Author's Notes: A grand thank you to A posse ad esse, wolfchick11, and L.R. Meriadoc for reviewing.

I have rewritten this chapter three times trying to get it right. For some reason I just can't get it the way it right in my mind, but this is the best one I've come up with, so I hope you enjoy it regardless.

And I apologize for the extreme lateness. Real life has just been owning me lately.

Chapter Five: A Trout in the Hand is Worth a Ban

For once the day started early for Connor and Murphy. They were both lounging outside smoking their ever present cigarettes. The obnoxious beep of the tow truck sliced through the morning air as it backed their broken car into position. The driver of the truck looked like a stereotype given their current location. He was tall and thin wearing a camouflaged hat with unruly brown hair sticking out of the sides. His white shirt and jeans were dirty with grease and he had a very prominent confederate flag as a belt buckle. He wore a raggedy nametag with Jeff written in large letters. But as stereotypical as he appeared, he did his job effectively, quickly unhooking their car from his.

Connor immediately popped the hood and began poking around looking for the problem. Murphy casually slide into the driver's seat; fully trusting his current mechanic.

"Try to start it."

Murphy turned the key. The car tried to start, turning over, but failing to catch. They both knew what that meant. They needed a new starter. Connor cursed when he found a hole in one of the lines causing it to spill oil all over the engine. That at least explains the smoke. For as long as he could remember car problems were always compounded and expensive. Mechanics always tried to charge out of the ass claiming to fix your car only to have it break down a month later. Connor finally had enough of it and learned to repair most his car problems.

Unfortunately he couldn't repair a starter on his own. They were going to have to take it to a real mechanic. Murphy let out a loud curse at the matter and threw his fist against the door. At this rate, they were never going to make it to Miami.

Hours later they found themselves standing outside the garage of the same mechanic that towed them earlier. The second time the mechanic saw them; he had this smug I-told-you-so look on his face. Murphy had a strong desire to smack the man in the back of his redneck head. Sadly though, he was the only open mechanic in town, so Murphy took out his frustrations on his own lungs.

To maintain their sanity while Jeff claimed to fix their car, they decided to explore the town of Camden. The streets were like many towns. Family owned stores and restaurants were integrated with the mainstream paraphernalia of a western culture. Nothing unusual or interesting stood out, expect perhaps them. It seemed that anywhere they went outside of Boston's Irish district; they attracted the attention of the locals. Though neither of them were sure why.

They both thought themselves to be fairly ordinary looking. They didn't dye their hair unusual colors or wear scandalous clothing. And sure, they had their fair share of tattoos, but who didn't sport any these days? Neither of them claimed to be strikingly handsome on most days (but if you asked them after a boast of confidence due to excess alcohol intake, they'd both claim otherwise). The twins thought they were average people at first glance. It was only after you met them do you realize otherwise. And by then it was too late to escape. Nevertheless they were able to ignore the constant stares and focus on finding something to entertain them in this podunk town.

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It was an hour and a half later before Jeff was able to pop the hood of the MacManus car and start work. He had easily replaced the oil line and had already begun replacing the starter when an unusual object caught his attention. It seemed the MacManus car had an extra part. There was a black box attached to the underside of the car beside the wheel. As inconspicuous as it was, Jeff had been a mechanic for over twenty years and tended to notice the out of ordinary.

After probing the box, he found that it was attached by magnets. Jeff knew this trick. It was common among small time drug dealers. They stored their stashes in magnetic boxes attached to the inside of cars, so if they were pulled by cops they were less likely to get caught. The mechanic's own stash had been quickly dwindling and he had little problem with stealing drugs from these outsiders. He pried open the box and was startled by its contents.

It did not contain pot, pills or coke, but was a labyrinth of twisted wires. Obviously homemade, it looked like something straight out of the movies. It had no distinguishing features that revealed its true purpose, so Jeff's mind went straight to the obvious answer. It was a bomb. It was set to explode at any moment. And he was going to die.

