ANGEL OF THE BRONX
Smecker was worried. Pulling into an open parking space on the second to top floor of his hotel's parking garage, he killed the engine sharply. Running a hand through his hair, he sat back int eh driver's seat and glanced down at the packet of smokes wedged in the far cup-holder. Pulling out a cigarette, he picked up the beige lighter beside the pack. He could never bring himself to use a car's inbuilt lighters so he always kept one on hand. He felt his hands shake in an uncharacteristic bout of anxiousness. Taking in a long drag, he exhaled slowly, forcing his mind to slow down and do what it did best. Someone had gone after the boys and he had been unable to stop them. The thought alone was enough to make his blood boil, but especially so because the man who ordered the hit was a fucking idiot. Well, not so much of an idiot now? thought Smecker to himself. The federal agent had met Rocci once before during a murder investigation. He remembered the Italian crime boss being an attractive looking young man with olive skin, dark neatly combed hair, and well-manicured hands, signifying him as a member of the mafia hierarchy's yuppie generation. As good looking as he was, however, Smecker found him an insufferable ass only barely intelligent enough to keep his head above water. So how the bastard got around him he had no idea. Smacking the wheel in frustration, he inhaled sharply through his nose. Not only had Smecker taken the responsibility of selecting targets for the boys and keeping the authorities chasing their tails, he also kept an eye on the Mafia's reactions to the hits. With the information and connections garnered by his position, Smecker could accurately judge the mob bosses moves and steer the boys clear of unsafe situations. After all, though they may never admit it, the MacManus brothers were still human and still fallible. It was his job to protect his boys. He paused a moment, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. When had Connor and Murphy become his boys? Was it when he, Dolly, Duffy, and Greenly swore and oath and abated the twins in taking the law in their own hands? Had it been when he talked to the priest and "seen the light", metaphorically speaking? Or had it been the moment he to took the mobster's life, dipping his hands in the same fount of blood as the brothers? Smecker had never considered himself a good man. Yes, he served the cause of justice but that was only because he understood the cost of lawless chaos. He had killed before he met the Saints. His hands had been permanently stained with blood. It was why he held others back with sarcasm and biting insults. he disdained owning anyone or being likewise owned and know. He knew he didn't deserve it. Shaking his head, Smecker felt a flare of annoyance at himself. Now wasn't the time to indulge in self pity. He needed to identify the unknown player in this game. Rocci was nowhere near smart enough to organize or successfully pull a hit like this off on his own. However, the mobster was smart enough to employ people who were, provided they were either terrified of him or cared more about his money then his position. Smecker was inclined to believe the later of the two options was responsible for the attack on the Saints, making his job all the more difficult. Those sort of men were hard to find when they didn't want to be found. Snubbing out his half-smoked cigarette, he got out of the car and headed towards the elevator. He need to make a few phone calls. Anna was on the phone in the kitchen when Connor woke up. Blinking, he sat up on the couch, stretching gingerly. While still sore, he was almost surprised to wake without the encumbering sensation of absolute pain throughout his body. His head no longer throbbed and the bruises along his arms from the fall were beginning to fade. Gently pealing up his t-shirt, he saw a similar yellowing along his ribs, though his side still ached fiercely at movement. Gently, he brushed a finger just over the bullet wound, noting the tissue was finally beginning to scar. Lowering the shirt, he pulled up the leg of the too long shorts and, awkwardly bending his leg, examined the second bullet wound. That too was beginning to heal over, especially with the stitches removed during his second hospital visit. Dropping the pant leg, Connor had to admit the hospitalization led to far prettier looking scars then those formed by the cauterizing he, Murph, and Rocco had attempted after their shoot-out with Da. Thoughts of Rocco, however, brought with them a wave of grief and guilt. Neither twin was capable of forgiving themselves for the parts they played in their friend's death. Murphy believed himself at fault for encouraging the Italian to join them against Connor's better judgment. However, it was Connor's plan that had gotten them caught and dragged