Chapter IV

She stumbled into the apartment, too pissed to see clearly. She ripped off her jacket and opened up the closet door; she threw it in and it caught onto something on the shelf and everything fell down. There was an explosion of newspaper articles all over the floor. She dropped to her knees, cursing under her breath, and began to pick them up. "What the—?"

They were torn at the edges, some were beginning to yellow. Bold headlines read 'Saints Strike Again' and 'Saints: Friend or Foe?'. She inhaled sharply, picking up a Wanted Ad with three familiar faces.

"Fuck, Murph." She turned to see Connor standing in the doorway. "She found Rocco's clippings."

"You're the Saints?" Her voice didn't reprimand, but grew soft.

"Brodie, we're not…murderers—"

"No, stop. My sister, she was in the courtroom that day with Joe Yakavetta." She held up a fistful of the articles, "She wrote these. You changed her, her entire view on life. She followed your story. She helps make you this." She laughed. "It would figure you egomaniac boys would keep them."

Murphy gathered them up and threw them back into the shoe box, "Hey, our friend Rocco collected the first few that came out and we just kept at it."

"And Duke?"

"Our father, but he prefers Duke," Connor lit up a Marlboro. "Da makes him feel too old."

She looked back and forth between the twins, "That's what you do all day then?" They nodded. "Oh." She went over to the kitchen and pulled out three beers from the refrigerator. "What else you hiding?"

A dozen beers later and half a bottle of Jack and Sky, "So how didya fucking loose your virginity?" Brodie squealed, pointing her cigarette at Connor; she held a shot glass, half filled with Jack, in her other.

Connor blushed, "I fucked my Mathematics teacher so she would give me the passing grade I needed to pass my senior year."

"I fucking fucked that class, once she realized I wouldn't give it up quite so easy," Murphy threw in.

"But you were already tainted before that!"

Brodie nearly choked on her drink, "Murph lost his virginity first?"

"To our babysitter!" Connor crowed. "She was seventeen and he was twelve."

"That's sick!"

"What can I say?" Murphy shrugged. "I'm a stud."

"Fucking bullshit you are!" Connor yelled.

"What about you, Miss Priss?" Murphy teased Brodie. "Or are you still saving it for that fucking special guy?"

She laughed again, "I was sixteen. In my parents Rec Room, on the billiards table. Three thrusts and I became a woman."

The boys screamed with laughter and Brodie reluctantly joined them. Tears streaming down their cheeks, it came to a point they forgot what was funny to begin with. Murphy watched her, head thrown back, entire body shaking with genuine laughter; her hazel eyes glittered with tears. She slowed and caught his gaze, still coughing up bits of giggles, wiping her face. "What are you fucking looking at?"

He shook his head, "Nothing."

She searched around her, "Where's the cigarettes?"

The three of them looked around. Murphy leaned forward and she pulled them out from his left ass cheek. "You fucking crushed them!"

"Fuck, I always do that."

"Ah," she slowly pulled out the last, flattened Marlboro. "Dibs."

Connor reached forward and tried to swat it out of her mouth. She shrieked, and leaped to her feet, still trying to light it. "Wench!" He cried out. She rushed to the bathroom and slammed the door. She came back out, cigarette lit and looking victorious. Seeing Connor's disappointment, she laughed, "I'll go buy more!"

"I'll go with you," Murphy said quickly, grabbing his coat.

The night was cold, their frosty exhale dissipated back into the air. She stumbled over and wrapped her arm around his waist and he draped his across her neck. "I wonder how you boys don't get vagina every fucking night."

He laughed, "How do you figure that?"

"Dark, mysterious, polite but forceful. You even have the fucking accents. Any American woman goes nuts for an accent."

He laughed again and pulled her closer just as she stumbled. "It's rather difficult to keep anything going with what we do."

"Oh?"

"'Sorry, honey, that I was late and all. Had to iron up a couple bullet holes in my arm.'"

She giggled, "But at least you and your brother get along famously."

"He's family."

"Other than Duke?"

"There's Ma, but in the states I just consider Connor as it." They came up to a convenience store and he pushed the door open for her. "What about you?"

"I have an older sister and two younger brothers. One is dead now and the other joined the Navy SEALS." She sighed, pulling out some crumpled bills and throwing them onto the counter. "Marlboro Reds. I don't ever hear from the other two."

"What about your parents?"

"They'll have nothing to do with me now."

"How come?"

"My mom and dad were insane white supremacists. My dad even started some hierarchy in the Ku Klux Klan."