He ran out on to the streets looking for the two men whose car was set to explode, but they were no where in sight. His mind began racing as he found himself drifting back to the garage. He turned a corner to call the police, but froze before he could reach his destination. Jeff was facing the business end of a gun.

His focus was solely on the barrel of the gun. He was completely oblivious to everything around him, including who his killer was. Second slowly ticked by. In his last moment of clarity he realized that your life does not flash before your eyes before you die.
It was quite the opposite. Speeding through his mind were regrets. The cruise he never went on, the second language he never learned, the fight that was never resolved between him and his son. It didn't feel like his time to die.

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The MacManus brothers found themselves standing at the entrance of a place they never thought they'd visit. The South Carolina Wildlife Preserve and Fish Hatchery. The establishment consisted of a large stone building surrounded by endless acres of lush green forests. To their right was the fish hatchery, a fenced in concrete area with several large water filled trenches. Large yellow school buses lined the parking lot and school children of varying ages ran around, squealing with delight form being out of traditional school for the day. A mixed tour group of children and adults were gathering by the hatchery and lost to their new settings the brother wandered towards them and attempted to fit in.

"Welcome y'all to our trout hatchery. Now these are very important in maintaining the trout populations…"

The tour guide continued her lecture as she led the group into the hatchery. Inside the concrete enclosure were four water filled trenches that contained trout in various stages of life. Each container was filled to capacity. Trout were swimming on top of each other and flopping in and out of the water. It was a fisherman's wet dream.

The twins found themselves standing next to a group of rowdy teenaged boys. They were taunting each other and pretending to shove one another into the water. These boys struck a chord with Murphy. They reminded him of himself as a troublemaking teen. A mischievous smile played upon his lips as he turned to his brother.

"Hey Con, I dare ye to try to snag one of those fish."

"What do I win?"

"I'll drive the rest of the way."

"Like hell ye will! Ye've gotten in three car wrecks in one week!"

"It's my personal record."

"I want ye Rambo knife."

"What? Ye don't even like it!"

"Aye, but it's come in handy."

"More than yer fuckin' rope."

"That rope has saved our asses on several occasions."

"If I win, I don't have to carry yer stupid fuckin' rope around anymor'."

Connor and Murphy shook hands in agreement. The rowdy teens had gone silent after taking interest in the bet. They stood watching Connor excitedly. He kneeled down beside the trench. There were hundreds of fish in there. They all swam against the current with great conformity. Connor leaned over the water casting his shadow upon them. The fish scattered away as best they could. He sat back and took a minute to ponder his approach. As he did so he noticed the fish swimming back to where his shadow once stood. The fish appeared to be scared of his shadow. As soon as the thought popped into his head, Connor jumped up and bolted to the other side. This time as he leaned towards the fish, his shadow grew on the opposite side.

He pushed up the sleeve of his shirt and eyed his target. He chose one arbitrarily. The fish he chose had several large spots on his head and Connor liked him because it made him look like he had three eyes. He stretched out his arm and barely hovered over the water. Below his hand, the fish slowly moved his body while huddled in the mass. Connor thrust his hand in the water and firmly gripped the first slimy object he felt.

As he pulled it out of the water, the fish began to struggle with all its might. Connor felt it slip through his grip and before he knew it, the fish was airborne. It landed on the ground with a soft squish.

Cheers erupted from the teenaged crowd drawing the attention of other tourists. An angry looking security guard began stalking towards him. Connor nudged the fish back into the water and stood to face a very angry adult crowd. The security guard shoved his way through the crowd and stood toe to toe with Connor. Connor had a strong feeling of déjà vu at this moment. He had been in this situation hundreds of time throughout his life. And the majority of them started with a dare from Murphy.

"Sir, are you illiterate?"

"What? No, I can read."

"Because there is a sign directly in front of you saying that you are not allowed to touch the fish. So for you to so deliberately ignore it means you must either be illiterate or stupid. Since you said you are not illiterate, you must be stupid. Follow me sir, we need to have an educational conversation."

