Every Fool Gets a Lucky Chance Or Two
Chapter Two
Jane had struggled to remain calm as she once again turned to look at the two men. She drank in their appearances, reveling in them in newfound delight. After giving herself a minute, she placed a bill on the counter, not worrying about change as she slid off the bar stool on which she had been perched. She felt eyes on her as she strutted out of the bar. She was exciting at her revelation, and she moved quickly toward the nearest T stop, paying no attention to anything or anyone that passed. She reached her apartment in record time, sighing in - what was that? Joy? She was ecstatic at her discovery. She had now had two run ins with the infamous Saints of South Boston. And she knew who they were. Or at least what they looked like. She had not caught names while eavesdropping, instead focusing on the sound of the men's voices. She was certain it was them. Jane prepared herself for bed, knowing fully well that she would not sleep tonight.
When she woke in the morning, she knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to find them again. She was curious. She wanted to examine them some more, as odd as it seemed. She didn't know these men. They were dangerous criminals. Granted, they were criminals who had spared her life, but they were criminals nonetheless. She should be weary, cautious of involving herself. She should stay away. But she didn't want to. She wanted to know them, know who they were. She thought about returning to the bar again that night, but she realized it was Sunday. Most people didn't go to bars on Sundays, even Sunday evenings, and she refused to be among the few that did. She would wait.
She returned to the bar on Monday night, ignoring her usual rule of staying in on the weeknights. She couldn't afford to stay out late the night before going to work. She had early hours, and she was determined to keep her record of timeliness. Still, she went to the bar. As soon as she walked in, she saw them. They were sitting in the same spots that they had been sitting in the other night, surrounded by what seemed to be the same large group of men from before. She walked up to the bar, taking the same seat she had sat in and ordering the same drink. She ignored the eyes that turned toward her, taking a stout drink of her beer.
Men were always surprised by her love of good beer. Beer was supposed to be a man drink. She didn't care. She knew the two men were staring at her, thrown off by the return of her presence. She took it that not many women ever graced this particular bar. She again listened to their conversation, more carefully this time. Most of it consisted of jokes, but there was the occasional reference to work. As she listened to the conversation, she became even more certain that these two men were indeed the Saints. She learned that they worked in a meat packing plant, which didn't exactly surprise her. Many of South Boston's inhabitants were working class, which added to the rough feel of this particular side of the city.
She left after drinking two beers, placing her money on the counter. This time she waited for her change. She looked over at the men for the first time since she had entered the bar. They were watching her carefully. She turned her gaze down to the counter, organizing her change in her wallet before leaving.
She continued like this every day as the week progressed. Each night she went to the bar, sat in the same seat, and drank two beers. And each night, the men seemed just as thrown off by her. They watched her as she ignored them, excited merely at the chance to share the room with them. Friday seemed to be the last straw. She was sipping her first beer, dressed in a form fitting pencil skirt with an equally form fitting shirt tucked into it, when the men approached her.
"Excuse me," the blonde one said, the proximity of his voice catching her attention.
She turned to look at them, taking them in from up close.
"Can we have a word with you," he said. "Outside, if possible."
Jane stared back at him. The thought of being alone with these two men, who were really strangers to her, made her hair stand on end. But this was what she wanted. She wanted them to notice her, to approach her, for whatever crazy reason that she could not quite determine.
"Sure," she said, ignoring the quick somersault her stomach did. She finished her beer, leaving some money on the counter before following them outside. Once behind the bar, they began to speak.
"Look, it's becoming quite obvious that you've been following us," the dark haired one said.
As he spoke, she noticed a mole on his upper lip.
"Not following," she spoke up. "Just watching."
They exchanged looks.
"What we want to know is why," the blonde asked.
"You're the Saints," she murmured, her eyes darting back and forth between them.
They stared at her in shock.
"Fuck, Murph. I fucking told you," the blonde said, exasperated.
The other man didn't respond. He was staring Jane down.
