A/N: Irish Slang: slash / urinate
Song lyrics are from "Irish Drinking Song" by Flogging Molly (originally by Buck-o-Nine)
Italian: Calmati / Calm Yourself ne vale non la pena / it's not worth it
Spanish: hermano / brother
I bow down before the Goddess(Laughs) again! Without her positive influence, this chapter would have fallen apart!
Again, thanks to all of you who took the time to review the last chapter. Hopefully, this one will meet your expectations!
CHAPTER 9
"Well, I stumbled in at 2 AM all drunk and full of smoke
My wife said "I have had enough, that's it, I'm sick, get out!"
So I stumbled down to Kelly's pub across the edge of town
And I told the boys me story and we had another round"
Murphy bellowed loudly and off key, as he lurched down the almost empty street.
My God, Luciana thought, He's going to wake up the whole neighborhood.
She hoisted Connor back up onto her shoulder, mentally kicking herself again for not accepting the help that Dolly and Greenly had offered.
Why on earth did I think I'd be able to get them home in this state?
She cringed, as Connor joined his brother for the chorus, singing directly into her ear.
"We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and
drink and fight!
We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and
drink and fight!
And if I see a pretty girl, I'll sleep with her tonight!
We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and
drink and fight!"
Now, as she tried to herd the two drunken MacManus brothers through the streets of Boston, she realized she was out of her depth. Just as she got one of them pointed in the right direction and walking, the other would wander into an alley to "take a slash", as they so eloquently referred to it.
While she waited for Murphy to stumble back out of the alley, she listened to the next verse of their ballad, echoing off the surrounding buildings.
"And Mary McGregor, well she was a pretty whore
She'd always greet you with a smile and never lock her door
But on the day she died, all the men in town did weep
For Mary McGregor finally got some sleep"
If these guys are three sheets to the wind, then I'm at least two, she realized, blearily. She wasn't sure what she'd do if they had to struggle on much further. Sleeping on the street was actually starting to look appealing. Connor was rapidly losing the ability to walk, and she found herself starting to buckle under his weight. At least all the exercise was keeping her warm.
Murphy appeared out of the alley, swaying slightly while trying to zip up his pants and began another round of the chorus.
"We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and
drink and fight!
We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and
drink and fight!
And if I see a pretty girl, I'll sleep with her tonight!
We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and
drink and fight!"
Leaning on the building beside them, Murphy was lurching along and she was impressed at his ability to sing while managing to keep a cigarette dangling between his lips.
Luciana flinched as Connor joined in with his brother on what she fervently hoped was the last verse.
"Well I once loved a girl, a child I'm told
I gave her my heart and she gave me a cold
So now I sit standing here out in the pouring rain
I'll stumble back to Kelly's pub and cry away me pain"
When the steps to their apartment building came into view, Luciana wanted to jump for joy. If she were a little more sober and carrying a little less MacManus, she probably would have.
Connor seemed to have lost his interest in the song, but Murphy gave the chorus one more go.
"We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and
drink and fight!
We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and
drink and fight!
And if I see a pretty girl, I'll sleep with her tonight!
We'll drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and
drink and fight!"
Murphy stumbled up the stairs ahead of them, appearing to have finished his song. He turned around, giving her a lecherous look, and said, "Hey, ye're a pretty girl. Wanna sleep with me tonight?"
"And they say romance is dead." She rolled her eyes, giving him a little push, "Just get in the house, Murphy."
Once she got Connor into the apartment, she eased him onto the couch where he slumped to one side and promptly began humming the chorus of Murphy's song. Between their singing and her being a bit hammered, she was getting quite the headache.
A noise caught her attention. Looking up, she saw Murphy rummaging through the fridge.
"Need another beer." He slurred, knocking a take-out container onto the floor, while he dug in the back of the fridge.
"None of us needs another beer. What we all need is some sleep." She said, pulling him away from the fridge and firmly closing the door. "And maybe some ear plugs," she added, as Connor decided to give the chorus one more go.
She steered Murphy towards the bedroom, leaving Connor wailing in the living room. When they got into the bedroom, Murphy bent over in an attempt at untying his boots. About ten seconds later, he had toppled over and was sprawled on the floor, whooping with laughter.
"Come on, you idiot." She reached over tried to pull him up. Another ten seconds passed and they were both sprawled on the floor and Murphy was still laughing.
"Fine! As far as I'm concerned, you can sleep on the floor." The harshness of her words didn't extend to her actions, as she began untying his boots for him.
Now bootless, he stood and stripped off his shirt.
"That's my cue to go!" She said, whirling around, as he reached for his belt.
Too fast, she thought and waited until the room stopped spinning before she headed out to collect Connor.
Connor had somehow managed to get himself to the kitchen and find a bottle of Bushmills. He looked up at her with bleary eyes when she came into the kitchen.
"Shouldan't go ta McGinty's anymore." He said cryptically and took another swig. "Makes me think of him."