down to the basement. Connor closed his eyes, feeling his jaw lock at the memory. Even now, the shot echoed in his mind louder than his own screaming had been. The thud of a body falling against a blood soaked cement floor and Murphy's sobbing curses could never match the volume of Rocco's dying rasp to Connor's ears. The desperate gasps drowning his words of encouragement, even as his lungs drowned in their own blood. Connor opened his eyes. Rocco's dead face had been replaced in his imagination with Murphy's. His twin's features lay bashed to an unrecognizable pulp over a body riddled with bullet holes. The only recognizable feature was a pair of blue eyes, paler then he last remembered them and suffocated in a rheumy glaze. "You alright?" The question startled Connor out of his stupor. Glancing up, he saw Anna leaning against the door frame of the kitchen. Her eyes were narrowed in an expression of concern. Connor rubbed his face, forcing the visions to the back of his mind. It wouldn't do anyone any good worry of what could be. Yet he was incapable of burying the guilt and shame burrowing a hole through his stomach on its way to his heart. He'd failed his brother, his twin. While he had been treated to the lap of luxury, Murphy was in...Connor didn't even know what his brother was in. All he knew was that as he himself grew stronger the bonds he sensed, though not always acknowledged, forged by blood and companionship were growing weaker. Every day, he was becoming more and more aware of the distance between himself and Murphy, the mere idea of it frightening him more then thoughts of hell. Because in that distance, he wouldn't have time to save him or be saved himself. "Aye," he lied, "Jus' a little sore is all" "Let me have a look at you," Anna replied, placing the wireless receiver down on the part of the counter jutting into the living room. Crossing over to Connor, she took hold of his injured arm and looked over it appraisingly. "You're a fast healer," she remarked, moving her hand toward his leg. She shot him a quick warning glance, daring him to make a sex joke. Connor, however, stiffened slightly, inexplicably uncomfortable with the examination. Thankfully, Anna didn't make him pull up his shirt. "And you're a bad liar," she added, gently prodding the bullet wound. She felt a sense of relief seeing that it was beginning to heal over. For one, it mean she hopefully wouldn't have to pay anymore medical bills and it meant Connor was healing. While she still disliked the Irishman's actions and way of thinking, her revelation the day before made her realize there wasn't a point to holding on to the prejudice. When it came right down to it, Connor was someone in trouble and that was something she couldn't turn her back on, no matter what she thought of him as a person. Yet that train of thinking led to its own confusing paths. In the past three weeks she'd known Connor, both in and out of the hospital, she had found he wasn't a bad person. She couldn't sugar-coat his actions and call him misguided, but he wasn't evil entirely. At best, she thought of him as grey. He, Smecker, his brother, and whoever else was helping them had a foot in both camps. They didn't flirt between the lines of good and evil, they were the line. "How d'ye mean?" Connor asked, an eye brow raising contemplatively. Anna leveled an incredulous look at him. "A tough guy like you?" she said, "I doubt a little soreness is going to make you look like someone kicked your favorite puppy. I mean I cou-" "Whats this about kickin' puppies now?" Connor interrupted her, looking slightly shocked. Anna smiled a moment before her expression sobered. "I meant..."she paused as though considering how best to phrase what she wanted to say, "I mean, you look like something's bothering you and I doubt it's got anything to do with your injuries." She met his eyes as she spoke, not daring to look away. The pair stared at each other a moment before Connor broke first. Turning with a scowl, he reached over and picked up the glass of water that had been left overnight. Lifting it to his lips, he paused. "What was yer phone call about?" he asked, changing the subject rapidly. Anna shook her head unsurprised. "Work," she replied, looking away, "I was suppose to go in today, but with everything...I called in sick." "What?" Connor exclaimed, "Ye shoul'nt have done that. No' fer..." "If you say for me, I will kick your ass," Anna interrupted sharply, "Because I'm not leaving you here by yourself." "Ye still need ta support yerself, lass," Connor replied, biting back a retort and forcing his tone to be logical and reasonable, "Ye can't much help anyone if you 'ave nowhere to live." "Glad you care," Anna responded, smiling bitterly. Mentally she kicked herself . This was not how she wanted their conversation to go. She was trying to put aside