"You better not've said something," he said.
She remembered his threat, realizing that he was the one who had held her down after she tried escaping. She shook her head.
"Good," he said, relaxing some. It fell silent.
"What exactly are you expecting? Following us, watching us, whatever it is that you're doing," the blonde inquired.
"I don't know. I just wanted to know you, I guess," she said.
"Why? Did you want us to notice you? Did you want to get our attention?" he asked. "Because you certainly have mine."
Jane flushed. She searched herself, trying to figure out what exactly her motivations and intentions were. She wasn't sure, but she was certain they weren't what the man was suggesting.
"You should come have drinks with us," he said, moving closer to where she stood.
"Connor, what the fuck are you doing?" the other man asked, obviously frustrated with his partner's invitation.
So that was his name. And what had he called his partner? Murph? She assumed that it was short for Murphy. She knew their names. She was one step closer to figuring out exactly who they were. She guess that's what she wanted, but why?
"So, drinks?" Connor asked. "I'm buying."
Murphy shook his head in disbelief.
"You don't even know me," she said.
Connor smiled. "Well, I'd like to."
She smiled back at him, not able to resist his charm.
"I'm Jane," she said, extending a hand to Connor and then his partner.
"Enchantèe," Connor said, kissing her hand.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Murphy, and this is my brother, Connor," his partner, and apparently brother, said.
"You're brothers?" she asked.
"Twins," Connor said, smiling and slinging an arm around his brother affectionately. "Fraternal, obviously. I'm the elder."
"Whatever," Murphy muttered, his lips turning up in a slight smile.
"Can we get some fucking drinks, or what?" asked Connor.
Jane smiled hesitantly. "You're buying?"
Connor nodded, flashing another grin at her.
She allowed Connor to lead her into the bar with Murphy following behind them. Once inside, Connor ordered a round of shots for the three of them. Jane started to politely refuse, but Connor cut her off.
"Come on, live a little," he said.
She stopped protesting at his words. She was slightly on edge, unable to process the fact that she was now drinking with Boston's infamous mass murderers. The shots were poured – whiskey, of course – and on Connor's count of three, they were downed. Jane winced at the burn the alcohol sent down her throat. She was reminded of her time in college, during which she had spent the occasional night hugging the toilet. The boys – as she was beginning to mentally refer to them – may not have needed chasers, but she certainly did. Murphy laughed at the grimace on her face as Connor ordered them beers.
"You all right there?" he asked.
"I don't do shots," she explained. "I'm a beer kind of girl."
"I noticed. You don't strike me as a beer kind of girl, though," he said.
"Here we go. One for me, one for Murph, and one for the lady, of course," Connor said, cutting in.
"Thanks," she said, taking the glass he handed to her. She turned her attention back to Murphy. "A lot of people say that. I guess I just look like I ought to be drinking a cosmo or whatever, but I don't think there's much that can top a glass of good beer."
He smiled in agreement. His smile wasn't as attention grabbing as Connor's, but she felt her heart speed up at the sight of it. As she drank with the boys, she could feel the eyes of their drinking buddies on her. The brothers and she were barely separated from the group physically, but she felt that her presence had created some sort of invisible divide. It was clear that this was a bar for the boys, and she felt embarrassed that she had been brash enough to invade what appeared to be such a personal place for the men.
Connor kept the alcohol flowing, and Jane was glad that he had offered to pick up the tab. She was also more than grateful that it was the beginning of the weekend. If the drinks kept coming in such a steady supply, there was no way she would be leaving this bar sober. As Connor ordered yet another round of shots – Jane vaguely tried to remember if it was their fourth or fifth round – she shot him a dirty look.
"What?" he asked innocently. "What was that look for?"
"You're trying to get me drunk," she accused.
He gaped at her, mock hurt on his face. "Me? No."
She smiled at the sarcasm that dripped off his words.