The instant the bottle hit the table she picked it up and screwed on the cap.
"Makes you think of who?" Luciana asked, more interested in keeping him awake than she was in the actual answer.
"R-roc. 'twas my fault. Tis my fault, he's dead." He said, his voice starting to break. "Shouldan't let him be a part of it at all."
There was suddenly a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with having too many beers. There had been an unspoken agreement not to talk about David, but apparently a few beers (well, more like fifteen beers and who knows how many shots) could make Connor forget such niceties.
Ignoring his words, she pulled him to his feet and steered him towards the bedroom. He had one arm around her shoulders and the other one nearly poked out her eye as he tried to pat her head.
"Wantcha ta know that m'sorry. Wish he was still here."
"I wish he was, too."
They had reached the bedroom to find Murphy passed out on his bed in nothing but his boxers, a lit cigarette still dangling from his fingers.
"Murph made his peace," he said, grabbing for the cigarette. "But I can't. Can't!" His voice raised in frustration.
Taking the cigarette and snuffing it out, she pushed him on to the bed and began the boot ritual for the second time. She was hoping against hope that he would nod off, but when she looked up there were tears in his eyes.
"Connor, don't do this." She pleaded. "Not now."
He wiped at his eyes, not looking at her.
She leaned forward, reaching pull his shirt off. As she pulled it over his head, he wrapped his arms around her waist.
"M'so sorry. So sorry." He repeated, his face pressed into her abdomen.
The emotions she had been trying suppress overwhelmed her and the tears began to slide down her cheeks. They were as much for the man in front of her as they were for her brother.
Pulling away, she sat down next to him and said, "It's no one's fault. No one's but the bastard who shot him."
She looked over and saw the glistening of tears on his cheeks, and she wanted so much to ease his pain. "Connor, no one blames you for this. You have to stop blaming yourself."
She leaned back on the bed and pulled him down beside her. "Shh, shh." She murmured, rubbing his back. He rested his head on her shoulder and she could feel the slight tremor run through his body as he released the grief and pain she knew he had been harboring for far too long.
Eventually, his breathing calmed and he was still. His soft snores were in perfect time with Murphy's.
I bet they don't remember any of this in the morning, she thought smiling despite the sadness of the last half hour.
She had been trying to avoid dealing with David's death. So far it had been fairly easy, what with each day bringing some new MacManus related activity. Looking down at Connor, she realized that she needed to grieve as well. Even in her intoxicated state, she wished for the same release that Connor just had just experienced.
Now was certainly not the time for that, she decided. Now was the time for sleep.
She started to ease out from under Connor's head when his arm came across her waist pulling her close.
"Connor?" She asked softly, nudging his shoulder.
No response.
"Connor," she tried again, a little louder, this time attempting to push herself up. He moved, but not how she had hoped. He flung his leg over hers and continued to snore.
Oh Crap was her last coherent thought before sleep claimed her.
----
Murphy couldn't help but chuckle as he watched the awkward dance going on between Luciana and Connor. They were both waiting for the coffee to finish, looking anywhere but at each other, and he wondered for the hundredth time that morning what had happened between the two of them last night.
When he had rolled over that morning fumbling for his cigarettes, he had been very surprised to Luciana and Connor sharing a bed. Although he wasn't sure sharing was exactly the right word.
Luciana had been fully clothed, right down to her shoes, laying flat on the bed, and Connor, shirtless and shoeless, had flung an arm and a leg thrown over her body, effectively trapping her. Murphy would have laughed aloud right then, if only his head hadn't been pounding quite so badly.
Never one to let an opportunity for some good ribbing pass him by, Murphy waited until Luciana and Connor had both made their way to the kitchen before he struck.
"Can't keep yer hands of me brother, can ye?" He said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Luciana, as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
"Yeah, Murphy, that's it. I just couldn't control myself." She snapped sarcastically, rubbing her temples. "That's why I'm still fully clothed."
Murphy allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk when he saw her start to blush. Some people just didn't deal well with embarrassment.
She glared at him and then at Connor. "Do you guys have any freaking Tylenol?" Murphy caught the flicker of relief that crossed her face when Connor, mumbling something incoherent, headed towards the bathroom.
Oh, no he thought, eyeing Luciana, there will be no changing the subject for you.
"I know we're twins and all, but we don't look that much alike." He said, his Cheshire cat grin widening even more. "If I remember correctly, I'm the one who propositioned ye last night, not me brother. Did ye just trip and fall inta the wrong bed by mistake?"
"Shut it." Connor said, slamming a bottle of generic pain killers onto the counter. "Just fuckin' shut it."
If he weren't enjoying himself so much, Murphy might have felt bad for Connor; dealing with himself, an embarrassed Luciana and a hangover couldn't be fun.
"My, aren't we a bit narky this mornin'?" He stood and ruffled his brother's hair. "Better get movin'. We've got shopping to do today!"
