Disclaimer: I do not own the Boondock Saints. The film and all that it's characters belong to Troy Duffy.
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"Leila. You're beginning to scare me. You haven't looked up from that damn piece of paper in hours." A voice laughed beside the young woman, running his fingers through his chocolate brown hair.
"I know." She replied simply, her slight Italian accent coming through, "My senior portfolio is due in a month and I need to make it perfect."
Why she was working on her portfolio in the crowded bar was always maddening for some to understand. For a project that required such concentration, a noisy, smoke-filled room seemed like the worst possible place to work, as her cousin had learned over the years. Her dark brown hair pulled into a knot at the back of a head, a stray strand would flow in front of one of her eyes, and a charcoal pencil perched in her hand, making fluid movements across the piece of paper. There would have been trouble for her, if it wasn't for the fact that her uncle, Don Lucio Alberghi owned the bar. The corner table was customarily reserved for her, and several times a week, she could be found sitting down, her eyes glued to a piece of paper, either placing down the preliminary lines or the final details. Around her, life would whirl on, but she would be in her own world, one which was completely controlled by the principles of shadow and contrast, geometry, light and dark, and of design. Occasionally, one of Uncle Lucio's men would come over and try to talk to her, but when her face wouldn't rise from the paper, people tended to back away.
It was probably why Leila didn't notice the two men enter the bar. The bell on the door jingled as they entered, receiving several glances from people in the room. They weren't from around here, that was for sure. Anyone in the room could have noticed that. Between everyone in the bar, Uncle Lucio's men knew everyone in the room. "Hm." Vincent mumbled, "That's odd."
"What's odd, Vin?" Leila asked, her eyes still glued to her paper.
"Nothing, Bambina."
It was all it took to get her head to shoot up. "When are you going to stop calling me that?" she laughed, tucking a stubborn strand of stray hair behind her hear.
"When you're older than me." Vincent laughed, thumping her on the back.
"Oh. Very funny." Leila scoffed, dipping her napkin into the glass of beer Vincent had brought for her a half an hour ago. It was still practically full, the one beside her cousin almost gone. "You know that can never possibly happen." Wringing the excess liquid out of the napkin, Leila ran it gently across the paper, watching as the amber liquid soaked into the white paper, giving the lines on it a sort of richness she otherwise couldn't have achieved.
"I know. So the answer is that I'm never going to stop calling you Bambina." Vincent laughed, watching his cousin rub the beer-soaked napkin across her paper. "And Christ, Leila. You have to be one of the strangest girls I know."
Her eyes glancing up from her work, a wicked grin spread across Leila's face. "We're family, what do you expect?" she told him simply, eliciting a laugh from both of them.
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"Murph." Connor said as they took a seat at the empty end of the bar, "Are you sure this is going to work?" his voice was hushed, barely above a whisper. Eyes were upon them, glaring at them as if they could see their intentions.
"I'm sure, Con. It's exactly where Paul told us it is. North End, Italian bar, fits the description. And the people he told us about are right over there." The corners of his eyes drifted down towards the other end of the bar. Three large, muscular men were sitting, taking shots between themselves. Staring at a television set between them, rounds of ramous laughter emanated between them. Just by the look on his brother's face, Murphy could tell that Con was thinking the same thing he was. They were sent here for those three? They were strong arms, that was for sure, but they could both think of more deserving targets of their message. And besides, there was probably around twenty people in the room. They just wouldn't be taking out three; they would be taking out everyone.
The brothers hushed as a bartender came over to them. "What will you guys be having tonight?" he asked, eyeing the brothers with distrust.
"Beer." They both responded at the same time. The bartender walked over to the counter and brought out two bottles.
"Boys aren't from around here, are you?" he asked. He already knew the answer. Hell, everyone in the bar did, but he at least had to make some conversation with them; he had to with everyone who came to the bar.
The bottles in front of them, Connor and Murphy looked at one another, "We're from out of town." Murphy explained, trying to mask his Irish accent. "From New York." He added.
"Well," he said, shooting a glance over at Leila, "We get quite a few New Yorkers in here from time to time." And with that, he walked over to the other end of the bar, pouring the three large men another round of shots.
Connor and Murphy picked up their beers, taking off the caps and taking a swig. It was always nerve-wracking, those few moments right before you took up a hit. Thoughts always rushed through both of their minds, everything from what they were sent in their to do, their backup plans, and their worst case scenarios. Taking a deep breath, Connor turned to his brother.
"Ready?" he asked, making sure that his guns were in place underneath his black coat.
"As ready as I always am." Murphy added, doing the same. Rising nonchalantly from their stools, the two brothers walked towards the restrooms at the back of the bar. Glancing around them as they went, they took in where everyone was sitting, whether it looked like they were carrying a weapon or not, both of their minds picking out their targets. Once in the shadows, both brothers reached for their guns, returning drawn in each hand.
