Boondock Saints 1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the Saints. Don't sue me, I would be very put-out if you did. 

Chapter 1  
The Shit Storm

The gore had soaked through Kara's socks and its unexpected coldness bubbled and squished in between her toes. Her socks as well as the bottoms of her jean legs were slowly becoming heavy with its rank weight. The bile did not rise up against her throat as she half expected it would. Her stomach did not lurch with the pure, sickening and fearful realization of it all. It remained as still and silent as the empty hallway she faced. Kara's pale hand still lightly grazed the fine polished wood of the stair railing, far too terrified to tremble. It was that empty feeling of pure panic that washed over her, the numb limbo of fearful indecisiveness she had come to know better than she'd ever admit.

She had learned to disguise such fear. In the kind of environment that she'd been exposed to these past years, it was essential that she maintained the appearance of cool-headed professionalism at all times. It was fairly effortless to withhold her common emotions.  
But it was the times when the anxiety floated so unbearably near the surface that the imitation of such calm collectiveness proved most difficult, the times like this, when she'd innocently walked down the stairs, onto somebody's insides, and indivertibly into probably one of the biggest shit-storms she'd known in all of her experience living here, which was defiantly saying something.

It was that smell, the horrid reek that wafted up from under her feet that forced her to come to the realization that all of this was really happening. Pungent, heavy and mixed with a familiar but subtle trace of smoke. She knew that burnt smell was all that remained of the bullet that had relived someone of the blood and globs of tissue she found herself standing in. The same think wetness that was slowly seeping up her pant legs had only moments before been a very valuable and beloved part of someone's insides, and the train of half coagulated gore that wrapped around the hall corner left very little to the imagination concerning its owner.

She eyed the blood soaked trail that marred the otherwise pristine carpeting with a growing sense of dread. She couldn't shake the image from her mind, that of the one who had obviously met his unfortunate end in the spacious hallway being dragged by one or two of his limp, lifeless extremities down the hall and into the far room, the first floor bathroom by the looks of it. The reasoning behind dragging the body out of sight and leaving such a hideous mess was beyond her, but at least she now had a general sense of the areas of the house she would be wise to avoid during the mad dash that she was silently formulating in her mind of escape.  
Ian Madison's mansion was riddled with emergency hidey-holes and escape passages, Ian was particular about this and considering his previous experience it was simply accepted that he would know best concerning such things. "An intruder was always something to be feared, especially the well paid professional kind" was what he told Kara, trying to justify the amount of time and money he poured into the project. All of the passages and person-sized shelters were specifically and strategically placed in almost every major room throughout the house according to Ian's exact specifications. And what good did all meticulous preparation get him? For all Kara knew her uncle was sprawled in a pool of gore quite similar to the sickening mess still seeping through her socks.

She couldn't think of that now, and she secretly rejoiced in banishing the image from her mind, there were far more pressing matters at hand, like how the hell she was going emerge from this whole ugly mess alive and not significantly maimed. If Kara's uncle couldn't make good use of the toilsome architectural extensions he'd so insisted were built and familiarized with everyone working and living inside the house, than Kara was going make damned sure somebody was going to get some use out of them.

There were three escape passages on the first floor, and a great many more small, hallows in the walls and floors but Kara was hardly as interested in them, her goal was to escape undetected by whoever it was probably still lurking inside the house and cramming herself into a space and oxygen limited hidey-hole for unspecified amount of time wasn't exactly plan number one. So Kara set her hopes on the closest of the three escape passages, which was located in the adjacent room, the poolroom. Ian loved billiards, and could be found, more often than not, silently racking the fine marble balls into their precise place, each painted number facing upwards and gleaming in the warm lighting. Kara never understood it, so much detail and attention devoted to tediously organizing balls for no other purpose than to strew them across the table again. Maybe it was why, despite her uncles best efforts, she never took to the game. Kara could only hope that her uncle's corpse wasn't what waited for her in the next room.  
Kara stripped her blood soaked socks silently off her feet and did the best she could to mentally smooth out the wrinkles of her half-baked escape plan, which involved little else than not getting caught, but it would have to do because the longer her feet stayed glued to that gory spot, the easier she could be caught, and that would kinda ruin that whole "wanting to live through this" thing.

Kara cast her blood drenched socks to the blood drenched floor and hesitated for only another split second before slowly, and as quietly as she could manage, making for next room. Her cold feet were immensely relived to finally have something dry and warm under them and the rest of Kara was relived to finally part ways with the bloody mess.

The door to the poolroom wasn't really a door at all, rather a large arch that only added to the rooms more casual design. Kara put her back against the wall and peeked her head in just enough for her left eye to get a quick scan of the wide and shadowy room. Swiftly pulling her head back into the hall she waited for a sound, for a gunshot, for any movement at all that would convince her that the brief glance she had gained of the room was inaccurate, that someone really did lurk in the darkness. No sound, no movement, no shadowy obstruction of the flashing lights of the still muted television that painted the opposite wall, nothing that would suggest she had been detected.

Biting the end of her tongue in a futile attempt to keep her nerves in check, Kara proceeded to creep into the darkened room, her eyes and ears overly sensitive to any slight movement or sound. The warm yellow of the walls was hidden by the darkness and distorted by the eerie white light cast by the toothpaste commercial flickering across the television screen. A woman with a airbrushed face and pristine white smile mouths something but the neon green word MUTE that was imprinted on the top right corner of the ridiculously large screen silenced her. The pure white light the television cast over the room was unflattering at best, it cascaded over the furniture creating eerie contrasts of shadow and light along the walls and floor. Scanning the room fully was only made more difficult through the disorienting busts of light, but Kara managed.

