Getting back into the groove I think. I've had to go over previous chapters and refresh to keep up.

Chapter Ten: Ethics

Had Paul not awakened to the smell of death he would have had to face the convoy of the Boston police department in drag. He had rushed out in a scramble thankful for the cover of darkness. His head throbbed with guilt. There was no doubt in his mind the boys had been taken in and shown the traditional 'Yakavetta hospitality'. He could imagine it now, the twins made all the more symmetrical with matching missing fingers. And what of their sister? He sighed angrily, flagging down a cab. There were too many questions and too few answers.

The cabbie stifled a giggle as Paul crawled in the back seat. He figured he must have been a sight. Hair disheveled, makeup a wreck, crotch prominent. He hadn't the time to hide it on his way out. A small part of him had wanted the cabbie to say something, anything out of line but he remained silent for the remainder of the trip. Paul tossed him a fifty and told him to keep his mouth shut ignoring the use of his feminine voice. He had exercised it enough for one night.

Duffy, Greenly, and Dolly were growing accustomed to the sight of dead gangsters. Had they been in a different line of work it would have been a comforting thought. The ritual pennies and crossed arms on the dead were the norm at a homicide scene. Paul strode into the foyer of the mansion almost too comfortably, putting on a haughty grin to disguise his fatigue. He was anxious to see that room. He could vaguely remember the gangsters talking about it after he had killed Geno in the bathroom. The detectives greeted him somberly as if in waiting for his next round of heckling. Instead Paul ignored them, drifting past with his own ambitions. He followed a trail of smeared blood to a plain white door that stood apart from the rest of the interior decor. He pushed the door open and a wafting scent of rot greeted him. Two gangsters sprawled across the floor covered in wood splinters and one hairy victim cuffed to a chair. It's not them. He assured himself. They got out somehow. They're safe. Aware of the detectives following behind him, Paul muttering to each group until the forensics team cleared out and the four were left alone.

He approached the cuffed corpse. The furry face of David Della Rocco sat tranquil beneath a pair of pennies. His jaw tightened in remorse. Guess your luck ran out, eh cowboy?

Paul imagined the boys were in trouble of getting themselves caught this time. They would be distraught by Rocco's death and badly wounded. They would be careless from adrenaline. He only hoped their sister hadn't accompanied them.

"I want you three to tell me what you think of all this." He said without turning to them.

"It's obviously whoever hit the Russians." Greenly snorted tucking his hands under his armpits. "Hired gun ah somethin'. Got the pennies, crossed arms, the works. Can't be retaliation…."

"No. I mean about this whole situation. As much as I hate to say it Green Beans I think your good guy - bad guy theory is the best we have to go on right now. I mean, just think about the balance of this thing. All the Vics have been mobsters, mob-related, or criminals…Justice at it's finest, gentlemen. This is our wet dream come true!" He threw his arms up in showcase of the dead gangsters muddled on the floor.

"No disrespect. I think whoever is pulling this shit off is making us look bad." Duffy said. "But if we're being completely honest…I also think they're doing the world a huge favour."

"That's the spirit. Dolly?"

"Can't say I haven't wanted to snuff some of the lowlifes we've hauled in before myself."

"Woah, woah, woah. Wait a minute….Are we becomin' suspects ah somethin'? " Greenly's eyes widened.

"No." Paul said bordering on irritation. "No, but I'm sure at one point or another you've felt bound by all this red tape every time a child molester gets off free, every time you see a woman raped with no evidence to convict the perp…"

"So what do we do about all this?" Duffy cut in. "What are you getting at?"

"There's a difference between doing a job well and doing a job ethically, gentlemen. I think we're like-minded enough to know that these boys aren't evil men. They're sending a message of their own."

"Boys?" Dolly's eyes widened. "Those MacManus boys?"

"I knew it!" Greenly snorted. "Fack, who'd think they'd be capable of something like this, ah?"

Paul groaned.

As Paul slowly revealed bits of information about the boys, their motives and inspiration there was awe amongst the detectives. He had taken a risk by telling them, but what hadn't been risky lately? They were dumbfounded by the accuracy and practical genius on the crime scenes. For all intents and purposes they should have been embarrassed. Instead it was replaced by inspiration. Pleased with the detectives' new love of the vigilantes Paul granted them an ounce of respect.

"So, what about the sister?" Duffy asked. "What's her part in all this?"

