Part three. Conclusion time!

A writhing, groping mass of limbs slammed against the front door of the MacManuses apartment, the dilapidated wood groaning ominously at the weight of the brothers and Renata leaning heavily against it. They had left McGinty's in a hurry, covering the distance between the bar and the loft in record time and making their way to the fifth floor in a blur of roaming hands and hungry lips. By the time they reached the fifth landing, the fire that had started at the bar was an inferno blazing out of control set to burn them all to ash.

Connor stopped fondling Renata's breast just long enough to dig his keys out of his pocket, then reached to unlock the door past her and Murphy, who were otherwise engaged in a deep kiss that looked pretty all-consuming from where Connor stood. If his brother thought he was going to keep her to himself all night, he had another fucking thing coming. "Heads up," he warned them, turning the knob and pushing the door open.

They stumbled into the apartment, jostled apart by the motion, and Connor took the opportunity to reclaim her attention, wrapping his arms around her and yanking her back against his chest. He kicked the door closed behind the three of them and buried his face in her hair, breathing deep and sighing into her ear, "Ye smell fuckin amazin..."

"Is that the best you've got for dirty talk?" she asked, grabbing a fistful of his hair and guiding him to her neck.

He covered her skin with his lips, alternating between kisses and strokes with his tongue. She wiggled back against the bulge in the front of his jeans and he responded by catching her hips in his hands and holding her there. "The best I've got doesn't leave room for talkin," he replied.

All the oxygen seemed to have fled the room. She was dizzy and breathless, and her inside were dissolving in anticipation. Connor released her to unbuckle his belt and she gave a groan of impatience, her head swimming and an insistent heat gathering in her belly.

Murphy pressed a glass into her hand and the smell of whiskey hit her overloaded senses. "I don't know, Murph," she said. "I don't think I can handle much more."

"I wanna taste it on ye," he replied, the words coming out in a low, animal growl.

She couldn't argue with that. She downed the liquor, rocking her head back on the swallow, and she dropped the glass as the floor lurched beneath her, reaching out to catch herself. Murphy steadied her with his hands on her shoulders, then promptly unsteadied her again as he kissed her, his tongue delving into her mouth as if in search of the last traces of whiskey. He led her across the apartment to the furthest of two mattresses, then tumbled backward onto the bed, pulling her with him.

The movement set her head to spinning like a demented merry-go-round and her stomach shifted dangerously. Uh-uh. No way. She wasn't going to puke on either of these guys, at least not until after she'd fucked them both to the point of unconsciousness. She paused and closed her eyes, taking slow, deep breaths and waiting for things to settle.

"Are ye all right?"

She opened her eyes again. Murphy was looking up at her, caught somewhere between concern and arousal, and Jesus Christ, he looked good enough to eat. She settled her knees on either side of his hips and tugged restlessly at the hem of his shirt, and he obliged by drawing it over his head and tossing it on the floor.

Connor cursed as he hurried to unlace his boots and throw them aside before kicking his way out of his jeans. He left them on the floor and raced over to Murphy's bed, kneeling behind Renata and reaching under her top to unhook her bra. She slid her arms out of the straps and pulled the garment out through her sleeve, casting it aside next to Murphy's shirt. Murphy's hands were next under her top, cupping her breasts and rolling her nipples between his fingers. She let out a moan and threw her head back, and Connor moved to her exposed throat again, kissing and sucking while reaching to cover his twin's hand with one of his own, making him squeeze harder. She moaned louder and her hips rocked forward, even as the sensory overload threatened to overwhelm her.

"Are ye sure ye're all right?" Murphy asked again, watching her. At least, she thought he was watching her; she was seeing double and couldn't be sure. Had she ever been this drunk?

"Fan-fucking-tastic," she replied, focusing on more deep breaths and willing herself not to throw up.

"Ye don't look so good," Murphy persisted, sounding uncertain.

"Gee, thanks."

"Do ye need a minute?" Connor asked, trying not to smile. It would put a hell of a fucking damper on their plans if she heaved, but fucking hysterical if she did it on Murph. His twin looked past her and glared daggers at him as if he knew what he was thinking, and he grinned back.

