Chapter Five
I walked into the room and saw Connor and Murphy MacManus laughing their asses off at the bar. My jaw dropped.
"What the hell?" I dropped my hands down to my sides, the gun still in my right. The brothers and Rocco all looked at me.
"Hey, didn't know you had back-up." Connor laughed. Murphy raised his eyebrows, staring at the outfit. I cleared my throat, messing with the top with a horrible chance of closing it. The brothers took off their jackets as Rocco stood, looking at all of the dead bodies on the floor or the couches (the majority on the couches).
"Fuckin'- What the fuckin' fuck- Who the fuck-" he started walking back and forth, shocked at the sight. "Fuck this fuckin'-" he started to get a little more crazy. "How did you two fuckin' fucks-" he looked at Connor and Murphy and jumped, his hands waving around crazily in the air. "FUCK!"
"Well," Connor said calmly. "That certainly illustrates the diversity of the word." Both he and his brother started cracking up again.
"You did all this?" I walked around the couch, looking at the extra body back there before making my way back around. Connor poured himself something to drink from the bar, smiling a bit in response to my question. I'm taking that as a yes. Murphy cleared his throat.
"Rhiannon." he spoke quietly, tossing me his jacket after he had gotten my attention. I caught it, putting it on and buttoning it, covering myself up. I wrapped my arms around myself, the smell of cheap cologne, Old Spice and cigarette smoke enveloping me. Butterflies exploded in my stomach and I shut my eyes. To some people, it probably wouldn't smell good, but to me it smelled amazing. Just all things Murphy rolled into one.
I heard a disgusted groan come from the bar, and opened my eyes to see Connor shoving his glass away from him.
"That's fuckin' nasty." His face schrunched up. Murphy laughed at his brother's expession. Rocco and I looked at each other. To be perfectly honest, we were still too surprised by the bloodshed that we couldn't say much. Not that it was entirely new to me, I loved gory movies, but to see this shit up close and personal was... A little much.
"Let's get the fuck out of here." Murphy grabbed a black bag and Connor nodded in response. Rocco and I stayed put for a moment before Murphy turned and looked at us. "You coming or not?"
We sat in Rocco's apartment around a small, circular table. I still wore Murphy's coat, not wanting to give it up. Not like he didn't ask for it back anyway. I'm sure he didn't want it. It was hot in here. I had to put my hair up.
"So... Anybody you think is evil?" Rocco asked as the brothers finished explaining everything. Apparently they had been spoken to or chosen by God Himself to go and kill anyone they believed was evil, like Russian mafia and shit like that. I had to say, it was pretty badass. And they had a knack for it. It's like they were born to do this or some shit.
"Aye." Connor replied, putting the silencer back on his gun.
"Don't you think that's a little weird, a little psycho?"
I kept my mouth shut, taking a drag off my cigarette.
"Do you know what I think is psycho, Roc?" Connor lit himself a cigarette. "It's decent men with loving families. They go home every day after work, and they turn on the news. You know what they see? They see rapists, and murderers and child molesters. They're all gettin' out of prison."
"Mafiosos gettin' caught with 20 kilos, gettin' out on bail the same fuckin' day." Murphy set his gun down.
"And everywhere, everyone thinks the same thing-that someone should just go kill those motherfuckers."
"Kill 'em all. Admit it. Even you've thought about it." the darker haired twin pointed at Rocco.
"Shit, I know I have." I muttered.
"See there?" Connor nodded his head towards me. Rocco looked at them for a second before speaking.
"You guys should be in every major city." He said, his attitude changing on the turn of a dime. Connor chuckled, taking a drink of his soda. "This is some heavy shit. This is like "Lone Ranger" heavy, man." he slammed his hand down on the table and hopped up. "Fuck it! There's some much shit that pisses me off!" He snapped his fingers. "You guys should recruit, 'cause I'm sick and fuckin' tired of walkin' down the street waitin' for one of these crack-pipin', ass-wipin', motherless lowlifes to get me!"
"Hallelujah, Jaffar." Murphy smirked a bit.
"You're not just talkin' about mob guys, right? You're talkin' about pimps and drug dealers and all that shit, right?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Fuck... You guys could do this every Goddamn day!"
"We're sort of like 7-Eleven." Murphy clapped his twin on the shoulder. "We're not always doin' business, but we're always open."
"Mmm. That is nicely put." Connor smiled.
"Thank you very much."
"So... Lemme get this straight." I cleared my throat. "You're doing this from now on?"
"That's the plan." Connor sipped his soda.
"And what about your old jobs?"
Murphy shrugged. "We quit."
"This pay is much better anyway." Connor added. I nodded, thinking to myself.
