A/N: Again, thank you all for the lovely reviews. For such a relatively small fandom here at FFN, I'm really shocked by the response I've gotten. This chapter came out a few days early purely because A Hotter Kiss A Better Touch admitted to having a short attention span for chaptered fics. I aim to please.

Love,

MBA

Chapter Three

The note under their door had appeared sometime during the night while both brothers were sleeping. It was a simple, typewritten message to be at the Lakeview Lunch Deli at midday. Given the significance of the place, they both made sure to be armed to the teeth before they left.

Sitting in a booth in back was a face they hadn't seen in almost four years, all razor-sharp cheekbones and wide, colorless lips. Connor had once joked that Paul Smecker's face looked like someone had stretched the skin too tight and then let it go to flap around the mouth. It was an eerily accurate description. Still, it was good to see the man again.

"The MacManus boys back in Boston," Smecker drawled as they slid into the booth across from him. He pushed his plate to the side. "What's the world coming to?"

Connor gave him a toothy grin as he leaned forward to shake the FBI agent's proffered hand. "Seein' as yer the one that pulled strings for our visas ta go through ta come back, I'm thinkin' ye can't flash the surprise card. Thanks for the motel room, though. Didn't think I'd be so happy ta see me original weapons again, but me fuckin' eyes lit up when we found the duffle bags in the room." Taking a cigarette from the case Smecker offered, he settled back against the vinyl seat. "How the hell ye been? An' more important, why'd ye go ta all the trouble ta get us back here? It must o' been risky for ye." He looked around furtively. "An' should ye be seen wi' us in broad daylight?"

Choosing to ignore the questions for the moment, Smecker folded his hands on the cheap Formica table. "You've both put on a little weight; you don't look as scrawny. Life good back in dear old Eire?"

Murphy snorted as he flipped open the menu. He was starved. "Ye live a block over from Ma an' we'll see what ye look like. She could fatten a year-old skeleton." He poked Connor in the gut. "We're lucky Connor here's been wankin' so much, otherwise he'd have no way ta burn off all those calories she's been stuffin' down our throats."

Punching his twin in the thigh just hard enough to make him yelp and drop the menu, Connor snarled, "Fuck ye, Murph. At least I've been laid."

Shoves and jabbing punches ensued as the brothers cursed each other in languages Smecker didn't understand. He waited until Murphy had been pushed off the bench seat altogether to say, "We've brought you back because we need the Saints. Here." When Murphy stared up at him from the floor and Connor paused with the cigarette halfway to his lips, Smecker added, "Boston PD is in on it. I had to call in a mountain of favors with TSA and State just to get you here, but it's done now. Every guy on the force is chomping at the bit to help in any way they can. You'll have free rein to get this sick fuck."

Sliding back into the booth, scuffle forgotten, Murphy slung his arm along the back of the seat behind his brother. "No offense, but we ain't exactly been watchin' the news since we got back. What sick fuck are ye talkin' about?"

The chatter of the customers at the bar faded into the background as the brothers read through the top story of the newspaper Smecker pushed in front of them. 'Boston Butcher Strikes at Heart of City,' the headline proclaimed in bolded oversize print. 'Fourth Girl's Body Found in Dumpster- Police Stymied.'

Murphy chewed at his thumb and waited for his brother to finish reading the article. "That's one sick bastard like ye said, but if ye don't know who he is, we can't kill him, can we? We're good, but we can't take down a mark when we don't know who or where."

It took Smecker only a moment to slide a thick manila folder across the table. "There's more. This wasn't the fourth body, it was the eighth. This fuck's alternating killing girls and boys, all between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five. No physical profiling of the vics- they're blonds, brunettes, white, black, Asian, Hispanic. Snatched out of thin air, raped, stabbed in the chest and dumped with a slab of meat duct taped to their faces. You can see why the media is going nuts. This motherfucker's not only sick, but highly intelligent. No viable forensic material at any of the crime scenes. No prints or semen, a few generic synthetic hair strands, and the only blood samples were non-human."

Connor flipped through the contents of the folder slowly. "We're not miracle workers. I'd like ta tell ye we can kill this bastard for ye, but we need to know either who or where we need ta be lookin'." He flinched as he got to the crime scene pictures. "Sweet Jesus. Who would do that?"

Silently, Murphy watched as his brother sifted through the photos. His appetite vanished. "ID him an' we'll get him," he promised, voice thick with emotion.

