A/N: Part 4 of this story's Act 01 and Gar's troubles (ironic term given the Irish) continue. Another comics reference to Montoya if you can spot it (those who don't know her history, take a look through DC Wikia for more hints). Gar's becoming an alcoholic I think, especially considering his history and the company he keeps. Unlike that last draft (and most of my series so far), this story is much more a character exploration than straight-out action. He's grown to such a point in so short a time that, while he's physically and intellectually there, emotionally and mentally he's still in need of catch-up.

Under a Blood Red Sky...

"… Even though I've been living with the reality of being an accomplice to murder, I'm not sure if I'll ever truly get over it. I suppose my mind was trying to justify it or maybe even trying to find an excuse out of what I've done. But there's no escaping truth, it is what it is, and the truth is I've been the cause for several deaths since 2007 and there's nothing more I can do about it. I just hope what I heard from Death was true that morality is a human complex, not a cosmic one… otherwise I'm truly fucked, no question about it…

Not that I just picked up and went on like business as usual… No, I did something that would only make me feel worse: I lifted a bottle of Jameson from Someone's pub to help ease the memory. He wouldn't miss it, he had more than a hundred bottles alone in the basement and he'd assume he drank it. No, this bottle was reserved for another person, one whom I owed some serious explanations to about who I was and why I was out here."

When Montoya arrives home from the department, the first sign of something being wrong is the lack of television, the smell of cooking beans, or the sound of exercise coming from the living room. Setting her keys on the table, she walks to the opening to the living room and looks with cautious alarm, noticing the figure sitting on the couch. Before his hunching form is a tall bottle of liquor, two glasses, and the sound of Bob Dylan's "Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands" on her CD player.

"Gar?" she asks, unsure what's going on. This isn't like the man she's come to live with over the past month.

Looking towards her, he offers "Hey, sorry about the music. I was in the mood for some music and you happen to have a good taste in classics."

"It was a gift from one of the detectives in MCU. Where did you get the Jameson from?"

Opening the lid for the first time, he offers simply "From a strange Irishman who won't be missing it."

A moment's pause, she finally accepts, sensing a deeper motive behind this change in behavior. "A strange Irishman, huh? You've been talking to Someone lately, haven't you?"

Pouring the brown liquor into both of their glasses, he admits bitterly "Haven't had much conversation with him; more like aggravation."

Taking the glass, she takes a small smell of the liquor, remarking "Never had this before. I'm more of a Tequila woman, myself."

"Playing stereotype, aren't you?" The opportunity for a joke is passed over as he remarks sadly "Aren't we both?"

Looking more serious now, she sets the drink down before taking a sip. "Ok, what's the matter? You're being depressive, even for this city."

A moment's hesitation and a brief sigh, Gar informs her "Stereotype, remember? What's one thing about the Irish everybody knows?"

"Usually considered to be a bunch of drunks, fighters… religious."

"Beyond just that, what's one of their favorite colors?"

Strange questions indeed. "Green, right?"

Taking off his ring, revealing his very real Beast self, he answers back frankly "Yup, that's right. A bit stereotyped, aren't I?" As her eyes widen at the man in her room, he remarks with a wry sense of humor "Funny, I'm not even sure if I'm Irish. They said "Logan" was an Irish name but…"

"Gar, you're the one that's missing out in Jump City!" Montoya remarks, stunned by this development. "You've been missing for months, no one's been able to find you."

That smile growing wider, Gar is pressed to admit "Because they're looking for a green-skinned man who can change into animals, not one who can electronically disguise himself and tries not to change forms in plain sight." Holding up his glass, he takes a long gulp of the Irish drink.

"So… this is why you've been missing. You've been in Gotham almost the entire time while everybody's looking for you out West." Lifting the drink, she almost has the urge to bemoan her own bad luck "I think I'll make this a double."

"So that's the reason you came here; to get away from the troubles out West." A few drinks and a delivered box of pizza later, the two adults continue on their discussion of his past. "I have to admit, it's pretty ambitious."

