Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Walking Dead, AMC or any of their affiliates. This is purely for entertainment purposes and is a fan created fiction. This story does not reflect the actual Walking Dead series and doesn't claim to be anything but a fan (me) expressing my appreciation for the characters and the wonder that is The Walking Dead. All OFC's (Original Fictional Characters) are a product of my own imagination. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

I was once again staking out the Dixon house. It was early morning. I said the time out loud as if it was one word. "Ten-o-three-am." Early on a Sunday for the Dixon clan. Early for me as well. I had my seat all the way back, reclined to the point where I was in line with the door frame. I felt like a gangster. An audible giggle rose in my throat until it was a full blown laugh. Me, Neely Hannigan of Bay Ridge Brooklyn a gangster! I felt a shiver run down my spine as I imagined my mother's voice.

"A gang? What are ya trying to do kill ya mot'er? What ya wanta hang out now, under the Verrazano Bridge? Wait till I tell ya Fat'er!"

My mother had a way of yelling at me even when she was 880 miles away safely back in the house I grew up in. The same one her parents owned when she was young.

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I distracted myself by taking a bite of my egg mcmuffin, blanching at the soggy egg and limp Canadian bacon. This sandwich was an imposter just like me. I tried to pretend I was working a case, just like my breakfast food was pretending to be edible. I asked myself why I had gone to The Pen mini market instead of McDonalds. I knew the answer. The Pen was closer and I had to get gas in my car. I wouldn't have made the trip across town on E. I used my debit card to pay for the gas and used a handful of sticky change from my cup holder to pay for breakfast. Licking the change probably would have tasted better anyhow. And had I done that I could have avoided the dirty look I got from the clerk at the mini mart.

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Movement in the driver's side mirror caught my eye and I watched as a real gangster looking kid made his way up the sidewalk. Too small to be Merle Dixon or Daryl for that matter. As he got closer I realized he was too old to be a kid. I resisted the urge to press the lock button. The hooded man jogged up the porch steps leading to the Dixon front door. He pulled his hood down, nervously looking over his shoulder. He was tall like Daryl and Merle but notably thinner. He looked like a younger version of Daryl in a rough kind of way. I reached for the file I had on the front seat, pushing the sandwich wrapper and coffee lid onto the floor. Where the lid had been sitting a half circle coffee stain partially covered the picture of Merle Dixon. I tried to wipe it off thinking Pauley was going to be pissed.

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Paul Sicily a bounty hunter, and my boss, was a 5 foot five, almost as round as he was tall man that did less hunting than he did eating. I sometimes took jobs from him to help pay my rent. Pauly "the asshole" as I sometimes called him, not to his face mind you, liked to give me the report so I didn't bother calling him with the wrong ID. It was pretty obvious Pauly didn't like to work. The reason he hired me was so he could do as little as possible. My job was to watch for the bounty and call him or her in when I had them in my sights. It was boring and pretty easy. Mostly my cases were the type that I could have taken down on my own. A couple of hop heads, a drunk and an old prostitute, but this was the first time Pauly sent me looking for someone dangerous. Dixon was a firecracker with a lit fuse. I wanted as little to do with the man as I could manage, while still doing my job.

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Inside the folder I found other pictures, surveillance style photos and two mug shots. One of those mug shots was the character standing on the Dixon stoop, Jesse James Dixon. I read his arrest report. Almost identical to Merle's. Drug possession, assault, battery, disorderly conduct and there at the bottom, burglary. None of this shocked me but my eyebrows did go up when I read his age. According to this he was twenty eight; he didn't look a day over twenty. I knew Daryl was Merle's only brother so where did this guy fit in?

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I looked at the surveillance picture of Daryl. In it he was standing on the front porch, beer in hand, no shirt, no shoes. His body was littered with scars and tattoos. I wondered how he got them all. His arrest record was considerably smaller than Merle's and Jesse's. I had expected more because of how rough he looked in the photo. A knife fight, maybe a homicide or two. That wasn't the case though. His record showed mostly disorderly conduct and public drunkenness. Also missing from Daryl's report was any kind of drug conviction. I pondered if Daryl was the good son. At least by the Dixon standard he was.

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My phone buzzed from the ashtray making it rattle from the vibration. At the same time Daryl opened the door for Jesse. The older Dixon was once again without a shirt. His hair was a mess and he scratched his chest absentmindedly while stepping aside to let Jesse in. He looked directly at me making me nervously fumble with my phone.

"Hannigan where is my bounty? It's been a got damn week since you had eyes on that motherfucker!"

It was like every man I had been thinking about suddenly made an appearance at the same time. I scanned the street hoping I'd be three for three and Merle would show up. No go so I interrupted Pauley's extensive use of every slang word he ever heard. "Listen, he's your bounty I'm just doing you a fucking favor here! I could be comfortable in my own house instead of living out of this shit car eating worse shit out of takeout carriers."

"Favor! Who's doin a favor? So ya don't want to be paid then sweetheart? We're doing favors here? Just you keep lookin and shut that whiny trap of yours."

