[Chapter 37: Weakness]

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Murphy trudged up the stairs, slowing as he reached the top. Shooting stars pulsed along the edges of his vision. Dry clothes. Dry clothes and about a gallon of water to drink, and then a cigarette.

He pushed the door open and steeled himself for a Category 5. It didn't happen. At least, not yet. Connor was simmering on the couch, a beer in one hand, remote in the other, the TV volume turned all the way down.

Murphy leaned a shoulder against the wall while he pulled off his sodden boots and dropped them on the linoleum inside the door.

Connor turned the TV off.

"It's taken care of," Murphy said before he could start. "She's not going to be a problem."

Connor rose from the couch and Murphy could feel vibrations in the air. "Why was she here?"

Why was Connor here? He hadn't expected him back for at least another hour. "It's kind of a long story," he said, shortening it by leaving out the beginning, and his visit to the shop. "I didn't bring her here. She sort of…broke in." Connor turned his head sharply and Murphy added, "It was unlocked."

Connor closed his eyes. "How did she know which unlocked door was yours?"

"She followed me up to use the friggin' john. She wanted to talk about Roc."

"Well, what did you tell her? I swear to God, Murph, if you-"

"I didn't tell her everything. Just that we…have helped. That we're in contact."

"Oh, is that all?" He shook his head, then tipped back the last of his beer, crushed the can in one hand and hurled it against the wall. "Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"I had to tell her something—she fuckin' saw this." He turned, and Connor saw his blood stained jeans and swore. "I had to set her straight about Roc," Murphy said. "It was the only way I could get her to back down off her fucking witch hunt."

"So, that's what you were discussing when I walked in?"

"No." Murphy tugged off his sweatshirt and tossed it over a chair. "That was nothing. Momentary lapse in judgment."

"Are you high? You can't do this! We can't—neither of us can afford a compromise like that right now. We talked about this, we agreed."

"I know."

"I don't think you do! You had her on the goddamn dining room table, Murph!"

Murphy bit his tongue, making for the bedroom for a change of clothes. Connor followed him.

"What if she saw something? What if-"

"She didn't. I was careful. We talked, then…you came home." His leg throbbed when he stepped out of his jeans. "Did Greenly call?"

"He didn't, and don't change the subject-fuck, you're a mess. Is that all from this morning?"

"I busted a stitch on the way downstairs. She freaked, but I convinced her to stay and hash it out with me in the Laundromat."

"Jesus. I knew we should have used the iron." He disappeared, and came back with bandages.

Murphy sat on the edge of the bed and taped it up as best he could.

"You're falling apart. We're going to have to let Mancini breathe for a few more days."

"No. I'm fucking fine. I want this over and done with, the sooner the better. You got something from Leah, I hope."

Connor's face darkened. "A bit. I'll go try Greenly again."

Murphy threw on yet another set of dry clothes and joined him in the dining room, noticing a few newspaper clippings he'd missed lying under the table.

"Tell me you have good news," Connor was saying. He adjusted the phone on his ear, his eyes closing in obvious frustration. "No, Sean. You all said it was impossible, remember? A Sicilian Fort Knox…Dolly didn't have anything else? Fine…fine, just give it to me." He gestured to Murphy for something to write on. Murphy found a pen and a napkin, and Connor repeated an address aloud as he wrote it down. It was in a town Murphy recognized as one of Boston's wealthier suburbs, not far from where Annie had gone to college.

Murphy moved closer to listen in, but Greenly's voice was barely audible, as if he were whispering.

"Really? What did he find?...What do you mean he won't tell you? I thought you were his bitch. I mean—I thought you were playin' at….oh, you fucking know what I mean." Connor's lips formed a line as he listened. "Well, keep trying. Okay. All right, I understand. Just keep us updated."

He ended the call, staring down at the phone for a moment.

"The douche found something. But he's not sharing with the class, so Greenly's been busy stalking him all morning. We've got nothing new. Just the damn fortified mansion in Chestnut Hill."

"What did he find?"

"No idea." Connor squeezed his temples. "But Greenly says he's on it like a bloodhound."

"Who is, Greenly or Beckman?"

"Beckman's the bloodhound. Greenly's on him like shit on a shoe."

"Now you sound like Smecker." The man they should be talking to right now. Murphy went back to his room for a sweater and his only other pair of shoes, and then checked the duffel for the field binoculars they'd splurged on the last time they'd hit the Army/Navy surplus store.

"What are you doing?" Connor asked. "You need to rest up."