"Finding a way to escape the hospital wasn't as hard as finding a ship out at sea who could get me here." Lying to his only "friend" feels pretty dirty but with dealing with a woman so close to the Batman… "Even then, I had to make it look like I disappeared so no one would just guess I went into hiding back in North Jump."

"Sooner or later people will forget you were ever around though. It would be the same if Batman stopped fighting crime around Gotham; the criminals would just get bolder."

Another round of the liquor in hand, he muses "Sometimes I wish I could forget about me and just fade into a normal life. It would be much nicer, not to mention safer on the body…"

Finishing a bite of pizza, she counters "Yes but then you wouldn't be a hero; you'd just be a regular person again. All the kinds of crime you tried to stop would only get stronger."

The drink, his fifth in less than ninety minutes, goes down bitterly and with pure intent in mind. "I'm not a hero… I haven't been in a long time." Looking to the woman beside him, the sadness in his eyes is there as obvious as the sun on a clear day. "Renee, I've killed people doing this and I don't mean by accidents. I killed a few thugs trying to shoot me back in Jump; got them with a booby-trapped explosive… And I… I…"

The seriousness on her own face, she waits on her own drink, taking in the look in his distant eyes. Like a child in the middle of the road with no parent to lead him on, a man lost in a sea of morality without a lifeline to lead him onto the safety of a boat. Of course, this isn't the first time she's had to deal with this situation, not by a long shot.

"If you killed them in self-defense, to save your life, then there's nothing you could've done. I've seen it happen before in a hundred cases across the city. It's the people who take life willingly, with no remorse or even joy; they're the ones that will burn in Hell when this life's over. You might not consider yourself a hero but no one's perfect all the time. Even the Justice League can't save everyone, every time… What's important though is you keep your focus and NOT become like Joker or other psychopaths like him. You have a lot of courage, Gar, so don't give up on yourself, not now when you have so much to offer."

"Offer? What makes you think that?" strange hearing such honest words from a woman that, technically, should arrest him for vigilantism.

"If you're not really a "superhero" or a "mask", then you're just a man. A man who's trying to make things better without all the showboating and celebrity status the rest of those "heroes" craves. You're offering your abilities to society, to try and make their lives safer, and you're doing it without even asking for more than a hot meal and a couch."

That last comment elicits a genuine, honest chuckle. How very true if only he'd be allowed an extra pillow instead of the usual cushion.

"Now," she tells him, picking up the plates, wobbling a bit as she gets to her feet "enough of this depressing discussion. Put that ring back on too in case someone's been spying on us, can't have the Watchman being spotted in Gotham."

"Nope, can't have that now can we?"

"No. By the way, since you've been kind enough to get the liquor, I won't demand that you do the dishes." Before he can thank her, she retorts honestly "Then again, I did have to buy the pizza. How about you clean up the mess in here instead?"

"There's always a catch to this, isn't there?"

"The next morning, as per Someone's request, I again ventured to the coffee shop at the appointed hour. Sure enough, his contact was there, waiting for me as he had the first time. In a way, I was kind of hoping I wouldn't see him, not after that last fiasco. Tracking down Deadshot shouldn't require a man's soul, should it? Sure enough, as before, Fermanagh and his men were waiting for me. Unlike our last engagement, none of them had a weapon in hand, just that knowing look when they saw me cross the street…"

"Well, seems you decided to come back; that's good to see." "Mad" offers the new entry into the group. "I wasn't sure if you'd be comin' back for Round 2 after our last little job."

"I came because I need Someone's help, that's the only reason. So, is he willing to help me find him or is he just testing me again?"

"You shouldn't be so arrogant about hospitality, it's bad luck." McCrery warns, the gleam in his eyes turning towards a darker frown on his lips. "Still not sure if you're badged up under that coat."

Fermanagh offers a hand to silence the younger criminal, suggesting "While I still have doubts of me own, I'm willin' to see it through once again. With luck yer' not needin' to shoot anyone this time; should be right up your alley."

What's there to do but follow through, right? "What's the job?"

"Shaun, take us to the place. I'll be explain' on the way." The lead Irishman declares as he steps off the hood and around the front.

"Remember that bookies you so gallantly helped topple the other eve?" Fermanagh asks, checking his pistol in the car.