Only after fully establishing that danger wasn't in the immediate area Kara awkwardly rushed as silently as she could to the wall nearest to her. Crouching as stealthily as possible on her shaky legs Kara grouped the bottom of the wall just where it met the soft carpeting, hooking her fingers under the tiny and otherwise completely concealed gaps and with a steady pull loosening a small portion of the wall. Rising to her feet Kara did her best to ignore the harsh burst of freezing night air she'd unleashed as she eased the wall enough to slink her body through the crevice and into the absolute darkness.

Slowly securing the wall back into place Kara's heart leapt with the realization that she was almost free, and as long as she managed to keep from fucking this last bit up she could easily emerge from this horrid mess as unscathed as she had been when she accidentally stumbled upon it. Kara released the pent up shiver she was holding back, a result of the frigid air and muzzled panic she'd been restraining. Her bare feet caked with barely dried blood were so cold they ached, but they were easily ignored Kara blindly felt the first step of the narrow stairway with her almost numb feet. Slowly fumbling down the steep concrete steps until her outstretched hands felt the cold flatness of the basement wall. Kara pressed her shoulder against left side of the wall until she felt it give slightly.

Trying her best to lessen the sharp scrapping noise that inevitably occurred when the bottom of the wall slightly grazed the dirty concrete floor of the empty basement, Kara eased the wall open just enough for her to slip through once again. Kara left the wall open this time, simply seeing no point in making even more racket for nothing. The street light pouring in from the small, flung open basement door painted the floor in a pale, narrow strip gave Kara little pause. Wrapping her arms around her chest attempting to conserve what little body heat she could, she wasted no time in making for the open door, heart leaping more than ever.

But Kara wasn't two steps out of the door when a dry, calloused hand wrapped around her mouth and gruffly jerked her backward. A solid form closed in from behind and Kara went ridged with fear.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
Business Proposition

It had been a whole hour the boys had stood, waiting for their father to finish stealing the show inside the massive house, when Connor had heard it. A soft, dry scrapping that seemed to reverberate off of the barren cellar walls and out the still slightly ajar door. Unsure that it was really a noise he heard and not just a product of the sheer boredom, sincere concern, and stubbornly frigid air mixed together in one uncomfortable conglomeration that dominated his thoughts he glanced at his brother hoping to confirm the noise.

Murphy continued to idly lean against the cold wall directing all of his attention to yet another almost spent cigarette limply dangling between his fingers. Murphy took to lighting a cigarette every few minutes only to study it intently as it burned down to a smoldering nub. It was a symptom of his nervousness and discomfort, probably in equal measure to that of his brothers.

Connor was better at channeling these sort of emotions, not to say that it was easy for him to pretend his father wasn't in the immediate danger that he obviously was, Connor could distract himself fairly effectively concentrating on being alert. Murphy's anxiety was not as easily disregarded. Where Connor had learned how to pacify his nerves, even if only temporarily, Murphy could only bottle them, and so they simmered just beneath his fragile, placid composure.

So Murphy would channel his aggravation the only way he could, every few minutes he would extract a cigarette from the box in his left pocket and light it. Connor would watch the orange glow the lighter cast flicker across his brothers face, illuminating the irritated expression still lingering there.

Murphy was in the process of flicking yet another spent nub away when Connor swatted Murphy's arm with the back of his hand. Connor cast a look to his brother that said "Pay some fuckin' attention you idiot." Murphy instinctively shot back a glare that only lessened in intensity when Connor gestured toward the open door with a jerk of his head.

* * *

Work had been slowing down fairly significantly when Smecker had approached them with a job. Big jobs were coming few and far between, and despite their fathers assurance that the decease in pace was a natural and temporary development in their new occupation, the notion that their father was vastly more experienced in such matters was hardly as reassuring as could be expected. So when Smecker offered them a job the boys jumped at it, despite their fathers reluctance.

Smecker had paid an unannounced visit at about three in the morning. This was his habit when intended to discuss business. He looked horrid, which was only slightly troubling to the brothers as they ushered the disheveled agent into their small slum of an apartment, egger to exact information out of him as quickly as they could manage. Smecker slumped in to one of the rickety kitchen chairs, right arm stretched behind him uncomfortably rubbing at some ache in his back. He distorted his face in the effort of rubbing the ache from his knotted back muscles. Connor settled into an equally uneven chair, ignoring the creaking and complaining it's ancient joints voiced as he leaned forward and crossed his arms on the sticky table.

Murphy hurriedly fumbled with the coffee machine, spilling black grains across the already soiled counter before finally seating himself at the table. The painfully obvious artificial lighting that coated the kitchen was unflattering on everything, and Smecker's face was no exception. The dark circles underling his eyes were called to attention by the twin shadows cast over them. His hair lay limp and out of place, as though all of the product had been sweated out of it. Smecker took a shaky breath in as he leaned his elbow on the cheep particleboard comprised table as he slowly itched at his forehead with long and well manicured fingers.

"Where's the old man?" He asked, glancing between the two brothers.  
"Out." Murphy sighed.  
"Probably sulking about as usual." Connor finished, which earned a slightly amused "Humph" from Smecker.

The coffee machine suddenly gurgled and burped to life.  
"That thing is on its last fuckin' leg."Murphy said, glaring at the tiny overworked machine as it struggled to gush out the scolding black liquid. Coffee in the McManus household was black gold, and if the coffee machine wasn't functional nobody was. Connor heaved a slight sigh, the coffee machine was going to have to stick it out for at least tonight, Smecker might go into convulsions without a generous dose of caffeine.

"How's business?" Smecker asked. The boys shared a look.  
"Slow." Murphy answered honestly.  
"Small time vermin, pimps, dealers and such. Bottom o' the fuckin' proverbial food chain." Connor stated flatly.

"Partly my doing, I'm sure."Smecker admitted with a scowl.  
"Its been hectic to say the least and I just haven't had the time to flush out proper jobs. But I've got a big one on my hands here, and I need someone with your kind of ┘expertise to help me wrap things up, but it's a bit more complicated than previous jobs and if your not up to it than I completely understand."