For the first time, Smecker looked around apprehensively. Finally, he waved the boys in closer. "We had a suspect but only the flimsiest of circumstantial evidence. I was brought in as a courtesy because he's Chinese triad- real nasty little bastard, but too smart to have ever been charged under the RICO laws- and because all the murders have been here in Boston, FBI has no real jurisdiction." He fiddled with his cigarette case a moment before shoving it away. "The PD brought him in, guy called Xiang Li Kai, but a vic was found fresh while he was in custody. He was released when the time of death came back as during his detention. They're back at square one."

Sucking deeply on the cigarette, Connor eyed the FBI agent. "What haven't ye said yet?"

"I think Xiang was part of it. Now I'm no serial killer expert, but I read crime scenes as well as anyone. There's multiple assailants. I feel it in my gut. Whoever his buddy is, he did another vic on purpose while we had Xiang in custody to clear him."

"What makes ye think that?" Murphy snagged the cigarette case and raised an enquiring eyebrow.

Smecker nodded. "Go ahead." His fingers tapped out a tattoo on the battered tabletop. "That scene feels different. Again, no physical evidence, but it feels rushed. All the others were neat as a pin -meaning the vics were done elsewhere and dumped- but this one was start to finish in the same alley. The body had minimal damage to the genital area. I went to the scene when it was hot- trust me on this, that one was almost compulsory. All the same markers, but none of the feel." Smecker clenched his hands and sighed heavily.

"What about Da?" Murphy asked, looking from Smecker to his brother and back again. "Da's the smartest man I know. Why don't ye bring him in for this?"

A glance at his cell phone let Smecker know the time. He had to be back at work soon. "Dolly's driving out to New York to get him himself. Your father sent me a letter about a year ago saying he was in some little vacation town called Lake George."

The brothers nodded. "Yeah, Da would call Ma now an' then. We knew he was layin' low in upstate New York. He was talkin' about tryin' ta get home ta Ireland once the travel restrictions relaxed from 9/11, either that or make his way up ta Canada and then fly from there."

Smecker laughed dully. "Unless he planned on leaving in a fucking canoe, he'd have been snagged in or out of this country. His IRA affiliation means he's flagged on every customs board from here to fucking Budapest. INTERPOL would snap him up in a heartbeat. He knew damn well he wasn't going back to fucking Ireland."

Murphy grinned. "Da has his ways, Smecker." He folded his hands in prayer. "Ye got ta have faith."

"Ye know, faith is just yer feelings, an' God gives ye those." The FBI agent and Connor locked eyes, silently sharing a smile at the memories of his drunken confession. Connor had told him before the Yakavetta trial the circumstances that led both him and Rocco to hear his conversation with the priest.

Fishing out his wallet, Smecker slapped a twenty on the table and rose. "Greenly's got you boys a place here in South Boston. His brother-in-law, or some shit like that, was looking to sub-let for the year to someone that could be trusted while he's out of the country. The cops in their precinct have combined to foot the bill. You know, off the books, so just don't fuckin' shoot up the place or bleed everywhere and we'll be fine. Your father should be coming in the day after tomorrow." He tossed Murphy a scrap of paper secured to money and a set of keys with a rubberband. "There's your keys, address and phone number. And a hundred bucks. Your father's got the rest of your money from the Russian job, plus whatever the hell else he's squirreled away on his own."

Connor eyed the keys in his brother's hand. It was certainly a step up from their last place in Boston if it had locks on the door. "Thanks, Smecker. I know yer arse is on the line here, so we'll be careful. When Da gets here, we'll do our best ta get this fucker before anyone else dies." He pushed the file back across the table. "Don't forget this."

Smecker dragged a hand over his face and the dark circles beneath his eyes made him look as exhausted as he sounded. "That's a copy for you. It's everything they've got on the crimes and Xiang. If you need anything, just use the speed dial on the apartment's phone. It's all programmed." He strode off without saying goodbye.

Connor picked up the menu Murphy had dropped earlier. "All right, Watson, if we're goin' ta be detectin', we need some brain food. How about a Guinness an' a burger?"

Nodding, Murphy peeled off one of the twenties Smecker had left and headed to the front. "Then we get ta work."

"Turn right there at the liquor store," Murphy mumbled, his head buried in the street map in his hands. "Looks like an alley matchin' the police report runs behind the buildin'."