Later that night, we ordered pizza and chowed down. It was the first time I had had this in a while, and I had three pieces, doing my best not get anything on the jacket. Rocco had decided to put on a mask and try to light a cigarette. But this ultimately failed and he took it off his face, keeping it on his head. He looked at the knife, holding it in his hand as Connor walked back over and snatched the mask off. Rocco turned the knife a bit and looked at him.
"I will fuck you up, dude."
"Like to see you try." I smiled, laughing quietly. A few minutes later, Murphy grabbed his gun and turned on his back, demonstrating how he and his brother fell through the ceiling, though I wasn't really listening, although I did see Connor smack him on the arm. I made friends with the grey and white cat, playing with it and petting it. It had a cute high pitched meow and seemed to follow me wherever I went. I grabbed some string and let it chase it for a while before sitting back down.
"Oh, boy. You fuckin' guys." Rocco muttered. "You ruined me. I'm fuckin' done. Permanent fuckin' package boy."
"Who said that?" Murphy asked him. "You can take credit on that, you know?"
"What, are you serious?"
"Yeah. Fuck it. If you think about it, it's all you can do, really. I mean, you can't go in there and tell him it was us."
"Not unless you want a hit out on them or somethin'." I added.
"Yeah." Connor nodded, agreeing. "Climb the corporate ladder, boy. Don Rocco." The three of us began laughing.
"Fuck it." Rocco said. "I'm doin' it. I deserve it. I've been workin' for those fat bastards since I've been in high school."
"Trust me, I know." I rolled my eyes.
"I mean, look at this fuckin' place. They're fuckin' me, man." he stood, getting more angry. "They can suck my pathetic little dick! And I'll dip my nuts in marinara sauce just so the fat bastards can get a taste of home while they're at it."
"'Pathetic little dick'?" I tried not to laugh, though Murphy and Connor were on the verge of cracking up. Rocco ignored us, still going on his rant.
"Fuck it! I'm doin' it! It is done!"
Rocco slammed his hands on the table and when he did, the gun went off. All four of us jumped back, with me landing on the floor and covering my head. That cat was nowhere to be seen, but a bunch of blood on the wall indicated what had happened to the sweet little thing.
"Shit!" Rocco yelled. "Shit! Shit!"
"Oh, my God!" Murphy exclaimed as he and his brother jumped out of their chairs. I Army crawled to the doorway, standing up when I was done, just in case.
"What the fuck!" Connor stared at the wall.
"I'm hit!" Rocco screamed, jumping up and down.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" I hid behind Murphy.
"Lord's fuckin' name!" he muttered, almost automatically it seemed. "Oh, fuck!"
"What the fuck!" Rocco yelled. We stood there for a moment before Murphy spoke up and pointed at the wall.
"I can't believe that just fuckin' happened!"
"Is it dead?"
"Oh, my God!"
I stared at Rocco. "Blood and shit is on the wall. There is no meowing. No sign of the kitty. Yes. It's dead!" I shook my head. "It killed my furry little friend."
"We gotta clean this up." Connor shook his head.
"I'll do it." Murphy muttered, going to find the cleaning materials.
"I'll help him. You two sleep or something." I followed him. I heard Connor and Rocco talking for a bit before one of them left the room. Judging by the heavy boots, it might've been Connor.
I walked into the kitchen and over to Murphy, who was looking in the cupboard under the sink.
"I'm not saying this to gloat, but I have plenty of practice getting blood stains out."
"Well that's lovely." Murphy chuckled. I took his coat off and set it down.
"I'm just sayin' that, you know, I can help." I started looking for tubberware. He looked at me.
"What're you doin'?"
I grabbed a bowl and set it on the counter. "The only way we can really get this out is with warm water and soap. Trust me. No amount of carpet cleaner or whatever the fuck it is you're looking for is gonna work. Hell, it might make it worse." I put some soap into the bowl and then filled it with warm water. "Just grab a couple sponges and we're good to go." I told him.
Connor and Rocco were passed out, sleeping off all of the pizza, booze and sodas we drank while we partied before the poor cat got shot. Murphy and I were still working on the wall. The blood seemed to come off easily at first, but now it looked at if it were all over the wall, thanks to some really fucked washing skills. And the hole was still a matter that had to be addressed and fixed. I saw Murphy stop and toss the sponge into the plastic bowl, which now looked red thanks to the water inside of it. He sighed quietly, scratching his head.
"Something wrong?" I got onto my knees to get a spot I somehow had missed earlier.
"Did ya take a look at Roc's gun at all before he went into that hotel room?"
"No, why?" I put my sponge over the water, squeezing it to clean it out.
"It was a six shooter. There were nine men in that room tonight."
I stopped and looked at him. "What do you think that means?"
"Pretty clear, isn't it? It was a set up. They wanted Rocco dead."
I gaped at Murphy after he told me this. But it all made sense. Nine men. A six shooter. The odds wouldn't have been in his favor, even if I was there.
Holy shit.