hug.
"See you in six months," he said with a smile.
"You better not wait that long," I retorted.
My brother gave me a look.
"Fuck off! Be glad if I see you at all. After this little trip, I'll be lucky if they don't chuck me in there with you," he fired back.
"Good luck son," Da bid, saying his goodbyes as well.
"Thanks Da," I said, "see you in six months."
"Oh shut up!" Murph called back as he rolled his way towards the door.
"I better go catch him,"Da sighed, heading Murph off before he could go on another misadventure, "see you later Connor."
"See you Da," I called back as I was led back to the truck and back to jail, though now I know that the stay is only temporary.
Thanks to my brother.
Six Months Later
It had been six months since I had been outside these walls.
The air never smelled sweeter before in my life than it smelled right now.
Surveying the parking lot of the jail, I saw Da's car by the gate.
As I walked across the giant parking lot, I saw a person clad in black with dark glasses and a giant cigar exit the car.
That could only be Da.
"How are you son?" he asked, extending his hand to me.
"Never better Da," I answered, taking his hand and shaking it, "is Murph in there?"
Da rolled his eyes.
"He's in the back," Da replied flatly, "I sure hope you can calm him down. He's been a pain in the arse for the past six months."
"Who?" I asked, knowing full well who he was talking about, "my brother?"
Da rolled his eyes again.
"Get in the fucking car," he ordered, climbing into the driver's seat
I smiled as I climbed into the back seat next to my brother.
Murph looked a little paler and thinner than the last time I saw him, but he still had the wicked grin on his face that told me, my father, and the world that he was up to no good.
"What lies has he been telling about me?" Murph asked as I clicked the buckle on my seatbelt.
"Those of the most foul," I replied.
"I only told him the truth,"Da said back.
"Yea,"Murph nodded disbelievingly, "right."
"Better settle in boys," Da said, changing the subject, "it's at least two hours back to the house."
"But I have to go to the bathroom," Murph whined jokingly to my amusement, but not Da's.
"I've had enough out of you Murphy McManus," scolded Da.
I saw Murph smile.
"All right Da," he surrendered, and with that the car fell silent.
The car flew down the highway as the three McManus men headed back home.
I stared out the window for the longest time, watching the passing traffic.
It hardly felt like I had just came out of prison.
Today looked and acted just like every other day, so why wasn't it?
The smell of nicotine brought me back to Earth.
I looked to my side to see my brother taking a long drag out of his cigarette.
Here was my brother, puffing on a cigarette only six months after his heart attack.
This simple yet powerful motion told me more than Murph would ever know.
It told me that no matter what happened, some things could and would never change: Da would always hate telemarketers, Murph would always smoke, and I would always have my brother.
Murph noticed my eyes on him.
"What's the matter?" he asked, allowing the smoke to blow in a thin stream out his mouth.
"Nothing," I answered, all my doubts now buried under my prison sentence.
From here on in, no matter what happened, I knew we'd be all right.
Thanks to Murph.
The End