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Vincent's eyes again traveled to the two men at the bar. There was just something about them that didn't seem right. If there was a man in the North End, chances were that he knew them, or at least had seen them. But these boys, never. For the first time that night, he had fallen silent.
"Vin." Leila said, looking up for the second time that night from her drawing, "I know that something's irking you: tell me."
Smiling at his cousin, he merely shook his head. "Leila. I'm not going to worry you with my own gut instincts. We both know how often they're wrong."
"Yes. It's why you stopped going to poker night with the guys." She laughed, poking her brother across the table with the flat end of her pencil. She wouldn't stab him today; he wasn't worth the lead.
But regardless, Vincent's hand went to his shoulder. "Damn! Leila! That fucking hurt!"
"Liar." She laughed, crinkling her nose. "If I wanted it to hurt, I would have used the other end."
Raising his hands up into the air, he let out a laugh of his own. "I surrender." he laughed. "Just don't bring your wrath down upon me."
It was right when these words came out of his mouth that Vincent's eyes went back to the two brothers. Walking in their direction, Vincent's eyes caught theirs as they passed. Once they were out of sight, he turned to his cousin. "Leila." He said quietly, "Could you do me a favor? Move into the corner, please." Seeing her arched brow, Vincent merely shook his head, "Just humor me and my gut, please?"
Leila didn't know what it was. Maybe it was the tone of pleading in her brother's voice, quite possibly it was the fact that she too had seen the strangers and had gotten the same feeling that Vincent had. Shifting over to the corner of the table, Leila found herself bathed in the shadows. It took her eyes a while to adjust before she picked back up her pencil. It had taken her three weeks to work on this one charcoal drawing, and she didn't want to ruin it because of her own stupidity and inadequate lighting.
No longer hunched over the table, she sat up straight, trying to let every available bit of light illuminate her paper. Her brows knit in concentration, the first shot fired didn't even register in her mind. Feeling a hand press down on her back, Leila was thrust underneath the table. Bullets were now raining from the bar, with Vincent drawing out his pistol from his pocket, firing it at the two men in the middle of the bar. From where she was, Leila had an excellent view of what was going on. People she knew were dropping down with stains of blood on their clothes. Their eyes were unmoving; they were dead. A shot came in the direction of the table as Vincent dropped down beside her.
"Bambina." He whispered, clutching his shoulder, "When I say run, I want you to head for the back door and to Father's. Tell him what happened and don't leave." His eyes no longer held the pleading look that they did before, instead holding a commanding authoritarian glare.
A wash of defiance and fear came over Leila as she listened to Vincent's words. Part of her screamed to tell Vincent no, that she wasn't leaving him behind like that, but the other part of her mind told her to go- that he could keep care of himself. But so could she. But her when her cousin said something like that, he was usually right. Her mind was not attached to her body as she nodded her head, watching as more people dropped around them. It seemed like hours, but it was actually less than a minute. Leila's eyes caught Vincent's as the two men began to walk around the room, crossing the arms of their victims and placing pennies on their eyes. Traveling down to his arm, she noticed it was stained red. Her eyes growing wide, she was glad that he didn't see the look on her face. Again, her mind screamed to get him medical attention, but her body told her to stay put.
The two froze as the men approached the table where they were sitting. Kneeling down, Leila could see the pupils of their eyes as one kneeled down, praying over the body of the victim, while the other placed a coin on each of the eyes. Hopefully they would leave soon; Leila wanted to get Vincent to Uncle Lucio's; he could get him patched up, make sure that nothing was wrong with his shoulder. But a set of eyes locked onto hers as the two men were standing up. Tapping the other man on the shoulder, the two walked towards the table. Leila's arms went out, shielding her cousin, but he pushed them away. The barrel of one gun came under the table, then another. Not soon after, two heads followed.
"Shit, Con! I thought we got them all!" a voice hissed.
"So did I." the man named Connor chimed in. Staring at Leila, his eyes grew. "And fucking Christ, one of them's a girl! How the fuck are we going to deal with that?"
Leila didn't register the words that they were saying. Even though they were directly connected to her life or possible death, they just flowed into one ear and out the other. The only thought that resounded in her mind was one of shock. So this is what it feels like right before you die. She mused, trying to take her mind off of the manic fear that was coursing through her veins. If death is this painless physically, I think I can handle it.
"She's going to have to come with us." The other voice responded, going down to his knees, he held out his hand to her. "She's an innocent, Con. A woman. We can't hurt her." But then his eyes fell upon Vincent. "But he looks like one of the guys Smecker described. Don Alberghi's kid. We can't just let him go."
