The afternoon was brisk, however humid, but it seemed right enough for when Connor and Murphy walked around town. Murphy was far more energetic than he had been the day before, having vanquished his hangover by that point. They made small pit stops on their hike, including at a hot dog stand where they bought a quick lunch. They both agreed after taking a few bites that it didn't taste right, and then ended up chucking it toward a hoard of flocking seagulls, which fought beak and claw over it.

"Dat's pro'lly where de meat comes from in de first place," Murphy observed, pointing to the rats with wings. Connor knew he was kidding, but couldn't help but take him seriously. It didn't sound too far-fetched.

They got to chatting, rather casually, about their hit the day before. Connor seemed relieved that Mister Olsen died quickly, despite him believing he deserved worse, and Murphy got to mentioning methods of dying, and which he'd prefer, or rather, which ones he didn't.

"Drownin'," he told Connor. "Jus' dat terrifyin' feeling of knowin' yer not gonna make it to de surface in time." He shivered, holding his coat tighter around himself. "Dat'd be a horrible way to go. Especially if yer out in de middle of de ocean, waitin' to die."

"Aye," Connor breathed, also closing his coat.

"What about you?"

"I dunno if I wanna talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Even de t'ought scares me."

Murphy placed a hand on his back. "Come on, tell meh. I'm curious."

He didn't understand Murphy's fascination. They didn't normally talk about such dark things with each other. Perhaps, he assumed, he thought now would be the best time, seeing as how they'd be faced with it a lot. "Worst would be burnin'," he told him. "Alive. I can't even burn my tongue wit'out cryin'." Murphy nodded at the truth of this statement. "Second worst… torture. Death is scary enough, but someone makin' ya wish ya were dead, and not deliverin' de promise until you've suffered—"

"Yer right," Murphy interrupted. "Let's stop talkin' about dis."

Connor didn't have a problem dropping it. They headed back for the alley in which they lived, tossing their coats onto the couch where more of their junk was stored. Connor ransacked the fridge for beer, and Murphy sat down at the new table they had purchased for themselves after Murphy had broken the first one. He found a pack of gum next to the ashtray, inserted a strip into his mouth and chewed.

"Ya wanna maybe…" Murphy started.

Fearing that he was going to ask for sex, Connor tensed up. "What…?"

"See a movie? Tonight?"

Baffled, he laughed out, "A movie? Ya hate movies."

"I don' hate movies! I jus' hate de ones ya like." He shrugged, smacking on his gum. "But I'd be willin' to see whatever ya wanted."

Knowing this was Murphy's awkward way of asking him out, he had a hard time letting him down. "Maybe some o'ter time. I don' really feel like goin' out."

Murphy was confused that he had turned the offer away. He thought Connor had been waiting forever for him to join him at the cinema. He sure made it seem that way. "We could rent one."

"We don' even have a VCR. Or one of dose DVD players." Murphy gaped at him for a few silent moments, then dropped his head.

He sighed, chewing a bit louder, his jaw popping. "Yer right. Sorry."

A ring of the phone ended their conversation, much to Connor's relief. He barely got a salutation out before Malone cut him off. "I'm coming to get you both. I have something to show you."

Connor both wanted and didn't want to know what that was. "All 'ight."

"You won't need anything. This is more of an educational trip. I'll be there in roughly twelve minutes. Keep your pants on." Even though Malone couldn't see it over the phone, Connor rolled his eyes at him.

"We'll be ready," he said.

"Good. See you soon." Without another word, he hung up.

As promised, Malone showed up no later than twelve minutes following his phone call, and both brothers were already prepared for whatever he had in store for them. Murphy didn't care whether or not Malone claimed they wouldn't need guns—he still brought his along. Connor voted against such an idea, only for him to suggest he take his, too.

Malone had brought his own car this time, which Connor had to admit was a non-threatening sign. Their journey began in a direction they were familiar with— toward the Boston Harbor, where they disposed of Tony Abbiati. As for conversation, there wasn't much to be had until they reached the docks, where he led them to a series of personal fishing boats. The one he eventually climbed aboard was a small motor yacht, which they were in awe of as they hopped on deck.