She let out one final breath and started fumbling with Murphy's belt, unbuckling it and unfastening his jeans. "Who is going first?" she asked.

"I am," Connor piped up immediately.

"The fuck ye are," Murphy argued, taking his hands from under Renata's top and reaching under her skirt instead, fingers drawing her panties down her hips.

"I always go first," Connor insisted.

"Exactly! It's my turn, fucktard!"

"I thought you'd never done this before," Renata broke in. Wow, things were looking fuzzy as hell...

"We haven't," they answered at once.

She nodded and blinked several times, her vision going grayer by the second. "Do either of you have protection?" she asked. Then everything tilted - and she blacked out.

Murphy let out a loud grunt as she fell forward and sprawled on top of him, knocking the wind out of him with the impact. "Fuck..."

Connor froze, momentarily stunned, then he began to laugh.

"The fuck's so fuckin funny?" Murphy demanded, the words coming out as a wheeze.

He kept laughing, then shook his head and said, "Ye had ta give her that last fuckin shot, ye fuckin eejit!"

"How the fuck was I ta know what would happen? What do I look like, Nostra-fuckin-damus?"

"Either way, it's yer own fuckin fault ye're not gettin laid."

"Ye're not either, now help me."

Connor got to his feet and carefully rolled the unconscious girl off his twin. Murphy rose from the bed, and after a moment's thought he removed her shoes and set them on the floor before covering her with an extra blanket.

"Well, that's thoughtful of ye, Murph," Connor remarked, sitting down on his own bed. "Ye're a real fuckin gentleman, ye are."

Murphy gave him a shove in the chest and he fell backwards, toppling off the bed to hit the floor on the other side. "Christ! The fuck-"

"Gimme a beer," Murphy interrupted, stretching himself out on Connor's bed.

Connor staggered to his feet and went to the fridge. He paused behind the door where Murphy couldn't see, taking a can of Guinness and giving it several vigorous shakes. He took another for himself, then tossed the shaken one over to Murphy. The dark-haired MacManus popped the tab on the can and cursed in several different languages as the pressurized beer sprayed foam in all directions. "Connor! What the fuck, man?"

"Serves ye right," Connor told him, flopping onto the couch and opening his beer. "I try ta bring a girl home, an' ye fuckin ruin it."

Murphy stood and carried the beer to the sink, grumbling, "Fuckin waste of perfectly good shit..."

"Aye, well, I'd say it's worth it."

Murphy glared at him before returning to bed.

Connor glanced at Renata, dead drunk on the other side of the room, then shrugged. "Ye still come out on top, Murph. She got ye Maggie's number."

"Fuck, I'd forgot!" He searched his pockets and dug out the wadded napkin, squinting hard to focus on the digits scrawled on the paper. "Gimme the phone, I'm callin her."

"No, ye're fuckin not," Connor told him. "Ye can't call nice girls like her when ye're horny an' drunk off yer fuckin arse, ye dipshite. That's when ye're s'posed ta call one a the trashy sluts in yer acquaintance."

"Well, I'm fucked, I don't know any trashy sluts. Can ye recommended any in your acquaintance?"

"I'm hurt, Murph. The women I'm acquainted with are all decent, church-goin, God-fearin ladies."

"Yeah fuckin right. Hand me the phone."

Connor moved to snatch the phone off the table before Murphy could get to it. "No. Ye been moonin after the little lady for too fuckin long, I'm not lettin ye blow it now."

"Just gimme the fuckin phone," Murphy argued, getting to his feet again and starting towards his brother.

"No," Connor repeated, suddenly smiling. "I gotta look out for me little brother."

"Ye wise ass fuckin-" Murphy darted forward and made a grab for the phone. Connor twisted out of his reach and moved to escape but Murphy grabbed him around the middle and they both fell to the floor, wrestling and grappling and insulting each other as Murphy tried to take the handset and Connor tried to keep it from him.

"Call her in the mornin, ye fuckin retard!" Connor insisted, clutching the phone tight while trying to break the headlock Murphy had him in.

"I won't have the balls ta do it sober, an' ye fuckin know it!" Murphy argued back, reaching for the phone while trying to maintain his hold on Connor.

"Ye're not fuckin callin her!"