The security guard firmly gripped Connor's arm and dragged him towards the building. Connor looked back to find Murphy laughing hysterically while a crowd of onlookers watched from behind him. He wasn't terribly worried about what was about to happen with the rent-a-cop. Worse thing was that the security guard could call the real cops, but he doubted that would happen. It wasn't like he killed the fish or anything.

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Murphy watched his brother being dragged into the stone cased building. The crowd dispersed shortly after, but he stayed and watched the door for several minutes wondering how long it was going to take. He was never good at entertaining himself. He was bored with the fish hatchery and had little desire to explore the wildlife preserve. He left the hatchery and tapped out a cigarette. Murphy glanced around and noticed the parking lot had cleared out. He picked up an abandoned newspaper and flipped to the comic section. He never understood the need for serious comics. Who wants to wake up in the morning and read some drama bullshit? If Murphy was editor, all comics would involve talking dogs and cats.

"Oi, I take ye somewhere educational an' as soon as I'm gone, ye sit on yer ass and read comics."

Murphy glanced behind him to see Connor now being escorted by two security guards. The guard from earlier roughly grabbed his arm and pulled him to the exit. Murphy quickly rose to his feet and followed him. When they arrived at the entrance, the guard shoved Connor forward and crossed his arms. Before departing, Connor gave them a few choice words in a variety of languages.

"What the fuck happened in there?"

"Murph, the South Carolina Wildlife Preserve and Fish Hatchery has officially banned me for life."

Murphy exploded with laughter nearly keeling over in the middle of the sidewalk. Connor joined his brother shortly after. Regardless of the drama that seemed to follow them everywhere, their walk back to the mechanic's garage was in high spirits.

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Jeff slammed the hood of the black car shut. He wiped his greasy hands on his jeans and turned around to face the man he had almost forgotten was there. The man still firmly held the gun in his hand and his eyes were fixated on Jeff. The man wore loose clothing, but Jeff could see bandages sticking out from underneath. Around his collar you could see disfigured flesh. It had a stiff look to it and was bright red with blackened edges. Whatever disfigured this man happened recently. He was fairly short in height and had a thinning ring of black hair. His eyes were cold and lacking any feeling in them. He looked like a man with a mission and poor Jeff had just gotten in the way. He hastily wrote a receipt and stuffed it in the glove box. He cursed the poor souls who had brought trouble into his neck of the woods.

The man with the gun stiffly walked back to his own car. As he sat down pain flared throughout his body. He was forced to close his eyes for a moment hoping to ebb the pain. Too soon though, he was forced to open them and deal with what had to be done. He turned on a small screen located above the radio. Immediately the streets of Camden flashed onto the screen. His blue positioning dot blinked on shortly after. He let out a grim smile with the red dot of his target flashed on as well. He turned on his engine and parked across the street. He still had a perfect view of the mechanic and his prey. He settled back into his seat and took a vicodin. Since he was working he could only take one, but that made the pain almost tolerable. He hoped he wouldn't have to wait long before the Irish bastards showed back up. He was growing tired of this cat and mouse game and he was ready to pounce. Luck was on his side that day as the chain smoking men strolled into his reset trap.

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Connor turned the key and was thrilled to have the car spring to life. He and Murphy were both ecstatic that they could leave this town. They had found the main highway easily enough and had every intention of driving through the night. Neither of them could handle another day in this car. Murphy opened a crumpled pack of Malboros to fish himself out another cigarette, but was horrified to discover what lay inside. Nothing. The pack was completely empty.

"Hey Con, do ye have any cigs on ye?"

"No, I'm completely tapped out."

"Fuckin' 'eh. There's got to be one around here somewhere."

Murphy began scouring the car in search of his prized treasure. He shoved his hand into every corner looking. He found pens, pennies and old french fries, but not a single thing to smoke. In a final attempt, he threw open the glove box and pulled its entire contents out. And there in the corner was a lone cigarette severed in half. Murphy lit it, hungrily sucking nearly half of it before passing it to his brother. As he went to shove everything back inside the dashboard, a curious note caught his eyes. It was the receipt from the Camden mechanic and written in large bold letters under his name was such a startling sentence that it made Murphy forget about his craving.

"Someone is going to kill you."