Hooray, even a single review makes my day/night/too freakin' early in the morning! So, the plot's actually moving a forward a bit now. I'd like to state that the Italian mob is not a forte of mine and I manipulate them and their objects for my sinister literary purposes only, accuracy is relative as far as I'm concerned. Oh yeah, also, my disclaimer for everything is on my profile page. If you're considering suing me, take a look at that and then preferably reconsider. Thanks for reading! :)

Stripes went about her life as usual after that day, or at least, she tried. The bar wasn't the same without the McManuses and Doc officially closed five days after St. Patty's Day. She tried helping him as best she could through the week but the sling made being a bar girl rather impossible. She could still carry three mugs but whenever she tried to maneuver through a crowd, she always ended up hurting herself. So, on Friday, McGinty's final morning as McGinty's, she sat on a stool in the storeroom putting bottle after bottle of alcohol into box after box.

Doc walked in to get another load of boxes. "Are y-y-y-y-you all right, lass? Is your shoulder hurting you again? Fuck! Ass!"

All things considered, her shoulder was healing slowly but surely. "No Doc. My shoulder's fine. It's just odd is all." She gave him a weak smile, "I'd just started to like how this was going. I liked coming to work every day and seeing everyone. I'm sorry about all this, Doc."

He shook his head, "No, I'm sorry about l-l-l-l-leaving you without a job."

She shrugged, "I already got the rent paid this month and I paid my tuition at the beginning of the semester. I'll find something before I get into trouble."

"Have you heard from the McManus b-b-b-b-b-boys? They told me about you being there when they g-g-g-g-g-got attacked. Fuck! Ass!"

"No," she sighed and felt tears come to her eyes, "No, I haven't." The tears confused her. She didn't even know them very well. Why was she crying? She didn't know why but she had a bad feeling when it came to them. She just felt like they were in danger. It didn't help that according to their boss, they hadn't been to work since that day…

Around one she walked up to Doc and gave him a parting hug, "I've got class now. It's been great being here, Doc. Thanks for everything."

There was sadness in the old man's stutter, "Y-y-y-y-you too, lass. You, too." She picked up her bag and gave him a smile as she walked out the front door for the last time.

TBS TBS

She had Dark Ages Irish History that day at two. It wasn't her favorite class, all things considered. She preferred the High Middle Ages to the Dark but it was required. It was about Ireland which made it a little better. She sat attentively through the class, taking the millions of notes the lecture demanded. She thanked God above for the millionth time that Checkov had shot her left shoulder and not the right. She may not have been able to wear a jacket properly but at least she could write. Typing was a nuisance, but she was getting there. She was slowly and painfully getting a system down for changing her shirt, too. It amazed her that such accomplishments were such a big deal to her.

She pulled her scarf more tightly around her neck as she crossed the courtyard with two classmates at four, the end of class. She didn't know them well and generally didn't talk to people but found that they knew their stuff as they discussed the upcoming paper. Hers was done but she had multiple others not to mention job hunting to worry about.

They were still together as a group when they reached a parking lot that split one side of the campus from the other. They stepped onto the pavement and before they could get further than a few feet, two cars had screeched to a halt in front of them. The other woman with Stripes screamed and the man looked ready to swear at the drivers.

Stripes froze where she stood as four men got out, each one with a gun pointed at her head. Her eyes widened and she attempted to back up. Repeated exposure was not conducive to alleviating her fear of firearms pointed at her. "Don't move!"

The accent she was greeted with was Italian, not Russian as she thought it would be. Before she could wonder what the Italian mob wanted with her, they had grabbed her and thrown her into the trunk of one of the cars. Instinct kicked in after pain at landing on her shoulder coursed through her, so she began screaming.

"Help! Help me!" Her words were cut off as the trunk closed. The last thing she saw was her two classmates staring at her with open mouths, not doing a thing to help her.

TBS TBS

Kicking at the trunk's lid did absolutely nothing but make her sore but she did it anyway. She only ceased when the car stopped. She waited patiently for the trunk to open. She was poised to kick the first face she saw but her leg slowly dropped to the floor when she found a gun barrel pressed to her forehead. Her gaze once again began with the gun, went up its wielder's arm, and then rested on a face.

This face was in its mid-forties. He had the olive skin of an Italian and his dark hairline was receding. He wore business pants and a blue dress shirt. His accent confirmed her suspicions of his Italian origin. He smirked as the fear painted itself across her features, "I am Papa Joe. I am head of the Yakavetta family and I want you to tell me everything you know about this fucking bastard who is killing off my people."

