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Murphy looked down at the photos, his mouth forming an "O" of surprise.

"Whoa, hey, we didn't—"

"Hey, what the fuck!" Connor exclaimed.

Having been looking at the grisly photos upside down from the other side of the table, it took him a moment to realize what he was seeing. Murphy rubbed his hand over his chin, still looking at the photos.

"That's down at Cavelli's?" he asked needlessly. The green plastic booths and yellow and white checkerboard floor, though now blood spattered, were unmistakable.

"Yep," said Smecker evenly, watching the brothers.

"You think we did that?!" Connor demanded, pointing at the pictures.

"Well, the ski masks, pennies on the eyes, five bodies, all low-level dealers…evidence points towards the Saints," Smecker said calmly.

"But we were across town all day!" Murphy said.

"Has anyone besides you said they suspected us?" Connor asked, concerned. Having to go back into hiding was not on his agenda.

Smecker gathered up the photos slowly. "Not that I've heard. As far as I know, I'm the only one around here that would recognize your M. O."

"Did ye mention it ta anyone?" Murphy asked.

"No. I wanted to come hear your side of the story first," Smecker replied, tucking the photos back into his jacket. Connor frowned.

"There is no 'our side o' the story,' Smecker. It wasn't us."

Murphy nodded his agreement. "Aye, we couldn't even figure out if anything was goin' on down at that joint."

Smecker laughed humorlessly. "Oh, something's going on, all right. Cavelli's got himself a little distribution company set up, we're pretty sure."

Murphy nodded, looking across the table at Connor. "Told ya so," he mouthed silently.

"The packages we found on the dead dealers down the street had the same logo on them as some we pulled off a guy we brought in for dealing a few days ago," Smecker continued. "Logo's sort of a wonky version of Cavelli's family crest, cocky bastard."

He zipped up his jacket, getting ready to leave.

"Wait, you believe it wasn't us, don't ye?" Murphy said, touching Smecker's arm. Smecker nodded.

"If you guys say it wasn't you, it wasn't you. I have no reason not to trust your word."

The brothers both silently breathed a sigh of relief. If the cops here in New York were going to be looking for them, they would have had to make sure they weren't found. Neither of them was willing to have to spend all their time holed up in motels or going out solo for supplies like they had before leaving Boston.

"Thanks, Smecker, that means a lot," Connor said sincerely.

The agent nodded again. "That doesn't mean somebody else won't come up with the theory that you guys are at it again, though. You know how good a news story that would make?" Smecker spread his hands as though outlining a newspaper headline. "Saints of South Boston Relocate, New York Scum Beware!"

"Fuckin' great," said Murphy, making a face.

"I better get going, I told my squad I was running a personal errand," Smecker said. He walked to the door and paused. "Obviously we're going to try to figure out who did this, but you'd probably better lie low for a while, especially around here. If people realize you're around, it could get messy."

"Right, thanks," is what Connor said. "Creative string of curses," is what he thought.

Lying low. Almost a dirty phrase. They were always very subtle and secretive, of course, but "lying low" implied hiding and doing nothing…

"OK, see you later then," Murphy was saying, shutting the door behind Smecker. He walked over to Connor, who was still standing near the table.

"Conn?" Murphy said, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Y'alright?"

Connor looked at him. "This isn't good, Murph."

"I dunno, maybe it's not so bad, someone else takin' up the cause. Roc kept sayin' we needed ta recruit, remember?" He walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. "Want one?"

Connor didn't answer. He was thinking again. Murphy grabbed a second can, set it in front of Connor and took his own back to the couch with him.

"We need somethin' dark, this shit's passable at best," he commented, "know what'd be good, some o' that chocolate stout…"

"Do ye even care about what's just happened?" Connor asked sharply.

"Someone's bitin' our style. Coulda been a bit more creative but what're ye gonna do?"

Connor finally grabbed his beer and joined Murphy in the living room.

"Yeah, ye knucklehead, if someone's goin' around pretendin' ta be us, that means the cops are gonna be lookin' fer us, they won't think it's someone else."

Murphy considered this for a moment. "But they left their masks at the scene, they can just test 'em and they'll know it wasn't us."

"Yeah, if we're lucky enough that whoever cleaned up at Cavelli's has their DNA on file. Otherwise we're still gonna be prime suspects. They don't have ours, remember?"

"Fuck. Who knew coverin' our tracks would come back and bite us in the ass!" Murphy exclaimed.

"Wouldn'ta guessed," said Connor.

"Think maybe Smecker can sneak some of our DNA inta the system so they'll know we don't match the Cavelli's killers?" Murphy suggested.

"Nah, I think he's risked his job about enough fer us already, we couldn't ask him ta do that," Connor said.

"I know, I was only jokin'. Besides, putting our DNA in their files voluntarily, that's just stupid."

Connor nodded his agreement. They sat quietly for a few minutes, drinking their beer. Then Murphy broke the silence.

"Hey Conn, what if whoever made that mess down at Cavelli's wasn't just tryin' ta copy us? What if they wanted it to look like it really was us that did it?" he said thoughtfully.

Connor considered the idea for a moment. There were reasons why someone might want to do that – throwing the cops off their own trail by giving them someone else to focus on, maybe. Or someone else wanting to join in the mission but too scared to take credit for it.

"If that's the case, whoever it is must know we're here, it can't be that big of a coincidence that it'd go down so close by," he said.

"True," Murphy agreed, "But who knows we're here? Smecker…Da and Ma…"

Connor laughed. "Ma was likely ta flip when she found out we moved here but I don't think she'd frame us fer murder ta get back at us," he said.

Murphy laughed, too. "Yeah, besides, she wouldn't know about the pennies and stuff. Unless Da told her…why, the bastard!"