"Okay?" Murphy blurted uneasily.  
Smecker drew a shaky, steadying breath and rubbed at his forehead wearily.  
He did his best to summarize the developments he'd made in the last two years coherently to the boys.

He explained that he had managed to develop and maintain a dialogue with the niece of a fairly powerful and pseudo retired crime boss in upstate New York. This was a very difficult and dangerous task. The girl had willingly feed Smecker valuable information at great personal risk, giving Smecker the means to plot the downfall of her influential uncle and hopefully cripple the local mobs image enough to deter the larger and more powerful mafia families from placing even more interest in the locality than they already had.

"It's complicated." Smecker said, leisurely blowing at the newly poured bitter coffee before bringing the steamy rim to his lips.

"Apparently." Connor observed.

And it got better. Not only were the boys expected to eliminate this boss in his own home without alerting the authorities, they were also expected to smuggle his niece out, completely undetected and preferably unharmed. Smecker spoke highly of the girl and insisted she be out of harms way as quickly as humanly possible, and that meant out of New York.

"Think your father would be up for a little field trip?" Smecker asked with a half assed smirk.

* * *

The boys spent the next silent few seconds concentrating intently on the cellar door, but not another sound emerged from the basement. The low buzzing of the flickering streetlamp and the short bursts of hazy exhaled air condensing in the frigid October wind were all that occupied the otherwise silent and motionless environment.

Murphy, frustrated and now fully convinced that his brother was losing his mind, opened his mouth to inform Connor this new revelation but before a single murmured word had left his lips Murphy was startled by the sudden and swift movement of his brother. Connor had bound from his spot so quickly that Murphy's eyes didn't even have time to register just what the hell was happening until it was done, Murphy squinted in the dark as he approached the familiar and now eerily still figure of his brother.

Connor loomed over her, right hand wrapped around her mouth, left hand skillfully twisting her slender arm around her back, but not to an extent that could cause her any unreasonable amount of pain, just friendly encouragement to ensure she would mind her behavior. Connor met Murphy's eyes before he redirected his attention to the trembling girl he engulfed.  
It was her.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
Intrusion

It was arms and the open flaps of a P coat that enwrapped her so forcefully and suddenly that what Kara had thought was just a muffled gasp of surprise was actually a muffled scream, but the cold hand that was so tightly clamped across her mouth made it almost impossible to differentiate one from the other.  
_How could I have been so fucking stupid?_

It was the only coherent thought that rang inside her head.

This place was so security oriented that nobody would have dreamed to crack a fifth floor window, let alone neglect to close an outside door, not if they valued their jobs, and defiantly not if they valued their lives. God-damn-it! She was smarter than this, and now she was going to catch a bullet for one stupid fucking mistake.

"If you don't scream, I wont hurt you."

The sentence was barely above a whisper but it still managed to retain all of its terrifying implications. The list of unsavory things Kara was becoming increasingly convinced would befall her due to her single and most idiotic blunder, was steadily growing. It never failed to amaze her how quickly everything could go to hell.

The coldness seemed to seep up from the concrete, and mixed with the now undiluted terror building up with every panicked beat of her heart, Kara began to tremble. Despite everything her outward sign of fear and vulnerability embarrassed and frustrated her. She knew better than to walk out of that door, so blatantly sure that she had escaped the danger, and because of her arrogance she now stood arm twisted around her back and mouth gruffly gagged by a hostile hand. Kara had no choice but to act on the first impulse that came to her mind. She clenched her teeth around a meaty forefinger and bit down hard.

She wasn't even slightly aware of how hard she clamped down on the finger until she felt the calloused skin give way and the soft fleshy interior rise up around her teeth. The blood sprung out of the wound and seeped in-between her teeth, filling her mouth with the hot bitter taste instantly. There was a howl of anguish behind her left ear as the bloody hand was snatched away from her mouth. Kara, making good use of the diversion, wiggled her left wrist out from the now terribly painful twisting sensation being subjected on that arm and found herself free from her restraints, if only for an instant, but an instant was more than enough.

Murphy watched helplessly as the terrified girl sunk her teeth into Connors hand. Connor snapped his wounded hand away from the girls mouth and simultaneously twisted her left arm sharply. Weather the action was deliberate or instinctive the girl winced as she writhed and eventfully broke free of Connors constricting grip. Now not immediately restrained the girl darted away from Connor as fast as her bare feet would carry her, but Murphy made short work of it. He pitched his body forward and grabbed a generous handful of brown hair. With a sharp tug the girl was thrown painfully backward . Murphy wrestled with the girl as she flailed franticly before realizing the uselessness of it and drawing his pistol. Wrapping his left arm across the girls neck and around her shoulder he jabbed the sleek metal into the her back, effectively communicating that he meant business. The girl ceased her violent struggling and arched her back, reflexively attempting to distance herself from the gun. Murphy would not let the girl escape it however, he held to gun firmly against her flesh. If Connor's gagging hand placement wasn't enough to control the girl, than perhaps the gun would serve as a effective reminder that another escape attempt would not be as leniently received.

The girls breathing was ragged and shallow, her trembling now more pronounced, but she didn't scream or whimper or writhe about. Defeated, she simply concentrated on controlling her breathing. She drew long shaky breaths inward, and exhaled slowly through her noise. Murphy waited for her breathing to steady.

"I do not want to shoot you," Murphy said slowly, his voice betraying his severe frustration.  
"I don't think Agent Smecker would be very appreciative if we delivered you with a brand new bullet wound."

* * *

Every second Thursday Ian Madison held his meetings. Every second Thursday the immense house was crawling with every type of lowlife Mafioso imaginably. Ian affectionately called these miscreants his associates and his financiers, Kara knew better, and so every second Thursday Kara was dictated to keep her distance and occupy herself with whatever absurd errand assigned to her. Grocery shopping was a popular distraction, as was prolonged trips to shopping malls with ridiculous amounts of money donated to her.

