To Connor and Murphy's eyes, Hill Street looked just like any other suburban neighborhood. Each house they passed looked almost identical to the last—white doors and windows on a brick exterior—until Eric parked his white, rented car parallel to the curb opposite of his destination. The lawn of their target's house looked freshly mowed and well-manicured compared to that of his neighbor, and a fence closed off an area of his driveway and backyard.

Eric shut off the engine and leaned back in his seat, saying nothing, still as a statue as he fixed his eyes on the house across the street. Connor gave Murphy a quick glance as he rested his exhausted, spinning head on his shoulder before turning back to Eric.

"How long do we have to sit here?"

"Long enough to learn our guy's patterns," Eric told him, matter-of-factly.

"What if ya get hungry?"

With a casual shrug, he said, "Usually I bring a lunch with me. Other times I take a break and go pick something up."

"So… we're gonna be sittin' here fer hours?" groaned Murphy.

Connor had to join him on his aggravation. "Please tell meh we're gonna listen to de radio."

"I am listening to the radio." Eric drummed his hand upon the police scanner. Both brothers whined.

"Dere's gotta be a more practical way to get shit done."

"Aye," Murphy agreed. "Like goin' in and blowin' everyone away."

"Hunting requires patience, gentlemen." Eric rubbed his brow, already regretting bringing them along.

"We know dat. We used to hunt toge'ter."

"But we didn't do it sittin' in a car."

"Exactly."

Fed up with the griping, Eric snapped, "Why don't you make your own entertainment?"

Birds chirped outside the window as Connor and Murphy sat in silence for several moments, static coming in from the police scanner every once in a while. They both wanted to smoke, but Eric had already made it clear that he didn't want them smoking in the car with him.

Murphy, unable to bear the quiet for long, turned to Connor and uttered, "Dog."

Connor didn't need to question what it was he was doing. "Cat."

Murphy: "Iron."

Connor: "Guns."

"Burnt."

"Toast."

"Potato."

"Famine."

Murphy giggled at that one. Connor mimicked his laugh. "Needle."

Connor curled his nose in a look of deep thought. Murphy, grinning, leaned closer to him every second he didn't say something in return. "Ah… fuck…"

Murphy slapped his hands together in Connor's ear, making him flinch. "Time's up. Round one to meh."

"I could'a t'ought o'one! I just…"

"Yeh, yeh. Lose like a winner, Connor."

Leaning toward Murphy's face, eyes darkening, Connor next said, "House."

Taking the challenge, Murphy responded with pride. "Family."

"Box."

"Stash."

"Foreskin."

"Missing."

Daunted for a moment, Connor had to think that one over for a second, then he plummeted into a fit of cackles, as did Murphy. Eric stared at them in the rearview mirror, tightening his hands into balling fists.

"Ghost."

"Bust."

Connor keeled over with laughter again, and Murphy slapped him on the back.

"Please!" Eric shouted over the sound of them cracking up like a couple of stoners. "Please… do something else."

Covering his mouth to keep his laughter inside of it, Connor looked to Murphy for ideas. Murphy, now exasperated with the killjoy in their presence, decided to stir things up a bit.

"Malone," he said. Eric's cold gaze moved toward his reflection in the rearview mirror. "Were ya kicked in de ass a lot as a kid?"

"On the contrary, Murphy," Eric answered, turning back toward the house he watched. "I was brought up in a wonderful home with a wonderful family and had many friends."

"So it must be genetic, den. Yer parents must have been just as borin'."

"If personalities are genetically passed on, you can rest assured that yours were foolish and inbred."

Their glowers, vindictive and taunting, shaded their faces. "Ma's a fool, fer sure. Inbred, I couldn't tell ya. It'd explain a lot, t'ough."

"It explains that she drank while pregnant."

"Ay," Connor interjected, not liking where this was going. "Give it a rest, all 'ight?"

Unfortunately, Murphy wasn't one to give up early. "Aye. Ya'd know what dat's like."

"Murph, cut it out. Sit back."

