A/N: Thanks to those of you who have already reviewed. I'm glad I caught your interest. BDS is definitely a big deal to me and I want to try to make it as accurate as possible. If you see something particularly out of character, feel free to let me know! I'm trying to keep their essence while developing other characters a bit more, such as Duffy! (My favorite, just so you know!) Speaking of Duffy, here's chapter 2!

Duffy stared at the empty shot glass in front of him. This had become a nightly ritual for the detective. Shuffle through the motions at work and then straight to McGinty's to drink himself stupid. Tonight he was trying to decide where the hell he went wrong. He didn't need to think about it too hard. The cause of his current state could be traced back to two young Irish boys, four silenced weapons and a fuckin' rope. He couldn't be sure if he regretted his decision. On one hand, it was the first time in his life he had the balls to step up for what was right and just. On the other hand, so many lives were ruined. Was it worth the price they all paid?

He had to smile at the thought of the boys, though. He missed their late-night drinking sessions, discussions on everything from women to the million reasons why rope is just pure fuckin' necessary. Connor's obsession with rope was always a topic of ridicule for the group. It would usually end up in a short fist-fight between the brothers, but it was nothing a little whiskey couldn't fix. Sometimes they'd get so drunk after that Greenly would try to make out with Duffy, believing he was Special Agent Bloom…

Duffy immediately shook his head as if trying to shake out the memories that haunted him. Greenly is actually what started this late night ritual. Duffy had to find a way to numb the pain and try to forget. He couldn't help but think that it was all his fault. Greenly had wanted to get right back to meet up with the boys for a well-deserved drinking session that night. Eunice and Duffy had tried to dissuade him. They needed to lay low, especially now that Eunice was being investigated herself. But Greenly couldn't be swayed. Duffy called after him one last time and said, "Green-beans! Use your fuckin' head and don't get too pissed. We've got paperwork in the morning and I'm not doin' it all by myself, ya hear?" Greenly just smiled, flipped off his co-worker and continued walking down the street. That was the last time Duffy saw him alive. He had talked about work and called Greenly an idiot. Greenly was one of his best friends on the force. Now he was dead.

His thoughts then drifted to the other members of the group. Dolly probably took the hit the hardest, aside from Bloom, of course. He quit the force, became a recluse. Duffy tried to bring him out of it, but it was like the blind leading the blind. How could someone so messed up himself try to help someone else through the same thing? Last he heard, Dolly was living in some apartment in South Boston, spending the rest of his money on liquor and rent. Duffy couldn't help but smirk. Doesn't that sound familiar?

Eunice was also gone, but for good reason. The FBI was on to her from the get-go. From what Duffy heard, she had been taken into hiding by a friend of the boys. He could only hope they'd keep her safe. The last time he'd seen her, he wasn't even sure if it was her. It was at Greenly's funeral. Duffy was sitting in front with the other boys on the force and a woman with short black hair and ridiculously high heels had come up and stopped in front of the casket. She placed a kiss on her hand and then placed it on Greenly's mouth. She then turned and their eyes met for a split second. She had large dark sunglasses on, but Duffy was almost positive that it was her. Then, as quickly as she had entered the church, she was gone.

"Boy, y-y-you can't keep d-d-doing this to yerself." Duffy looked up into the eyes of Doc. Doc was extremely understanding and usually let Duffy stay the night on a couch upstairs instead of trying to make his way home. "D-d-don't make m-m-me cut you off for good, now. FUCK! ASS!"

"Not tonight, Doc. Just pour me another shot, alright?" Duffy looked up and the old man and Doc almost wanted to break down and cry right there. Duffy's eyes were full of a sadness that Doc would never understand. There was so much pain and so much sorrow, Doc could barely believe the boy was still alive. Any other man would have ended it already.

"Alright, lad. One m-m-more." As Doc moved to grab the bottle, the phone rang. Doc set the bottle back down and moved to answer it. Duffy picked up the bottle and poured himself another shot. He downed it and went to pour another, but stopped to look at the old bartender, who had grown eerily quiet. Doc just stood there, his mouth open.

"Who the f-f-fuck is this?"

Another awkward silence. Duffy was starting to get worried. Then Doc turned to the detective and did something confusing. He handed the phone to Duffy. No explanation of who was on the other line. Duffy tried to compose himself in case it was someone from the precinct. It had become common knowledge that if anyone needed to find him, they should check McGinty's first. On one hand, that was, well… pathetic. On the other hand, he just didn't give a damn.

"Detective Duffy."

"Hey there, Duffy! What's new?"

Duffy froze, letting the phone slide out of his hand and crash against the tile floor. He must have had more to drink than he thought. Before he landed on the ground passed out, one person's name crossed his mind.

Paul Smecker.