Chapter 9

Weston rubbed his tired, bloodshot eyes before surveying the gory scene around him. Bodies littered the floor, most of them dead, a few still hanging on as the EMTs worked to save their lives. He and his team had arrived on scene ten minutes ago but the chaos that seemed to have taken over the small warehouse had already ended. It had only taken a few minutes to clear the building and when it became obvious that his fugitives had already fled the scene he ordered patrols on every block and a secure perimeter set up around a five-block radius. If the MacManus boys slipped through his fingers tonight he just might shoot someone.

Standing in the center of the open warehouse was an empty semi truck and trailer. It wasn't hard to guess what this was. The demon tattoos on the victims lying on the floor told him that this was a continuation of the Saints 'war' with the Red Spades. This must have been what Deion gave up just before he died, the time and place of his next shipment, although, it would appear that things hadn't exactly gone in the MacManus brothers' favor. This was sloppy.

Weston stopped at one of the bodies on the concrete floor and toed a large black duffle that had fallen next to him after he took what appeared to be a fatal bullet to the back. Slipping on a pair of thin latex gloves, he knelt down and pulled the zipper on the bag, shaking his head in disgust when he got a look at the contents. The duffle was packed full with at least two-dozen tightly wrapped, yellowish bricks. Fucking heroin.

That was the only bag lying around and he felt slightly sick when he thought about how many men must have gotten away, how much of this shit was going to end up out on the streets. For the first time since he had been assigned to this case, he felt a small sliver of understanding for the Saints and their cause, but the thought was fleeting and it didn't change anything. Killing was killing, no matter their reasons. He had a job to do and, damn it, he was going to get it done.

"What ya got, Boss?"

Garcia's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked over his shoulder at him before gaining his feet and kicking the duffle bag with his toe. "Drugs, heroin by the looks of it. Do we have anything yet?" He looked hopefully at the younger man standing next to him.

Garcia shook his head. "Nothing yet."

"Damn it," Weston exhaled, letting his head fall back so he was looking up at the ceiling. "There's no way they made it out of the neighborhood before that perimeter was set up. I want every street, every alley, behind every dumpster searched. Tell the patrols to keep an eye out for busted windows or broken locks, make sure they aren't holed up in another building somewhere."

"Will do. We're talkin' twenty-five city blocks, though, it's going to take some time. I'll make sure we've got all available uniforms on the streets. I've also got a unit waiting at their car in case they try to circle back around to it."

"Good," Weston nodded as Garcia turned to walk away. Taking another look around the warehouse, he tilted his head as something caught his eye. Stepping away from the body, he walked a few feet until he was staring down into a rather large pool of blood. "Garcia," he called, motioning his partner back over. "Who do you suppose this belongs to?" He outlined the random crimson puddle with his finger.

Garcia glanced around him, looking for a body that could've possibly left that behind. Coming up with nothing, he shrugged. "Beats me." Kneeling down, he pointed out something alongside the blood. "But whoever it was, they left a trail." He took a few steps forward, drawing attention to the small drops of blood leading away from the larger pool.

Weston moved alongside his partner as they followed the string of droplets until they reached the man-door exit on the North side of the building. Pushing the door open, he stepped out far enough to see that the trail continued across the street.

"You think it's from one of them?" Garcia questioned.

Weston's gut told him yes but he shook his head. "I don't know, but either way, whoever left this trail is someone I would like to talk to." Stepping back through the door, he quickly gathered a small group of men to him, as well as some flashlights, and together they set off, following the trail a zigzagging block and a half before it came to a stop behind a dumpster in a dead end alley.

"Shit," Weston swore under his breath. "They must have tied off the wound." He shined his flashlight around the immediate area, looking for any signs. "The trail ends here." He paced forward a few steps before lashing out at the metal dumpster, kicking it hard with his foot. "Damn it!"

It was them. He knew it. Whoever was injured had lost a lot of blood and wouldn't have made it this far without help, and it wasn't lost on him that the trail happened to be moving in the same direction as the parked car they had found three blocks over. Turning back to his awaiting team, he began giving orders. "Radio the officers on the streets, I want the search focused in this area. We need to let the officers at the car know that there is a good chance the fugitives are headed in their direction."