Her uncle would, with his silent smirk, take her hand and slip the thick stack of bills into her limp, upturned palm. Kara would close her fingers around the clean paper edges and give her unsure thanks with a slight and uncomfortable smile. Sometimes Ian would express his pseudo parental approval with a nod and sincere smile, other times he would pat Kara's cheek gently with the soft interior of his hand while he took a long moment to study Kara's face with a searching stare he so skillfully disguised as a loving one.

Kara had learned to cherish the few hours every other week she was allowed out of her uncles home and beyond his suffocating glances, although these small escapes occasionally became routine. Kara tired all to quickly of the superfluous trinkets the malls offered and dreaded walking the pale grim isles of grocery stores, where the reek of peroxide chocked the air from her lungs as the world had seemed to have chocked the life from her fellow shoppers. They seemed reduced to the basest versions of themselves as they aimlessly lumbered about the store. It disturbed Kara, to think of herself so like them. Unhappy with where they are and whatever hope of the future they cling to dimming with every excruciating second.

And so when opportunity approached her in a warm corner of an otherwise deserted coffee shop, she took her blind leap of faith, and prayed she had made the right decision.

* * *

"How much do you love your uncle?"

The question was offered so bluntly that it made Kara cringe.

The most disturbing aspect of the entire situation was surprisingly not that a complete stranger had approached her, not how he leaned on the small round table with both his long hands as how he peered at her intrusively, or even the nature of the question he had asked so nonchalantly, but that she suddenly found herself totally unable to formulate any kind of response to such a simple question. Her mouth hung open in numbed surprise and confusion. She could do nothing but examine the man in stunned silence.

He leaned on the stone table with the majority of his weight. The table was one of the few furnishings in the coffee shop of good quality and did not shift or rock under the tall strangers weight as he hunched over it. He was not quite glaring at her but his stare was hardly a polite glance. It was something like intense yet benign interest, and was deeply unsettling. He wasn't ugly, but wasn't handsome by conventional standards either. His face was unsubtle with high and slightly jutting cheekbones, piercing eyes, and immensely pronounced jaw line. The lines creasing near his mouth hinted of the well settled smirk she seemed to be only receiving a sample of.

When Kara had managed to shake off a significant amount of the disbelieve previously paralyzing her, she found herself suddenly forcing her mouth to formulate the obvious question.

"Who are you?" The question was soft, equally as blunt as the stranger, and subtlety flavored with angry suspicion.

He seemed curiously relieved at it.  
He pulled back a chair with an uncaring scrape and settled into it, arms folded, still staring intently. Kara recoiled slightly; slowly pushing her own chair back with her feet in some slight and unconscious attempt at bracing herself for whatever the stranger intended. Scenarios began to play in her mind, each more gruesome than the next. She was, after all, cornered by complete stranger in an otherwise empty coffee shop.

Charlie, the shops owner, had flipped the open sign hanging off the glass on the front door to indicate the shops closure twenty minutes before.

"Annie's car broke down." He said, bluntly explaining the shops premature closure as he wrestled with his coat.

"Again?" Kara asked glancing up from the randomly selected magazine she was mindlessly flipping through.

"Yep." Charlie sighed. The keys clamored in his hand as he locked the front door.  
"I'll be back in a few." He said as he briskly stepped into the backroom.

"Enjoy!" Kara called after him teasingly, which only earned a less than enthused groan muffled behind the wall.

Charlie was a twenty-four year old college drop out. He was recently divorced from a women he hated, and shared joint custody of a four year old girl he adored. His love for his daughter Stephanie obligated him to more than he expected. For example Anne, his loathed ex-wife, had a nasty little habit of purchasing faulty machinery, and every time one of her purchases shit the preverbal bed, it was Charlie whom she expected to salvage said machinery.

Kara knew Charlie tolerated having to drop whatever he was doing at random intervals to repair or replace worn out cars parts, washing machines, boilers and the like for his daughters sake. Those same machines made life more manageable, and often there ability to function was necessary. Anne's car, for example, aided her in the s trip to and from her work everyday, which was significant., and money generated from her labors was very necessary. Truth be told, business at the coffee shop wasn't exactly booming. It was , however, crawling along at a semi acceptable rate, and Kara was proud to credit some fraction of the shops survival on her faithful business. Still, some kind of dependable income was appreciated, even if the random hours the shop had to keep due to Anne's machinery needs surly dented it. Although Charlie felt no moral jar in calling the mother of his only child every deplorable name known to man, his dedication to his daughter was admirable.

And naturally only when a threatening stranger managed to break in and corner Kara, Charlie was off playing mechanic.

The stranger seemed to deliberate about the question for a few agonizing moments before slowly slipped his right hand into the inner pocket of his black jacket. Kara winced despite the obvious notion that the jacket was quite thin and otherwise unable to conceal a weapon without an obvious bulge, of which she detected none. She only relaxed, however, when the mans hand had reemerged from the coat grasping a think black wallet, not a polished pistol as she had slightly irrationally feared.

The man laid the wallet to the cold stone of the table with a soft clap and slid it crossed the surface. Kara only reached out to snatch the wallet when the man withdrew his hand completely.

The leather was real, and soft beneath her trembling fingers .  
Its assumable usual closeness to the strangers body left the thick bundle warm, but that warmth was fleeting, Kara could feel the heat fading as the cool air brushed against the wallets faded surface.

Her hands grouped crossed the creases and seams of the wallet, and when her fingers finally made blind sense of it she folded it open cautiously staring at the motionless stranger all the while. Glancing down at the laminated contents of the wallet her cautious glance devolved into a gawking stare.

