A/N This is the sequel I've had in mind for a while. The first couple chapters will be a little short and pretty much gunna be slightly altered scenes from the movie. Anyway, without further ado, I give you Cover 2 Cover.
Chapter One: Goin' Muddin'
A short Italian man walked into the ornate Catholic Church. He was fidgeting and continuously going over the procedure in his mind. He ran a hand over his crew-cut hairstyle as he approached the confessional. For a short moment he dealt with his inner claustrophobia. Confessional booths are just so small and though he wasn't a very big guy he just loathed confined spaces. Taking a deep breath he walked into the little booth and took his seat beside the wire mesh. In a thick Italian accent he inquired if anyone was on the other side.
Father Douglass McKinney gave a small smile before answering. "It is late, my son, but I am here. Tell me, when was your last confession."
"I do not often confess and have forgotten my last visit."
McKinney frowned. "No matter, tell me, what brings you to God at this hour of the night."
The man's breathing sped up. He was becoming anxious with his task. It must be done and it must be done soon. With a deep breath he turned to look at the priest through the mesh. "I come here not to confess a sin, but to do the opposite."
For a small man, he moved fast on his short legs. The Italian was up and outside the booth quickly. As though by magic a gun appeared in his grasp. With a fierce growl he kicked in the doors and pulled the priest out. He dragged the man to the center of the church in front of the altar and put the man on his knees.
"No! No! Oh, dear God, help me!"
He placed the business end of two guns to the back of the old man's head. He was careful to aim as best he could to imitate the stance of the nearly forgotten vigilantes.
The priest clutched his rosary and prayed to God for help. "Oh, God, please take my sou—"
The man pulled the triggers.
The elderly priest fell onto the red carpet face first.
Otillio Panza reveled in his work. He rolled the man onto his back and straight out his limbs. Suddenly disappointment washed over him. He hadn't realized how tall the priest was! Anger took the place of his disappointment. Laying beside the dead body he was certain to line his ankles with the priest's. The height difference enraged him further. Sitting upright, he grabbed the priest's unmoving hand and held his own up to it. His tanned hand was easily overtaken by the pale hand of the old man. In his rage he flung the hand aside and stood. He stared down at the man. With a swipe he stole away the man's rosary.
In his final act, he crossed the priest's arms across his chest and placed a beautifully shiny penny on each of the man's closed eyes. It was just as he was about to leave that he noticed one thing that didn't look right. The exit wounds were on the clergyman's cheeks, not out his eyes. He frowned, the shrugged. Who would notice the difference?
Half a Day Later and Across the Atlantic
Father Sibeal MacManus sat in his little office at the church. He was looking over the plans for the food drive the bank was going to be holding in a few weeks and wanted to be certain that all was in order. He was putting the leaves of paper away as the ancient phone on his desk rang aloud. Being careful to pick up the phone just as one must, he couldn't help but spare a moment to ponder over the decrepit old object. He should have replaced it long ago. He honestly figured the phone was as old as him and he was no Spring chicken. Perhaps that was a slight exaggeration…
"Hello, Father MacManus 'ere."
The voice was anxious and bothered. "Sibeal! Somethin's happened!"
The old man—who had been relaxing a bit in his chair—shot upright. "Whah's happened?" He recognized the voice as an old friend in America. He had visited long ago and kept in touch on the off occasion. Why was the man calling now? And what was so horrible that the man seemed so distraught?
As the man on the phone began to describe the horror story that was his news Father MacManus went pale and felt physically ill. For someone to murder a perfectly innocent man and frame two others in the process was more than he could bear. If the news wasn't enough, the knowledge that the sons of his cousin were the men being framed shot waves of pure nausea throughout his body.
"Who was de priest?"
"I don't know. Father McDonnell may know."
Sibeal nodded. "Tank ye. May God be wit' ye."
"And also wit' ya."
With that he hung up only to lift the receiver once more to call Father McDonnell.
Sibeal spent the next three hours calling around and asking what questions he could. When he had all the information he needed, he grabbed his hat, coat, and the keys to his jeep and tore away from the church to begin his long drive. Sibeal knew he must tell his cousin and the twin brothers of the happenings. They needed to know. It was a rare occasion that he visited them, but when he did it was always to bring the tiniest it of news from the States.
He feared this news would not be welcome.
What he feared even more than that was that the news would not go ignored.
Just as he was only a half hour from where the little cottage that was his destination sat the rain began to come down. Soon after a few threatening, pitter-patter drops hit his windshield the bottom dropped completely out of the sky and the rain came down in an angry torrential downpour. The dirt road with its pot holes and dips became a treacherous path. Father MacManus pushed on. He was close to the cottage, now, and would not stop because of bad driving conditions.
Finally, the small building was in sight and he stopped caring about dirt roads and tore through the field. He came to a halt only a few yards in front of the building. As he clambered out of his jeep three men stepped out of the little home. He slipped and slid a little on the cold, wet ground until he came to the cottage. Sibeal lurched forward to support himself on a beam. He stared at his cousin and the two men. His breathing was heavy and he had to swallow hard before saying,