"I'll rest up in the car. We're not sitting around waitin' for Greenly to do our job for us. Let's go case Fort Knox."

…

The neighborhood wound around a broad hill, the properties spaced widely apart, with elaborate gates of wrought iron and stone, each with gatehouses or security card readers limiting access. Most were surrounded by high stone walls so that views from outside were possible only through the open scrollwork of the gates. What they could see was mostly landscaping: lengthy, tree-lined driveways disappearing through manicured lawns at the end of which enormous private estates rose into the gray sky.

They found Mancini's address easily enough, being careful not to slow down too much as they passed. There appeared to be private maintenance roads running behind and along one side of the estate, with mounted cameras that Murphy was able to see with the binoculars. The estate nearest to Mancini's was across and slightly north along the wide, maple-lined street. Its perimeter wall was less maintained, or possibly intentionally overgrown to ensure privacy from undesirable mob-family neighbors. Ten-foot high aged brick, covered with green moss and twisting ivy, ran along the edge of the street, then cut back in to border a half-circle turnaround driveway that led to a security kiosk and solid oak main gate. A slow spin through the driveway revealed the kiosk to be unmanned.

Connor backed the car around and parked along the inside of the wall, facing the street. They didn't have much of a view into Mancini's estate, but they'd be able to see which cars were coming and going and whatever interactions took place at his security gatehouse.

After twenty minutes with no one shooing them off the property, Murphy lit his first smoke and slid his seat all the way back. For the rest of the morning, they took turns with the binoculars, taking note of which cars were stopped and which were waved through. Many of the faces were familiar, from either Yakavetta's old regime, Buffone's funeral, or from the various mugshots they'd seen in Smecker's files. Back when he was still sharing them.

They discussed the mafiosos, and nothing more, until Murphy opened his door to take a piss and had to white-knuckle the door frame just to get to his feet.

"She really worked you over good, didn't she?" Connor asked.

It was a question so loaded it could only be rhetorical, so Murphy finished and zipped his pants, lighting a cigarette by way of an answer.

"What did she say when you told her?" Connor asked, his tone changing slightly when Murphy shut the door again.

How could he summarize a conversation like that? Murphy shrugged. "She called us zealots."

Connor mulled that over. "I think that's the nicest thing she's ever called me."

"Not true. She once called you wiry."

A car passed, slowing at Mancini's gate. Peering through the binoculars, Connor read the license plate aloud to Murphy, who added it to a growing list to be discussed with whichever detective decided to call them back first.

"You're sure she's going to keep her mouth shut?" Connor asked.

And there it is, Murphy thought. He took a long, deep pull.

"She doesn't hate us. She hated the Saints. Now she's trying to wrap her head around the fact that she's on the same side that they are—that we are. It's a complete 180. It'll take some time."

Connor kept the binoculars up. "I'm sure it will. But that's not really what I asked."

"She's cool, Con. What she does know, she'll keep to herself."

She knew the truth about Roc, but not about him. Not yet. It was like a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders—and then suspended over his head with a frayed, disintegrating rope.

"You can't see her anymore, Murph. You know that, right? It's too risky, and she already knows too much."

Murphy thought of her, backed against his apartment door, her mouth sweet and warm despite the chill on her skin. "It's done. She said it before I could."

"Is that going to be enough?" Connor lowered the binoculars. "I wouldn't ask, but-"

"Yes, you would." Murphy flicked the butt of his smoke out the window.

"Don't turn this on me, Murph. I'm really makin' a fucking effort here. Granted, she may not be the enemy, but that does not mean she's not a threat."

Connor looked like there was more he had to say, but the phone rang, saving Murphy from further conversation. He glanced at the screen—Greenly. He tossed the phone to his brother.

"What do you got for me?" Connor answered. He squeezed his temples. "That's it?... Aye, we're still here….Let me ask you something, who's Mr. Pink?" He nodded. "Okay, and what about the guy with the buzz cut?"

He ran through the list of plate numbers, and then set the pen down. "Explain to me how this works, Sean. Can't Smecker just demand that Beckman tell you guys what it is?" He frowned, closing his eyes with a sigh, and ended the call by asking again that Greenly keep them in the loop.

"Beckman's off his leash," he told Murphy. "The douche breezed in this morning, went straight to Evidence, ordered all the tests results confidential, for his eyes only. The fact that there's suspicion of something internal is apparently giving him a lot of leeway."

