o()o
Nifty fact for the day: Scuttered, buckled, flootered, fuckered, blooted, gee-eyed, bollixed and banjoed all mean drunk. If you aren't too drunk, then you're just a bit jarred.
o(7)o
Danae knocked softly on the door, smiling when she heard Connor's voice inviting her in. Entering, she saw him sitting quietly in bed, newspaper in his hand. Murphy was slumped in a nearby chair.
Looking from Murphy to his twin, she raised a curious and amused eyebrow.
"He was determined to be awake to see ye this mornin'." Connor explained, shaking his head, and Murphy made a muffled grunt in his sleep.
Chuckling, Danae sat down identical plates of biscuits smothered with gravy and two cups of coffee, earning an appreciative grin from Connor.
"This is a nice change from doughnuts."
"I thought so too." Gently she touched Murphy's shoulder, "Wake up, sleeping beauty, I brought you breakfast."
Murphy made a noise that was part snuffle and part groan and opened his eyes. "Mornin'," He said groggily, "yer here early."
She nodded, "I snuck away for a bit. There's something I wanted to talk to you both about."
"What's that?" Connor inquired, his mouth full.
"Someone came by my desk tonight asking about you."
"Police?" asked Connor, and Murphy sat up a little straighter in his chair.
"No, I don't think so, they didn't talk like officers, or look like officers for that matter."
"What did they look like, then?"
"Like every other average Joe that comes through. The only thing I really noticed was their tattoos. They both had something written on the inside of their wrists, I don't think it was English, but I'm pretty sure they both had the same thing."
"Do ye remember what it said?" Connor said, frowning.
She shook her head, "I couldn't see all of it, Red-something or maybe something-angre."
"What did they want to know?" Murphy asked bringing his thumb to his mouth, chewing on the nail.
"Just if we'd had any gunshot wounds come through the ER in the past few weeks."
"And what did ye tell them?" Connor's voice was tense and Danae shot him a hard look.
"I told them no. Then I told them about the time we had a guy come in that tried to blow his own head off, but missed." She smirked, "They left pretty quickly after that, without asking any more questions."
Connor breathed out a sigh of relief "Ye did good, Danae, I was worried there for a minute."
She gave him a derisive look, wounded by his words; "Please don't tell me that, after all of this, you really thought I would tell a couple of strangers that you were here."
"It's not like that," Murphy said, not missing the beginning sparks of irritation in Danae's eyes, "There are just circumstances and we have ta be careful."
"Circumstances," She said flatly.
"It's hard ta explain," Said Connor.
"I'm not stupid, you know. I know that nobody comes through the ER in the shape you did accidentally. I've trusted you and eventually you'll have to trust me, I think I've earned it."
"Danae," Murphy began, but she held up her hand crossly.
"Forget it; I have to get back to work."
Sighing as he watched her leave, Murphy turned to his brother "Well, we did that completely arseways."
Connor nodded, only half listening. There was something gnawing along the edges of his memory. Red-something, something-angre,
Standing over him, the shooter had sneered at Connor as he lay bleeding out onto the ground. "I guess even Saints fall from grace sometimes."
"Murph?" he said.
"Aye."
"I think we need ta make a long distance call."
o()o
Agent Paul Smecker groaned at the telephone's piercing ring. Who in their right friggin' mind was up this early, he wondered. Fumbling the receiver off the hook, he brought it to up his ear.
"Hello?"
"Agent Smecker," The familiar voice chased all traces of sleepiness away, and he bolted upright in bed.
"Murphy?"
"Aye."
The receiver trembled ever so slightly in Smecker's hands. He hadn't heard from the MacManus brothers since the Yakavetta trial, but every morning he scanned the newspaper, keeping an eye out for tidbits that sounded like the Saints' doing. Finding one always gave him a bittersweet twinge of satisfaction. If he couldn't get those bastards off the streets, at least someone was.
"What's wrong?"
