Author's Notes: Please review the story so that I know if people are interested. If no one is interested then there isn't much reason for me to finish. I'm on chapter five right now, so I'm ahead of the game. And I'll try to update every Monday night until finished.

Warning: This fan fiction contains strong language, graphic violence, drug use and sex. If any of this offends you, discontinue reading now.

Disclaimer: I do not own nor make a profit from the Boondock Saints or any characters from the film. Any likeness to any original characters or situations is purely coincidental. This disclaimer extends for this chapter and all following chapters.

Chapter I: Murphy's Night Out

"Another child has turned up dead in a heinous crime spree that continues to terrorize Miami. Carla Sweeney, age 8, was found stabbed to death early yesterday morning in a park…"

Murphy took a deep drag of his cigarette as he tried to calm the anger creeping up on him while he watched the news. The violence in America has been steadily climbing even though the Saints have been trying their best to destroy the evil. Curious to his brother's reaction, Murphy glanced over at Connor only to find him enthralled in reading Don Quixote.

"Don't ye fuckin' care, Con?"

"What the hell are ye talkin' 'bout?"

"That sick fuck in Miami. They say that's the sixth child he's fuckin' killed. We need to go after him."

"We have to lay off for a while, Murph. Things are a little too heated at the moment."

"He's killing off children! How long do you want to wait? Until he's killed ten kids? Fifteen?"

Connor shot a glance at his brother and noticed his restless appearance. Murphy was bouncing his leg up and down in a nervous manner. He was chain smoking like he was trying to finish the pack before their mother came home and whopped them both because they were too young to be smoking. And Connor knew that a restless Murphy was dangerous.

"Look, it's almost midnight, so we won't be leavin' tonight. We'll head down that way tomorrow, but we can't be doing anything until things blow over here."

"No one's gonna connect the Saints to what we'll do in Miami."

"It's not a risk we'll take. We'll do no good rottin' away in prison."

"It's a deal, but I'm going fuckin' crazy. I'm going to McGinty's. Do ye wanna go?"

Connor shook his head and lit another cigarette, turning back to his book. With a sigh, Murphy stood, grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.

"Hey Murph! Don't get arrested again!"

"No promises!" came a muffled reply from behind the door. Connor listened as his brother's footsteps faded into the night leaving him in a thick silence. As much as he loved him, they occasionally needed time apart. Especially before driving to Florida. He turned back to his book again trying to concentrate on the chapter. With an annoyed huff, he threw himself out of the chair and onto the couch. Switching the TV on and grabbing the bottle of Maker's Mark he resumed his previous task. At least now he would be comfortable.

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Murphy made his way down the dark streets of Boston. Although he was craving a pint, he also had a desire to play billiards. So instead of heading towards McGinty's, he made an abrupt turn out of his Irish neighborhood and towards the Corner Pocket.

As he entered the smoky bar, he glanced around to find it full and lively tonight. There were too many beautiful women for Murphy to ignore, so he made a beeline straight to the bar. Nudging his way between a group of especially hot women, he tapped the counter.

"I need a shot of whiskey, a Guinness, and whatever this lovely lady would like to drink."

Turning to the brunette beside him, he flashed her a broad smile and waited for her answer.

"Long Island Iced Tea. I'm Trisha" she said as she extended her hand.

"Murphy. So Trisha, care to play a game of pool?"

Several games of pool and too many shots later, Murphy found himself staring down Trisha's shirt as she lined up for a shot. The bar had significantly cleared out and last call was approaching quickly. If he was going to seal the deal, he had to do it now.

"So Trisha" he slurred "After this game why don't we head back to my place…"

Murphy was cut off as the bar door slammed open. Two very drunk men stumbled in and headed towards the bartender. They were almost identical twins. They were both overweight and balding leaving behind a ring of thick black hair. Their look was completed with a large beard that seemed to be growing down their necks. The only obvious difference in them was that one was taller and thus fatter than the other.

The bigger of the men struggled to pull something out of his jacket. Murphy watched them as intently as his hazy mind would allow. Something didn't seem right. Very carefully, he made his way over to the bar and sat beside the two very large men. If something was going to happen he wanted to be there. The shorter one leaned towards the bartender.

"Give me all the money in the register."

Unable to stop himself, Murphy let out a muffled laugh causing the two robbers to give him a stony glare.

"You give us your money too or we'll blow your damn head off."

"You guys are fuckin' idiots to try to rob a place while there are still people in here."

"Shut the hell up you damn mick!"

"Now there's no reason to be fuckin' rude. Why don't you two forget about robbin' the place and take yourselves to mass tomorrow morning?"

