Chapter One: Suicide Mission
Eve stepped in to the unlit hallway of the huge house that her father had owned for years. Sighing, she shrugged her leather coat off her shoulders and hung it on the rack beside her. "Da, I'm home." She walked down the hall turning in to the lavishly decorated living room to greet her father.
The old, graying man sat in the armchair holding a pipe. This was the man that owned much of South Boston, and the reason for that was loyalty. The reason for loyalty was fear. This was the man that sentenced people to death on a daily basis, and never shed a tear. His hand motioned to the small oak end table where an envelope lay waiting for her.
"Eve, I need you to do something. The Saints have become something of a nuisance, killing the people we do business with. They have to be stopped, and I expect you to do it. I want them dead, Eve. Screw it up, and I'll have your head on a platter, whether you're my daughter or not." He waved her away, focusing on his pipe tobacco, looking bored. Eve nervously picked up the envelope, her hands shaking. She grasped it firmly, and walked back into the hallway.
She inhaled deeply, staring blankly at the envelope. This was a death sentence that her father had handed her. No ordinary job, but a death sentence. She took another deep breath and ripped the envelope open. Her eyes fell over the paper, reading rapidly. Her jaw dropped as she read the words "undercover." She had to get close to the Saints? Know them, and earn their trust... Death... What a lovely adventure this will be.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Connor lit two cigarettes and passed one to Murphy while holding the second in his hand. "But, Da, you might be thinking too small here." Connor took a drag of his cigarette, perplexed at his fathers reasoning. He looked to Murphy for some back-up, but his brother sat indifferent.
"Son, ye don't think to small in the business we're in. Everything we do makes a difference to someone." Connor shrugged, taking his fathers words and letting them sink in. He opened his mouth to speak in protest, but was cut off. "A pimp may not seem like a normal job for us, but understand the evil that this man exerts on the world. Evil men are dead men."
"Da, don't we have something more important to do? I mean a pimp is all-" Connor's sentence was cut short by his fathers hand against the solid oak table, knocking Murphy's half-full beer over. Murphy glanced from the dribbling beer to his father. He rolled his eyes, and removed himself from the conversation to clean up the mess.
"Son, a woman's dignity is more important than you can ever imagine. A woman is held in high regards as I see it." Murphy returned to sop up the beer, now covering the tiled floor. "It starts tonight, son. Ya know where I stand, now make yours." Connor nodded, not daring to speak out against his father again. It was obvious at this point that he could make no argument, so he sat sheepishly with his thumb gently caressing the rosary around his neck. Underneath the table, Murphy threw the sopping wet towel aside and picked the 9mm Glock off the table. "Murphy, what's your thoughts, son?" Connor turned to his brother, interested in his standpoint.
Murphy turned to the conversation, aware that he was now a part of it. "Evil men, dead men, Da. I say we kill the son of a bitch." He paused to exhale the smoke from his cigarette. "We'll call it a cleansing." He smiled behind the smoking cigarette.