"Yes I fuckin am!" He had nearly pried Connor's fingers from the handset when Connor managed to toss it away, sending it skidding across the floor to come to a stop at the edge of his bed.

They both scrambled for it, then paused at a new sound: labored breathing followed by a gagging that could only mean trouble. They both glanced horrified over at Renata, stirring again and about to be sick.

Connor dashed for their trash can, bringing it to Murphy's bed as Murphy angled Renata off the edge of the mattress, holding her hair back and aiming for the trash can. They both cringed as she retched, Connor tentatively rubbing her back in an effort to soothe her. "There ye go, girl," he said gently. "Get it out, it'll help."

"Jesus Christ," she moaned between heaves, sounding miserable. "What the fuck happened?"

"Ye went drinkin with a couple a Irish boys an' tried ta keep up," Murphy answered, combing her hair back from her face.

"Ye did a fine fuckin job of it, too," Connor added, looking away from the trash can as she vomited again. "I didn't expect ye ta last nearly as long as ye did."

She finally emptied her stomach and Connor handed her a napkin from some long-ago night of take-out to wipe her mouth. Murphy helped ease her back onto the bed and she lay quietly for a moment before asking, "Weren't we going to have sex?"

"Let's take a rain check on that until ye're feelin better," Connor replied. "I can't speak for Murph, but I don't fancy givin ye my best moves an' ye spewin on me in the middle a the whole thing. Might kill the magic moment, aye?"

"That's the most reasonable plan I've heard all night," Murphy agreed.

Renata twitched one shoulder in an awkward shrug. "If you say so. I'll just head out and see if Grace is home yet."

"No ye won't," Connor told her firmly. "Ye'll sleep it off right here an' go back in the mornin. Ye could break yer fuckin neck fallin down the stairs in the state ye're in, an' ye're not puttin that on me conscience, sweetheart."

"You don't mind me invading your space?"

"It's just one fuckin night," Murphy pointed out.

"We can handle a little invasion," Connor assured her as he returned to his beer, though Murphy gave him a look that plainly informed him, I'm taking your bed and the couch is all yours.

Renata heaved a sigh. "That's really nice, guys. Your mother raised you boys right."

"She'll be pleased ta hear that."

She reached out and pulled the trash can closer to the bed. "I'll just keep this handy, if you don't mind."

"'Course not."

She wiggled deeper under Murphy's blankets, drawing them over her head. "See you in the morning."

"Aye. G'night." She went back to sleep, leaving the brothers to reflect on their first attempt at a threesome.

"Y'know," Murphy remarked after a time, "maybe one a these days, ye'll come up with a plan that actually works."

Connor threw the empty beer can at him.

Saturday morning
The brothers stared at each other, mentally retracing their steps with Annabelle still on the other end of the phone Murphy held to his ear. She was quiet for a few seconds, then prompted, "Well?"

"We went ta Doc's, Ma," Murphy replied, choosing the vaguest answer possible until he could think of something better.

"Ye didn't get inta any trouble, did ye?"

"No, Ma, it was just us, our friend Rocco, an' -"

A loud groan cut him off, sounding from under the tangle of blankets on his bed. He and Connor both looked up with a start as the blankets began to shift and unwind, long sinuous limbs emerging a little at a time, until finally a brown-haired, gray-eyed girl appeared, looking as hungover as they felt.

They traded enlightened, amused looks. Oh yeah, that's right.

"What was that?" Annabelle demanded.

"Connor's just pukin," Murphy replied, holding a finger to his lips to warn Renata to stay quiet. One thing was for sure, their mother sure as fuck wouldn't endorse both of them bringing the same girl home no matter what continent they were on. She nodded and sat up, looking around for her shoes.

Annabelle cackled with laughter on the other end of the phone. "Tell him he best get straightened out before tomorrow mornin. I don't want ye boys skippin Mass for nothin, an' I don't give a flyin fuck if ye gotta drag yer drunken arses up the steps a the church, ye understand?"

"Yes, Ma."

"Go on! Tell him!"

Murphy put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and addressed the room at large. "She says we better be at church in the mornin no matter how sideways we are, or the wrath of God shall rain down upon our unworthy arses in a fury of fire an' brimstone."

