Chapter 2

As the sound of a floor board somewhere near the threshold creaked under the heel of a heavy footstep hit my ears, I quickly threw the door to the cat carrier back in place and made a grab for my pistol. I had just managed to get the safety off when a strong grip latched onto my wrist and twisted it around, forcing me to drop my only remaining means of protection. My head quickly shot up only to be met with a pair of blue eyes and a nameless face.

"Fer someone who claims ta be fine, ya certainly don't look it," he said rather calmly as he eased his grip on my wrist. "I don't t'ink I've ever seen ya around here before."

"Wouldn't expect you to remember my face but I'm sure you remember laughing hysterically at the girl who ran face first into the door last month."

"Guess I didn't recognize ya with yer hair pulled up. But dat was different, yer nose wasn't bleeding and da only t'ing dat was damaged was yer pride."

"What are you doing here?"

"Ya left yer keys in da door." He answered, producing my keys from some hiding place on his person and setting them on the table.

The cats rattling around in their carrier caused enough of a distraction that, for the moment, I forgot there was a stranger in my home. Reluctantly, I got up from the floor and shut the door to prevent the cats from running out before letting them out of their prison. Once they were freed I went into the bathroom to attempt to clean my fresh stab wound. No amount of peroxide and cold water could ever get the blood out so needless to say my shirt was a total loss.

"Um, you wouldn't happen to know where the nearest urgent care center is, do you?" I asked, calling out from behind the semi-closed door.

A knock on the door startled me as I stood transfixed in front of the mirror dabbing a steady stream of blood with an old rag. A head of dark hair poked through the door before the rest of him appeared in the tiny room. Gently, he placed his hands around my arms and guided me to sit on the toilet seat.

"Closest one closed an hour ago; probably needs a few stitches." He started, moving the rag aside to have a look. "Dis time of night, not safe ta be going back out dere on yer own. Dere's an ER a few blocks down dat me brudder and I have gone to after we've gotten inta one of our scrapes. Folks dere are real nice and dey'll work with ya if yer strapped fer cash."

"Think they'll ask questions?"

"Aye, and probably call da cops."

"Fuck."

Sighing, I shook my head and threw the bloody rag into the sink. The action was enough to cause a sharp hiss to escape through my teeth but the pain subsided as quickly as came about. Frustration started seeping in knowing this night couldn't possibly get any worse. Once again I left the dark-haired stranger alone in some room of my home when I exited the bathroom to make a beeline for the kitchen. If I had to deal with the cops on this one then I needed something to take the edge off. Opening the fridge, I pulled out a half empty bottle of whiskey and took a long, healthy pull.

"T'ink ya could give me brudder a fair run fer his money drinking like dat."

"I hate dealing with cops and I hate hospitals." I answered, screwing the cap back on and placing the bottle back into the fridge.

"We'll walk ya down, stay with ya 'til dey patch ya up. Bring ya home safe and sound."

"You'll have to excuse me if I don't believe you right away. I mean you did just walk into my home, unannounced, and took away my only other means of protection. How do I know that you and your brother won't drag me off into some alley, rape me, then shoot me to death with my own gun?"

He disappeared from the kitchen for only a second or two before returning with my gun in hand. Swallowing the growing lump in my throat, I watched carefully as he put the safety on and removed the clip. The air grew steadily thicker as I waited for something to happen. When it finally did, it was not what I was expecting.

"Ever used it before?"

"Just for target practice, never thought I would actually have too." I answered as I propped myself against the counter. "I hope the fucker bleeds to death so he can never hurt another person."

"Ya know dey won't let ya take dis in da ER ot'erwise I'd tell ya dat if we try anyt'ing ta just shoot us where we stood," sliding the clip back in, he cautiously approached me, handing the weapon over once he was within arm's reach. "If eit'er of us tries somet'ing ya don't like feel free ta stab us with a scalpel, dere should be plenty in da t'ird drawer of da room."

Taking my gun back, I placed it on the counter and mulled over the different scenarios that just seemed to pop into my head. So many what if's, so many things that could go wrong. But I really needed to get this taken care of and soon because that dose of liquid courage probably wasn't the smartest thing to do to numb the pain.

"Alright," I conceded, "let's go to the hospital, get this done and over with before I change my mind and do it myself."

Glancing up from the most interesting place on the floor, I caught my stranger grimace and his shoulders shake, like a chill had moved up his body.

"T'ink dat's really da smartest t'ing ta do?"

"Probably not but it wouldn't be the first time I had to patch myself up. Go get your brother before I change my mind. Do you think it'd be better to call the cops now and just get the report done and over with or wait until the hospital calls?"

"Not a bad idea ta get it over with now. I'll go get me shit fer brains brudder and be back in a bit, promise I'll knock dis time."

He left without saying another word, the door quietly clicking shut behind him. I waited until I could no longer hear footsteps in the hallway before I hopped up on the counter to retrieve the phone, dialing the number posted on the fridge for the nearest precinct. It wasn't until the fifth ring when someone finally picked up, though they did sound kind of frazzled. Like maybe they just got off the phone with a stressful individual or maybe they had just gotten their ass chewed out by their superiors.

"Boston P.D."

"Uh, hi I need to speak with someone about a stabbing."

"Should've dialed 9-1-1 miss, that's what it's there for."

"Not everyone has cell phones and I wanted to report it before I went to the hospital and the staff there did it for me."