After leaving the Lakeview, the MacManuses had made a beeline for the closest crime scene, only five or six blocks from the restaurant. Unfortunately, the actual crime had taken place more than two months ago. Not only was there nothing there for them to discover, but the location gave Murphy chills. The alley dumped out onto a busy road with plenty of foot traffic. To commit such an atrocity so close to the business of everyday life spoke of a deep-seated contempt for both individual life and society as a whole. When he'd said as much to Connor, he'd commented that the bastard was incredibly arrogant. That was good. Arrogance often led to occasional slips. They would be there the next time this guy made a mistake, hammers cocked and bullets chambered.

Double-checking the crime scene photos, Connor nodded. "Yer right. Look, Murph, ye can see the graffiti next ta the dumpster matches up wi' the pictures. This is it- this is where they found the sixth body." He bounded down the dim alley, leaving his brother to follow in his wake.

It took only a moment to stow the map in his back pocket. It was fuckin' freezing. He knew he should have made Connor fork over the money for those gloves at the dollar store by the second scene they'd visited. His damn hands were reddened and numb from the combination of the icy Boston wind and the quickly dropping temperature. Clouds were rolling in, fat and white, to block out the weak sunlight and the dubious sense of warmth it provided.

"Get yer pansy arse movin'!" Connor called back. "If ye want ta whine about bein' cold, do it back here where I don't have ta yell ta be heard."

With a grunt, Murphy stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried to ignore the cold air snaking down the back of his jacket. When he finally caught up with Connor, his twin was on his knees and running his hands over the pavement like a bad impression of a television psychic. "Well, Madam Zelda, are ye havin' any flashes o' insight?"

Connor glared up at his brother. Sure, he may have gotten a little carried away with this detective business, but dammit- life was dull without a little melodrama. His voice was huffy with indignation when he shot back, "As a matter o' fact, I have, ye snippy bastard. Look over here."

Murphy followed the pointed finger and nodded. "That's a good piece o' observation, Holmes. Very nice, indeed." Connor had noticed something that only someone who had lived a life of cataloguing every possible entrance and exit to their home would see. The flap of a mostly rusted-out garbage chute, innocent and inconspicuous to most observers, lay disused and forgotten twenty feet away on the wall of the building across the alley. Most every building of this type in Boston had one. Aside from it, the place had no exterior doors or stairs leading onto the alley, and all the windows were the old leaded glass that did not open. It was no surprise that Smecker and the PD had missed the significance of the little three foot square rubber flap. He grinned and helped Connor to his feet. "Madam Zelda is a wise an' skilled woman."

"Is it Sherlock Holmes or Madam Zelda?" Connor returned the grin, his eyes crinkling. "I need ta know if I should be findin' me a pipe or silk scarves."

After a few minutes of furtive glances in every direction, the brothers agreed that it was safe to enter the rundown building with the garbage chute leading into the alley. Systematically moving from room to room and floor to floor, they cautiously explored the decrepit, empty brick building. The first three floors offered no information aside from the detritus of squatters. Sadly, they ran into no one to ask about the presence of an arrogant Chinese man or sounds of a struggle. The fourth floor was different, and both brothers knew it immediately.

The foul smell of human waste and mold was almost overpowering in the enclosed stairwell, but Murphy stood guard on the landing with his pistol drawn while Connor cleared the two rooms. Seconds stretched out interminably until Connor poked his head into the stairwell and nodded.

"Ye need ta see this."

Following his brother into the larger of the two rooms occupying the fourth floor, Murphy caught his breath sharply. The scent of ammonia was so intense that it made his eyes water. The room was, for the most part, empty. A single chair was situated just to the side of the window overlooking the alley below and the empty cardboard cylinder of a roll of duct tape lay forlornly by itself in the center of the room. Aside from that, the room was empty save two steel rings that had been secured to the wall. Short lengths of chain dangled from the rings, pointing down at the floor like the indicators they were of some terrible act.

They had found the real crime scene. Victim number six had met her horrific end here. Connor caught his brother's eye and said solemnly, "We need ta call Smecker. Don't touch anything. Maybe they can still get some evidence."

Instinctively, Murphy knew the police would not. Even if ammonia was not trying to sear through his nostrils, the place felt antiseptic. The killer or killers knew exactly what would and would not matter. Instead, he looked around for and found the garbage chute he knew would be there. "Slid the body right on down there. All he had ta do was pick it up at the bottom an' chuck it in the dumpster."