They were close. He could practically fucking smell them, they were so close. He felt the familiar tingle along his spine that he always got when his prey was within reach and he felt a sense of urgency whispering in his ear, spurring him on. He glanced over at Garcia who had stepped up next to him. "We're going to continue searching on foot." He informed his partner who quickly nodded in agreement.

Moving out of the alley, they kept up a quick pace, following nothing but Weston's gut instincts. They made their way through the streets, searching every shadow in every side street as they went. They covered the blocks quickly and every minute that passed only increased Weston's urgency.

After an hour of searching Weston felt like screaming. They had been right here! Now he couldn't ignore the feeling that they were only getting further away. With as many men as they had in the streets, they should have found them by now. After another forty-five minutes of fruitless labor, Weston reluctantly agreed to head back to the warehouse where they found Special Agent Kuntsler talking animatedly on his phone while the crime scene techs worked in a flurry around him. When the FBI agent saw them approaching he ended his call and met them halfway.

"We've got nothing, Marshal. My men have searched this entire area inside and out and they assure me that your fugitives aren't here."

Weston didn't need to be told that, he could feel it. Shaking his head in anger, he stalked a few feet away, lacing his fingers together behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. How the fuck did they manage to slip past them? Maybe they had help on the inside. They had a lot of men from several different departments out on the streets tonight, men that were unfamiliar to him, men who he had no idea where their loyalties lay. All it would take was one sympathizer on the force and they could have allowed them to move right on through. That was what made this case so damn infuriating. Some people, including officers of the law, actually believed in what these crazy bastards were doing. It made his job twice as hard.

His aggravation with himself for failing, yet again, to bring his men in, for having them so close and yet still manage to weasel their way out of his grasp, caused him to finally lose his grip on his normally calm and confident exterior. "Fuck!" he swore loudly, ripping his hands through his hair. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he yelled up at the rafters of the warehouse.

Garcia eyed his mentor in surprise. In the years that he had known Weston he had never seen him loose his cool. The man had always kept his head, no matter the situation. Garcia had also never seen anyone slip past his partner as often and as easily as the MacManus brothers had in the last two months. Weston was one of the best in the Service. It was why Garcia had wanted to work with him so bad.

Taking a deep breath, Weston composed himself before turning and stalking back across the warehouse, ignoring Garcia's wide, shocked eyes and Kunstler's raised eyebrow as he passed. "I want the entire area swept over again, make sure we check every corner of every building. Then, I want a complete run-down of the warehouse from the crime scene techs. I want to be sure we missed absolutely nothing."

/ / /

Connor relaxed back into the overstuffed chair with a sigh, propping his feet up on the worn coffee table as he lit his next cigarette using the cherry off his previous one. Inhaling deeply, he discarded the smoldering filter between his fingers in the nearly overflowing ashtray that sat on the arm of his chair before tilting his head back, blowing the smoke toward the cracked and slightly discolored ceiling above him. Lowering his gaze, he returned his focus back to Murphy's sleeping form on the couch.

After they got his leg taken care of, Connor cleaned and dressed the bullet graze that ran across his brother's neck before dutifully checking him over for any other injuries. Satisfied that Murphy was out of immediate danger, he helped his twin into the living room and deposited him onto the couch where he very quickly fell into a fitful sleep, arm thrown over his eyes to block out the light from the kitchen. Edwards was taking a turn in the shower, washing off the blood and debris from the night, and Smecker had yet to return from his errands, leaving Connor to watch over Murphy alone with nothing but a swiftly depleting pack of smokes and his own self-incriminating thoughts.

He couldn't help but miss the old days when him and Murphy were able to fight side by side, complete trust in their mission and the faith that God would see them safely through. He hated this feeling of fear that was tearing him apart inside. He despised himself for it, and he was tired of it running his life and haunting his dreams. He refused to continue allowing it access, choosing instead to transform all of his fear and all of his guilt and morph into something he was more comfortable with: anger.

He was angry that Murphy got shot, angry about their failed job, angry that those fucking gang bangers had gotten away tonight, he was angry at Edwards for so willingly putting himself in unnecessary danger, angry at Maddox for the hell he put them through, angry that Romeo had died because of his actions, angry about Da, Greenly and Rocco, and, for the first time in his life, he was angry at God. The feeling of betrayal when he allowed his mind to linger on that last one was strong and burned like a knife in his chest.