"How could I forget?" the solemn answer comes back, Gar content to stay in their graces for now.

"How lucky are we to have been to have heisted a front business for one of our dear, former client?"

Something about the way he speaks those words sends a shiver up Gar's spine, even down to the way "Mad" pulls back the barrel, snapping it back with a hard click. Still, it's message is clear, even to nervous ears. "We're going after another one of his operations then?"

"No, another jab at his cash would just be a waste of time. Just like boxing, you need to change up your punches or you'll became plain, understand me, boy?" Swiping with his hands, to and fro, he tells him "Go for the cash, go for the supplies, then back to the cash, understand? Just like hittin' a man in his stomach then puttin' a fist to his face."

"We're going after a shipment of guns." Shaun speaks out finally, assuming Gar doesn't get the point.

A fast smack to the back of the head from Fermanagh silences any further talk from the younger Mick. "How are we to be teachin' the kid a thing a'two about this business if you're to be givin' up the goose before the egg is'atched!"

"I figured you'd be going after his supply of guns… only thing I'd like to know is from who?" Gar asks, having realized what "Mad" meant at the first description of boxing. That and gun runners going after a supply…

"You'll understand soon enough. Just make sure you're willin' to do more than injure with that gun, boy."

Gar takes a look outside, noticing the sun's still high in the sky but two hours from now, the city will be bathed in darkness once again. "Hey, not to sound too paranoid or jinx this plan but…"

"Spit it out, boy." McCrery speaks from the front.

"What happens if… the Bat shows up?"

The three Irishman share a hearty laugh at the honest question and probably a bit harder at Gar's expense. "Rule a'thumb in this city is to always do your most business after a Joker attack. That Bat and he got a bit a rivalry and he'll not pass up a chance to chase down his better half."

"In other words, you're not going to see him tonight." Shaun remarks before taking another hit to the head for stealing Fermanagh's next line.

"Turns out we didn't have to go to a location after all. In fact, it seems Fermanagh had sources trailing the target because when we got there, we weren't at a warehouse; we were at a traffic intersection… The drill was the same as last time: Mask, pistol, and a lot of intensity if we were going to get what we wanted. So when the time came and the car parked in front of the off-white moving van, cutting off traffic, I realized what he wanted from me.

"Go fetch, boy." Was all he told me and instinct took over from there.

Only one driver, no passengers and certainly no armed goons. Just a man at his wheel with a stunned look on his face and the usual surprise at being hijacked. Question had taught me well, or so Renee would say, as I was out of the car, pulled out the driver, and into the driver's seat in no less than nine seconds. Everything had worked perfectly until "Mad" threw me a cell phone.

"What's this for?" I shouted at him, not caring about the honking horns all around us.
"Follow us. When we get there, call the number and run like a mad man!" then he got back into the car and took off, my van following behind.

And damn was it hard driving again, the first time since Q let me drive his car back in Hub City in 2007. At least then the roads didn't have snow on them, the streets were wider, and I didn't have God knows what in the back. Still, it was just like the thousands of hours playing video games back at Titans Tower: Stay in the lanes, don't speed, gas and brake when needed… Still gave me the shakes though, I can admit that.

Didn't take long to get to our destination, that's for sure. Fermanagh and his men pulled over while I waited for traffic to move along. "Mad" got out of the car, came over, and told me something I'll never forget.

"Hey boy, you want to know why they sent me packin' from me homeland?"

Who knew when that light was going to change and my nerves were already plenty high. "Why?"

He offered me a smile, the kind you normally see one people who've seen too many bad things in their lives… The kind that you know whatever good used to be in their heart had died only to be replaced with something akin to ice. "It's the same reason I'm called "Mad" Michael Fermanagh, because I'm stark ravin' mad enough to demolish anything in my way."

Turning green, no time for questions, I asked simply "Where do I park this?"

He held onto the van a bit longer to tell me "Pull up into the garage, they're expecting you. Make up a shit lie and get yer ass movin', quick step!"

…

I did what he asked, God forgive me for what happened next.