"Like so much trash." The hamburger Connor had eaten a few hours back at the Lakeview heaved uncomfortably in his gut. Getting a hold of himself, he squared his shoulders. "Let's get out o' here, Murph. We need ta find a pay phone."

As his brother talked to newly-minted Lieutenant Duffy about getting a forensics team out to the brick building, Murphy leaned back against the heated glass of a bakery window and thumbed through the file Connor had handed him. He didn't want to see the grisly photos or read the even more gruesome reports. Instead, he landed on two cramped, single-spaced pages simply entitled 'Thoughts and Notes'.

Smecker had apparently combined information from his FBI dossier on Xiang Li Kai with his gut reactions and general truths about the behavior patterns of serial killers. It was laid out in clear language and neatly divided into facts and assumptions. Murphy was instantly engrossed.

By the time Connor hung up with Duffy, Murphy had the street map out and was tracing his finger along it with a frown of concentration. Without looking up, he informed his brother, "We've got one more stop, Conn."

"Where? I thought only the three scenes were in walkin' distance. An' I already told ye, we don't have the money ta be throwin' around on a cab. The other spots are goin' ta have ta wait until Da gets here wi' the cash from the Russian job."

Reaching out, Murphy snatched his brother's coat and dragged him closer. "Axis Nightclub. It's only a few blocks away from where we were livin' last time, over by McGinty's." The look in his eyes was inscrutable, even to his brother. "Smecker's notes say that not only does Xiang frequent the place, but it's also a hotbed o' triad activity for the younger set."

Good enough for me, Connor thought with a shrug. He was already numb from the cold. What was another half hour or so? "Alright, Watson, lead the way."

Axis, like most fashionable city nightclubs, was housed in a converted warehouse in an industrial section that had slowly degraded down to empty shells of failed factories. Ironically, Axis turned out to be a scant block from McGinty's in their old stomping grounds. With the Italian mafia's and the Russian syndicate's stranglehold on the area broken when they cleaned house four years ago, legitimate businesses had moved in to fill the void.

"Ah, the sweet dance o' capitalism," Connor sighed as they passed the shabby bar they loved so much and caught sight of the fancy canopy and neon sign over the entrance to the new club. "If there's one thing tha' makes money for clubs, it's giant abandoned industrial places that came dirt cheap. Guess we increased property values for everyone around here."

Murphy took a nip at his ragged thumbnail. "Too bad we didn't think ta buy a few o' these places ourselves. We'd be fuckin' loaded now."

Giving his twin a brotherly bump with his shoulder, Connor nodded back at the dilapidated face of McGinty's with the peeling harp decal on the window. "At least we made sure Doc got the deed ta that place though, right? We did good, Murph. Yer jes' bein' greedy now." He smirked. "It would be nice, though, wouldn't it?"

Hey, doin' God's work should have a few perks, shouldn't it? Murphy thought. He was getting awful sick of living from hand to mouth. Of course, Da bringing the Russians' dirty money would surely help their quality of life. "Nah. I bet they turned our ol' buildin' into a strip club. Ye wouldn't want ta own a place called some shite thing like 'Boom Boom Room', would ye? How would ye hold yer head up?"

"Fuck," Connor said on a snort of laughter. "It's probably some cheap porno house." He started laughing so hard that Murphy had to prevent him from stumbling into two dockworkers coming down the sidewalk. "I knew there was a good reason I never wanted ta be havin' me bare feet on that floor!" he chortled. "Even then it was always sticky."

Yech. Knowing how many times he'd padded barefoot around that place was not something Murphy wanted to be considering. Leaving Connor slumped against the wall roaring with laughter, he tried both doors to the club. "Locked!" he shouted back. "I'm goin' around ta check the alley an' delivery entrances."

Connor waved feebly and wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. For some reason, the thought of their old place as a porn house was hilarious. They lived there for three years and the ironic part was there hadn't been a private corner to wank in. They had to sleep, eat and shite in full view of one another. Connor didn't mind the lack of privacy, but now and then it would have been nice to relieve some pressure without openly telling his brother to go for a long walk. "Yeah, other doors."

When Murphy came back, his dipshit brother had finally gotten a hold of himself and was puffing on two cigarettes. Silently, he took the one offered. "All locked up. We're goin' ta have ta come back. Opens at eight."

Taking a long drag, Connor studied the convenience store across the street. "No, we'll come back tomorrow night. That way we can get a decent plan thought up."