"I know she's been at every one of their scenes but only from what the boys have told me. There's no evidence and anything we do have is inconclusive. However, I am of the belief that her brothers aren't too fond of her tagging along. I think she serves better as damage control and moral support than as a zealot."

"Good lookin' girl too." Greenly added. "I don't blame them for wanting to keep that safe."

"Smart girl." Paul corrected. "Not your type."

Duffy and Dolly grinned.

"Why are you telling us all this?" Duffy said.

"Because despite a few minor intellectual speed bumps, you cops are alright. I think in helping them, you help your city. I'm not saying go out and tamper with evidence, but use a little…finesse. Subtlety, boys. Subtlety."

They cleared out as the forensics team began bagging bodies. Media sharks swarmed the front gates, cameras flashing nonstop. Paul lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and forced himself not to grimace. He waded through the ocean of microphones trying to reach the cruiser for a moment of silence to be alone with his thoughts.

As the day drifted to an end Paul was relieved to find himself in a soft bed. A small part of him was anxious about revealing information to a rookie detective and two boneheads, but he trusted his gut on this one. They weren't completely dense. A little naïve, but that was remedied with experience. As he sunk into his sheets, hoping to let his mind go blank the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Agent Smecker? It's Murphy"

"Jesus Fuckin' Christ. I don't know how you-"

"He's our Da…" Murphy said.

"What? The old man?"

"Aye. It's a long story but he's the one who saved our arses. Look, we just wanted to tell ya that we're alright. We're gonna lay low for a while, but this shit with Yakavetta isn't over. Figured we'd give ya some warnin'"

"So you're sticking around."

"Seems that way."

"Let me know if you boys need help. I've got a few badges that like your work."

"Aye, that we will. We'll be in touch."

A small smile curled the ends of Paul's lips.

Murphy hung up the phone and tossed it onto the couch of Rose's apartment. Exhaustion carved dark circles under his eyes and added age to his boyish features. He settled himself into the couch watching as Connor examined his wrist. Fortunately, the bones remained under the skin but black and purple bruises were beginning to cloud between his few angled fingers. He stared at it in attempt to figure a way of wrapping the mass without proper medical aid. Prodding it and wincing he figured he'd have no choice.

"Goin' out."

Murphy nodded and stared blankly as the door shut behind him. Moments later Rose emerged from the hall, her light pajamas and towel-wrapped hair contrasting hard against her bruised face. Her eye had puffed up. She looked at Murphy who continued to stare at nothing. Hot tears began to roll down his cheeks. She sat beside him and touched his shoulder.

"Fuckin' stupid bastard had to follow us."

"I know."

"The fuck was he thinkin'!"

"Shh." She cooed, fighting off her own tears. "He tried to protect us the only way he knew how. You can't blame him for that."

"We've gotta kill this bastard Rosie…" He sniffed, clearing his throat to disguise a sob.

She nodded. "Give it time. We'll wait for the opportunity."

"Connor and I wait for the opportunity." He said staring at her purple face. "You're too much of damsel, y'know. You give them ammunition…"

She stiffened, glaring at him.

"Go to bed Rose."

Despite the hard couch, Murphy fell asleep within minutes. Rose however, stayed awake. She gazed into the stucco of her ceiling until it began to froth into obscurity. Rocco, Yakavetta, …their father… She saw herself in him. For all the looks the boys took from their mother, she was like him. It had been a strange incident. She was unsure of whether or not to feel sadness or anger at his absence from their lives and who to direct it toward. Their mother rarely spoke of him and they had hardly paid the stranger a thought. She wondered what her mother would say if she told her. The woman was impossible to predict.

Their father had little time to explain anything to them other than to meet him when things had died down. The way he looked at her was haunting. His eyes told of an unfathomable sadness and she realized somehow that she had missed this strange man. She wanted to cry, but grief made her weary and eventually she slipped into an uneasy sleep.

Connor returned with a fresh bandage on his wrist. His stomach gnawed at him and his eyes were heavy with fatigue. He was thankful for the clinic's open door policy. No questions asked, no questions answered. After half the things those doctors witnessed in South Boston, an Irishman with a broken wrist was nothing spectacular. Ignoring his sleeping brother, Connor flicked the television on. He flipped through channels searching aimlessly through the after-midnight drabble American television offered. Talk shows, commercials, and soft-core porn littered the screen. He sighed passing through the cycle of channels several times over until the grey morning light slipped into the room.