"You won't hurt him!" Leila screamed, finally finding her voice. "Because I swear to God that if you do, it will be one of your last acts on this earth." She didn't know where these words came from; her mouth just opened and out they came.
"Really, lass." One of them said, "I really don't believe you should be making such threats. They could get you hurt."
Leila opened her mouth to respond, but Vincent beat her to it. "You wouldn't dare." He hissed, putting his arms protectively in front of Leila. "You hurt her, it will be your life. I can guarantee that."
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Upon hearing these words, Connor and Murphy stared at one another. Never have they been placed in a situation like this before. Every job they had ever done was quick and clean. Never had somebody been left alive, and never had they wasted their time like this. The gunshots had created a lot of noise and the police would be coming shortly. They're weren't in the South End anymore, so they couldn't depend on the police there to look the other way as they had at the courthouse; they had to get out of there quick.
"We have to get out of here." Murphy whispered, "The police are going to be here shortly and if we're caught there's going to be a lot of hell."
"But we can't leave them here. They witnessed everything. They could give us away right now." Connor replied. His hand went underneath the table, extending out towards Leila. "Come on." He told her gruffly, "We need to go."
He watched as the young woman merely stared at his hand, then back at the man who she was with. "No." she replied simply, "I cannot step out of the way unless I know that Vincent will be allocated the same treatment."
Staring at the two of them, he watched as the man pushed her forward, urging her to take his hand, but she refused- more adamantly this time. Maybe it was because of the loyalty that the two showed for one another- quite possibly it was because that loyalty was of the same sort he had for Murphy, did Connor do what he did. Letting out a deep sigh, he put away his gun. "Look, lass." He explained, "I don't want to hurt you, but we can't have you stay here. If you come with us, I promise that your friend will be safe as well." Yet again he held out his hand, and yet again did he see the young woman look back over towards the man with her, but this time she placed her hand in his, allowing herself to be brought out from underneath the table. Connor jerked his head at the man, gesturing for him to join them.
As he rose out from underneath the table, the first thing that Connor noticed was the giant red stain on his shirt. He'd been hit, pretty good too judging by the amount of blood. A small pool of it laid beneath the table where he had just been a second ago, the first thought that was running through his mind being what the police would do when they saw it.
"He needs medical attention." A female voice said, making more of a demand than a statement. "He probably still has a bullet in his arm and he's lost a lot of blood. The gunshot wound could get infected, you could have screwed up his muscles or nerves; he could die because of you two."
Looking over at his brother, Connor nodded his head at his brother's glare. If all would have gone right, this guy would have been dead. But because of some fluke he wasn't and now was a liability. He was about to tell the young woman this much, but decided against it.
"That can wait. Right now, we need to leave. Does this place have a back exit?" he asked, staring at the young woman. He noted the defiant gleam in her eye, the stubborn set of her jaw as she clenched it closed; he noticed then how her eyes traveled down to where his gun was concealed. He watched as she glanced back at the man she had been hiding.
"Right over there." She said quietly, her finger pointing just a few feet away from where they stood, "The door right next to the bathroom."
Hearing what he wanted, Connor's hand grasped her wrist and began to walk towards the door. Yet again, she looked back over her shoulder, but this time not to her brother, instead focusing her attention on the table.
"Just leave it, Bambina." The voice whispered, "You can make another one."
"But I've been working on that for two months!" she hissed, trying to pull free and go over to the table, but the grip Connor had on her arm was too strong.
"We need to get going, Con!" Murph said, "We don't have much time."
Connor began to lengthen his stride, disregarding the force on the other end of his arm. It felt like he was pulling along a dead body until they reached the exit, at which point he felt the girl's arm go limp. Giving her quick glace over his shoulder, he saw her walking head down, her pace hurried. Finally she's cooperating. Connor thought as he rounded the corner, heading towards the car Smecker had left for them. Opening up the door, he ushered the young woman in then walked around to the other side, watching as Murphy pushed the man in before he slid into the passenger seat. Turning the key in the ignition, he drove off, trying not to do anything that would draw the attention of the cops. Maneuvering down the streets towards home, he pulled up along a tall building. Stepping out of the car, he opened up the back door and grabbed onto the young woman's arm, knowing that the man in the back seat would follow. If the two had stuck together back in the bar like that when they were staring down two guns, they'd stick together now.
Up several flights of stairs they went, finally reaching the right door. Stopping in his tracks, Connor turned around to face the two. "Now listen. I didn't want to do this. I wish I could let you guys go, but you know too much and I don't know if I can trust you." Turning back around, he didn't see the look of fear register across the young woman's face, the look of somebody who was staring down death, as he walked through the door.