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

A. N. Yes, I am back. Many apologies for being late in updating. Work sucks. But here is the next chapter. Hope you enjoy. :)


Murphy sat against the wall of his basement prison cell, cradling the rosary the man had given him in his hand. He seemed unaware that the handcuffs holding him to the chair had been removed and the only bonds holding him now were a pair of handcuffs and shackles keeping his limbs together, giving him limited but able movement. He seemed unaware of the raw, red scraping along his knuckles and wrist from his initial outburst at what the man had given him. Scrapes from pounding at the door to get to the man who had killed his brother. He seemed unaware of the way the sharp points in the walls poked uncomfortably in his back. The same points he had further attacked in his anger, frustration, and drive to get to the man. He seemed unaware of the soreness in his throat from the screams and curses he'd called down on the man as he fought the boundaries of his cell. He seemed unaware that he was shaking from cold in the drafty basement.

Murphy turned the rosary back and forth in his hand, feeling only numb. He had no doubts that the rosary belonged to Connor. For one, both their rosaries had been specially crafted, given to them by their Ma on their confirmation. True, they weren't unique persay, but it'd be a rare day to find ones like them in the states. Furthermore, this rosary was shorter than his own. It was their way of distinguishing between the two.

Murphy felt something catch in his throat. Other than at home, he and Connor never removed their rosaries. They were a part of the men's lives, of their being. The only way Connor would ever let someone just take his rosary was if he was dead or unconscious. The man said he was dead. Drawing in a deep breath, Murphy opened his eyes. Getting on his knees, he put the rosary around his neck.

"And Shepherds we shall be. For Thee, my Lord, for Thee. Power hath-"

The door to his cell swung open killing the rest of the prayer from his lips. Looking up, he found himself face-to-face with Connor's murderer. The man stared at him curiously, as though he'd never seen a person in prayer before. Suddenly, Murphy felt. He felt the heat as the numbness inside him burned before rage. Rage he hadn't felt since the Russians had nearly killed both him and Connor. He was on his feet in a split second. The cuffs provided no hindrance as he barreled towards the man. Fire burned through him as he moved to make the man pay for what he'd done to his family. He moved so fast, but the man was faster.

Sliding to the left just as Murphy came up on him, the man raised his elbow and slammed into the back of Murphy's head. The Irishman crashed to the floor, caught off balance. Pain registered as his already bruised and cut limbs protested enough to take his breath away. Hands grabbed onto his neck, at the same time feeling a weight press into his lower back as the man straddled him.

"Realize this, boy," the man said, leaning in to whisper in his ear, "I never wanted to do this. But your stubborn pride brought it upon yourself."

Murphy felt a small pinch in his left arm, and then darkness consumed him.


Connor sat staring at the door, unsure of what to do. It was to early for the police to get there, even if a nosy neighbor had called about the shouting. Most likely it was the nosy neighbor, trying to play hero to an attractive, young neighbor. A second round of raps sounded, no louder than the first but slightly more urgent. Glancing over at Anna's room, Connor pulled himself to his feet. A wave of dizziness swept over him as he once again cursed hospital care. A surgeon could pull a bullet out of wound well enough, but what good was it if you felt worse after it was out then when it was in there?

Shuffling carefully, Connor moved towards the door. At the most, it couldn't hurt to see just who was at the door. Yet, he had barely made it passed the couch when he heard something whisk under the door. Freezing in place, his hand absently reached for a gun that wasn't there. Glancing back once again at Anna's door, he shuffled over just enough to be able to lean over the chair blocking his view. There, on the hardwood floor, lay what appeared to be three or four envelopes strewn all over. He could make out Anna's name on most of them and the emblem of some companies on others. His hand dropped as he realized the knocker was just the mail-man.

Maybe I should stay here, then. Until we find my brother.

He didn't realize he had slipped to his knees in the chair. He just stared at the scattered mail as the heat of his words hit him. Had he really just threatened an innocent? Had he really...? Connor turned, sliding into a sitting position on the chair. His leg throbbed from his movements as he absently rubbed it. Cold swept through him, aggravating his leg. He had only felt this way once before. In the hotel room just after they had killed Papa Joe.

How far are we goin' to take this, Da?

It had changed then. Connor had known it had changed. Before, no innocents had been in danger. Well, they (mainly Rocco) had threatened "innocents", but it was only a means to an end. If he was honest with himself, though, Connor wouldn't have called the stripper or the hit-man's wife innocent exactly. Neither had merited death, perhaps, but they had at the very least participated or turned a blind eye to the sin surrounding them. The only time Rocco had dared threaten an innocent, he, Connor, had been more than willing to end his friend's life.

The courtroom had changed everything. Connor had tried to force himself to ignore it, but it didn't change the facts. Innocents had been threatened. Not only had they pulled a guns on the entire courtroom, but they had run the risk of a shoot-out. Despite taking the guns off the security guards, there had always been the chance one of Papa Joe's men could have had a gun on him. It was conceivable the entire room could have erupted into a fire-fight.

Going to act like the men you murder...

Connor closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Anna's words echoed in his mind. No. No, it wasn't true. He and Murphy were nothing like those men. Those men killed and harmed others to further their own ends, whether for wealth or sheer pleasure. He and Murphy only killed to enact God's punishment. To protect the victims that might be. But that didn't change the fact he had threatened Anna, who (despite her animosity towards him) was still an innocent. Opening his eyes, he realized he needed to leave.

Forcing himself to his feet. He shuffled towards the door. Not even bothering to check the peep-hole, he opened it and stepped into the hall. The place was strangely lifeless. Not a sound made its way through the paper-thin walls. Clutching to the wall, Connor pushed himself towards the stairs. He didn't know where he was going. His feet moved of their own accord. As he made to the landing, though, his body finally gave out.

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