While before, all she had wanted was to get out of the trunk, then she shrunk back further into it. She had heard the name Papa Joe before on the news. He was the boss; not just a boss but the boss. He wouldn't shoot her but he would order someone else to without the slightest thought. Tears began to stream down her face. Facing down two mobsters hadn't seemed so bad last time when she had two McManuses at her back.

Now, she was completely alone and could make out at least five Italian mafia members, all with guns.

Her voice was weak, squeaky, and reminded her of Doc when she replied, "I-I don't know who you're talking about."

Papa Joe smiled once again, "Bueno! Finally, one who is going to cry for a while? I have missed this part of the job." He nodded to her and two large minions scrambled forward and roughly hauled her out of the trunk, doing nothing for her wound. Within moments, she found herself handcuffed to a chair in the middle of an empty room in what she assumed was a warehouse. A bright, severe light hung from the ceiling above her head, hurting her eyes, just as they did on television.

She felt the blood drain from her face as Papa Joe began to pace in front of her. He in and of himself was not intimidating. With the lack of hair and slightly comical accent, she could have easily laughed off her anxiety under different circumstances. Now, however, pure fear was running through her veins as she caught sight of the pistol in his grip. Her lip quivered until she bit it to keep back sobs of terror.

"So," he began, "I hear from my friend Mitchell in the police that you like being around when mobsters get killed. He is the one who told me your name, Miss Sandler. You were there a few days ago when two Irish faggots killed two Russians. My friend said you didn't know those Irish guys at all. You just stepped in out of the blue. Now, while some would say you were being a good…what's the word here?"

He looked to his counterparts but they all shrugged. She offered in a quiet voice, "A good Samaritan?"

"Yes, that is it. But I do not believe it. No, I think that you just like to kill mobsters. I believe you are why Rocco killed all nine Russians with a six-shot pistol, why my best hit man is dead, and why I had to get Il Duce out of jail."

She grasped at what little she understood of his accusation, "Rocco? As in long hair and beard Rocco? You're his famous boss?"

"No longer and you know exactly of what Rocco I speak." He suddenly lashed out and kicked her chair over. Her head hit the ground with a painful thud. She whimpered, tears leaking out of her eyes. "Now, when is he coming to get me? I know I'll be on his list. Tell me when!"

She shook her head, "I don't know!"

"DON'T LIE!" He brought his foot down on her side. His eyes flashed and in that moment, his peons remembered why it was they feared him.

They smiled and giggled to each other as the young woman on the floor screamed in pain and sobbed, "I swear I don't know!"

He raised his gun level with her forehead, but then his cellphone rang. Swearing in Italian, he picked up, "What?" Moments later, he growled before snapping it shut. "You three, come with me! Frankie, you watch the bitch and the ledger. I'll be back later tonight to finish up with her."

He replaced his pistol on his hip before approaching the sobbing heap at his feet. He sneered at her. He loved the weak. They cried and sniveled and their worthless pleas of innocence and for mercy made the job fun. It was the deceptively strong ones he despised. The ones who still cried and screeched but never gave a whisper of what he needed to know. He hated killing people when it didn't profit him in some way.

She stared up at him. The green eyes that greeted him were fear-riddled and already red from crying. With one smooth motion, he kicked her in the head, opening a gash above her ear and immediately knocking her unconscious.

TBS TBS

At that moment, as Stripes lay beaten and out cold on the floor of a mafia warehouse, the McManuses and Rocco were taking her spare key from the lose tile in front of her door and rushing inside. They smeared blood over every surface of her kitchen table after they had rummaged around the entire apartment for her iron. While she was imprisoned and being questioned about them, they were in her home cauterizing their wounds from Il Duce.

After the horrific deed had been done, the three men sat around the table, absently watching the news and discussing Agent Smecker. Rocco took a drag on his cigarette and demanded, "Whose place is this anyway?"

"Stripes'," Connor answered. He vaguely wondered where she might be but then remembered it was Friday. With McGinty's the way it was, she probably wouldn't be home until three or four in the morning. He looked about and smiled when he saw that her green and black scarf had washed clean. He didn't see any traces of his blood on it anymore.

Rocco looked around him with new eyes. It was a step above where the McManuses had lived but not too far. It was still deep in South Boston, no doubt about it. The place was clean but it definitely wasn't new. The walls were peeling in some places and the carpet left something to be desired. It was about the cheapest legal apartment you could find. The only thing new in the place was the furniture. Well, the furniture and the books in the towering stacks that covered most spare surfaces.