As Malone unlocked the cabin doors, he said at last, "Gentlemen, welcome to the Damocles." Speechless, they followed him into the well-furnished cabin, a luxurious, spacious living space, complete with a galley, bedroom and bathroom. What stood out most to them was the lounging area with couches and a mini bar.

"Holy shit," they both gasped.

"I take from your distended mouths and huge eyes that you're impressed with it."

"I wish I lived here," Murphy expressed with envy.

"Aye," squeaked Connor.

Smiling, Malone crossed the cabin to the kitchen. "Drinks?" They answered with enthusiastic approval. He opened a refrigerator door, reaching inside, knocking bottles around. "I'm afraid I only have wine at the moment, but I get the feeling you two will drink anything." They didn't deny it. After pouring them each a glass, he passed one to each of them, toasting with them.

"Veritas," Connor said to Murphy, knocking his glass into the one in his brother's hand.

"Aequitas," Murphy replied, and they each finished what was in their glass in one gulp.

"Truth and justice?" Malone asked, curious.

"Aye," confirmed Murphy. "Didn't figure ya fer a Latin speaker."

"I'm not. I just know those words. Why did you say them?"

"We've always said dem."

"They must mean something to you."

Connor opined, "It's jus' a really badass t'ing to say."

Malone's laugh was rickety, but sinister. Connor didn't think he could ever get used to it. "It is. But I think it's interesting that truth is the very reason you're standing on this yacht with me. I think if it weren't for your honesty, you'd be in a very different position now." Connor had never thought of it that way before. Of course he always believed in doing the right thing, always put his faith in fairness, but he never made the connection. "Truth, Connor, is a word that well defines you." He poured the wine down his throat before taking their glasses.

"Now…" Malone continued. "Before I forget…" He left the brothers anxious with anticipation while he opened a bottom cupboard and reached inside. Murphy placed a cautious hand on the gun handle underneath the tail of his shirt while taking an idle step in front of Connor, whose guard wasn't as high as his brother's. Malone didn't remove a weapon from the cupboard however, but a black leather pouch, which he set upon the counter and unzipped.

"I believe you boys are owed your payment." He pulled two wads of dollars bills from the bag and with each outstretched hand, passed the cash to them. Murphy took one roll, while Connor obtained the other, and they counted the sum. "One thousand. Half of what I'm paid. Don't spend it all in one place." He eyed Murphy, a wicked smirk spreading over his teeth. "Like the bar."

"I won't let 'im," Connor swore, sticking the dollars into the pocket of his black coat.

"I have something else for you." He put the pouch back into the cupboard where he got it from, and took something else out of it: two wrapped boxes of equal size, each with white bows on top. "Sort of a… welcoming gift for joining the little club."

Murphy placed a hand on Connor's shoulder, a gesture asking him to wait before opening it. With a perplexed curl of the nose, he stared at Murphy while he ripped the paper off of his own box. Malone, tickled by Murphy's paranoia, grinned while leaning against the counter and watched him with fascination as he carefully tipped the top of the box up, peeking inside of it. Connor figured it was safe when Murphy's worried squints formed into pleased surprise, and tore the paper off of his own gift.

Taking the top of the box off, Connor was granted with a most unexpected display: a wooden, beaded rosary, centered with a circle of silver. When he pulled the rosary from the box, he felt a disoriented sense of concurrent appreciation and queasiness. Malone, having seen them go to, even had taken them to church, understood the importance of their Catholic faith, and yet, he wondered what it was he was trying to tell them with such a compelling gift. It felt almost like a slap in the face, or perhaps a way of saying "this is the last remaining remnant of your loyalty to God— you're sinners now, whether you like it or not." With that message haunting him, Connor wondered whether or not he'd even be able to wear it with loyalty, for he was indeed a sinner—the worst kind there was. "Thou shalt not kill" was no longer a commandment he followed, no matter how black the blood was that he spilled.

