1999

After Rocco happened into the suite (and the twins had played what they felt was a highly amusing joke on him), the three went back to Rocco's apartment. Connor and Murphy had spelled out their new calling to their friend, then Rocco had called out for pizza. They sat in Rocco's kitchen for hours, eating, drinking beer, and enjoying themselves. The party had come to an abrupt end when Rocco had accidentally shot and killed his girlfriend's cat with one of the twin's Berretas (he wasn't sure whose).

The next morning, Rocco woke up with a stiff back from falling asleep in his beanbag chair. Through the living room doorway, he saw Connor pushing himself up off the floor, where he'd been using his coat for a pillow. Connor hadn't slept much because he'd been thinking about Rocco's showing up at the Copley Plaza to carry out a hit on the gangsters he and Murphy had ended up taking care of. There was a nagging feeling in his gut that Rocco had been set up, although he hadn't told Rocco this yet. But he had to tell him and quick. Rocco was supposed to meet a couple of Poppa Joe's thugs in a few hours.

Connor sighed. This wasn't gonna be an easy conversation to have. He glanced toward Murphy, who was still sound asleep on the sofa, and decided that he'd best break the news to Rocco outside. There was bound to be yelling, Murph had always been a light sleeper and wouldn't hesitate to lash out at whoever or whatever woke him up.

Connor went outside to the concrete alleyway that served as the apartment building's courtyard and found Rocco already there, lighting up a cigarette. Connor cast around for something to say to break the ice. "Donna's gonna be angry about her cat."

Rocco let out a breath, smoke pluming out of his nostrils. "She's on every drug known to man. She'd-a sold the thing for a dimebag." He chuckled. "I do kinda feel like an asshole, though."

"Yeah, Roc, ye sound real remorseful there." Now it was time to cut to the chase. "Listen, somet'in's been botherin' me about las' night. What if your boss knew how many fellas were supposed t' be there? 9 men, 6 bullets."

"You think they sold me out?" Rocco asked. He shook his head, grinning. "No way. No way."

"He probably knew ya'd end up nailin' the fat guy, maybe one or two more," Connor conceded. "But he had ta know ye weren't walkin' outta dere." Using his knowledge of movies and cop shows to draw his conclusion, he added, "If the shooter's dead at the scene, there's no in-depth investigation. It'll slide off his fuckin' back." He sighed again. "Roc, as much as I love ya, man, yer not exactly Don Corleone."

Rocco shook his head repeatedly. "No-no-no. That's bullshit. That's just--That ain't the way things are done. I mean, thanks for your concern and all, but that just ain't how it works."

Connor could see he was getting nowhere, though he thought he'd detected a hint of anxiety in Rocco's voice. "Listen, Roc, just do me a favor. Roll it around a bit on yer way, all right?"

"Nope," Rocco said stubbornly. "No rollin', nothin' needs to be rolled. Anyway, how's he know I don't get in there, see there's too many of 'em, just serve 'em their fuckin' food and beat it?"

"Because he fuckin' knows ya, Roc. A smooth hitter woulda gone in there, seen it was a fuckin' wash, and slipped out. But he knows this is yer only shot. That ye been waitin' 18 fuckin' years."

Just then, Murphy appeared in the alley, puffing on his own cigarette.

"Where ya goin', Roc?" When he got no answer, he turned to his twin. "Didja tell 'im?"

"O' course I fuckin' told 'im." Connor replied.

"Well, then what the fuck--" Murphy started.

"Hey," Rocco cut in. "You guys don't know all that shit for sure."

Murphy rolled his eyes and angrily threw his cigarette onto the pavement. "Yer such a fuckin' retard!"

Enraged, Rocco reached out and grabbed Murphy by the lapels. Murphy seized Rocco by his trenchcoat and shoved him into the wall.

"Use your fuckin' brain fer once!" Murphy spat. "Is it so unbelievable they don't care about ya?"

Rocco pushed Murphy away. "Oh sure! You two fuckin' micks know what's goin' on! Fuck you both!"

"Listen, Roc, this is not a fuckin' t'ing ye should gamble on, all right?" Connor's voice was raised now too.

"I don't believe this." said Rocco. He started to walk away. "I'm leavin', man. I'm outta here."

Murphy's temper flared again. "Fine! Fuck it!" He followed a couple of steps and landed a solid kick on the gate. "What kinda flowers ye want at yer funeral, ya dumb wop? This is the last time I'm gonna see ya!"

"I'll be back at 9:00. Bury the fuckin' cat!" Rocco called over his shoulder.

"Listen, ye get in there and ye start gettin' a bad vibe, ya get the fuck out quick!" Connor yelled after him, more concern in his tone than anger.