A soft chuckle came over the line "What isn't? Listen, Smecker, we need ta ask ye for a favor."
"Name it."
"We've got some guys askin' after us, and we think they may fall inta yer realm o' expertise."
Smecker nodded into the phone, "Go on."
"The only thing we really know is that they have tattoos on the underside of their wrists, Red-something or something-angre, we're not sure. Connor says they might be Hispanic."
"And these men came after you at your home?"
"No, they were askin' 'round the hospital."
A prickle of alarm skittered up Smecker's spine, "What are you two doing at a friggin' hospital?"
There was the briefest of pauses, "Connor was shot." Murphy said finally, his voice hard.
"Jesus, is he okay?"
"He's alive."
"What the hell happened?" He heard a hand cover the receiver and muffled voices. After a moment, Murphy came back on the line.
"We were bustin' up a drug deal a while back and things got a little out o' hand."
Smecker frowned, "I read about the drug deal, it was a big thing. The newspaper said it was a double cross; there was never any mention of you two. What I want to know is why that hospital isn't crawling with friggin' cops already? A gunshot wound tends to attract a lot of attention, especially after a bunch of drug dealers turn up dead."
"We have someone here lending us a hand, helping keep it quiet. She's . . . a friend."
"A friend, huh," Smecker said dryly, "Are you sure you can trust her?"
"We can trust her. Look, are ye going ta help us or not?" Murphy's voice had taken on an impatient tinge, and Smecker could almost imagine the dark-haired man pacing the floor.
"I'll check into my files and see what I can find out. How do I get in contact with you?"
There was a brief pause and more muffled voices, "We're at Mitchell County Memorial. Ask for room 119."
The line went dead and Smecker leaned back in bed, sighing as he lit a cigarette. It was shaping up to be an interesting day.
Murphy hung up the phone and turned to his brother. "Smecker says he's going ta check inta it for us."
Connor nodded, "Good. Listen, Murph, there's a lot of shit here that doesn't make sense. How did these guys know which hospital ta check?"
"How did they know ta check at all?" Murphy corrected, "Even if they are connected to that fuckin' drug deal, I didn't leave anyone at that warehouse alive. Nobody knew about ye gettin' shot."
"Are you sure you killed them all?"
Murphy nodded, "Positive. I didn't have time to say the prayer, or do the pennies, what with ye bleedin' ta death and all, but nothing was movin' when we left."
"All right," Connor said frowning, "Maybe they're just takin' a chance that they'll find us by checkin' around all the local hospitals."
"If that's the case, we should be fine since Danae told them we weren't here." Murphy sighed, his head falling back, "Fuck, what are we gonna do about her?"
"Let's worry about that later. Right now the less she knows the better."
Murphy nodded, he didn't like it, but he knew his brother was right. Danae was safer if she wasn't involved.
o()o
Danae was pissed.
It didn't happen often, she liked to think of herself as a pretty agreeable person, but when she did get angry, it wasn't pretty. And now, she had left merely angry about two exits back and was utterly and royally pissed-off.
Who the hell did they think they were?
It was the same thought that had been creating indignant ripples in her all morning. Hadn't she been there every step of the way? Hadn't she kept the police away? Hadn't she lied to every single person in her department for them? How could they just turn her away with nothing more than a vague excuse?
How could they not trust her?
"Circumstances." She scoffed under her breath, swiping her badge much harder than necessary. "Leave it to men to have circumstances. I put my job on the line for them and they have circumstances."
Stalking out of the hospital, still muttering to herself, Danae was too engrossed with being irate to detect the presence of another person coming up behind her until it was too late.
"Los mentirosos no viven de largo," A harsh voice whispered unfamiliar words in her ear, startling her, as rough hands clamped over her shoulders, fingers digging painfully into the flesh there.
Gasping, Danae was whipped around just in time to catch a glimpse of metal arcing toward her head. The impact of a gun colliding against her temple offered a blinding flash of pain, and then only darkness as she crumpled to the ground.
o()o