"An' I'll have none a yer smart ass mouth," she added. There was a pause for an inhale and an exhale. "Gimme back ta Connor. I'll hang up from him."

"Aye. Love ye, Ma."

"Love ye too, boyo."

Murphy handed the phone to Connor and turned to Renata, speaking softly. "Sorry 'bout that," he said. "I thought it best ta leave ye out of it."

Renata shrugged, bending forward to tie her shoes. "How Catholic is she?"

"What ye'd call old school," he replied, looking down the front of her tank top. "She only stops short a flagellation coz she'd have ta include herself." Renata straightened up and he looked away before she caught him staring. "Uh, here, I think this belongs ta you..." He handed her the bra Connor had flung at him earlier.

She gave him a wicked smile. "I didn't even notice it was missing," she said, taking it back. She leaned towards him, running her foot along his leg from knee to ankle. "You want to pick up where we left off?"

"We'll call ye later, Ma," Connor broke in loudly, ending both conversations. "Love ye." He hung up the phone and looked from Murphy to Renata and back again. "So," he said, "anyone wanna grab some breakfast?"

"Actually, I'd probably better head out," she replied. "Grace is probably home by now, and I'll have to deal with enough of her shit as it is. Don't want to rock the boat too much, might get tossed overboard."

Murphy nodded and Connor shrugged, picking his jeans off the floor and putting them back on.

Renata got to her feet and gave Murphy's shoulder a squeeze, then crossed the apartment to Connor. She tucked her bra into his back pocket and gave him a wink. "Thanks, guys. It was fun."

"We'll see ye around sometime," Connor said as nonchalantly as he could while her hand lingered in his pocket long enough to give his backside a good grope.

"You probably will." She smiled one more time, then walked out the front door, closing it behind her with a snap.

Connor sat down on the couch, massaging the crick in his neck. "She seemed nice enough..."

"Aye," Murphy agreed, though he wasn't sure if "nice" was the word for it. He sat quietly for a moment until something on the floor caught his eye; he picked it up and saw it was a napkin with a phone number written on it.

Maggie's number!

"Fuck! Gimme the phone!"

Several weeks later
It was another Friday night, and the MacManus brothers were returning home from another long day of work at the meat packing plant. The elevator was still out of service, and it was a long trek up the stairs with tired feet and aching backs but they made it with good cheer, eager to unwind after a busy week.

There was a commotion on the third floor, with men wearing uniforms from some fly-by-night moving company carrying boxes and furniture up and down the stairs into one of the units. Murphy spotted a familiar figure supervising the activity and called out a greeting. "Hey, Jimmy!"

The man turned. His dense freckles and close-cut red hair made him easy to identify in a crowd, and when he caught sight of who had addressed him he grinned almost as wide as Rocco. "Murphy! Connor! You guys just getting in?"

"For awhile," Connor replied, shaking Jimmy's hand along with Murphy. "How's yer ma?"

"You heard about the stroke?"

"Aye. Nothin too serious, was it?"

"At her age, everything's serious. She's getting out of the hospital in a few days, but she can't live on her own anymore. Grace and I are looking after her."

The brothers nodded; if their mother's health left her in need of her sons' care then they would do the same for her - though they were both heartily glad that wasn't the case yet.

Murphy looked around at the movers still hauling shit up the stairs. "Gonna be crowded, you, Grace, yer ma, an' yer cousin," he remarked.

"What, Kevin?" Jimmy looked mildly surprised at the mention of him. "He took off a few nights ago."

"He finally found a job?" Connor asked.

Jimmy raised his eyebrows. "Where do you guys get your information?" he questioned.

Connor shrugged. "It's a small building. Word gets around."

"Well, you might want to reconsider your source. Kevin was freeloading off us for a couple months, him and that girlfriend of his. They got into it earlier this week, she got arrested, and we haven't heard shit out of him since."

Connor and Murphy both raised their eyebrows in surprise. "Ye're fuckin with us," Murphy accused incredulously.

"'Fraid not. I'm not surprised, they've been having problems for weeks."

"Aye," Connor agreed. "He was fuckin cheatin on her."

"Where are you guys hearing all this shit?" Jimmy demanded.