He rose from the table, now interested in all that surrounded him. He grinned, sending a look back at his friends, before making his way across the open room. If someone wanted to put a name on it, he supposed the hole would be considered a studio apartment. The kitchen, living room, and bedroom were all one room; only the bathroom was separate. In fact, her queen size bed was right next to her recliner in front of the television. He reached what he assumed was her dresser and began opening drawers at random.

Murphy frowned, "Rocco, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Looking for her underwear!"

Connor got up and was across the room in seconds, which was a surprising feat considering the gunshot wound in his leg. He grabbed Rocco by the collar and threw him to the ground, "Hey, Stripes is letting us fuckin' stay here out of kindness. We're not gonna fuck with that kindness by invading her personal space!"

Murph nodded and laughed, "Aye, she gave us the invitation, not you. She fuckin' hates you, man. You fuck with her underwear and she's gonna throw you down the fuckin' elevator shaft."

The next morning, they awoke early for church. It was only Saturday but that night was going to be big so they were going anyway. Connor and Murphy exchanged confused glances at the lack of Stripes. The latter McManus shrugged, "Maybe she stayed over at the bar." Connor nodded. That was plausible. They stifled their worry with planning. They were going to take out Papa Joe that night and they had to be ready.

TBS TBS

"I don't fucking know!" Stripes sobbed for the hundredth time. "I don't know when or if Rocco's going to hit you. It's not like you should worry anyway. He's an idiot! He couldn't successfully pull anything like this off by himself."

Papa Joe's eyes narrowed and he held his command for Geno to take another hit at her. "Are you saying that Rocco isn't alone? He has partners besides you?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" she screamed. Why couldn't he understand that she just didn't know?

Geno hit her in the shoulder, causing her to shriek in agony as her wound throbbed and the rungs of the chair's back dug into her skin again. "Do not yell at me. I am trying to think."

Her heaving sobs were the only sound in the room as Papa Joe paced back and forth, deep in thought. "Ah, I know now!" He turned to his now waiting men. "Geno and you three, you're coming back to the house with me. I'm going to get as many guys up there as I can. Rocco can't be alone. He has to have help, so we're going to be ready for him. Frankie, you watch the bitch and the ledger. I don't care what you do with her just don't kill her yet. If I don't get Rocco soon, I may have more questions."

He was already on his way out when she suddenly straightened in her chair, spitting out the blood that had been congealing in her mouth. "If anyone rapes me, then I'm not saying another word!" Her voice was still full of fear but the strength he hated so was fighting for control in it.

Papa Joe frowned but then conceded, "Fine! Frankie, don't touch her."

Frankie looked at her with clear dejection as they left. He had all but unzipped his pants as soon as Papa Joe had given him the order to stay.

She averted her eyes, looking anywhere but at him. She didn't want to see the leer coming toward her. Despite what his boss had ordered, she wasn't sure if Frankie could stand to stay away. She'd already bit his hand once while they waited for Papa Joe to return the night before. Frankie was not an attractive man by any standards. And given his lack of sparkling or even decent personality, there was no way he was getting any "satisfaction" from anyone but hookers and unwilling victims like herself.

Papa Joe had mentioned that it was almost five o'clock not too long before they left. It was going to be dark before long. If the previous night was any indicator, it wasn't likely that he would return soon. As she chanced a glance at Frankie, she wasn't sure if she considered that a good thing or a bad one.

Would she rather be beaten or raped?

As time passed, Frankie became more and more restless. First he cleaned his pistol. Then he ate a sandwich. Then he paced around, imitating Papa Joe for a while. Then he flipped through a large book she could only imagine was "the ledger." He even rummaged through her bag for a bit until he found her tampons. She knew it wasn't long before he said fuck it to his orders and came for her.

She was beginning to realize that fear was a useful thing to have. When you got the right kind, you noticed things in a much clearer way. Her fearful eyes moved from Frankie to her restraints tirelessly. She came to the conclusion that there was no way she was getting out of the handcuffs on her own. Each of her ankles had its own with the other end attached to a chair leg. She might be able to get those free if she tipped the chair to the side but there was no way to do that without Frankie noticing. Her hands were restrained with a single pair of handcuffs. The good news was she wasn't attached to the chair. The bad news was her shoulder was in too bad of shape to really do much without her legs free first. She was stuck.

There was one way she could think of but it scared her. The one way she could maybe get free was if Frankie did actually try and rape her. In order to spread her legs enough, he'd have to get her feet off of the chair. Then she might be able to incapacitate him by some sort of miracle.