"Smecker's still in charge of the Saints investigation though, right? So if it was related to that, wouldn't he have a say?"

"You'd think. Maybe it's not necessarily Saints. There's a lot unsolved out there right now, probably a lot of shit we don't even know about. Could be something else he's working on. Greenly doesn't even know where it came from—the office building, Frankie's, the fucking pub…All he could say is it's smaller than a fucking bread box."

Murphy took the phone and tried Seamus, leaving a message when he didn't answer. "I talked to him this morning. He said all was quiet."

"Well, they're going to come looking for their thugs eventually."

"Aye, all the more reason to get this over with."

"I don't know." Connor looked at Mancini's gate doubtfully, keying the ignition. "But I've seen enough for today. We can hit Saint Auggie's on the way home."

…

Murphy was kneeling beside his brother, reciting the Rosary prayer in the familiar Latin, when Connor rocked back on his heels.

"Hold on. How did Annie follow you to the apartment?"

Murphy pinched the bead he was on to save his place and turned to face his brother. Not that they'd ever been big on convention, but Connor had spoken so loudly that the other two parishioners stopped and turned to look their way. Sister Margaret swished by, arching a brow.

"We can talk about this later, Con."

Connor put his rosary back on, tucking it soundly under the collar of his shirt. "Just explain to me how she followed you to our apartment, if you were already there."

Murphy stood, squeezing the beads in his fist. Then he walked out. Connor followed, letting the door slam behind him.

"I went for coffee," Murphy said.

"Oh? This is fucking new."

"It's not earth-shattering, Con. When it started raining, she gave me a ride. I had her drop me half a block down, and I saw her drive away. She must have turned around."

Connor ran his tongue along his bottom teeth. "That's it?"

"That's it."

They went back to the car.

"That's it?"

"Fuck, Con, what else do you expect?"

"I don't know, Murph, that's why I'm fucking asking! You seem to leave out a lot of vital information where she's concerned."

"Forgive me if I think some things are personal. That some small scrap of my life might stay sacred."

"Jesus fucking Christ. I'm not asking what color her panties are! I want to know how much of a liability she is! If we're going to get hauled in, I want it to be our own doing, not because she let some fucking prettyboy detective buy her one too many drinks."

Murphy looked out the window, hating Beckman so deeply it was probably a sin. "I'm sorry," he said. "You're right. I should have told you-she's through helping him."

With a sharp laugh, Connor stopped at a light. "You're as deluded as you were the first time around."

"No. She's finally seen the fucking light, and the bastard is out of the picture. Period."

"Don't be a fucking idiot. A man—a bloodhound-like that is never going to be out of the picture. Especially now that he's her only real contact."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm surprised she didn't tell you. Annie got fired."

"What?" The boxes, the laundry basket with her boots and pillow. Had she started to explain why? Oh yes-but then he'd gone to put on pants and things had pretty much spiraled from there.

"Well, I shouldn't say fired. Leah got her suspended, after her little stunt chasing after masked men in dark alleys. I guess she's too dangerous to stay on the job." He didn't bother to hide his smile at the thought.

"Fuckin' hell," Murphy said. "Leah was the one who blew the damn siren. That was Beckman staking us out last night, you know. Not Mancini. Leah was warning us. Well, not us, but the Saints. Got a few double standards, that one."

"Are we taking sides now?"

"We've taken sides since day one. I'm just glad this is all going to be over soon. We'll finish the job…then we can see what shakes out."

Connor looked at him, and Murphy could see the gears turning, that a decision was already beginning to cement in his brother's mind.

"I think this time Greenly may be right," Connor said, parking the car outside their apartment and cutting the engine with an air of finality. "The estate isn't our best option."

"It's our only option. We'll make it work, we've done it before."

"Aye, we've done it before, and look what happened. At Yakavetta's we got caught by a motion sensor in a damned hydrangea bush. We didn't know the security set-up, we didn't even know the floor plan!"

"Things are different now. I'm sure Dolly's got specs on the house. Satellite view can give us access points, and we've got Seamus and Rhon for a distraction. Have a little faith, would ya?"

"No. Too many variables here, too much out of our control."

The phone rang. "You mean your control," Murphy said.

"Do you really want to talk to me about control right now, little brother?" He shook his head in disgust, answering the call, "Seamus, what's the craic?"

"Put it on speaker," Murphy told him. Connor waved him off so Murphy punched the button himself.

Seamus's accent filled the car. "…are all loaded, but I gotta tell you, the refrigeration in my truck only goes down to about 45 degrees, so we're on the clock."