"Where the fuck is she?" Murphy asked, ignoring the question.

Still looking puzzled, Jimmy answered, "I felt bad for her because of Kevin, so I paid her bail. I would have let her stay a little longer, but Grace isn't exactly her biggest fan and, well, gotta please the wife."

"Ye mean ye fuckin kicked her out?" Connor demanded, his voice hardening in outrage.

"Hey, it's not like she's handicapped or helpless," Jimmy replied defensively. "She seemed a lot smarter than Kevin, I'm sure she'll be fine." He stood a little straighter, a steely glint coming into his eye. "But what's it to you guys, anyway? You didn't know her."

Connor and Murphy relaxed slightly, though each could sense the other's feeling of injustice. "Just seems like a shit deal, is all," Murphy said, "bein new ta the city, some asshole not treatin her right, an' havin ta fend for herself."

Jimmy shrugged, accepting the answer. "I know. And like I said, I really felt bad for her. I gave her a hundred bucks before she left, trying to help her out a little."

They nodded. One hundred dollars would only last a couple days, at best, then the young woman they had met in the hallway really would be on her own. Jimmy looked like he would say more but one of the movers caught his attention and he moved to investigate. Murphy clapped a hand on Connor's shoulder and they continued to the stairs.

"They fuckin screwed her over, Murph," Connor said.

"Aye, I know," Murphy replied.

"What the fuck's a woman alone s'posed ta do in a city she doesn't even fuckin know?"

"I dunno, man." Connor still looked angry, so Murphy slung an arm around his shoulders. "There's nothin ye can do, so ye might as well quit fussin. Ye don't always get ta be the hero."

"It's just..." Connor gave a sigh of aggravation as they neared their front door. "It's fuckin bullshit. There's all kinds a sick motherfuckers out there, I hate ta think of what could happen to her."

"Aye. Me too."

They walked into the loft and paused just inside the door, each saying a quick, silent prayer for their former neighbor before removing their rosaries and cleaning themselves up after work.

"I'm first in the shower," Murphy announced, drawing his shirt over his head and tossing it to the area of the floor more or less designated for dirty laundry. "Ye're not stealin all the fuckin hot water again."

Connor rolled his eyes as he sat down on the couch, lit a cigarette, and turned on the television. Of the two of them, he was more inclined to worry over things that were often out of his control, and as the newscaster rattled off another day's worth of slayings, robberies and muggings, his mind fretted over that wild young woman who had gone drinking with them at McGinty's.

Wonder where she is right now?

Renata got out of the cab in front of the nondescript brick building with the faded awning stretched over the sidewalk. The neon was dark but it was still fairly early in the afternoon and the place wasn't likely even open yet.

She had gone to a women's shelter after Jimmy turned her out, trying to make the cash he'd given her last as long as possible. She had been busting her ass ever since, trying to find a job to keep the money coming in and get the fuck out of that rat-hole shelter. And it was the same story every time. They all turned her away. She'd gotten so frustrated with the last guy who rejected her, the manager of some dive diner in the neighborhood where the Reids lived, that she started yelling.

"I need this fucking job, asshole!" she'd stormed, trying to hold onto the tears filling her eyes. "I'm in a fucking homeless shelter! I haven't got shit to my name! What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

His eyes hardened in irritation at her outburst and he looked her up and down, not leering at her exactly, but as if to make a point. In that godawful Bostonian accent, he'd told her, "You got one thing to your name, sweetheart. I'd put it to work if I was you."

She had stared at him in disbelief for a moment before losing her temper, snatching shit off the counter between them and throwing it across the diner. She made a hasty retreat soon after he picked up the phone to call the cops. If she got arrested again, she was screwed.

But his words echoed sickeningly in her head like a broken record. She'd be damned if she'd start hooking, she wasn't that fucking desperate, but she was desperate enough... She had a body men went for and she knew how to move, and God knew she was comfortable enough in her own skin to show it off...

She stood outside the quiet strip club, staring at the sign on the awning and trying to quell the anxious, nauseous feeling in her stomach at the name:

Sin Bin

She took one more deep breath, like a diver about to go under, then went inside.

THE END

Thanks for reading! I hope you had fun! :)