Answering her prayers and deepest fears, she was proven correct when it came to Frankie. Not long after finding nothing of interest in her purse, he sat on a chair and stared at her. She determinedly refused to meet that gaze. Before she knew it, he had kicked her chair over and began grabbing a knife and cutting at her shirt. She hadn't counted on him having a knife…

"Fuck," he swore. "Papa Joe's not here."

He threw her scarf across the room, soon sending her t-shirt after it. She made the semblance of fighting back just enough so he would realize there was no access with her restrained. It didn't take him long. He fumbled to get the cuffs off the legs of the chair for a moment. With that impediment gone, he righted her chair and began tugging at her jeans. He ignored her sobs, trusting the knife he held to the side of her neck would be enough to subdue her.

Just as he looked up from unbuttoning them, he caught the anger in her eyes. With a scream of pain and rage, she kicked him in the crotch with all her might.

His scream was quite possibly louder than hers. He remained standing, grasping her chair for support as he tried to swallow down his rising supper. Before he could recover, she kicked him again. This time he fell writhing to the ground and lie there for a moment in pain before passing out.

She bit her lip hard as she bit back a scream that might wake him. That knife he'd held had done its job. She could feel the shallow but long slice along her bottom hairline a definite six inches from her right ear and back. She felt as if she finally understood what being scalped felt like. She held in her screams and attempted to breathe deeply. As soon as she stopped convulsing, she worked her feet up onto the chair. She then stood up upon the seat, completely freeing herself from the chair.

She jumped quickly down and sat on the floor. She worked through the pain in her shoulder as she brought her body through the loop her arms made. With her hands finally in front of her, she grabbed Frankie's knife and cell phone. She shoved both in her bag. She pulled off her boots and the handcuffs with them. She didn't want to be clanking down the street. Without further delay, she grabbed her bag and "the ledger" and sprinted from the room and then the building.

It was pitch black when she met fresh air for the first time in twenty-four hours. She had no idea where she was either… It seemed as if she was in some sort of warehouse district. That could only mean the South side. Wherever she was, she couldn't stay. With only adrenaline for motivation, she began running in the opposite direction of that warehouse.

Despite the darkness, the general look of the buildings began to look familiar. She was getting away from the warehouses and into the residential district. She had Frankie's cell phone but Papa Joe had said he had friends in the police. She wasn't going to call 911.

That left only one thing to do when lost in an Irish neighborhood in the dead of night, bleeding and dying. She staggered through the door of the first bar she came to that had Mc or O' at the beginning of its name.

O'Brien's was filled to the brim, not surprising on a Saturday night. At first, no one moved or spoke as she came through the door. She clung to it like a life preserver as she gasped, "Where's the nearest hospital?"

As her words registered, every man in the establishment rushed forward. An older man reached her first. He snatched her bag from her shoulder and handed it to a younger man that looked almost exactly like him. Without saying a word, he picked her up and ran with her bridal style to a pick-up half a block down the street. The younger man followed.

She dozed in and out of consciousness as she felt the truck start and then begin to move. The bright lights of the ER shocked her awake as she was laid on a gurney. The young man put her bag at her feet. As nurses and doctors swarmed, she smiled weakly at the two men, "Thank you."

As she was wheeled down the hall, her hand found her bag. She gripped it with all the strength she had left as she saw a needle in her arm and the felt the numbness of morphine take over her mind.

When she awoke, all that registered was that she was incredibly, painfully stiff. She blinked open her eyes and surveyed what she could of her injuries. Her shoulder was encased in bandages and was in a sling once again. Her torso was not bandaged but she could feel the bruises blossoming on her back. She didn't have the want or motivation to pull up the scrub top the hospital had put on her to check. What felt like stitches were holding her neck together, pulling painfully whenever she turned her head. She thought she felt some on the cut Papa Joe's shoe had given her as well.

All in all, she thanked God, Jesus, and the Virgin Mary that she was alive and didn't have a mirror.

To her surprise, her bag was still firmly in her grasp. She worked her sore shoulder until she pulled the bag into her lap. She rummaged around in it until she found Frankie's cell phone. She stared at it for a moment, wondering who to call. She knew who she wanted to call. But then she knew who she had to get a hold of. She needed that FBI agent, Smecker.

She'd never even gotten a glance at his card, so she hadn't the faintest idea what his number was. She did the next best thing. She pressed zero and waited for the operator to pick up. "Hello?" came her bland voice.

She had to clear her throat a few times to get it strong enough for the other woman to hear, "I-I need to be connected to the 6th precinct station of the Boston Police Department."

"Please hold while I connect you."

There was a short pause and then a tired sounding man came over the phone, "Hello, this is the Boston Police Department 6th Precinct. Det. Greenly speaking."