Connor and Murphy had both lived their entire lives with a very strong faith. They had served God with a constant, unwavering devotion, never questioning, never doubting. Even when this mission was placed before them, they took it up without a second thought, and they have been repaid with nothing but heartache and pain.

Connor knew that the path they had chosen was the right one; if he could go back he wouldn't change a thing. They had made a real difference and saved countless of innocents in the process, but it didn't help the feelings of confusion and anger that were plaguing him now. He didn't understand why. Why did it feel like they were being punished? Why was everyone close to him suffering? It didn't seem fair.

"How's he doing?"

The voice startled Connor out of his runaway thoughts and he lifted his head to find Edwards, dark hair still damp from his shower, giving him a knowing look from where he stood in the hallway. Removing his booted feet from the coffee table, Connor leaned forward, discarding his cigarette in the ashtray before running calloused hands over his face. "He's gonna be fine," he said quietly, allowing his gaze to drift back to where Murphy lay sprawled out on the couch.

Edwards nodded, stepping fully into the room and taking a seat in the chair next to Connor. "And you?"

Connor looked down at the smears of blood on his arms and clothes before glancing briefly at Edwards. "I told you both, I'm fine. None of this is mine," he added quietly with a shake of his head. Nope, none of it was his. It all belonged to Murphy.

"Yeah," Edwards sighed, a hint of sadness in his voice. "I know what you said."

A moment of silence stretched between them before the younger man spoke again. "I know we haven't known each other very long, Connor, but I'm pretty good at reading people, and I'd like to think I'm a good judge of character." Edwards looked over at Connor who continued to avoid his gaze, keeping his eyes nailed to his twin. "I've always looked up to the Saints, even before I knew the men behind the masks, but over the last several months, I have had the opportunity to get to know you both and you have far surpassed my expectations. I hold both you and Murphy in the highest regard. I trust you with my life, Connor, and I hope you know that you can trust me, as well. You don't have to do this alone."

Connor dropped his gaze down to his hands. "I'm beginning to think that is the only way I can do this," he muttered quietly.

"Murphy would kick your ass if he heard you say that," Edwards huffed a short, humorless laugh before shaking his head. "How can you think that? You can't honestly believe you would be better off on your own."

Ignoring the question, Connor reached for his smokes, lighting yet another before leaning back in the chair and resuming his silent vigil.

When it became clear that he wasn't going to get a response, Edwards slid to the edge of his seat, tilting forward in an attempt to put himself in Connor's line of sight. "He's not dead, Connor," he said quietly, gesturing in Murphy's direction. "You said yourself, you've both suffered worse. Tonight might not have gone as planned but Murphy is going to be fine and we will get them. If you believe that God sent you on this mission then you have to trust that He will see you through it."

Connor snorted lightly as if the idea was laughable and Edwards narrowed his eyes at his friend. He had never been particularly religious, however, he had witnessed firsthand the depth of the brothers' dedication to their beliefs. He knew that their faith had been a driving force in this undertaking and seeing Connor make light of his own beliefs left Edwards feeling sad and more than a little concerned. He was just opening his mouth to continue his questioning when the sound of the lock on the front door being turned caught both of their attention.

Connor was immediately on his feet, gun in hand as he stalked across the room, weapon ready but aimed down at the floor. The door opened and Smecker ducked quickly inside carrying a bag in each hand. He paused when he saw Connor's tense and ready position. "It's just me," he reassured, hands raised slightly.

Connor's stance loosened and he gave the older man a brief nod before setting his gun back onto the coffee table and returning to his seat.

Dropping his bags onto the table, Smecker eyed the three occupants of the room, his eyes coming to rest on Murphy. "Did you get him taken care of?" he asked quietly as he began rifling through the plastic sacks.

Connor nodded. "Aye, he's good."

"Good." Pulling a small plastic bottle out of one bag, he tossed it in Connor's direction. "Here, you should get him started on those as soon as possible."

Connor caught the bottle easily with one hand and spun it in his fingers, reading the long name of what he could only assume was a very powerful antibiotic. Pushing himself out of his chair, he skirted the edge of the coffee table and took a seat on the side of the couch by Murphy's legs. "Murph," he called softly, giving his twin a gentle shake.