"I'm afraid you have me at a loss, Murphy. I'd insult your awful dialect and apparent alcoholic heritage, but I ran out of comedic material long ago. So allow me to conclude this conversation with a, 'go an' binge yerself on whiskeh and potatoes' and we'll call it an evening."

"You fuckin' son of a…"

"Murph! Let it go! Just stop!"

Pouting, Murphy sank back into his seat, folding his arms. Connor was well aware that he'd have to make up for this later, to both of them. He was back at home again, settling arguments between Murphy and their mother, calming them both down, getting them to understand the other's position. It only worked some of the time. He was sure it would be no different in this case.

Eric, no longer concerned with either of them, sat up in his seat when he saw their target walk out of the house. He checked the time on both his watch and car's stereo, then reached for a notebook sitting in the passenger seat, which he flipped open and wrote the time in. "Good. This is when our client said our guy goes to work every day. I'm going to go into the house. You're both staying here."

"Why?" Connor asked.

"Because I'd like to check it out before sending either of you in. I'll know what to do if trouble comes up. You won't."

"Oh, so he brought us fer no'tin', dat's great," Murphy grumbled, restless, bobbing his shoulders and kicking at the floor.

Though Connor knew Murphy was a complainer, he had to agree. If Eric didn't trust them, why did he bring them along? Something about this whole thing didn't feel right to him. "Shouldn't we have a way to contact ya in case we see some'tin'?"

"You won't see anything." Eric stepped out of the vehicle, gently shutting his door before heading across the street. As soon as he was out of sight, Connor turned to his brother.

"Dat seem weird to ya?"

Murphy threw his nose into the air with a scoff. "Every'tin' he does seems weird to meh."

"Maybe he needs more time to trust us, but… I feel like dere might be some'tin' he knows."

The corner of Murphy's upper lip rose, showing his incisor. "I've been t'inkin' dat since we met 'im. There's shit he ain't tellin' us."

"Why would he bother? It makes no sense."

"What do we do? We can't just ask 'im. He t'inks we're stupider den we are, and I'd rather he kept t'inking it."

Connor slipped one of his fingernails into his mouth and chewed on it as he went over the possibilities. That's when he noticed the composition notebook resting on the passenger seat. He dove for it, snatching it and opening it as fast as he could. Inside, many pages had been torn out, leaving the book's binding loose and floppy. On the first page was an address, direction, times, and a series of numbers that Connor had to assume was for an alarm. From what he could tell of Eric's careful scribbles, he had spent time at the house on many occasions without including them.

"He's already been to de house," he muttered, anxiety clutching at his gut.

Murphy leaned closer. "What's it say?" Connor showed him the notes, and Murphy gave them a thorough scan. "I fuckin' knew it. Why would he do dat unless he wanted to keep some'tin' from us? What else is de fucker hidin'?"

"I dunno. He seems to get along better wit' meh den you. Let me talk to 'im. Maybe he'll open up to meh."

"I don't want ya gettin' hurt, Connor."

"Relax. I'll be careful." The front door of the house opened, and Connor saw Eric striding out of it. He dropped the notebook back into the seat where he found it and told his twin, "Stay on his good side, ya hear meh?"

"Fine," he grunted, opposed, but would do what Connor asked of him. The driver's side door popped open and Eric climbed back into the vehicle, giving the twins a once over.

"Our guy is married," he told them, which they nodded at, keeping their cool for now. "What a world."

"Aye," they both managed to croak out.

Noting the change in their pitch, it roused suspicion. "You two okay?"

"Someone came by de window and asked us some questions," Connor covered for them, which Murphy was grateful for, since he couldn't have come up with anything better on the fly. "It rattled us a little."

"Someone?" Eric, now concerned, looked into the windows of each of the houses on the block. "Who were they? What'd they look like?"

"Uh…"

"Tall," Murphy added. "Blond. Wore a lot of plaid." Connor cocked an eyebrow at him and he shrugged.

"Hm," answered a disturbed Eric, who was now jotting something new in his notebook. "What'd he ask you?"