_**Agent Paul R. Smecker  
**__**FBI Organized Crime Task Force**_

The letters were printed neatly on the identification badge tucked safely behind the thick leather of the wallet. The dim lighting, making the computerized designs embedded onto the card glimmer and dance, extenuated the flexible card's holographic sheen. These subtle designs added to the chilling realization that right before her sat an actual FBI agent whose intentions were completely unclear. Suddenly Kara found herself preferring the brooding mysteriously threatening intruder to the authoritative professional specializing in her uncles particular line of work.

"I'm not here to arrest you, I'm not here to interrogate you." The agent blurted, feebly trying to ease the surprise and fear that had erupted on her face as the realizations began to sink in.

"Then what?" Kara asked shakily.

"I just want to talk." he said calmly.

Kara rubbed the left side of her face, angrily and desperately attempting to cage the massive headache threatening to further complicate the day.

"Your going to get me killed, they follow me, there's no way in hell they missed you." She hissed fearfully crossed the table.

"No one followed, not today. And even if they had I'd be the first to know."

"What do you want?" Kara asked again, tiring of the conversation all too quickly.

"I want to save you."

"Don't be ridiculous, from what?" she asked angrily.  
"You know what."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
Introductions

The rumble of an approaching vehicle froze the conversation and Kara felt the breath catch in her captors chest and hold there. As the rumbling grew steadily closer a great deal of muffled swearing erupted from behind her, further stifled by the aggravated thickening of Irish accents. The motionless swearing continued until headlights finally bore through the tall shrubbery what shielded them, casting shifting shadows of branches crossed the lawn.

The air was illuminated in a haze of otherwise invisible precipitated particles. In as much time as it took for Kara's eyes to adjust to the unfamiliar lighting the man behind her took three fumbling steps backwards until he felt the uneven pressure of the bush fill in around him.

The man had practically carried Kara the short distance as she was clueless to what was going on and failed to synchronize her own fumbling steps in time. Her heals were simply dragged along the ground until her body was once again forcibly pressed against the strangers. A similar rustling a short distance from her right side suggested that her captors friendly accomplice had done the same. Straining her eyes Kara could make out the mans vague features as he huddled against the brush cradling his hand.

The rumbling began to fade as the headlights shifted back toward the road almost a quickly as they had emerged. The still held breath tickled the back of Kara's neck as the stranger ex-hailed it gratefully. A few seconds of reassuring silence followed.

"I know this isn't how you pictured things going down." Murphy sighed still restraining the girl.

"Now, if we can all just relax for five fuckin' seconds here, we might be able to clear this up without further... bouts of violence."

Murphy's tone lessoned slightly in intensity, although his calmness was frail and felt forced. Kara was grateful for the strangers new mechanical calmness nonetheless and even more grateful as she felt the stern pressure of the pistols nuzzle ease off her back. Her aching muscles twitched and began to relax.

"If I release you I'd have you know more escape attempts wont be appreciated."

His faux calmness remained intact despite the ominous nature of this latest statement. Murphy gave the realization a generous amount of time to sink in before asking.

"Do we understand each other?"

"Perfectly." Kara stated coldly.

* * *

The following two weeks were agonizing, plagued by endless indecision. Kara's frustration seemed to build with every passing day, and the closer the following second Thursday crept the more anxious she became. 

Sleep came in small doses if it came at all, and it certainly seemed to have forgotten her on Wednesday night. Originally she had forbidden herself to approach the coffee shop again, completely convinced that Charlie had set her up. Although she was no less sure that he had, she simply could not rap her head around why. Why had Charlie done such a thing? Even if the feds had bribed it out of him Kara knew he wasn't stupid. The mere risk involving himself with Ian Madison would certainly be more than enough to effectively discouraged such actions. The only other plausible theory was that Charlie himself was agent, but why then did he have a stranger approach her about this, and even if he was this mild manner shop owner act seemed too intricate of a farce and too much of a risk over an insignificant girl. Still, she felt betrayed and worse, she couldn't reasonably justify why.

But somehow hope crept in. Possibility dulled her notions and on that second Thursday she found herself again at that coffee shop.

Charlie was nowhere to be seen and secretly Kara rejoiced. She could not predict how she may have reacted if he had been present to witness her betrayal.

She sat silently at the table and met the strangers gaze as she knew she probably couldn't meet Charlie's ever again.

A smirk sprawled across the strangers face and she hated herself for what she was about to do, and yet again found herself unable to reasonably justify why.

* * *

The pristine carpeting what furnished the wide and seemingly endless corridors was replaced with equally over manicured hardwood floor in the bedroom. It was waxed to a mirror-like shine and reflected the room with precision. Although the floor was dizzying and harsh to look at directly, he was grateful for it. Although carpeting stifled footsteps, it also absorbed blood and dirt from boots and shoes with annoying efficacy, and it certainly didn't do the old man's knees any favors. 

Being unaccustomed to anything softer than the waxed concrete of a prison cell or the cheep and peeling linoleum lining the cramped apartment he now reluctantly called home, the expensive and ridiculously soft carpeting furnishing the lavish house had caught him by surprise. His steps were awkward on the plush surface, and the extra care needed to prevent tripping had slowed him down considerably.

Now as he laced his worn boots back up, having silently striped them off shortly after entering as to avoid being detected prematurely, his mind began to order the sequence of events what was to follow. The girl had been elevated to the highest priority now that the business with he uncle had been sufficiently attended to. Locating her was the next step.  
His eyes wandered to a small door directly opposite him across the room. Grinning to himself he promised mentally that he'd make it quick. Although he and Smecker had spent a number of hours pouring over blueprints Smecker had failed to specify why a room would require two large walk-in closets.