"And?"

"To politely put it, Eddie was a niggar."

"Oh."

"Want one?"

He nodded and she placed both cigarettes in her mouth and lit them at the same time. She handed one to Murphy. "So, you're not some fucking raving racists?"

She shook her head. "Only Mattie, but he died. I was too, but that changed in the fifth grade when I beat up this little black boy because I figured my dad would be proud or whatever. He was. The principal and my dad argued and all I could think was how that kid bled. Like, I fucking cracked his nose open and he bled everywhere. And," she took a huge drag and started to laugh and choke on the smoke at the same time.

"And what?"

"I can't believe I am telling you this. This is so dumb."

"No, you started it, now you have to finish it."

"Fine. His blood was red just like mine." She shrugged her shoulder. "I became some fucking hippie, artsy teenager."

"I don't think I could see you like that."

She laughed, "Well, I was." She pushed him playfully. "Tell me something about you."

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything."

"Well," he looked off up at the sky. "Me and Connor, we had this friend, Rocco. He was sweet, impulsive, and stupid. We brought him into the fucking Saints. I fucking pushed him, to keep up with us, and it fucking got him killed."

"How do you figure?"

Murphy gapped for words, "He, Rocco fucking put out everything for us to do what was needed to be done. He provided us with names and places. When they got us, he took the blame for everything. They killed him. They fucking broke his little fingers and shot him right in front of us."

They walked in silenced, Brodie at a complete lost for words. Before the entered inside, she grabbed him and threw her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly. He was taken off guard, but relaxed and wrapped his arms around her. "I doubt he would want you to hate yourself. Live everyday for him."

She stumbled upstairs and he watched her, at a lost for words.

- - -

Present day: he couldn't sleep. Connor walked in on him, still sitting next to Brodie, one hand enlaced in her hair, the other on top of her hand. Her body tensed up as another coughing fit ruptured from her startling Murphy. Dark circles framed his ice blue eyes, and his face had a red print from the comforter. "Christ, mate. Go sleep. I'll watch her."

Murphy had come to a point of physical exhaustion and that he couldn't muster the strength to argue. He climbed to his feet and scuffled out to the living room and fell face first into the couch.

Smecker had stopped by earlier, doctor in tow. Brodie had been feeling feverish earlier, simple respiratory infection from her smoking, but the massive blood loss had brought it to pneumonia. "With the severity of this case, you waited a bit longer that I would have recommended," The doctor took off his glasses and rubbed a hand down his face, "but under your circumstances, you did what you could." He tucked them into his shirt pocket. "She'll need plenty of fluids, cranberry juice and water, and if she comes too with any mild pain, nothing stronger than Advil, Motrin, Rufen, so on. And don't repress the coughing; it's the only reprieve her lungs will get." The doctor stopped at the door and looked back at the twins and Smecker. "I will be back with an antibiotic as quickly as possibly."

It was the next day and no antibiotic. Murphy closed his eyes and winced when he heard the violent coughing from the next room. Smecker said everything had to be low key, nothing out of the ordinary for the boys, but there was another life in play, one that was endanger.

"Closing your eyes and pretending won't get you rested."

Murphy looked over to see Smecker sitting and reading the newspaper. "What's taking your man so long?"

Smecker folded it up sloppily and lit up a cigarette. He took a long drag and offered his pack to Murphy. "That man is a highly reputable physician for the Mafioso, I'm surprised he managed to come to us and get back without being killed."

Murphy tensed up. Mafioso. "That's fucking stupid. How do you know he's not just some fucking inside man?"

Smecker looked over and smiled, "I trust him."

"You can get fucked over by friends--"

"We're a little more intimate that just 'friends'."

Murphy flew to his feet, his face red, "I don't have time for your fucking boyfriend to fuck around with the Mafioso! That's my wife in there dying!"

A hand clasped into his shoulder. He looked behind to see Duke, standing there. No one even heard him come in. "Lie down Murphy."

He twisted away and stormed back into the bed room. He saw Connor with a damp cloth wiping away blood from the corner of her mouth. Murphy walked to the other side and leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Hell of a honeymoon." Connor said.

Murphy gave a short laugh, "Tell me about it."

"I will go out and find him," they looked behind to see Duke standing in the doorway. "I will be back soon." He turned to leave but Murphy called out. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

Duke slipped out the front door and Murphy crashed onto the couch again, his eyes heavy with sleep. Rain drops pelted against the window; its rhythmic taps lulled him to sleep.