"What we were doin'. If we lived in de neighborhood. We just told him we were waitin' fer a friend." Connor pulled the back of his hand across his forehead as Eric continued to ask questions. He wasn't a very good liar, and he was sure their friend could tell that.

"I see…" He slapped the notebook shut when he finished what he was writing. "Looks like we'll have to be more discreet next time." The engine roared to life as he turned the key, then after checking the street, he pulled into it.

Once they were back on the road, Connor made a request. "Would it be much trouble if we stayed wit' ya a little longer?"

Surprised, Eric asked, "You like it there?"

"Oh, yeah. It's great. A lot more comfortable den our place. Cleaner, too."

"It wouldn't be because I have a bar… would it?"

"Nah. Dat's… a perk."

When seeing that Murphy didn't seem interested in contributing his opinion, he flashed them each a grin in the mirror. "Is that okay with your brother?"

"Where Connor's at," Murphy clarified, "I am."

Eric ignored Murphy's crafty avoidance of the question. "All right. I suppose if that's what you'd like to do, I don't see the harm in it."

...

It was a twenty minute drive back to Eric's home, a drive that neither brother spoke for, though they shared similar thoughts. Murphy excused himself to go downstairs for a drink, but Connor stayed behind with Eric, who didn't appear in much of a hurry to follow Murphy anywhere.

"Not drinking another whole bottle of whiskey?" Eric snorted while removing his necktie.

Connor followed him to his office, where he placed a leather case and folders upon his desk. "I actually meant to speak wit' ya."

His first concern was leaving Murphy alone in his basement, wondering just how much alcohol he could consume in a night. On second thought, he figured he wouldn't have many opportunities to have discussions with Connor about much of anything. "Something troubling you?"

If Connor hoped to get Eric to tell him anything worthwhile, he knew he had to choose his questions carefully. "Not really. Just wanted to… chat."

Chat? Wondered Eric, who couldn't remember the last time he struck up casual conversation unless it was with a client. "Wanting to get to know the man behind the mask, eh?"

"Is dat askin' too much?"

Sliding his coat off, Eric shook his head. "No, Connor. It's strange, is all. Most people go out of their way to avoid me. And that's fine. I don't particularly like most people." He pulled up a seat for Connor, directing him to sit, and he did. He also sat, in his swiveling, creaking office chair behind his desk, crossing his palms upon the surface of it. "Please. Chat away."

This was harder than he thought it would be. Connor had just as much trouble talking to anyone that wasn't a good friend or Murphy. "How long have ya lived here? In dis house, I mean?"

Brushing some of his waved, faded hair from his eyes, Eric told him, "Six years."

"By yerself?"

His head drooped, but he picked it back up a second later. "Yes."

"S'a lot of room fer one guy."

There was a lull in the conversation, and Connor thought he had abandoned it. "It is," he said at last, after several seconds had gone by. "But I like my space."

Connor didn't want to tread on thin ice, but now that the subject had arisen, it prickled his curiosity. "I take it yer profession keeps ya from gettin' close to people."

"Something like that," he said while loosening his collar.

"Isn't dat… kinda…?"

"Miserable?"

"Aye…"

"You get used to it. To be honest with you, Connor, I barely see people as… people anymore. I don't mind giving them up. Think of it as going on a diet the rest of your life— abolishing all of the disgusting things that tempt you. That's the way I've always seen it."

Connor tried to imagine living Eric's life, shut up and locked away inside of a large house with no friends and his brother, the most important thing to him, in a jail cell. He couldn't fathom it, no matter how hard he tried. Now that Eric had told him this, he wished he had never asked about it, because he became more invested in the discussion than he had been previously.

"Ya don't ever get… ya know… lonely?"

"That's the feeling you get when you want the company of others, correct?"

He faked an uneven laugh. "Guess dat answers my question."

"No. I do not get lonely." As he leaned back in the chair, it squealed in protest. "However… I do have one regret." Connor was all ears. "I've nearly reached the end of my lifetime. I never found the time to settle down, get married, do the usual thing that people do with each other. I never really found a point in it, since I didn't feel capable of loving anyone, or anything." He hesitated, eyeing the surface of his shiny desk, which was glazed enough to produce a reflection. "I wish I had children of my own. I'm too old for that now. I missed my chance."