Murphy slipped the rosary over his neck right away, admiring it, even clutching it in his palm. Connor, on the other hand, hesitated, as though he'd be struck down by a holy hand upon putting it on himself. It shook his soul to think how much he betrayed the Lord he so devotedly followed, and bothered him even more to know that Malone made it so obvious that he had. He wanted to bring them down to his level, and this was the way to do it. Connor felt manipulated, and had no civil way of addressing it.

"Problem, Connor?" wondered Malone, who was still leaning over the kitchen counter.

"I… no. It's beautiful. T'anks."

"Put it on."

"I… I will later." He didn't like where this confrontation was going. He already knew that the things he did were bad. Being reminded of such only further ripped open a scar that was still busy healing.

"Your brother knows how to accept a gift," he sneered.

"Okay, okay," he eased, wrapping the beads around his neck. There, you happy now?

Pleased with this development, Malone took the boxes and paper from them. "They look good on you."

"Aye," agreed Murphy, swaying his chest so the beads would rattle. "Suits us. Guess yer not such a bad feller after all."

"Oh, I'm definitely a bad fellow, Murphy. But I can at least see where we have common ground." He waved to them, asking them to follow, and they did, outside to the upper deck. "Do you boys enjoy sailing?"

Connor answered first. "It's all 'ight I gue—"

"No," Murphy interjected, then dipped his head when they both looked at him.

"Not a fan, Murphy?" Malone prodded, now with lightheartedness.

"Seasickness," he fibbed. "Waves… dey… make meh queasy."

Malone continued up to the pilot house, which was a small, comfortable space with a couch and leather chair, giving the wooden helm a pat. "Took me a long time to learn how to sail, but now I can master it about as well as I can kill." He took a seat in the chair, then pointed to the seats behind him. "Go ahead and relax. We're going to take a little trip."

Murphy smacked his hand on Connor's forearm and squeezed it, digging his bitten nails into it. "Ow," he hissed at him.

"Sorry," Murphy whispered, but continued to clench.

"I'll turn some music on," Malone told Murphy especially. "That should help."

The darker-haired twin wasn't convinced. "Where're we goin'?"

"To the bay."

"Why?"

Chuckling, Malone started flipping switches on the control panel. "There's something else you two need to see."

"Connor. I don' like dis."

Wincing at the eye-watering sting of Murphy's claws in his arm, Connor tried to loosen his fingers. "We'll…" He grunted as he pried each individual finger from him. "Be… okay. Murph, let me go, dat fuckin' hurts!"

Murphy unshackled his grip from Connor's arm, only to tuck a hand around his bicep as the small yacht got moving. Connor tried to calm him down with strokes to the back, but the sweat that had collected on his forehead told him nothing would really do the trick.

It took Malone about thirty minutes to sail to his destination, an area in the Massachusetts Bay that was far from civilization. All there was to see for miles was the sparkling ocean, and Malone stopped the boat right in the middle of nowhere. Murphy couldn't stop his shaking, or sweating for that matter, and though Connor thought his fear justified, didn't want him panicking this much. When Murphy lost it, it was a tougher thing to contain than a sprinting rabbit.

"Come on out and smell the ocean, boys," he advised, heading out to the main deck.

Connor glanced at Murphy, who didn't release his arm for the entire ride there. "Ya stayin' here?"

Murphy was no more interested in looking at the miles of vast water than he was with spending any quality time with their cohort, but he wanted to be there in case he tried to shove his brother into the water for whatever reason. "No. I'll come wit' ya." Connor patted his shoulder, standing up and leading Murphy out to the deck as he clung to him like a child on his first day of school.

When their eyes met the flash of sunlight, the streaks of glistening white on the surface of the water, and Malone, who stood with pride by the edge of his boat, they shielded their view with their hands as the horizon blinded them.

In the distance echoed a high-pitched croon of a whale. Murphy turned in the direction of it. "De fuck was dat?"

"Just a whale," Malone said, nonchalant, accustomed to seeing and hearing them by now.

Murphy inched closer to Connor, nearly throwing him off balance. Whatever lived in the sea, Murphy didn't want to get face-to-face with it. The world was frightening enough on land.