…

The men inside were expecting the van and whatever they thought they were receiving. I pulled up as they asked, got out, and looked at my cell phone. "Shit, the damn wife's calling again. You guys give me a minute, I gotta make this call."

…. They never knew what hit them.

Once I got outside of that little warehouse, I called the number Fermanagh told me to. Ten seconds later, I felt myself thrown onto the hard asphalt by a large explosion, the heat giving me a bad case of sunburn on my neck. For a moment, the only thing I could hear was a loud ringing sound along with the muffled shouting of pedestrians and fleeing drivers. Before I could gather my senses, I could see McCrery and Shaun coming over to help pick me up, babbling something about "Hey mister, you ok?" just to further the act…

Dear God, what have I done?

Back at the pub, the carload of men exit to the sight of their waiting boss. His smile, ever firmly on his face, dims at the sight of Gar exiting the vehicle, still holding his neck from the burn.

"What t'happened? Mackie, yer neck's all burnt and…"

"Bastard didn't tell me it would go off that soon, got caught in the explosion." Gar bitterly remarks though more from the pain than anger at Fermanagh.

"Yeah that to be my fault, boss. Didn't realize the boy's not used to trucks that go "boom."

"Not used to driving trucks full of Ammonium Nitrate, especially not one full to the gills." Gar laments, eyeing the Irish gangster to his left. "I get it why they call you "Mad." You're absolutely crazy."

To some it might be a statement, to the ex-Rugby player it means fighting words. "You got somethin' worth sayin', boy, you make sure you say it clear as crystal."

Any reply by Gar is cut off by Someone snapping his fingers and pointing at both "Oy, none of this balls'n'all, bigger dick facin' off! What happened be a result a'bad business practice by a'man who for sure now understand the cost a'refusin' business wit' people a'good reputation."

If not for the pain growing in his neck, Gar might've actually broken into a confused laugh at the long-winded Irish-laced lingo. "Right. So, where do we go from here?"

Another snap of the fingers, Someone gestures to Gar "You t'be comin' inside so t'boys can get an eye on that burn on yer neck. We sure ain't ver'wise on medical but we got quite a'few ladies 'round the neighborhood that know a'trick to cure y'ailments."

"Something tells me liquor's involved?" Gar surmises, especially seeing that smirk reappear on Someone's face.

"Al'ways t'good stuff, me Mackie, al'ways!"

"By ten, I had enough home remedies and shots of Tullamore Dew in me to make any pain I might've been feeling vanish for the night. I was more surprised to find myself climbing the narrow, creaky stairs of the Mad Irish Pub, looking for the room Someone assigned me. Apparently even he didn't feel "comfortable" about me walking home drunk again, despite letting me do so on our first night of drinking.

The general sense of age in the building wasn't helped by the fact that a stormfront had moved into the area, a rare sight considering it was February in the Northeast. A hard, driving rain with the occasional thunderstorm just to make the noise in the already-thunderous building that much more noisy.

As I turned onto the third floor, I was surprised how dark it got… and just why exactly somebody had left the hallway window open at the end. The rain would certainly get inside but my drunken mind didn't really give a damn; I was just glad to have a bed to fall onto. But as I reached the doorway to my given room, something in the corner of my eye spotted something in the lightning's flash. For a brief second, I saw the outline of a figure entirely shrouded in black, black as the night itself. And two eyes… two pierces, white eyes that glared into my very soul. And as quick as it came, it disappeared with the lightning flash, not there after the second flash illuminated the hallway.

…

And despite my drunken state, a very sober feeling started to creep through my body… even as my hand began to tremble as I held the old, gray doorknob."

A/N2: The tension digs ever deeper, some interesting things are developing (and that job was improvised, not the original idea). Gar technically didn't lie to Renee, only "omitted certain details", both in his escape from Jump City and what he did at the bookies. I'm not too sure the Irish still trust Gar but they sure don't mind having him kill people to suit their interests... Problem is Gar's about to deal with the man he's been inadvertantly fucking with because of said Irish... and who was that fear-inspiring visage we saw at the end of the chapter? Hehee, nerd moment I know (but it should be obvious).

Rhetorical:
My previous readers will probably know who he's about to face next (but the question is how will he get out of it?)