their...differences, so they could find his brother (and dupe Rocci out of another victim), but Connor made it so hard for her not to lose her temper. Either he was an emotional wreck, or as much of one as he dared show below his bad ass exterior, or he was a pig headed, chauvinistic asshole set in a one-tracked opinion of how the world works. Stop, she told herself, You have to extend the olive branch here. "Look, let's not fight about this," she continued, "What's done is done and it's not like I haven't..." The sound of someone knocking cut the words off in her throat. Two heads snapped in the direction of the door, both bodies stiffening. Connor, who was closer to the door, shifted on the couch so that his body was between the door and Anna. His arm shifted back, unconsciously brushing her hip in a protective gesture. Neither breathed, neither moved. Duhn Duh-duh-duh Duh Duh Duhn The knock this time came in a familiar rhythm. Rolling her eyes, Anna glanced down and brushed Connor's hand away. "It's Jeremy," she said, standing up. The Irishman glanced up at her, a skeptical look in his eyes. She ignored it as she strode across the room. Allowing the small prick of paranoia to annoy her, she took a quick peak through the peep hole. Jeremy stood in front of the door, dressed in jeans and white t-shirt covered by a thin brown jacket, anxiously rocking back and forth on his heels. His apron hung haphazardly over his right arm. For a second, Anna felt a warm thrill at a sight familiar while the rest of her life had been thrown into chaos. For all his annoying quirks, Jeremy was and always had been a steady, unchanging rock for her...and she had forgotten to tell him she called off work. "Hey, Jeremy," she greeted as she cracked open her door, not letting unhooking the chain. She mentally kicked herself for the second time in so many minutes. "'Lo," he replied grinning, "You ready to go there, Anna? I got the car waiting." Out of the corner of her eye, Anna saw Connor move closer to her on the couch. Looking back at Jeremy, she saw his smile had dropped slightly. "You okay?" he asked, trying to peak over her shoulder. Anna moved to block him. "Fine," she replied, "It's just, I'm not fee-" "You called in sick, didn't you?" Jeremy interrupted, his expression falling to a down right scowl. "Yeah," Anna acknowledged, looking up guiltily at him. After he had helped her get Connor back to the apartment a second time, he had taken her aside for a moment and begged her to get rid of the Saint. "Anna," he pleaded, grasping her elbow lightly, "You can't keep doing this." "Doing what, Jeremy?" She responded exasperatedly, pulling her arm from him. "Helping this guy!" he exclaimed, incredulous, "And don't give me bullshit that he's your 'long lost brother', that's a fucking load and you know it." "Watch the language," Anna replied, glaring back at him. Jeremy let out a derisive snort. "Do you know who this fu-...guy even is?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Yes," Anna replied. Jeremy blinked, as though surprised. "Then why are you helping him?" he demanded, "The guy's a murdering psychopath! Isn't it your job to report him or something? You of all people..." "I of all people, what?" Anna demanded, swiveling to face him, "Should what, Jeremy? Know what he is? I do. I'm well aware of it. And I don't need you or any other damn person in the world telling me what I should or shouldn't know!" Jeremy blinked again, stepping back as though struck. Squaring his jaw, he looked at Anna. "Then I'll ask you again, why are you helping him?" he said, his voice growing dark. "I don't know," Anna replied, lifting her chin so she met his gaze, "But when I have an answer I'll give it to you." Jeremy let out another snort. Turning, he moved as though to leave the kitchen, paused, and turned back around. "Well, you better find out damn quick, Anna," he said, "Because if you don't get this bastard out of here soon or call the police or something, I will." With that, he stalked off, leaving her staring at an empty patch of floor in shock. Anna had known then it was simply a matter of Jeremy being protective. He didn't know what had been exchanged between her Connor. He couldn't possibly know of Rocci's involvement, though if he did, he might understand her position a little better. There were so many things he didn't know and she couldn't hold it against him. She hadn't told him any of it, because some of it wasn't her secret to tell. "He's still here, isn't he?" Jeremy's tone had grown dark and ugly in the space of second. "Yes," Anna replied. "Jesus, Anna, I told you..." "And I have an answer for you," Anna interrupted before he could go off. Jeremy paused, looking at her quizzically. "Well, this should be good," he replied. Reviews are always welcome!
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