DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights or any of the characters found in the movie Boondock Saints; I am just continuing from where "Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day" left off.
Summary: This is my interpretation of what happens to the boys DIRECTLY after Boondock Saints II. It contains many spoilers so read at your own risk. The boys escape from prison in an unusual way and find their way into a new city, and get back to work. Enjoy!
The room is dark and quiet; old stone walls with bars on the windows, the room looks like it was a dungeon at one time or another, unfit to be a hospital by any means. The only sound heard is the beeping of the heart rate monitors. All three men lay in their beds side by side asleep their chest rising and falling with an uncertain rhythm. How they got that way is a matter of speculation and rumor. Perhaps a fiesty inmate got the better of them. Maybe a individual in a position of power within the mafia chose to do the dirty deed. In any case, the vigilantes lay in a comatose state, under the watchful eye of Hoag guards. A dark, shadowy figure of a man crosses the threshold into their room. He slowly walks in carefully, watching his step; silence is crucial. He pauses and watches the men as they lay in a drug induced slumber. The stranger retrieves a vial from his coat, punctures the top with a needle and drains a transparent fluid into the syringe. He gently lifts Murphy's bruised and beaten hand, injecting him through the IV in his wrist. He moves his way down to Connor and Romeo, pauses and looks over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching. He proceeds to do the same to the other two men. He then slips out just as quickly and quietly as he appeared. About a thirty seconds later… BEEEEEPP!!! First Murphy's monitor flat lines. Soon enough, just like clock work, the others follow. A doctor rushes in, swiftly followed by two guards and the warden. After working at a feverish pace trying to revive the three men, the doctor hangs his tired head in shame. He looks at the warden and says, "McCaffrey, there is nothing else I can do." The warden sighs and kneels in the middle of the room, makes the sign of the cross, and says a quick prayer for the boys.
"I'm going to call the Chaplin," says McCaffrey as the nurses and doctors begin to unhook the boys from all the equipment. Soon an older man, slightly balding with a liver spot or two and a black coat on arrive with a Bible in one hand and a rosary in the other. He opens the leather worn Bible and quietly reads passages from it, almost as if he was reading it to himself. He blesses the boys and with a tear in his old grey eyes he blesses himself. He slips into the hallway where McCaffrey was waiting with a confused look on his face. "Why are you upset, Father?" asks McCaffrey.
" My son," he whispers as he puts his hand on McCaffrey's shoulder. "The laws of man are fallible when compared to the laws of the Lord. You look into that room and see three convicts, three murderers, three bad men. I see three men that went above the law of man to serve the Lord with the highest honors…I have just seen three angels fall," he sighs heavily. "I suppose the Lord has another job planned for these boys."
"Do you truly believe that, Father?" McCaffrey asks sheepishly.
" I speak nothing but the truth to you, Kevin. You're too good of a man." he replies as he makes his departure.
The following morning Warden Kevin McCaffrey dressed in his best suit and overcoat. Time for the press conference. Every single media station in all of Boston came out. "Hoag" Correctional Facility never saw such a media circus in all of its days. So there, with a backdrop of one of the oldest prisons on the East Coast under the grey sky, McCaffrey stepped up to the podium. Before he spoke he looked out over the sea of media and at the gates he saw what he thought to have been thousands of onlookers hoisting colorful signs saying things like "Free the Saints", "The Saints are God!", "The Saints serve real justice!" They had been there ever since the Saints were incarcerated. But today McCaffrey took real notice of them for the first time.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming out. This morning at around four o'clock the inmates known as the Saints of Boston, Connor and Murphy McManus and Romeo Spinoza…passed away, succumbing to injuries sustained during their heinous murder spree last month." A gasp rolled across the crowd like a clap of thunder. He continued, watching the reporters shuffle quickly towards the podium, preparing to barrage him with their inquiries. "The Saints' bodies will be taken for cremation at an undisclosed time, their remains will be shipped to their next of kin. I will not be taking any questions on this matter. Thank you for your time."
McCaffrey quickly returned to the solitude of his office. He loathed the media and their persistent nosing about. He thought the peace and quiet would do him well but all it did was let his mind wander. He looked at the clock on his computer; it was almost noon. Rough day already, he thought dejectedly. For a few minutes he contemplated getting a drink or two at lunch. A thick corn beef, he decided instead, from Alley Cats his favorite little greasy spoon restaurant inside Patriot Lanes. As he walked through "Hoag" every staff member was somber. Not one person addressed his presence or even cracked him a smile. They just looked down at the cold grey floor when he attempted to make eye contact with them. Everyone seemed to know something he didn't. He could feel it. This affected everyone so strongly. Why? He wondered. He drove past where only a few short hours before he broke the news of the Saints' death and noticed there were still some stragglers standing in the mist. Some were crying, others were praying but all supporting their heroes…the Saints of Boston.
While McCaffrey was out to lunch, the Suffolk County Coroner Stanley Ridgemound pulled his black van up to the gates of "Hoag", identified himself, and then made his way to facility's morgue. Ridgemound had been there a hundred times before but each visit took him by surprise. The mix of cold stainless steel doors, tables, equipment, and old stone walls always seemed out of place to morgue's setting, he thought, belonged in to a medieval castle more than a house of the dead. " Hello, Doctor Stevens," said Ridgemound as he walked into the freezer area.
" I was wondering where the hell you were. I've been down here forever freezing my fucking ass off!" snapped Stevens. It suddenly reminded Ridgemound how much of an asshole Stevens truly was. He was a grumpy Santa Claus: short, fat, grey beard, all he needed was the coat and a better demeanor of course. "Sign here, here, and I need your case number here," Ridgemound droned as he pointed to some paper work on his county clip board.
"Yah, Yah, Yah," Steven muttered as he scribbled across the paper work with pen strokes that seemed quicker than they needed to be. "There ya' go, two stiff mick's and a stiff spic. Enjoy!" No respect, Ridgemound thought disgustedly.
"Thanks for your help," Ridgemound said sarcastically.
"Oh, and if you need any anything else…don't ask me!" he added quickly with a flourish of his hand as he strode off.
Once Ridgemound had the boys loaded up he pulled his black van slowly though the gates of "Hoag" and down the street. As he watched the prison get smaller and smaller in his mirror, he turned around looked at the bodies and whispered with a hint of a smile on his face for the first time in weeks, "Rest up now, boys. You have a lot of work ahead of you."