Murphy woke slowly, groaning as the pain of his injuries returned to the surface of his consciousness. His head felt foggy and he made an attempt to push himself up onto his elbows but was stopped by his brother's hand on his chest.

"Stay down, ya idiot, I just need you to take this," Connor chastised, holding his hand out.

Pushing his twin's hand away, Murphy sent him a glare and forced himself into a sitting position.

Connor rolled his eyes at his brother's stubbornness but didn't protest, just opened his hand, offering up the large white pill in his palm. Edwards came out of the kitchen carrying a fresh glass of water and handed it off to Murphy who accepted it gratefully. Connor waited until his brother swallowed the pill down with a grimace before moving in to inspect the bandage on his thigh.

"How's it feeling?" he asked, glancing up at his twin.

Murphy shrugged. "You know how it feels."

"Aye." He did know exactly how it felt and he subconsciously began rubbing his own thigh, cringing at the memory.

"Here."

Connor looked up to see Smecker tossing another prescription bottle in his direction. Catching it, he read the label. Oxycodone. Smirking, he passed it over to Murphy who took a moment to look at it before shaking his head and handing it back.

"You know I don't want any of that," he said, wincing as he readjusted himself on the couch.

Connor held back a chuckle as he set the bottle aside. "Aye, I didn't think so."

"Why not?" Edwards asked as he picked up the bottle, inspecting the label. "These are some kick-ass painkillers." All three men turned to look at him and he shrugged, setting the bottle back down. "What? I had appendicitis when I was fifteen and the doctor gave me these to help with my recovery. I was out of school for two weeks and let me tell you, there are worse ways to spend two weeks than laying in bed feeling like you're floating on a cloud." He chuckled to himself but trailed off when he noticed the raised eyebrows directed at him.

"Okay," Smecker spoke up slowly, grabbing the small prescription bottle back from its place on the coffee table. "We'll be keeping these away from Edwards." His tone was serious but the sparkle in his eyes let the young man know he was teasing. Connor and Murphy both snickered quietly at the flustered look on the kid's face.

"Murph has had a thing about pain killers ever since we were in our late teens," Connor explained, answering Edwards' previous question. "He used to get terrible migraines when we were younger. One night we were at a party when he came down with one-"

"Connor…" Murphy growled in protest, giving his brother a nudge with his elbow.

Connor glanced back at Murphy, grinning at the glare his twin was laying on him. "Alright, alright," he gave in with a shake of his head. "You never let me tell any of the good ones." Turning back to Edwards, he continued. "Anyway, long story short, he got pretty messed up that night and vowed to never again take anything like that again."

"Well, it's a good thing I picked up an alternative then." Smecker reached into the second bag and removed an unopened bottle of Jameson.

"Lord, bless this fucking man," Murphy declared, reaching out for the whiskey. "Where would we be without you, Smecker?"

"I don't think you really want the answer to that," he replied darkly, handing over the bottle.

"Umm…" Edwards spoke up hesitantly. "I hate to always be that annoying voice of reason, but you lost a lot of blood, Murphy. Are you sure you should be drinking?"

"Definitely," Murphy responded with conviction as he twisted the cap off. "I'm replacing the fluids I lost."

"They're Irish," Smecker reasoned. "Whiskey is like their lifeblood, or some shit. However," he continued, his expression turning more serious, "we do have some things we need to discuss so don't go too crazy with that just yet."

Murphy nodded, taking a long pull from the dark green bottle before passing it off to Connor who simply set it aside. Leaning forward he snatched his cigarettes off the table and pulled out two, lighting both and passing one off to Murphy. Settling back into the couch, he regarded Smecker with a pensive look. He had a good idea where this conversation was headed.

Seeing that he had a captive audience, Smecker took a seat in the empty chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "We need to talk about how to move forward from this," he began, not wasting any time. "Dawson is an aggressive businessman and he's going to be gunning for you hard now that he knows that you're attempting to interfere with his business. I tried to warn you about this." He looked pointedly at Connor. "You can't provoke a rattlesnake and then expect it not to strike. You have to cut off the head before it sees you coming. Now, not only does Dawson know that someone is trying to mess with his operation, thanks to your pennies, he also knows who."