"It's a good way to get to know someone," he winked. "Now shut your mouth and take that shot, woman."
They kept drinking, and Jane felt herself push past the point of no return and into a state of obvious drunkenness. She noticed Murphy and Connor laughing at her, but she didn't care. She hadn't felt this way in a long time. She allowed herself to go out and have fun on the weekends, sure, but never this irresponsibly. It was becoming increasingly more difficult for her to imagine the boys as killers, and it was becoming increasingly more difficult for her to stay stable on the bar stool.
"Watch it there," Connor said, catching her as she slipped on the stool a bit.
She felt as his hand lingered on the small of her back, and it dawned on her for the first time why he might be so intent on getting her drunk.
"I need to go home," she said, laughing at herself.
She was distinctly aware that Connor was still touching her. Murphy was quite aware, too. He stared at his brother's hand as he attempted to move it lower.
"You shouldn't go by yourself," Connor suggested. "Anyone can see you're drunk, and you know how South Boston can be."
She was suspicious of his suggestion, a feeling of helplessness creeping up her throat. She was stupid for having accepted his invitation. They were strangers, nothing more.
"We'll both walk you," Murphy said, standing up to her left.
His brother eyed him, and Jane noticed the flicker of tension between the two.
"All right," Connor conceded.
He pulled out his wallet, slapping down a rather thick stack of bills to cover the undoubtably large tab.
"I don't know," she said, hesitantly.
"What?" asked Connor.
She didn't want to admit it to them, but she didn't want them to know where she lived. She didn't know them, after all – a fact that she was desperately trying to remind herself of. They were killers. Murderers. Something inside of her told her to push past her fear, that it was silly, that she had nothing to be afraid of.
"I'll make sure he doesn't try anything, I swear," Murphy quietly whispered in her ear.
She was still doubtful, but his words reassured her. She nodded, leaving the bar with the two men flanking her. Once out on the street, she stumbled slightly. Connor caught her again, his hand gripping her arm carefully. Murphy shot his brother a look, which was ignored. Jane began to regret her decision to allow them to escort her. She was also regretting having so much to drink. She had mindlessly thrown the drinks back as Connor pushed more and more on her. Why had she been so stupid?
The ride on the T was uncomfortable. A silence had fallen over them. The car was almost completely empty; the only other occupants were a man and a woman who were fiercely kissing at the far end of the car. Jane focused on the sound of the train as it made its way through the tunnel, desperately willing herself to sober up. Her thoughts turned to the men sitting on either side of her. She hadn't expected Connor's increasingly more open solicitations nor had she expected Murphy's gentleness. Connor had seemed merely friendly, if a bit flirtatious at times. Murphy had seemed rough, having been the one to threaten her, but she was beginning to see through the act. The car slid to a halt, jerking her to attention.
"This is my stop," she said, hating how her words slurred.
She stood up, willing herself to stay steady, and the brothers followed suit, keeping in formation as they exited the train. Jane was thankful that her boots had only slight heels as they walked to her apartment building. She saw the building peeking out from among the others, and it loomed over them as they drew closer and closer.
"I think I can manage from here," she told them, smiling weakly.
She didn't want them inside her building. She didn't want them knowing which apartment was hers. It was already risky enough. Connor looked up at the tall building.
"That's a lot of stairs," he commented.
She could tell he was frustrated, searching for a way inside.
"There's an elevator," she said, smiling again. "Thank you. Really."
"Come on, Connor," Murphy said. "It's late."
"Let's get a move on then."
Murphy turned to Jane. "Be careful. Goodnight."
"You, too. Goodnight."
She didn't wait for them to begin to walk away, quickly moving toward the door to her building. Once safely inside her apartment, she stumbled toward her bedroom. She stripped down to her underwear, nearly falling as she struggled to get undressed. After changing she sunk down onto her bed, barely remembering to shut off the light. She drifted off into sleep easily, quickly forgetting her dread for the hangover that was sure to come.