Murphy shot a glance at the larger man who continued to struggle with the mystery object in his pocket. To his amusement, both the men looked like clones of Danny DeVito. He knew he would have no problems taking them both out. The shorter one swayed slightly as he turned fully towards Murphy.

"I don't need to be lectured by some catholic pedophile."

Pedophile!? Murphy couldn't believe his ears that this man would stoop so low to call him a pedophile. He was just asking to get his ass kicked. He felt his anger pick up and begin to surge through his veins. Before he had time to fully register his actions, he abruptly stood up, causing the bar stool to crash behind him alerting everyone in the bar. Unfazed by his actions, the short man continued to taunt.

"Wow, an Irishman got drunk and wants to start a bar fight."

Murphy could feel everyone's eyes on him as they waited for his response, as they waited for him to throw the first punch. He knew he would get no help from the other patrons, but by this point it didn't matter. This man had insulted his religion and his heritage. Neither of those men would be walking out of the bar. Murphy stepped closer to the short man and out of the corner of his eye he caught site of the larger man finally tugging free the object from his pocket. He saw a brief flash of the silver pistol before the man stumbled backwards firing the gun in the window. Several people in the crowd screamed and chaos quickly broke out. Taking advantage of this weak moment, Murphy grabbed a fifth of Captain Morgan and swung it towards the short man. It landed on his left temple with a sickening crack.

The drunk short man, oblivious to the pain, lunged towards Murphy; his arms stretched out reaching for his neck. They both crashed to the ground knocking all the air out of Murphy's body as the fat man landed on top of him. His chubby hands grabbed his neck and began to tighten. Groping around aimlessly, Murphy tried to find some object to help him in his battle. Failing to find anything, he swung his arm out in a broad right hook catching the man in the eye. Striking again, he crashed his flat palm into the man's nose.

The man was relentless and unfazed by his new injuries. He continued to tighten his hold on Murphy's neck. Black dots began to dance before Murphy's eyes as the lack of oxygen and high blood alcohol content made him lightheaded. Figuring there was no need to fight fair in a bar fight, he stuck out his thumbs and shoved them into the man's eyes with as much force as he could muster.

The man screamed releasing Murphy's neck and covered his own face. Murphy shot out from under the man and rose to his feet. Rising too quickly the room began to spin causing him to pause briefly and close his eyes.

As he opened them again he saw the larger man come barreling towards him. He grabbed the dartboard from behind him and swung it at the man's head as he arrived. The man staggered backwards to where his twin was standing. Murphy was now facing two very angry Danny DeVitos. The larger man raised his gun and fired shots towards him. He felt a bullet slice his bicep as he dove behind the bar. He scanned the underside of the counter searching for a suitable weapon. Finding nothing but liquor bottles, he scoffed at the idea that a bartender wouldn't keep a gun within reach. Working quickly he grabbed a full bottle of Everclear and a dry rag. Soaking the rag in the liquor, he stuffed half of it into the open bottle. He grabbed his ever present lighter and lit the protruding end ablaze. Shooting up from behind the bar he sent the projectile sailing towards his assailants. Hitting the larger man in the chest, both the liquor and fire spread throughout his body. The man screamed in agony running around the room blindly. He eventually made it through the exit followed closely by his companion.

Murphy watched the door momentarily before coming to the realization that there were still other patrons in the bar. And they all seemed to be watching him. He spied Trisha, the pool shark from earlier, standing in the corner with a frightened look on her face. They caught each other's eyes before she spoke.

"You're bleeding."

"What?"

"Your arm."

Realization and pain dawned upon him as he glanced down at his bloodied arm. Cursing to himself, he grabbed a rag to clean and inspect his wound. Murphy said a silent prayer thanking God when he realized that it was shallow and would heal on its own. There will be no hot iron tonight.

Murphy glanced around the bar surveying the damage. Barstools were broken, shattered glass covered the ground and pools of blood stood out sharply against the décor.

He picked up a fifth of Hennessy and took a bottle shot before setting it down along with a couple of hundred dollars.

"That's for…everything."

He walked out into the cool night air and lit himself a much needed cigarette. After several deep drags he turned and began his trek back to his apartment.

When he opened the door, he saw Connor passed out on the couch. South Park blaring on the TV and an empty bottle of Maker's Mark by his side. He closed the door a little too hard waking Connor with a start. They locked eyes for a moment and Connor visually inspected his newly acquired injuries.

"You look like shit."

"Fuck off! It's been a rough night. I'm going to bed."