Upon entering and surveying the situation at hand, the old man indulged his curiosity. Gun trained on the slumbering lump curled up in the silk sheets of the massive bed all the while, the first closet he had silently shuffled toward proved to be completely standard. Rows of color coordinated cloths and polished shoes. The sleeping man stirred slightly as he closed the closet door with an almost inaudible click. Professionalism vanquished curiosity for the moment, as he felt increasingly uncomfortable sneaking about the room with unfinished work staring him in the face.

And now with that over with, he tied the boot laces tight feeling the thin leather burn as it buried in his hands. Straightening himself with a few unsavory cracks of his back and knees he made toward the mysterious door a bit less cautiously this time. Passing the bed he glanced at the lumped corpse wrapped in soiled silk sheets. The sheets were too thin to absorb the majority of the blood pumped out of the concealed chest wounds and began to run down the left side of the bed and pool on the mirrored floor. The delicate lightening of the room darkened the pool, making it look more like chocolate syrup in color but he knew its consistency would be considerably thicker than that of syrup in a few minutes.

The door was identical to that of the bland closet across the room. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the similarities ended there. After grouping the wall for a switch and finally finding it the room was illuminated with a slight flicker of light, and it took a few seconds for the realization to hit him, that Ian Madison had built an entire walk-in humidor in place of a second lavish closet. The grin what crept upon his face was massive and very enthused.

* * *

The cramping in her arm flared as she rubbed at it, willing it away with all her strength. Her shivering revived itself as she was no longer shielded by a warm, if potentially hostile, body. Awkward silence filled audible gaps between the chattering of her teeth. The strangers began to whisper angrily toward each other, tilting their heads to hiss at one another as if debating their next coarse of action yet keeping their attention as directed at her as they could, doing their best to further discourage another escape attempt. 

Their figures were only slightly less vague than shadows and almost identical in the dark. They would have been completely indistinguishable save for the one still cradling his bitten hand.

Their whispering stopped abruptly, leaving only cold, empty air between them. The one who had restrained her successfully step forward suddenly and Kara flinched and took a slow half step backwards. He noted this, and put his right hand up as one dose when attempting to approach an irate animal. When he was satisfied that she was not going to flee he continued.

"My name's Murphy." He spoke softly and gestured at himself with the same right hand as though she were simple or spoke an entirely different language.

"And this" He gestured toward the stranger with the wounded hand with the same simple motion

"Is my bro'ter." He halted there as though the contemplation of his next words distracted him too completely to finish.

"Your brother got a name?" Kara asked irritated.  
"Connor" Growled the stranger from the shadows.

Kara grasped at her shoulders, desperately trying to capture heat as another bout of shivering washed over her.

The closer one, Murphy, began to speak again, but his words halted halfway up his throat. He shifted his head suddenly, directing only half and then his full attention past his left shoulder. The other followed suit, and they were soon both facing the house, guns drawn and directed at the right corner of the building. Apparently they had sensed some danger that Kara remained oblivious to. She began to step backward steadily, eyeing each of the men as she sunk into the shadows. Smecker's men or not, this situation was getting less enjoyable by the second, and Kara knew an opportunity when she saw it.

She took after her uncle in that respect at least.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
Complications 

The blood that pooled in a half absorbed, half coagulated puddle on the carpet was long cold, as were the impressions still clearly visible in the stagnate pool. These twin footprints were far more distinct than the trail of fading prints disserting them, fading to pink on the cream carpet.

The old man had had to jump over the foul mess when he descended the stairs not forty minutes previous. Not an easy task considering the muffled thud and series of piercing creaks issuing from the staircase when his boots hit its second stair bluntly. Although the obnoxious sound was of little concern.

Though the three shots he had fired into the mans abdomen and back were barely audible, the mans knees buckled under him with the first two shots and collided with the floor with such force that the old man could almost feel the vibration through the heavy rubber of his boots. The man remained on his knees by some sheer and immense power of will and made a feeble and fumbling reach for his holstered pistol, although with his back to the old man his attempt at defending himself was made all the more impotent. At this the old man frowned and fired again. The shot struck the man at the base of his neck and he was pitched forward with the sheer force of the blow and landed with his face ground into the floor silent and but still twitching.

The old man stood still, holding his breath and listening so intently his ears almost rang with the strain he put them under. Long moments drug on, soon the only movement was that the blood issuing from under the corpse sprawled on the floor in a swiftly growing film of crimson that saturated the ground. He could only credit the state of non-alarm dominating the house on the sheer size of it. He probably could have dropped an anvil from the top of the stairwell and the house would have slumbered just as peacefully as it currently was.

But obviously someone had stumbled upon one of the more unsavory aspects of the operation quite literally. The bloody footprints were small and slender, resembling quite closely those of a panicked nineteen-year-old girl. The same girl the old man had spent valuable time scouring for on he upper floors, only to find that she had wandered down to the first floor presumably while he was dispensing of her uncle and filling his small black tote, heavy with extra ammunition, with as many handfuls of Cuban cigars he could stuff inside it and just barely manage to zip it closed.

Switching the bag from his right hand to his left he pumped his fingers a few times to replenish the circulation diminished from the weight of its thick strap digging into his hand. The swollen joints of his fingers popped noisily.

This time his leap over the gory pool was completely stifled by the carpet. Following the pink footsteps into the next room he wiggled one of the three or four cigars he had stuffed into his right pants pocket in a desperate attempt to smuggle as many as humanly possible out of the ridiculously sized humidor. With a few skillful but gentle twists and tugs the thick cylinder of tightly rolled and disturbingly expensive tobacco was loosened free. The old man clamped the cigar between his teeth, letting its subtle but encompassing flavor fill his mouth as he silently tracked the fading footprints into the almost complete darkness. The televisions rapid and soundless flickering did little for the effort.

The bloody prints finally faded into complete paleness, but not before directing him to the nearest wall. It was even and curiously cold under his fingertips. This trick was an old one, but one the old man had not expected.