Greenly? Papa Joe had said Mitchell so she took a chance on this Greenly. "Ummm, yes, I need to speak to Agent Smecker, please."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll have him on in a moment. May I ask why you're calling?" She didn't even want to wonder why an FBI agent was still at the station at eleven thirty at night.

"I…I was…I was just kidnapped and tortured by Papa Joe Yakavetta of the Italian mob…"

There was shocked silence on the other end. She faintly heard, "Sm-Sm-Smecker it's for you!"

A different voice responded, "Hello?"

"Agent Smecker?"

"Yes…" His voice sounded wary.

"You probably don't remember me but I was the woman who came into the station with the McManus brothers earlier in the week. I…I was just kidnapped by the Yakavetta family. I-I'm sorry but he said he had an informant in the police and-and you helped them and I-I don't know what to do right now…"

She was greeted for a moment by the same shock. However, Smecker quickly recovered, "You're the one the McManuses call Stripes, correct?" At her confirmation, he continued, "All right, where are you?"

"St. Cecilia's Hospital in South Boston."

"Give me twenty minutes to get there. What's your name?"

"Well, I don't think they have my name. I'm probably just neck laceration girl."

"Okay, you hold tight. We'll be there soon."

"Sir, please don't bring an officer named Mitchell…"

There was another long pause, "Okay."

TBS TBS

She had just drifted off only to have Frankie's face loom behind her eyelids when Smecker and three detectives pulled back her curtain. They swiftly pulled it closed behind them, even looking about beforehand to make sure no one had followed them she assumed.

Smecker's eyes widened when he took his first look at her. He remembered her from the last time he saw her. He didn't even find women attractive but this woman had still been pretty. Not that she was ugly now but the purple color that covered the entire right side of her face was not pleasant. Someone had pulled her black hair back into a ponytail for her to keep it away from the disinfectant, easily showcasing the grotesque cut behind her ear. A few inches lower and forward and…

She attempted to give him a smile, "They said the swelling will go down soon so I'm sorry for looking scary."

He fiercely shook his head, "Oh no. You're alive and that in and of itself makes you gorgeous right now." He sat on the foot of her bed and, after learning her name, proceeded in asking her every question he had about her ordeal from when she'd been kidnapped to what Papa Joe asked her to what her problem with Mitchell was.

Smecker had just finished when she reached for her bag, "There's one more thing." She laid Frankie's knife and cellphone in her lap and then pulled out the book she had taken. "I'm not sure what this is exactly. I haven't looked but Papa Joe kept referring to it as the ledger."

He froze and looked at her with hopeful eyes, "You're sure? They called it 'the ledger'?"

She nodded, "Yeah, whenever he left he told Frankie to guard it and me both. He seemed to be really on edge about it. Is it important?"

Smecker's face said that he had just found the Holy Grail. "Oh Miss Sandler, you have no idea how important this is. This book right here holds the records of everything the Yakavetta family has done since Papa Joe came to power. Each boss has his own ledger and this is Papa Joe's. This is everything I need to take down the entire family. If I wasn't gay I would kiss you right now."

She tried to laugh but it came out strained, "Since you would find that unpleasant, could I just go home?"

"Of course, I'll check you out with the hospital. Are you going to need protection tonight?"

She shook her head, "I don't think so. They grabbed me at school very publicly, meaning they probably don't know where I live, right. I'd really much rather be alone tonight, if you don't mind."

He nodded, "I understand. I probably wouldn't want to be around strange men tonight either. If you need anything here's my card. Duffy, Dolly, take the unmarked car and take her to wherever she says home is. Pick up her meds from the desk first. Greenly, come with me."

Within moments, Stripes had been covered up with Duffy's suit coat and Dolly was carrying her bag out to a black Ford sedan. She crawled into the back, taking her bag and hugging it to her chest. The drive was short and before she knew it, she was walking toward her building with both detectives on her heels. She dug out her keys and smiled at them after they had pushed the door of the elevator up and ridden with her to her third floor. She stepped off and handed Duffy his coat back, "Thank you."

"Are you sure there's nothing more you need, ma'am?"

She shook her head, "No, thank you so much, but I just need a warm shower and my own bed." They nodded, looking over the battered woman once again and suddenly understanding. She waited until the elevator had returned them to the first floor before going to her door.

She put the key in the lock and slipped inside. She slid and bolted every single lock on that door before turning around and breaking into gut-wrenching sobs, sliding down her front door to the floor. She smoothed back her ponytail in a nervous habit and tried in vain to stop crying.

Seconds later, she screamed when a light clicked on in her living room.