"An' places like this are usually packed on Saturday nights, so we'll have plenty o' other people around for cover." Murphy nodded his head back towards McGinty's. "Let's stop in for a pint wi' Doc before we go find our new place."

Now there was a proposition they could agree on. Nothing like a good pint of Guinness to knock the chill from your bones.

Wholly unimpressed with his brother's speed in unlocking the door, Connor glanced around the hallway, trying to distract himself. "Could ye move wi' a little more rapidity than the average snail, Murph? I've got ta piss."

Shooting Connor a nasty look, Murphy continued to disentangle the key from the rubber band holding it to the money Smecker had given them. "Ye an' yer peanut sized bladder can wait another second, ye whiny bitch. I'm doin' me best."

Connor danced a little in place and tried to distract himself. "Nice place here. Look, Murph, that corner flat there has flower pots wi' actual flowers in 'em in the window. An' all the doors have brass numbers." He turned a tight circle. "There's freakin' paintings in the hallway."

Having finally freed the key from the persistent rubber band and fitted it in the lock, Murphy stood silently in the doorway until his twin pushed past him with a snarl. Then he too stopped. They looked around in wonder. Murphy rubbed the back of his head slowly as a delighted grin swept over his face. "Were I a woman, Conn, I'd give the entire District Six precinct blowjobs for this."

Jolted out of his amazement, Connor snorted. "I always knew ye were a little fey, Murph. I'll tell Smecker yer lookin' for a boyfriend when I see him next."

That merited a good punch to the stomach in the MacManus code of conduct, but Murphy was far too pleased at the moment to retaliate. He patted his brother's shoulder as he moved past to wander through the living room. "Ye do that," he said absently.

The apartment the cops had set up for them was hands down the nicest place they'd ever lived. Greenly's brother-in-law had decorated the place in an easy, comfortable style that screamed bachelor with the matching leather sofa and loveseat and neutral colors on the walls. Connor gravitated immediately to the huge television hung on the wall and inspected both sides closely, his need to use the bathroom entirely forgotten. "This baby must o' cost him a fortune. I'd never leave it behind if I had ta be away for a full year. Can ye picture Charlie Bronson in Death Wish on this thing?" Grinning like a loon, he stroked the TV screen with the intimacy of a lover. "I may have ta join ye in the suckin' cock department, Murph."

"Mmm. Right." Murphy had already moved on to the kitchen, rifling through drawers and cabinets in amazement. "This place is fully kitted out, Connor." He turned to the refrigerator in a daze. "All we've got ta do is buy food."

His answer was dizzy laughter as Connor pried himself away from the television and flitted to and fro, throwing doors open with bangs to duck inside briefly. Each door he emerged from left a bigger grin on his face. "Ye could play a cricket match in that bathroom, it's so big! An' two massive bedrooms, Murph! An' they each got beds big enough ta roll over in without fallin' off the other side. The one room's got a king size bed an' its own bathroom." Connor waved his hands about expansively. "It's got a tub big enough for an orgy."

Murphy ran his hands over the neat stacks of dishes in the cabinets next to the sink. "This place is fuckin' amazin'," he sighed happily. With a manic energy, he bounded out to join his brother in the hallway to the bedrooms, throwing himself into Connor's arms to share an excited jig.

Twenty minutes later, the two were still roaming around the big apartment with identical looks of disbelief on their faces. They'd be seein' Da again after almost four years. They had a proper home with everything from a squashy reclining chair to matching towels. Life was, despite the killer or killers they'd been brought back to get, going to be spectacular. Smecker had said they could have this place for a year while Greenly's brother-in-law was overseas for work. The Lord must surely be smiling down on them.

Connor flopped down on the big leather sofa and contentedly snuggled his head into the perfectly yielding cushions. "I get the room wi' the big bed until Da gets here." He grinned as Murphy made to throw the boot he was unlacing at him. "Nuh uh, don't mess up this shiny new sofa wi' yer nasty boot, Murph." A spectacularly wicked thought occurred to him. "I'll make ye a deal. I'll give up me claim ta the master bedroom only if ye bring Katie home ta break in that big old bed."

The boot that sailed across the room clipped him neatly on the side of the head before dropping to the floor. It never touched the sofa. Damn Murphy. He'd always had excellent aim.

Connor's love affair with the flat-screen TV owes much to my husband's reaction when he got his. Man's love of electronics is too funny to not poke at now and then.

As always, I'd love to hear any and everything you have to say, so drop me a review.

Thanks! -MBA