Murphy felt his hackles rise at Smecker's criticism. Sure, maybe they had made the wrong choice in not going after Dawson first. He had been all for putting two bullets in the fucker's head right from the get go, but he respected Connor's reasons for wanting to wait. And maybe revealing their presence in the city hadn't been the smartest idea but it was important to Connor, and Murphy understood why. The religious aspect represented by the pennies reminded them both why they were doing this.

Glancing sideways at his twin, he saw the muscle in brother's jaw ticking in agitation as he glared at the smoldering cigarette between his fingers. Admitting to his mistakes had never been Connor's strong suit and Murphy could tell that having the dangerous outcome of his choices thrust back in his face was tearing him up.

"Look," Smecker continued with a sigh, pressing his fingers into his tired eyes. "I understand why you wanted to do it this way, okay? I get it. But I need you to trust me. I'm here only to help you, but you have to be willing to let me. You don't have to do this on your own anymore."

Connor shook his head. Isn't that what Edwards had just finished telling him? "What do you suggest?" he asked, his voice hard. By asking that question knew he was admitting to his failure and that admission left a bad taste in his mouth.

Smecker was slightly surprised that Connor wasn't putting up more of a fight but he didn't question it. "You need to end this," he insisted. "Cut off the snake's head and the rest of the body will die."

"And what about all of the people who benefit from Dawson's charities? They're a part of the body, that means they're going to die too." Connor pointed out, bringing back his whole reason for not doing this in the first place.

"The good that that man has done doesn't outweigh the turmoil he has caused. It can't be allowed to continue."

Connor took a long drag off his smoke before glancing over at Murphy who was watching him expectantly. They held each other's gaze for several long moments, a silent conversation passing between the two of them, before finally, Connor nodded his head, turning back to Smecker. "Aye, we'll do it."

Smecker looked relieved. "Good, it's the right-"

"Under one condition," Connor interrupted, holding up the pointer finger of his smoking hand. He ignored Murphy's confused frown and waited until Smecker sat back in his chair, eyebrow raised before continuing. "I'm finishing this asshole off on my own. Just me."

"The fuck you are!" Murphy protested immediately. "And fuck you for even suggesting it!"

"Murph, you just took a fucking bullet to the leg. You're not in any shape to be out there right now," Connor tried to reason.

"I'm fucking fine! I don't need you babysitting me. I know my limits! We were both sporting new bullet holes the night we stormed Papa Joe's house and you didn't let it stop us then!"

"And look how fucking well that went!" Connor retaliated, jamming his burnt cigarette angrily into the ashtray before sticking a finger in his brother's face. "I'm sure Roc would agree that it wasn't our brightest idea."

Murphy felt a stab of pain at the casual way his brother threw their friends death in his face and it only fueled his anger. "Oh fuck you, Connor! If Roc were here the only fucking thing he would agree on is that you're being a fucking pussy!"

Connor didn't explode like Murphy had expected him to; he simply sat back into the couch, looking exhausted and defeated. "You're not in any shape to be out there, Murph," he repeated half-heartedly.

"So take me," Edwards spoke up, looking meaningfully at Connor. "There's no reason you have to do it alone."

Connor looked over at the young man and he could see the same sincere look in his eye from their earlier conversation, but he shook his head in denial. "Na, kid, you need to stay here, too."

"And what makes you fucking think I'll listen to you, hmm?" Murphy continued, his anger still burning bright. "You can bitch and cry all you fucking want, but I'm not letting you fucking do this alone. You go, I go," he stated with finality, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest.

Connor knew this argument was going nowhere. He knew Murphy would never accept what he had to do and Connor was slightly surprised that he hadn't received his twin's fist in the face for his efforts. Leaning forward he rubbed calloused hands over his face. "Fine," he muttered quietly.

Murphy raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Fine?"

"Yeah, Murphy. Fine. You win."

"Yeah?" Murphy asked again, having a hard time believing that his brother would roll over so easily.

"Yeah."

"Promise me," Murphy demanded, scooting closer to his twin on the couch. "Promise me that we'll do this together."

Connor had never purposefully lied to his brother and he found that doing so now was damn near impossible. It broke his heart but he swallowed hard before nodding his head. "I promise, Murph." Once the words were out, he felt guilt of a new kind flood his conscience.