"Murph, I don't think our own parents are behind it."

"Ya never know, they're pretty devious. Ye remember that time Ma called us on the phone and pretended she was gonna shoot herself?"

"Yeah, that was fucked up," Connor laughed.

"This is fucked up," said Murphy.

"Aye."

For the next few hours the MacManus brothers kept an eye on the television, hoping the newscast would give them some information.

"Guess it's a good sign that nothin's showin' up, right?" Murphy said, again, after another hour of NY1 ended and no mention had yet been made of the Cavelli's incident.

Connor nodded, getting up to stretch his legs. Sitting in front of the TV for so long was giving him cramps.

As he wandered toward the kitchen, there was a knock at the door. He grabbed his gun from his duffel bag and, holding it behind his back, went to the door. He glanced through the peephole.

"S'only Smecker," he said over his shoulder to Murphy. For the past few hours, every time they had heard someone pass in the hallway their attention had perked up, half expecting police officers to show up and arrest them. Connor opened the door and Agent Smecker stepped inside quickly, looking harassed.

"This isn't going well," he said by way of a greeting. Connor sat at the table and gestured for Smecker to do the same. Murphy joined them, stopping at the fridge along the way.

"Wanna beer?" he asked generally.

"Nah," Connor replied. It was mid-day and they'd already had several each. Murphy stared at him for a moment in shock, then offered one to Smecker.

"Oh, I guess I better not," Smecker replied, looking sorely tempted.

"Oh, come one," Murphy coaxed, slowly waving the can. "I'll look like a degenerate if I'm the only one drinkin'."

"Sorry ta break it to ye, Murph, but that's not what's doin' it," Connor teased.

Murphy shrugged. "Alright then." He opened one and joined them at the table.

The brothers looked at Smecker expectantly.

"So, like I said, this investigation isn't going well so far. No witnesses at all. Or at least none that are willing to admit they saw anything," Smecker said.

"Middle o' the day and nobody saw anything? Right," Connor snorted.

Smecker shook his head. "Someone must have, but they won't say so. Couldn't pull anything off those masks they left behind, either."

"So it's somebody without their DNA on file or whatever?" Murphy asked.

Smecker shook his head again. "I mean, we couldn't get anything off 'em. Nothing on the inside. They haven't been worn."

"Someone left 'em there ta throw ya off?" Murphy said.

"Looks like."

"Well, that's good news fer us, isn't it?" said Connor after a moment. "Everyone knows we wear our masks."

"That's true. Your names haven't come up yet but if they do, I'll be sure to use that. I am the world's leading expert on the Saints, after all," Smecker said, smirking. "No, looks like what we've got here is someone who didn't want the credit."

"Or blame," Murphy added. "So we're good, then?"

"Well, I wouldn't go prancing around while all my guys are in the neighborhood, but I think it's safe to say you're not going to go down for this one."

"Good!" Connor said, relieved.

"I thought you said it wasn't going well?" Murphy said.

"It's not, for me! I still have a quintuple homicide to solve!" said Smecker, rubbing his eyes.

"Oh, right," Murphy said with a smile. "Hey, good luck with that."

"Thanks," Smecker said grimly, standing up. "Alright, back to work I go."

"Gonna be a long one?" Connor asked sympathetically.

"As usual," Smecker replied. "So, you guys stay out of trouble. I'll be in touch."

"Well, that's a relief," Murphy said after Smecker had gone.

"Yeah. Still…" Connor said thoughtfully.

Murphy raised his eyebrows. "Still what?"

"I don't know whether ta be flattered or pissed off. I mean, someone obviously wants ta take after us, but look that happened! Smecker thought it was us!"

"Yeah, but he figured out it wasn't. He woulda figured it out even if we hadn't told him.

"Yeah, Smecker probably woulda but someone else maybe wouldn't and we'd be gettin' the blame."

Murphy shrugged. "We haven't been doin' anything lately anyway, at least these guys are gettin' work done."

"Ye wanna quit on the Cavelli's thing, then? So we can 'get work done'?" Connor said, frowning.

"No, I didn't say that. I just think maybe we oughta do a little bit on the side, too."

"Christ, Murph, ye've got us stakin' out the pizza place fer hours at a time. How're we supposed ta go after other people too if we're playin' detective all day?"

"Forget it," Murphy said, getting up. He threw his empty beer can into the sink.

"No. This Cavelli's thing is yers. Ye're the one who has the hunch about it. If ye don't wanna do it anymore we'll find somethin' else," Connor said harshly.

Murphy turned to face his twin. "Well, I was right that the place was fishy, wasn't I? Buncha people just got shot up there."

Connor laughed. "See, ye're psychic! Ye read the aura of the pizza and felt a bad omen!" he teased.

"Ah, fuck you," Murphy said, laughing too.

"Seriously, ye're the leader on this one. It's up ta you," Connor said. He walked over to the window and opened it. Sitting on the sill, he took out a cigarette and lit it. Technically they weren't supposed to smoke in the apartment, according to their lease, but they figured this was close enough to outside.

"Alright, here's what I think," Murphy began thoughtfully.

"Mmhmm?" Connor encouraged.

"These other guys are obviously doin' alright with Cavelli's at the mo'."

"Aye."

"I wanna find them. Figure out who they are and if we gotta straighten 'em out."

Inwardly Connor sighed. This detective kick they were on was getting to be too much. Still, he had told Murphy he was in charge and so he would be.

"OK," Connor said, flicking his spent cigarette out the screenless window. "So, we find the Junior Saints."

Murphy smiled. "Yep."

"Hey, Murph," Connor said, his face breaking into a grin.

"Hmm?" Murphy said around his own cigarette that he was now lighting.

"What if they look just like us only smaller?"