Connor had intended talking with Eric in order to get some information out of him about their job, and instead ended up learning more than he could handle. "If it makes ya feel any better," he began, fully accepting that it would do none of the sort, "Murph and I didn't know our fa'ter."

"Didn't know him?" he repeated, his voice not nearly as reproachful as it had been in the car with Murphy.

"Aye. He left us when we were wee." He lowered his hand to the floor just to illustrate the point. Eric nodded, but said nothing, though Connor could detect an unusual softness in his demeanor. "Heard lots o't'ings about 'im. But we never met 'im. Ma would always answer my questions when I had dem. I always wanted to find 'im. We never did. Murph… he feels a little differently, I t'ink. He resents 'im. Blames 'im fer a lot o't'ings—ma cryin', and all. I can't hold it against Murph for feelin' dat way. We'd be… different if da had been around."

Speechless, Eric took a few moments to retain the tale to his memory. "I'd say you and Murphy are already pretty 'different', wouldn't you?"

Now that he had the floor, he felt he should use it. "I s'ppose. It's tough livin' dat way, t'ough. Sometimes I t'ink even Murph has his issues wit' it."

"With what? Your relationship?"

At the word "relationship," Connor's mood darkened, and he bowed his head. "If ya want to call it dat."

Eric's intrigue heightened at Connor's confiding, loaning him an ear. "Is that not what it is?"

"Oh. Sure. Sure. He just doesn't have a way wit' words is all."

"You mean he's a 'fuck now, talk later' sort of fellow."

Connor pressed the tip of his finger against his nose and nodded, shutting his eyes. "I know he loves meh. He'd just prefer to… hide, rather den tell meh any'tin'. Dat's just de way he is. I've known him our whole lives, so I've already accepted it. I s'ppose, in a way, it's what makes me de perfect one fer 'im."

"I think you might be right, Connor." Eric couldn't imagine someone as abrasive as Murphy getting along with anyone else. "May I ask you something?"

"Aye."

"Am I the only one that knows about it?" Connor nodded. "Interesting."

"Why do ya ask?"

"Aside from the clients that have paid me for my services… you and Murphy are the only ones who know about my life. It seems we've established a sort of kinship without realizing it, haven't we?"

"I… I guess so, yeh."

"Not to be so… to-the-point… but it's been a very long time since I've had anything that resembled a friend. And not to be so grim… but I'm glad you were the one who put Tony out of his misery instead of me. I would never have met you."

Connor swallowed as his mouth ran dry. He had to admit—even Murphy had trouble showing appreciation from time to time. To hear someone actually tell him he belonged in another's life was refreshing. "I… aye. Likewise."

"It might be too much to ask for, Connor… but perhaps you could be the ones to carry on my legacy."

He had to smile at that. He knew just what he was offering to him, and it touched him in many ways. "I hope we don't disappoint ya, den."

Eric ran a sweating palm over his neck and shoulder, debating on telling him the truth. Connor and Murphy definitely had blood thirst within them, but he still recognized them as pleasant young men with ambition for doing good. As similar as Connor thought they might be, they were still polar opposites, lying on other ends of the spectrum. However, the moment was too warm for him to wreck with such shocking revelations. Connor seemed to look up to him, and he couldn't ruin that image now. It was what he always wanted—a pair of youthful, curious eyes looking upon him in admiration and following in his footsteps. An heir to his throne. A son.

"You… you won't." He didn't need to know what time it was, but he checked his watch anyway. "You should probably check on your brother. He might be half-dead from alcohol poisoning already."

These words alone sent Connor's heart into rapid vibrations, and he leapt from his chair in a swift, fleeting motion before launching out the door. He intended to follow him downstairs, but for a while he couldn't move. All he could think of now was what he kept from them, and Connor's hope and wisdom, which were vibrant for someone his age.

Eric had no doubt in his mind that the two of them would discover the truth on their own. Perhaps he wanted it that way. Whatever happened, he would let fate decide. It was nowhere near as picky as he was.