* * *

The smell hit her unyieldingly as she cowered in the shadows. It invaded her nostrils and she could almost taste it. The acidic reek of her uncles cigar smoke enveloped her senses, and she stood so petrified tears welled in her eyes and she froze to a panicked stop. With that single sensation she almost knew that it was over, they had been found out. 

No doubt her uncle stand somewhere close by, watching with horrible satisfaction as his men mow them all down. Or worse, just the novice Micks. He'd probably have something special in store for her. Pistol whipping and relentless interrogation in some dank, cold room. He would kill her, no doubt, but he would make her regret her betrayal very sorely first.

A voice rang out that was not Ian's, but it chilled her all the same. It was audible enough but terror so clouded her mind she herd the words and understood them individually, but strong together they were nonsensical and utterly useless.

Her limbs moved numbly and almost by themselves. Her feet stumbled slowly backward until she felt the tall hedge scrape against her bare arms painfully. With all her might she wished she could sink into the bush, that it's form would disobey all the laws of physics and grant her melt into it. She could live as a hedge forever; her only worries those of trespassing bees and copulating cats seeking privacy. 

But despite how hard she closed her eyes and ground her jaw she remained quite human. Her arms still ached with pain as untrimmed branches prodded them unmercifully and her knees wobbled awkwardly, threatening quite seriously to buckle under her.  
The hail of gunshots did not ring out.

* * *

Piercing annoyance filled the old mans gut as he crept along the concrete wall lining the massive houses foundation. The air had grown considerably cooler since he had left his boys scowling outside the basement. Now as he approached them sandwiched between the cold wall and lengthy hedge he could clearly hear them bicker in hushed voices even over the scrapping sound his heavy jacket made as it grazed the uneven surface of the concrete wall. 

_God-dam-it_, they knew better than to pull that stupid shit.

He padded the right pocket of his jacket with his hand. His fingers, although calloused and cold, felt the small hard surface of the lighter he kept in that pocket ritualistically. Extracting the frigid piece of rectangular metal he lit his cigar and slapped the lighter closed with a shrill snap.

The hushed whispering agitated slightly and halted to an artificial stop. The old man rolled his eyes and shouldered past the houses last sharp corner.  
Now free of the confined space he met two pistols trained on him most intently.  
He sighed his disproval in a plume of condensed breath and thick cigar smoke as his boys groaned their relief.

"God-damn it!" Murphy cried as he angrily holstered his pistol.  
"Da, you've got to cut that sneaky shit out!" Connor sighed holstering his own weapon shaking his head side to side in aggravation and relief.

Silence washed over them as their father took a lengthy drag from the cigar. The plum of smoke had almost disintegrated into the chill air before anyone spoke.

"How'd it go?" asked Connor uneasily.  
Their father scowled his answer.

"She come this way?" he asked solemnly.  
The brothers shared a silent look.

"Yeah." answered Connor as he rubbed at his throbbing hand.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
Not Long Now 

Kara Madison never once in her admittedly short span of life had the chance to truly appreciate the feel of the cold granite sidewalk beneath her bare feet. She had decided in quite a timely fashion that it was a sensation she rather disliked. After only a few moments of panicked fleeing the small beginnings of blisters began to form on the balls of both her feet. Shortly those modest blisters had tripled in size and screamed with sharp and throbbing pain at the slightest feathering of irritation.

To improve matters some miscreant had smashed a beer bottle or similar glass object on the far left side of the darkened street, strewing shards of glass varying in size not only across the road but over a generous amount of sidewalk. Kara had almost discovered this bit of petty mischief in a vary painful fashion if the shuddering pale light from the humming streetlamp hadn't reflected off the otherwise dull shards and caught her eye. S he was too close to the sharp and glittering mess to avoid it completely but she did manage to plant her feet into the wet glass in a desperate attempt to avoid a painful encounter and was slightly disappointed. A tiny shard nestled unseen in the grass buried itself shallowly in the left side of her right heal. This induced a great deal painful hopping of muffled swearing.

As the shard of glass was imbedded only shallowly it was easily removed but no less painful to extract and upon doing so, Kara could not help but notice the warm wetness that seeped from the small crater of indented and very sensitive flesh the glass had left. The blood was hardly gushing, but was enough to track her with, she knew. Biting her bottom lip Kara rubbed her bleeding and bare right foot on the wet grass painfully attempting to scrub as much blood off her foot as she could before hobbling on.

* * *

Paul Smecker rolled down the driver's side window of the painfully inconspicuous eighteen-year-old barley functional vehicle. He had spent the last twenty minutes mentally debating weather alleviating the stale air of the car was worth allowing the frigid night air seep in. The need to escape the putrid staleness of the cars atmosphere was greater than that of the need for warmth and he found himself desperately clutching at his jacket as the cars ancient and malodorous smell was slowly wafted away.

It had been a good hour and a half of waiting. Not exactly a very entertaining or fulfilling way to spend an evening, and definitely not an enjoyable pastime for anyone, especially Smecker. He had spent the majority of the idle time chain-smoking and popping his knuckles unrelentingly. As a result he had pissed away an entire weeks worth of smokes in a single evening, his knuckles ached, the back of his throat burned, and the air in the already oh-so freshly scented car had deteriorated further, adopting the reek of spent cigarette butts to its already extensive bouquet of unpleasant smells.

And now with hands aching and freshly out of cigarettes Paul surrendered any hope he previously clung to concerning fighting off the onset boredom induced madness with such distractions.

He sighed heavily and slumped back in his seat. The ancient springs squealed under his weight.

The neighborhood was upper middle class and its residents apparently felt no shame advertising it. The houses were moderately large and painted in a variety of tasteful pastilles. Yards were manicured and uniform green. Doors were sturdy and front windows were only marred by small rectangular stickers at one bottom corner sporting the logo of some home security company, a subtle and tasteful warning distributed to potential rapists, robbers and a multitude of other colorful characters attempting to invite themselves in. Paul wondered whether the addition of an ex-crime boss to their otherwise serene lifestyle had prompted such purchases.