"Oh hell no, you listen here you little weasel you are paying me for this or I'll cut off those little marbles you call balls and serve em on your mama's spaghetti!"

Pauley's loud laughter echoed in my car making me pull the phone away from my ear.

"That's a good one sweetheart. You sure you don't have any Italian in yous?"

I remained silent because Pauley knew I was full blooded Irish. He continued to laugh and I could hear dishes clinking. His next sentence was said with a mouth full of food.

"You just come over here and I'll let ya have some Italian in the can."

I could imagine the greasy bastard sitting at his table with his napkin tucked into his shirt shoveling pasta into his mouth and rubbing his crotch as he spoke. I wished he would choke on something, mainly my hands, wrapped around his slimy neck.

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I was pissed at Pauley and not thinking clearly when I climbed out of my outback station wagon. The door creaked when I pushed it open and sounded like an atomic bomb exploding when it closed. I looked at the house expecting Daryl, Jesse, or even Merle to come running out and catch me sneaking around the back. A couple of days ago when Daryl was gone I had walked around the perimeter of the house checking to see how many ways in and out there were. The two story brick home had two entrances, front and back door. It also had seven windows on the first floor and eight on the second. There was only one porch roof and that was on the front of the house. When I was doing my house inspection I noticed the glass was busted out of one of the sixes panes in the back door. It was replaced by flimsy cardboard, held in place by duct tape. I hoped Jesse and Daryl were in the kitchen at the back of the house so I could ease drop on their conversation. Maybe Jesse had some news on Merle. My hunch paid off as I crouched low to the grown, leaning tightly up against the side of the house. I could hear them loud and clear.

"She's out there again. Fucking stupid broad! How many days has she been there?"

Daryl headed to the coffee pot filling two cups. "I don't know a week maybe. I ain't pay no mind to her the first couple of days. Not until Merle called. Grab the milk, will ya?"

"When she gonna give up. Don't she know us Dixon boys don't go quietly?" Jesse opened the door of a rundown, rusted refrigerator that had large fist sized dents in the door and sides. "Ya ain't got none."

Daryl punched Jesse on the arm making him whine, "What ya do that for" as he rubbed the area. As some sort of rite of passage, an older Dixon always gave a younger one a hard time. Just as Merle picked on Daryl, Daryl always picked on his Jesse. Daryl dumped the coffee back into the pot. "Yeah we don't go quietly. Some of us cry like little pussies."

"I ain't no pussy! I outta knock that grin off yer face for saying that shit."

Daryl stepped up facing Jesse toe to toe. "Go ahead then! Take yer best shot."

"No fucking way! I'm on parole."

"Aw chicken shit! Afraid of some damn female! I expect ya to be afraid of the ass whopping I'm gonna give ya, not of some woman or going back to jail."

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I jumped and a squeak escaped my throat when suddenly the back door opened and Jesse landed on his ass in the dirt that should have been a lawn. I could hear Daryl. I assumed he was standing in the doorway.

"Go on chicken shit ask 'er if she wants you or the other jailbird? I bet she don't give a rat's ass if I pound you into next fucking week!"

"You're fuckin crazy! You want to ask her, do it yerself!" Jesse pulled himself up onto his feet looking in my direction for the first time. "Aw I don't need this fucking bullshit! I'm going down to The Pen for some smokes." Obediently Jesse looked at Daryl again. "You need anything?"

His tone was tough but I knew Jesse was used to being manhandled by his cousins. He didn't take any of it personally because he also knew blood was thicker than water. If he ever needed Daryl for anything, Daryl would be there.

Daryl's voice came from deeper within the house. "Grab some milk."

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I knew Jesse had seen me, but I didn't really care. They obviously knew I was staking out the place. I still didn't want Daryl to know I was on his property because basically what I was doing was trespassing. I glanced over my shoulder thinking I could make a run for the car. When I turned to see if Jesse had moved Daryl was standing in front of me. He loomed over me, shirtless and in jeans with the button open and the zipper halfway down. I didn't see any boxers or underwear sticking out over the frayed waistband. My mind filled in the blanks. When Jesse had showed up Daryl was still sleeping, most likely in the nude. He must have slipped on the jeans right before answering the door.

I gulped in a breath, standing up while holding onto the house for support. His presence had startled me, making my heart race wildly in my chest. I blamed my breathlessness on the fact that I was scared and not on the sight of his half naked body or the fact that I was thinking about him that way. He looked me up and down, lingering on my chest for a second.

"Sweetheart, you need anything from The Pen?"

I opened my mouth stammered, "I…uh… I need…"

"Spit it out, what do you want?"

Daryl's voice was smooth like butter. The way he asked made it sound sexual in nature. I knew he was only trying to intimidate me. I let go of the brick. I had been called sweetheart one too many times today and it was grating on my nerves. "What I need is your dirt bag brother to show up so I can take him to jail where he belongs! And don't call me sweetheart!"

Daryl spun on his heels laughing all the way back into the house. He called out seconds before slamming the door. "Good luck with that… sweetheart."