Look After Your Brother Ch 4
Connor hated his job. Not for the ache in his shoulders at the end of the day, or how the window soap made the skin on his hands so dry that it split and peeled. He didn’t mind climbing the rickety ladder or that he did all the work while his boss sat around smoking. He hated it because Murph wasn’t there with him. "Apart" was the worst torture he could think of, and a feeling of dread filled him every time he got on the city bus and Murphy didn’t.
He had a hard time concentrating without Murphy's presence. He felt clumsy. He made mistakes. He...
Connor cursed and got off the bus. Three stops past home.
The neighborhood was rough here. Even now, before noon, ladies of questionable virtue roamed the street-corners, looking to service the lunchtime crowd. Liquor stores, peep shows and pawn shops crowded together, faceless behind their barred and paper-covered windows. The place reeked of corruption, filth. Connor put his head down, ignoring the calls of the women who noticed him, ignoring the skinny street preacher calling damnation down upon them.
From the alley ahead he could hear the breathy grunts of sinful copulation. He prayed for the strength to walk by, to not look. Truly, it was not lust that drew his eyes, but the same dark fascination that makes people stand and watch the jumper on the skyscraper ledge.
He looked. It was just a quick glance as he walked by. A man's back was all he could see at first, business suit so clean beside the graffiti-covered wall. In that fraction of a second he saw it, beyond the man's shoulder, a pale slender hand pressed against the dirty bricks. Eloquent fingers flexed against the wall in time with the man's grunting. A beautiful hand; a hand Michelangelo would have used as a model for a sculpture of Christ.
Those hands should not be pressed up against that wall.
He could feel the world slipping sideways in his head.
A scream ripped from his throat, and it was Murphy's name. He didn’t know how he got to the end of the alley. He didn’t know when he picked up the half of a brick. Black rage enveloped him, and it didn’t matter that the man was more than twice his weight, over a foot taller than him. It wouldn’t have mattered if he was Muhammad fucken Ali. Connor struck him in the head with the brick; struck him again and again until the guy went down. He didn’t even really see his face. Murph was shouting his name and trying to pull him off.
"Connor! Stop. Fuck, stop!"
It took Murphy's knee impacting with his ribs for the rage to leave him. They tumbled to the ground. Connor came up first and turned on his brother, feeling his blood pounding through his head, feeling his lungs burning for air, feeling tears tracking down his face. Failed. He had failed again.
"Connor," Murph said, softer now, urgent, pleading. Connor hated for his brother to have to beg anyone for anything. "Connor, he fucken paid."
Connor's brain stopped working. He could barely stand as Murph took the brick from him and threw it to the roof of one of the buildings. Paid... he took a step back, watching as the darker twin rummaged through the man's pockets, stealing wallet and watch. Paid...
Murph came over and held his head while he emptied his stomach onto the asphalt.