"We're a little short-staffed right now, got a triple homicide and most everyone is out there. I can put you through to someone's voicemail and they'll call you back later tonight or in the morning."

"Why can't you take the report? Didn't they teach you how to push papers in the academy or were you out sick that day?"

As I continued to press the officer on the other line to take the report, a knock sounded on the door. Briefly I asked for Officer Dipshit to hang on while I checked to see who it was. Despite his protests and the alarm in his voice not to put the phone down, that it could be the perp, I set the phone on the counter and walked towards the door. Even with that faint flicker burning in the back of my head that it could be someone else I found relief when I saw Stranger Danger and his tagalong.

"Ma'am I told you not to answer the door that it c-"

"That it could be the perp but it wasn't. Now are you going to at least take down a partial report tonight or leave it for someone else to do in the morning?"

Hopping back up on the counter the pair entered into the kitchen as I started to relay the important parts of the story. As I observed the pair, one found sudden interest in the contents of my pantry while the other was interested in what the oven might hold. When they got bored with that task they took a seat across from each other at the table and began a whispered conversation in what sounded like Italian. I didn't bother to pay attention to what they were saying as I wrapped my phone call.

"Everyt'ing alright?"

"I guess, piece of shit cop didn't want to take down any information, just wanted me to leave a message for one of the detectives."

"Why didn't ya talk ta someone in dat department?"

"Guy said there was a triple homicide and everyone went to that. He might be telling the truth, on my way home I heard a bunch of gunshots and hauled ass to get back here. That's when I got grabbed. So is this your brother Shit for Brains?"

"Who ya calling Shit fer Brains? I happen ta be fucking brilliant! Dis fucker is da shit fer brains! Ma even said ya were before we left home, said da only time ya weren't is when you were sleeping."

"No, she was talking about you! Ya always come up with dese hair brain schemes from somet'ing ya saw in a movie! Honestly ya watch too many fucking movies as it is," he scoffed as he began recounting what I assumed to be more recent memories, "Charlie Bronson's got rope and he always ends up using it. What's da deal with da fucking rope, honestly?!"

"Happens ta be a useful t'ing!"

"Well before World War Three breaks out in my kitchen and I have to use the aforementioned fucking rope to hog-tie the pair of you would you mind walking me down to the ER so I can get this stitched up? If you don't want to that's fine, I'll just do it myself."

"No!" they both shouted, causing my poor cats to scatter for safety beneath the couch.

"Connor's got a bit of a weak stomach when it comes ta blood. C'mon, let's go get ya patched up."

"Not really a weak stomach, just da idea of someone fixing themselves up makes me a bit nauseous."

"He's just trying not ta sound like too much of a pussy in front of ya, don't let dat face fool ya. A couple weeks ago at work dis guy we work with, James McCormick, sliced his finger clean off right at da knuckle. He screamed his head off at first but den our boss comes running over with da first aid kit and pours half a bottle of dat shit dat bubbles…what's it called?"

"Peroxide."

"Yeah, yeah peroxide, pours half a bottle of dat stuff on da cut. Mind ya, Mary was still on da phone trying ta get an ambulance. Connor here, sees all of dis going on and instead of being a man about it, turns around and hurls up his breakfast from dat morning. Pancakes, eggs, sausage, toast, even da coffee just a few inches away from where James' finger was."

"Shut yer fucking mouth! It's not like ya did any better! Don't ya listen ta word dis fucker says lass. While da paramedics were busy trying ta get da bleeding under control one of da girls we work with just plopped da damn finger in a cup of ice. Ole Murph here, his lunch comes up looking like t'ree day old potato soup."

"Okay you two, just stop. I get it, you both have weak stomachs and are a bit squeamish at the sight of blood. It's nothing to be ashamed of, lots of people are the same way. Now let's get going."

Hopping off the counter I walked into the living room and scooped my keys up off the table then proceeded to the door to slip my shoes back on. The strangers I allowed into my home went out ahead of me while I locked the door. As I approached the elevator I couldn't stop from cringing as the wheels and gears grinded against one another.

"I wish someone would oil those down or condemn the whole thing altogether."

"Don't like lifts?"

"They're metal death traps as far as I'm concerned. When I was in school for my bachelor's, I was on my way to class and got stuck in an elevator for what seemed like an eternity. People around me were as cool as cucumbers and I'm huddled up in a corner panicking. By the way, I'm a bit claustrophobic if you couldn't tell."

"Promise, we won't let anyt'ing happen to ya on our watch. We'll get ya ta do hospital safe and sound and if da wire snaps while we're all in here, we'll sandwich ya between da pair of us."

"Well, that's comforting, I guess. I'll die sandwiched between two total strangers in a filthy elevator and on my grave marker they'll put on there that I died having fun. My death certificate will say that it was a messed up attempt at double penetration that failed miserably."

"Yer just full of good vibes, aren't ya?"

"I might be a tad bit more optimistic once we get off this thing."

"Well, if ya t'ink we're all gonna die on dis we should at least know yer name, don't ya t'ink?"

"Nice try," I snorted, "but until I'm safely back in the confines of my apartment you're not getting any personal information from me no matter how hard you try. Even if I do make it back here in one piece I probably won't tell you anything even then."

"Fair enough. If eit'er of us die I'm Murphy and dis is Connor. We live up on da fifth floor and our Ma's phone number is on da table under da ashtrays."

The night was pretty fucking shitty if you ask me; how could it possibly get any worse?