"Understood," Connor said, grimacing at Murphy. "Any visitors today?"

"None that came knocking."

"Outside? Is Mancini sending drive-bys?"

"Every car that drives by I think is Mancini. I've been in some serious shit before, but this is…Fellas, I just loaded three dead bodies in my keg truck."

Murphy almost felt sorry for him. Then he remembered the keg truck was normally loaded up with illegal assault rifles.

Seamus sighed. "Rhon's taking it hard. She's been talking about packin' up, going home."

Connor said, "You both need sleep-"

"Home to Ireland, Connor."

"We hear you, Seamus," Murphy said. "Just give us tonight. I promise you, we're going find a way out. We're going to end this once and for all."

"I know you will, Murph. Oh, I did find that phone in the alley, like you said. No pen, though. Your darlin' girl must have run off with it."

Connor's eyes lifted from the phone. "The pen?"

Murphy didn't hear whatever else Seamus said, because Connor cut him off, saying they would call him back later.

"Con—"

Connor shoved out of the car. Murphy caught up to him at the building door. "Con, she doesn't have it-"

"No, she already fucking gave it to Beckman!"

"She didn't. I saw her tell him-"

"You saw her tell him? What, did you all meet up at Dunkie's together?" He thundered up the stairs. Murphy struggled after him, leaning hard on the railing, determined that he'd ripped open the scab for the last time.

"He came by the shop this morning!" Murphy shouted, knowing the risk of exposure would get his idiot brother's attention. "She had me stay back in the office!" A lower-level neighbor whose door was open eyed him and pulled his door shut. Nostrils flaring, Connor slowed until Murphy caught him at the landing outside their door. "It's a long story," Murphy said more quietly, "but it's not a big deal. Look, I didn't tell you earlier because I knew you'd fucking flip out like this. Beckman was pissed about getting his stake-out blown. She told him about stabbing someone, he asked where the pen was and she said she didn't know."

"So he went back to the alley himself and found it."

"No. You heard Seamus say it was quiet all morning. It could be anything that he found! There's no reason to assume it's that pen."

"It is the pen! What else would it be?" Connor hissed, struggling to unlock the door and dial the phone at the same time. "He must have gotten it from Annie when you weren't looking. She knew you were watching, do you think she'd hand over your DNA right in front of you?"

"That was before she knew it was me. Who are you calling?" Murphy asked, reaching to see the phone.

Connor shoulder-checked him, knocking him off-balance. "Well, she knows now, and suddenly Beckman's got evidence. Fucking think about it, Murph." He shoved the door open. Murphy caught it before it slammed in his face. Connor turned to face him, propping the phone with his shoulder, holding a fist up in warning. "Jake, it's Connor. Listen, is Annie around?"

Murphy faked to the side without the phone, and when Connor spun to block, Murphy darted to snatch it from the other side. Connor's elbow caught him in the ribs and the phone dropped away. Murphy absorbed the blow, grabbing his brother's arm and twisting it behind his back. "What the fuck, Connor? I trust her, therefore you won't?"

Connor sucked a breath, kicking at Murphy's legs. "Pretty much, aye. Savin' us all some time."

Connor's boot heel connected with his shin, loosening his grip. They both lunged for the phone. Connor got there first. The call had disconnected, but he quickly dialed again.

The triumph on his face sickened Murphy. "This isn't about Annie," Murphy realized. "This is about you not having a scrap faith in anyone but yourself."

Connor got to his feet, and Murphy had half a mind to take his feet out from under him, but suddenly Connor was standing over him, his boot held firmly and meaningfully on Murphy's injured upper thigh.

"Don't even fucking think about," Murphy warned.

Connor's foot pressed harder. It was Connor's good leg, which meant his weight was on the leg with his bad knee. All it would take was a sharp push at the right angle…

"Jake, sorry about that…" Connor said. Murphy made his move. Connor dropped like a stone, grunting but still keeping hold of the phone. There was a flash of fury in his eyes, and a blur of movement and pain exploded in Murphy's temple. The edges of his vision began to dim.

"Have her call me when she gets back, would you?" was the last thing he heard before the world went black.

...

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A/N: Thanks Goddess & Pitbullsrok, Elizabeth Bartlett, The Cocky Undead, Jianali, Effigy, lochrann, and all you newcomers who are just joining us on this epic adventure. I appreciate every single one of you, and truly value your feedback on this story. Thanks, guys!