Most windows were dark, their occupants sleeping soundly in suburban bliss. Some windows flickered with the light of a lone television blaring in the darkness. Insomniacs enjoying the benefits of late night television no doubt. Porn and infomercials mostly, although a window down the street pulsed with glaring white light periodically, this kind of pulsating bursts of light usually accompanied romanticized gunfire modern action movies were so found of over-using.

Movement reflected from the filthy rearview mirror grabbed Smecker's attention. She darted crossed the street so far behind the car and so fast that he had to squint his already drowsily impaired eyes to gain the slightest glimpse of her. And when he did, he reached for the door faster than he had realized and smashed his fingers blindly on the cold and unfamiliar metal handle. They throbbed slightly but limply wrapped around the worn metal, and when he pulled it back the doors inner mechanism made a feeble and blunt clunk sound, as if to say "door's locked, dumb-ass!"

Now thoroughly frustrated he numbly pulled the lock up with the tips of his fingers willing his body to move faster.

His mind was racing faster than his legs were, mulling over all the horrible possibilities that could have lead to this absolutely unexpected turn of events, and his stomach flipped in nauseating circles.

* * *

The heat on that day three months beforehand was astonishing. The kind of end of summer heat the baked the trees and starved the rivers unrelentingly. The nightly news reports were always initiated with the heat wave death toll the day had wrought. Heat-stroke was not an uncommon way to go this time of year, praying primarily on the elderly and homeless. But that was New York, sweltering when it wasn't snowing. Despite the uncomfortable conditions outside Kara left the sanctuary of her air conditioned residence that second Thursday in a rare and considerably chipper mood.  
Ian Madison would be away on "business" in just a few more hours, leaving for some undisclosed location for some undisclosed reason. He would return in two weeks, and maybe if "business" went sour, not at all. The swell of guilt that lashed at her at the thought was considerably less intense than it had been when she had first began to fantasize about it. Every morning that she rose and stumbled down the stairs, slurping cold cereal under the scrutinizing stare her uncle would bestow, small talk lingering in the air between them, the guilt faded, and steadily numbness to its place, until she was almost completely indifferent that her uncle still drew breath.

Kara figured that would be remedied sometime soon, although Agent Smecker had never once mentioned what he had in store for her uncle, Kara was not going to be fooled by his convenient silence. Ian Madison would be disposed off, one way or another. The only question that lingered in her head now was when.

She made a fake run to the grocery store, always ever cautious about being followed before she dared make her monthly visit to Charlie's shop. By the time she had shouldered the door open with a slight squeak of its ill maintained mechanisms her hair was drenched with sweat rendering the previous washing of it completely in vain and her pants stuck to her thighs uncomfortably. The shop was cool and dark, as it always was. Charlie was once again absent from the front counter. She hardly saw him anymore, clearly her presents made him uniquely nervous, weather that was due to his fear of Kara's reaction to the attention he no doubt had played a part in directing toward her or of her uncles reaction if the little scheme she and Smecker were devising were found out she couldn't tell.

Kara strode straight through the first room and as she past the cream colored wall she habitually directed her glance directly passed it, at the table set against that wall which was, to her surprise, empty. Confusion washed over her and her heart began to hammer.  
This was the second Thursday of the month, she was absolutely positive. Yet here she stood, in the empty shop. Had she been followed? Had they been found out? Each new possibility brought with it a new sense of terror.

"Hey, I think you left this last time you stopped in."

Charlie's voice rang out from behind her, breaking the spell panic had cast over her and making her flinch. She swung around defensively before her brain could make sense of the words, her face flushed with fear and her hands trembling.

Charlie stood, eyes boring into hers. One hand invisible under the tarnished wood of the counter the other limply wrapped around a ditsy fashion magazine, much like the ones she would mindlessly flip through when they were on speaking terms, months ago.  
His eyes burned with some unknown intensity and Kara wasn't sure what to think of that. She hadn't left a magazine and they both knew it, and yet his eyes continued to burn as he lowered his head slowly and slightly willing her to understand. Kara grabbed at the glossy paper of the magazine, snatching it away with some newly found interest.

The face that stared up at her was airbrushed and flawless. Full pouting lips glossed generously, doll like lashes fluttering upward. It was, of course a mindless compilation of tips and bright colors, the front cover advertising in bold and incredibly bright colors 10 Simple Secrets For A Slimmer Summer.  
And about a dozen similar articles.

Without glancing back at Charlie she flipped the first page open. Nothing of interest or out of the ordinary. When she flipped the second a white flash fluttered to the ground. Kara practically dove for the small scrap of paper finally plucking it from the ground after trying fruitlessly for an excruciating moment to force her nails under it.  
It was an index card with small letters scrawled over its unlined backside.

**_Not Long Now, My dear. An appearance here every now and again would dodge a great deal of suspicion. I, unfortunately, will be absent. Be patient. I'll try to get the word out to you when things start moving, but I cant promise much. Like we discussed.  
Oh, and be a dear and dispose of this thoroughly.  
I'll be seeing you sooner or later. Don"t get jumpy on me_**.

"This James Bond shit has got to go." She mumbled and Charlie chuckled as he produced a lighter from his pocket. He tossed it over with surprising friendliness and after a few flickering false starts Kara lit the top left corner of the index card, watching with giddy uneasiness as it burned to her fingers.

The words still echoing in her head. Not long now.

_Phew, It's been a while folks and you have my deepest apologies for the delay. Please, please, please, please, please review, I'm in need of the encouragement._

_I've also been doing some house cleaning. Nothing terribly significant has been added/ subtracted. I just figured I'd combine some of the shorter chapters._


End file.