"Fuck you." Connor replied, pushing Murphy's hand away from his head.
"I second that." Luciana said, taking her coffee out into the living room.
Murphy just laughed as he headed into the bathroom to take a shower. He really was going to have to find out what happened to get the two of them so worked up.
----
"Luciana did well with the boys last night." Murphy said, taking the lit cigarette from Connor's hand. "Can't say the same for Greenly, though; you'd think he'd never spoken ta a girl before."
"Aye." Connor chuckled along with his brother, feeling better after a shower and several more cups of coffee. "She did better than I expected." Connor replied.
"We probably should've mentioned that they were cops ta her before we sprung that meeting on her, though."
Connor took a drag. "It didn't seem ta phase her too much."
"Aye." Murphy said, shoving his hands down into his coat pockets. "Christ, it's fuckin' freezing."
"So, what did ye do to get that girl inta yer bed last night, anyway?" He asked, pleased at the blush that as starting to creep up his brother's neck.
"Leave it." Connor replied, churlishly.
"Tell me." He elbowed his twin playfully. "Or I'll be forced to use my imagination."
"It's really not what yer thinkin'." Connor said, the blush now deepening across his cheeks. "I think I might've been a bit…" He paused, trying to find the word. "Emotional."
"Fuckin' Christ, Connor! Did ye cry?" Murphy asked, and when Connor refused to meet his eyes, he knew the answer. Slinging an arm over Connor's shoulders, he pulled his twin close. "Aw, hermano, ye've got to let it go."
"I know. It just gets the better of me sometimes. Bein' at the bar with her was too much. I see her and I can't help thinkin' of Roc." Connor sighed.
Trying to lighten his brother's mood, he said, "If he don't stop doin' that shite every time we go ta McGinty's, I'm not goin' ta fuckin' take ye anymore!"
"I'd like ta see ye try and stop me." Connor said, elbowing Murphy in the ribs for good measure.
"Fucker." Murphy said, good-naturedly.
"We're here." Connor announced, cutting off any further discussion.
They had arrived at the only place they ever did work related shopping, Cillian's warehouse. The nondescript building was located near the harbor. The shabby sign outside read Emerald Isle Imports, but Murphy was fairly sure the only Irish import inside was Cillian himself.
Cillian had been their black market connection since their first big hit on the Russian's. No one seemed to know much about him. The only definite information the twins had gleaned was that he had arrived in Boston in 1995 and set up shop. Overnight, he had become the go-to guy for the "off the boat" Irish in Boston. It was rumored that he brokered arms deals for the IRA before coming to the U.S. His accent marked him as hailing from Cork originally, but he had brushed off Murphy's repeated attempts to verify that.
Murphy was still trying to convince Connor that their next tattoo should be the motto on Cillian's wall: While the wicked stand confounded, Call me, With thy saints surrounded.
"Hey, boyos!" Cillian called, looking up from the gun he was cleaning. "I've got your special request out back. Follow me."
Murphy looked longingly into the caged room full of weapons as they passed by, but a sharp tug on his arm from Connor brought him back to the task at hand.
"I'm comin', I'm comin'." He muttered, pulling a face at Connor's back. "Narky fuckin' bastard."
When they exited into the alley behind Cillian's warehouse, they saw two cars parked there. Neither of them was much to look at: dark colored, four-door sedans.
"Christ Connor, what did ye tell him ta get us?" Murphy asked. He had been hoping for something fast and tough, appropriate for a 28 year old male, not these fuckin' senior citizen grocery-getters.
"Murphy, try to let this bit of information creep inta yer brain." Connor said, tapping him on the forehead. "We are goin' ta work. When we work, we try ta be inconspicuous. It's very, very difficult to be inconspicuous in a red convertible."
"Aw, fuck you. We could've been inconspicuous," the word was dripping with sarcasm. "in something a little more sporty. We're not fuckin' retirees, ye know?"
"Hey boyo, this isn't a fucking car dealership. Ye get what I can find." Cillian interrupted, eyeing them both with a mixture of distaste and exasperation. "Which one do ye fucking want? I've got other shite to do."
Murphy saw Connor stiffen at Cillian's tone, and moved towards his brother and put a hand on his shoulder.
Cillian was discreet, and, since their first visit so long ago, he'd never failed to find something they had needed. Connor was willing to let a lot slide from Cillian, but Murphy knew that he had pushed his already tense brother too far.
"Calmati." Murphy whispered, hoping Connor would remember just how much they needed the man, instead of teaching him an ill-provoked lesson about respect. "Ne vale non la pena."
Eventually, reason won out and he felt Connor relax.
"We'll take which ever one has a better fuckin' radio." Connor said finally.
Cillian pointed to the black Chevy Lumina, and nodded. "There ye go."
Grinning at Connor, Murphy put both hands on the Lumina and said, "Wax on, wax off."