Jimmy Fitzpatrick - Scar
Micky O'Connor - Jay Soule'
"Now, you either stole from me... or you know who did... which is it?"
Micky grins while grippin' a wrench with evil and sickened intentions.
"Shit... sooner you give me a name, the sooner we're finished..."
The traitor clenches his chains and spits a mist of crimson liquid.
Micky smashes both knees, so hard you can hear the bones scream,
the traitor groans, pleads, until his hope seems to start imploding.
"It didn't have to go this way but I have no time for games."
Mickey pulls out a Colt Mustang, unloads the clip in his throat and brain.
Drops it into sulfuric acid, signals for his men to work their magic,
pulls out a cigarette and matches, walks off like nothing happened...
“Ay Jimmy, get a load’ a dis” Herbert’s accent was unmistakable
The “tough” irish kid from Manhattan, more than happy to play the role
He slid Jimmy the newspaper clipping “Another bastard laid in cold-
blood. “‘fuckin thugs” said Herb, his fingers rustling the page’s fold
Jimmy observed the paper as Herbert relayed a tone…
“What are we gonna do Jimmy?”
“What can we do, but wait ‘til a shape appears?”
“You and your fucking ‘shape..” he Scoffed. Its been eighteen years,
since they were assigned their first case. Any latent fears’ subsided
Jimmy watched Herb appraised the headline, “Ace of crime”
The pains they’ve shared, brothers on this stage of life
“Shape” a euphemism Jimmy fashioned, alluding to patterns and motifs
At that instance, Lucy peeked though the door, “Hey, Fitzpatrick, it’s the Chief..
He wants a word with you."
"We got a shipment of goods coming in from Belfast and a new buyer,
I need everyone wearing suits tonight, we need to raise the roof higher."
Micky works with the IRA in gun trades, from AK's to pistols and grenades,
a new face joined the game and Mickey wants the Italians out of the race.
As a sapphire Ferrari enters the garage, followed by a Hummer entourage,
Italians line up with an automatic barrage, ready to set some thunder off.
Micky hides his frustration with a devilish grin as his men take cover... silence,
"you should've known we'd swing by, I can't let you take another client!"
"Oh, but Tommy... you know a confrontation with me always ends in violence!"
Micky's men appear from the shadows, surrounding the Italians like lions.
Mickey walks away from the sound of gunfire, that smirk still on his face...
unaware of the life changing obstacle that's slowly moving into place.
The moonlight was quite appropriate; denoting a city that lives in flashes
its spotlight mulling over Jimmy as he usurped a role that may be his last
He was tasked with infiltrating the syndicate, engaging faces and filaments
From the lowest strands to the grizzled grays, a full city raid is imminent
For days, Jimmy studied from the shades, in vigilance seeking the “shape”;
his diligence vs theirs, bearing a face .. painted to engage these insolence
Anthony “two-time”, was his alias. Slick hair, expensive leather for measure
Mirroring their customs - a storm’s coming, he’s prepared for the weather
The parking lot was a collection of foreign-assembled exorbitant
A La Voiture Noir sat adjacent to Rinspeed Zazen Porche extant
As he got near the entrance, the door swung open and there he'd see
A face ... a face of uncanny familiarity...
Mickey stands by a window, watching the waves through the dark,
"if this fool's a fugazi, I want his body in the bay, food for the sharks.
I want everyone ready in case he's an enemy, dud or narc...
nobody survives tonight if it's anything besides money, guns and cards."
The front door opens and Anthony struts in with his hand out,
a suit that can't help but stand out, a swagger you just can't doubt.
"Welcome to Boston, you couldn't have picked a better city for business,
I'm Ace, but my friends call me Micky, would you like whisky or Guinness?"
Two-Time checks out his surroundings, the place is lit up like Christmas,
a five star club owned by Micky but tonight, it's filled with the FBI's hit list.
Micky hands the buyer a drink, tired, he speaks about an empire and dream,
but Micky senses something's wrong, the look in his eyes and way he speaks.
Its a culture that revolves around nuances and idiosyncrasies
The pause between sentences, the walk, the way you think and breathe
Any offset can prove obvious and may result in covers blown
The club is “home” to killers and dealers, who readily dubbed it so
He observes the crowd while his peripheral was keenly on Ace
He can feel the weight of his stare - “can he see the charade”
“Tell me something,” said Ace, “that nickname..”, he joked
Jimmy held up both wrists revealing two watches
“'Two-Time', I've business in both coasts. roll with Chinese and Mexicans
All my connects, and we look to expand our precedents
We need weapons and you get clienteles - do you know ‘Magic Man’ Miguel?”
Jimmy was carving a shape; or Wong “The Sage” of the Pan Am intel
It was a classic case of risk vs reward - risk: what if Ace knew these guys?
But the grand art of deception was to mix truths with lies
the problem with lies is that you have to take care of it.
a defect with no legs; made to trip - like holding water in safety nets
"Sage" or "Sargeant"? asked Ace in a most allusive tone
That's the problem with lies, you're left to its device .. when the truth unfolds.
Micky hears the whispers, but before he can bother to react,
the FBI storm in with force for a heavily armored attack.
His men drop like flies, Micky takes off through a window,
Jimmy follows like a shadow, checking the clip in his pistol.
Micky fires off a few shots, one grazes Jimmy's thigh,
Jimmy drops to a knee and plants a bullet in Micky's spine.
Micky drops to the sand, crawling in agony towards the sea,
Jimmy kicks the glock aside and watches Micky as he screams.
"Fuck you, pig!" Micky pulls out a second piece from his jacket,
and puts a round through Jimmy's teeth as he drops like a habit.
Both men bleeding out, one's not breathing now, Micky listens to the waves,
smitten by the strain, he looks at Jimmy and gives in to the pain
"Tonight, on channel two we bring to you the final page of an era,
as FBI brings down Micky "Ace" O'Connor and his reign of terror.
Micky has run guns through Boston for a decade, but with political ties,
any case made against him has been tossed aside with the typical signs.
Witnesses gone missing, judges found face down in the harbor...
but one brave undercover agent ended the nightmare as a martyr.
Detective Jimmy Fitzpatrick killed O'Connor during a gun trade,
but lost his own life during the struggle, leaving behind his son, Wade.
...
What's that? Folks, I have new information and what a chain of events!
Fitzpatrick and O'Connor were brothers from the St. Mayne orphanage!"
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