ANGEL OF THE BRONX
Based on the movie "Boondock Saints"

"Yer' not goin'," Connor exclaimed, sitting up to quickly. A sudden wave of nausea ran through him as he grabbed the edge of the couch to steady himself. Anna looked over at him, her eyebrow raised in an expression of amusement.

"And how do you plan to stop me?" she replied, leaning down to grab her single strap backpack from behind the chair, "You can barely move."

"To dangerous," Connor responded, pretending he didn't hear her, "Yer' jus' a girl."

He didn't notice the way Anna froze, her jaw locking as her eyes flashed. In the back of her mind, she could hear the faint echo of similar words spoken sans the accent. Pulling the strap over her head, she readjusted it as she stood up fully.

"And you're still hurt," she replied calmly, pushing the memory aside, "Besides, Anthony is a good guy. He can tell me what I need to know and there's no danger in doing so."

"Really, is tha' what ya think," Connor responded with a derisive snort, "Ya think he'll jus' tell ya where they're keepin' Murph."

Anna turned, forcing herself to resist the bait. As she looked at Connor all she could feel was a sense of pity. He was standing, albeit shakily, beside the couch. His knuckles were white with the effort of keeping himself upright, and his shoulders were slowly rising and falling at a faster rate. He was still wearing one of her father's old t-shirts, though she had somehow managed to put his clothing in the washing machine. Even with the blood washed out, she couldn't justify making him wear the shirt again. Not with the bullet holes in it. Her father's shirt was huge on him,though, hanging down to about mid-thigh. It succeeded in not only making him descent but making him seem smaller, younger then he was.

"No," she replied honestly, approaching him. With a familiarity that surprised her, she took ahold of both his shoulders to gently guiding him back down onto the couch. Connor looked up at her, his blue eyes widened in surprise.

"At worst we won't find out anything," she said, "But Anthony's been a runner for the mob for as long as I've known him. If there's been a hit of some kind, he'll know."

"And how's that goin' ta help us?" Connor demanded, feeling the faintest disappointment as the warmth of Anna's light grip faded from his shoulders.

"Well, depending on who he's talked to, we can find out which Don made the call for your hit. That should give us an idea if your brother's alive or not. If he is, there's a remote possibility we might know where he's being...what?"

"Nothin'," said Connor, looking down, "It's nothin'."

He glanced up to see Anna looking at him quizzically. He frowned, looking down once again to avoid her gaze. An uncomfortable silence filled the space between them.

"My dad was an accountant," said Anna, turning away from him, "He knew a lot."

Connor looked up in surprise. Anna had already crossed the distance the door and was reaching for the handle.

"What ta fuck was that suppose to mean?" he exclaimed. Anna froze. From a distance, Connor couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw the glint of moister in the corner of her eye.

"Nothing," Anna replied, her voice almost normal, "Just trust me, Connor. I know what I'm doing."

She never turned to look at him as she opened the door and walked out All Connor could do was stare at the door, processing whatever had just happened. He had guessed Anna might have known something about the mob. It was hard not to depending on the neighborhood one grew up in and he could tell this was not one of the best. But he couldn't understand for the life of him what the bit about her father was about.

Leaning back into the couch, he finally let go of the edge. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he could feel the beginnings of a headache stretch along his skull. Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the feeling of helplessness that had been clawing at him since the night before. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against his folded hands.


"You look tired, Angel," said Anthony, taking a sip from his coffee cup, "You sure you're alright."

Anna paused, staring blankly at the brown liquid in the Styrofoam cup in front of her. In all honesty, she was simply irritated by the affectionate nickname. However, she also knew Anthony had a weakness for women, particularly those in distress. Over the years she had cultivated all the tricks and mannerisms to fool Anthony when she needed to.

"Yeah," she finally replied, taking a sip of her coffee, "Just with my brother and all..."

"Oh, Jeremy mentioned you were taking care of him," said Anthony, taking another sip, "I didn't know you even had a brother."

"Mom and Dad had some trouble with him," Anna lied smoothly, "I guess not much changed after they died."

"That's too bad," said Anthony.

"Yeah, " replied Anna. A sullen silence surrounded the pair. Anna took another sip of her coffee as she side-stepped a man selling newspapers. As they rounded the corner towards the subway station, she glanced over at Anthony.

"So what's new with you?" she asked casually. She took a final sip of her coffee, grimacing at the taste of the grounds along the bottom.

"Not much, " replied Anthony, "The bosses are having me working overtime with the numbers."

"Oh," replied Anna nonchalantly. It was a system they had worked out over the years. Anthony had a history similar to Anna's. It was allowed them to get along where there day to day lives would suggest they shouldn't. Where Anna was driven to put her past behind her and move on, Anthony refused to let go. Over the years he had dug a niche for himself in the very organization which had hurt him, determined to destroy it from the inside out. In the end though, Anna had seen him slowly become what he hated most. As much as it bothered her, she had eventually come to the conclusion that all she could do was talk to him when he needed it and use what little information he gave her to stay clear of old grudges.

"Yeah, rumors are floating that something big is going down in the next few days," continued Anthony.

"Anything I need to be worried about?" asked Anna, keeping up the charade

"No clue," said Anthony, "But word is Rocci's got his hands all over it."

Out of the corner of her eye Anna could see him shoot her a look of concern. Closing her eyes for a brief second, she forced herself to keep her expression calm as she processed the information. Uncle Marco was the nasty son of a bitch who had ran the mob in Manhattan. Not all that bright, what he lacked in brains he made up in viciousness. Using the money he made in gambling and drugs, he managed to murder most of his competition while staying at least three contacts away from the situation. Unfortunately, the third or second contact usually ended up missing or dead as well. Eventually he had earned himself enough of a reputation that everyone played nice with him. Anna had learned that fact the hard way.

"I see," she finally said, opening her eyes, "Thanks for the heads up, Anthony."

"Anytime, Angel," he replied, honest concern coloring his tone. This time Anna smiled up at him.

"Well," said Anna, "I need to start heading back. My brother's probably going to be wondering where I'm at."

"Sure sure," responded Anthony, gently pulling her into a sudden hug. Anna froze at the contact for a moment but finally returned the embrace.

"Bye, Anthony," she said.


"Smecker."

A pregnant silence followed, broken only by the faint sound of panting. The agent for the organized crime unit frowned.

"Hello, who is this?" he demanded. This was the second unanswered call he had heard in the last few days and it was beginning to piss him off. It wasn't so much the lack of response but rather the threatening nature behind them.

"S-Smecker?" a hollow whisper of a familiar voice sounded faintly over the phone. The agent in question felt a cold chill run through him.

"Murphy?"

A steady tone was his only reply.


A.N. : So, sorry for the lack of updates, I've been pretty busy lately. But things are slowly becoming clearer, so stay tuned and please review!

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