"What's out here dat ya wanted to show us?" asked Connor, who saw nothing but water around them.

"I can't really show you up close. But I can give you a demonstration." Malone opened a crate, one loaded with piles of crushed ice, which he brushed aside to get to a large garbage bag. As soon as it was free from the box, the brothers covered their mouths and noses. "Yes, I know, it's not the most pleasant smell," he said without needing to look at them. "It won't be in our possession long." He raised the bag into the air, presenting it to them. "I don't need to show you what's in here, do I?" They shook their heads, their curiosity killed by upset stomachs. "This isn't the entire thing. It's one particular part. Can you guess which one?"

"Not… dat," Connor said with horror.

Malone flinched, curling his lip. "Oh God no. What do you think I am, some kind of sadist?" He snorted. "No. It's the head." He didn't give them a chance to ask why. "It's because this is the only part that can't be eaten by hogs."

The bobbing of the waves and rocking and creaking of the boat was the only sound for about half of a minute. Malone waited for them to process what he just told them.

Connor burst out laughing first. Then Murphy was the next one to. "Hogs," he repeated. "Yer funneh. Yer fuckin' funneh."

"Hogs, he fuckin' says," giggled Murphy. "He almost got us dere."

"He did, he did." He wagged his finger at Malone. "Yer good. Dat's a good one."

When they saw that Malone hadn't joined them on their jollity, they drifted into stunned silence. Malone, saying nothing more to them, smiled on the corner of his mouth, dropping the weighted bag into the water. Revolted at the implications, the twins took one look at each other before turning toward the gunwale and bending over it.

"Circle of Life, gentlemen," Malone educated, leaving the side of the boat after dumping his "trash" there. "Get it out of your system now. You'll get used to it in time."

"He's not serious," Connor tried to tell himself. "He can't be."

"What a freak," Murphy said, spitting into the water.

"He's fuckin' wit' us. He doesn't feed de bodies to fuckin' hogs. Who does dat?"

"I've heard of stranger t'ings." Another whale song pierced the air, and Murphy once again clasped onto Connor's arm. "Let's go back in."

"Aye," agreed Connor once his stomach calmed itself. With their arrival, Malone started the motors.

"Do something enough times," he began while turning the boat around. "And it becomes second nature. Eventually it matters little to you. It becomes you."

Following a slight cough, Connor responded. "You can t'row bodies to hogs all ya want. Ya'll never get us to. I may not be as saintly as I used to be… but I won't disrespect de dead."

Despite being somewhat disappointed at his challenge, Malone was glad to hear him open up to him. "Fair enough, Connor. What would you do to them?"

"I dunno. I wouldn't feed dem to pigs."

"Me nei'ter," Murphy chimed in.

"Dey deserve some respect, even if dey did some'tin' bad in life."

Malone nodded, steering the helm as they spoke to him. "Noble. But impractical. There is not time to dig a grave for every single hit we make, and it would make the body too easy to find. A body that is eaten is a body no more. You can't find something that isn't there."

"I realize dat," Connor argued. "But can't we… maybe… do some'tin' for dem before ya take dem away?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"I dunno. A ritual. Some'tin'. Any'tin' really."

Malone scratched the hair on his chin. "I don't see the harm in it, if it'll make you guys comfortable."

"Really?"

"Sure. You're in this, too. I may do all of the planning, but if something affects you, I'd like to know."

"Oh…" Connor didn't expect such empathy from him. He thought that by this point in Malone's life, he was vacant of any traces of it. "All 'ight. T'anks."

"When you come up with something, run it by me. Then we'll discuss it some more."

A bit more comfortable now, Connor relaxed. The same couldn't be said for Murphy, who still felt tense the entire time they were on the water. He would kiss the road he walked upon when they got back. He would crawl into bed and never climb out of it.

Malone dropped the twins off at their apartment, telling them he would see them before long, and would call when he received a new client. They didn't wish to discuss or think about murder for the rest of the night—just wanted to have a normal evening with normal conversation, with cigarettes and beer and anything that drinking it led to.

Unfortunately, neither of them felt very "normal."