"Good." Murphy offered him a half smile and a pat on the shoulder.

"But the kid stays here," Connor added on.

"What? No! We're past this now." Edwards complained in exasperation. "If I hadn't been there with you tonight neither of you would be here now. I can help you!"

Murphy looked back and forth between his twin and their young friend. He couldn't deny that Edwards had been useful. He was the kind of guy that Murphy wouldn't mind having at his back, but as Connor turned to look at him, he knew he had to go along with it. The look in his brother's eyes was hard, daring him to challenge his decision, and Murphy knew that now wasn't the time for this argument. He knew his brother inside and out and he could see something in his blue eyes that spoke of desperation. There was something else there as well but Murphy couldn't tell what it was and that had him worried. He knew that, after everything that happened tonight, Connor was on an emotional brink and Murphy was afraid of what would happen if he backed his twin into a corner. He didn't want him to do anything stupid. "Aye, the kid'll stay here," he agreed.

Shaking his head, Edwards exhaled angrily as he pushed himself from his chair and stormed from the room. Murphy's eyes followed the young man as he made for the hallway and flinched slightly when he heard the kid's door slam shut. He felt more than a little guilty and he hoped that once this job was done things would start getting easier, less complicated.

"Okay," Smecker said, breaking his silence. He hadn't wanted to get in the middle of the brothers' squabble and was relieved when they resolved their issues, even if it wasn't what Edwards had wanted to hear. In his opinion, three men were better than two, but two was still better than one, and he was glad Connor had agreed to at the very least take his brother with him. "I'll give you a few days to heal up and get rested then I'll be in touch. We'll finish this guy off and get the hell out of this city. Things are heating up out there and every day we spend here is another chance for that Marshal to catch your scent."

"Aye, but Dawson isn't the only one we need to take out before our business here is done," Connor insisted. "The man," he looked to Murphy. "The one that was there tonight? He's some sort of higher up. Dawson's second in command, maybe. I don't know. But he doesn't get to live. He has to go, too."

Smecker nodded thoughtfully. "I'll make some calls, see if I can get some pictures from the FBI database of possible suspects. If you can ID the man for me, I can try and get some more info on him."

Connor nodded. "Sounds good. Thank you, Smecker."

"Aye, thanks," Murphy added. "For everything. You saved our asses tonight."

"It's what I'm here for, you just have to be willing to let me help you." Smecker's eyes fell to Connor again and he gave him a knowing look before standing from his seat and gesturing to the front door. "Well, I'm calling it a night. You boys give me a call if you need anything, all right? Lay low here for the time being and I'll be in touch in a few days."

Murphy nodded and Connor gained his feet, preparing to walk the man to the door. Throwing the locks, he pulled the door open and Smecker walked through, stopping and turning once he was out in the hallway.

"Here." He said, reaching into his pocket and tossing something in Connor's direction.

Connor caught the object against his stomach and cocked an eyebrow as he read the label of yet another prescription bottle. Eszopiclone.

"I heard you were having a hard time sleeping," Smecker explained before stepping down the hall away from the door. "Get some rest, Connor," he called over his shoulder. "You look like shit."

Connor mumbled under his breath as he shoved the orange bottle into the pocket of his jeans, watching as Smecker disappeared down the hall. Once he was out of sight, he closed the door, replaced the locks and stepped over to where Murphy was still seated on the couch. "C'mon, Murph, lets get you to bed."

Murphy grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the table and took a healthy swig before accepting the arm that his twin extended down to him. Together they hobbled down the hall, past Edwards door where a steady thump thump thump of fists on a heavy bag could be heard, down to the open doorway of their bedroom. Connor deposited Murphy gently in his bed before falling heavily onto his own mattress.

Laying there in the darkness listening to his twin's light snoring, he rolled the bottle of sleeping pills between his fingers, considering the bliss of a deep, and potentially dreamless sleep. After a few more moments of contemplation, he popped off the child-safe lid and shook out two little white pills into the palm of his hand. He tossed them to the back of his throat and dry swallowed them before replacing the lid and tossing the bottle into the drawer of his nightstand. It only took a few minutes before he felt the pull on his already exhausted mind and he let it drag him into darkness with a smile of relief.

Chapter revised 11/12/17