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Vinny

The Family

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Sal dumps his gun into the bag. "Not particularly, Joey. As long as somebody lets our family know that we're ok, we probably wouldn't mind holin' up somewheres." Sal says. He looks to his brother for both agreement and approval.

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James can see Frank, large, jowled face starring straight ahead with his fedora shadding his beady eyes. He can't see the driver, but it's probably that wiseguy Mario again.

 

Before passing out due to loss of blood James states to Frank, "Thanks........ "

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Vitto nods as he tosses his piece in the bag as well. "Well I know I'd want everyone to know we're safe but ya know what they'd say if'n they knew exactly why we needed ta be safe ya know what I mean?"

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The Irish-

 

James vision slowly blurs away but not before he realizes the car has stopped. The door opens and he feels a hand grab him firmly by the collar. Then, everything goes black, occasionally interrupted by droning, ghostly echoing voices.

 

"... upstairs..."

 

"... thing, Paulie..."

 

"... the door ................."

 

"..... upstairs........... put him......... table there...."

 

".... doctor........"

 

Then another silence.

 

The Brothers-

 

Joey's car pulls up near the pool hall, but things are not now as they were when the brothers had left earlier. A commotion was taking place on the very front steps of the pool hall.

 

A very fancy and expansive looking Ford, convertible roadster is parked in front of the pool hall, a contrasting sight to the shabby vehicles and tenement blocks surounding the neighboor hood. A dark shape was at the driver's wheel, indicating at a distance that the driver's seat was likely occupied. Outside the car is a gathering of 5 men. The Vitale brothers could not recognize two of them, both of whom, judging by their less-than-fancy attires, are likely hired goons or bouncers protecting the establishment. The other figure is Paulie, easily recognized due to his rotund belly.

However, next to him was a heavyweight, coat-wearing stranger. The man was nearly as bulky as Paulie and definately taller, but his bulk seem to originate from muscles rather than fat. There was an air of death and importance about this man and, clearly, the goons and even Paulie seemed unnerved by his presense. A dark fedora sombrely shades his eyes from view, hiding his full face from onlookers.

Slumped on the street before them was the body of a man, clad in a bloodied shirt and already bleeding on the pavement. From this distance, it was hard fro the brothers to tell wether the man was dead or unconscious.

 

Joey pulls the car over and gets out, one hand clutching the paper bag in which the pistols are. He proceeds to run over to where the commotion is taking place. Just then, the brothers notice the two goons lift the bloodied body by the hands and feet and carefuly and hoisting the limp man upstairs. Meanwhile, Paulie, Joey, and the fedora-wearing stranger talk among themselves, too far for the brothers to over things.

 

The Irish-

 

James's eyes blink and his vision begin to return to him. He sees through the blur a white light shining down upon him and, focusing his eyes, he realizes its a pool table lamp, chained to the ceiling and protected by a green-glass and a brass case. Looking slowly to the side, James can see he is laying on some kind of lifted surface, and there is green felt lying underneath him. Patches of it are stained dark red. Moving his leg, he realizes some thing was tied to over his left wound.

 

James's vision blurs again and the pain from the injuries once more begins to act up, causing a numbing ache.

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James says, "^&*K!!!!!!!!!! What in the @#ll!!!!! Who the F&^%????" still being half out of it.

 

Trying to focus on the situation at hand and recalling being helped by Frank he takes a few more moments to get his bearings. Looking around the room he tries to figure out where he might be.

 

As he reattempts to speak he looks to see who all is present in the room as he swings around on the table and sits up.

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Sal nudges his brother. "Looks like we ain't da only ones who run into some trouble." He makes his way towards the commotion, "Anything we can do ta help?"

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The Brothers-

 

Fat Paulie stares at the Vitale brothers and nods.

 

"Yea', ya can go inside and find the first aid kit in the store room. Hurry up befo' the Mick bleeds all over mah joint." he says.

 

The large man in the fedora only stares at Sal and Vitto. He stands nearly 3 inches taller than Sal and at least an inch wider from each side. Even in comparison to large form of Salvatore Vitale, this man dwarfed him. There is an expression about him, a sinister scowl on his face. Small, cold, beady eyes stare out from under the shade of his hat. The aura around him is chilling, as if the air freezes in his presence.

 

Joey meanwhile tosses the paper bag into the back of roadster. He then proceeds to cross the street, after giving the Vitales a nod, then starts his car and speeds off.

 

The Irish-

 

James tries to sit up and finds that he is covered in blood, his own actually. His legs barely responded and the movement leaves such a pain that he nearly passes out again. Two men whom James doesn't recognize stare down into his face as he stares up at the ceiling. They don't seem to pose a threat...

 

"Hey, don't die on me, Mick!" one of them says. "You hang on, ya got me? We'll patch ya right up!"

 

Somewhere in the background, you hear fumbling, and a shout of "Where the hell is the first aid kid? God f**kin' damn it!"

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Vitto heads towards the back. From the sound of things it looks like even if they find the first aid kit they're more likely to do more harm than good.

"Gimme the dang thing and go watch the doors," Vitto says as he comes up on the man with the kit. "It don' look like your friend's gotta lotta time if we just keep on standin' here." Taking the first aid kit, he heads out to the wounded Irishman.

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Vito-

 

The pool hall was almost same as when Vito had been there only a few hours ago, save for one difference. There was blood all over the place. Climbing up the few steps leading to the main door, Vito can see a trail of red fluid snaking its way through the door and beyond. Inside, Vito notices a few chairs had been knocked over and, on one of the pool table, a man was sprawled, staring up into a light fixture, occasionally trying to move and moaning in agony. One of the thugs was standing next to him, seriously frightened and not knowing what to do.

 

"Hey Dino! Dino... I got a bad feelin' 'bout dis, Dino." he calls out, only bothering to greet you with a nervous stare before looking back at the wounded Irishman. "Let's just call a damn ambulance, man!"

 

"Can't do that!!" a voice called from under the bar. There is the sound of a commotion, bottles clinking against each other. "We do that, we gonna get the pigs on our butt!"

 

There is the sound of breaking glass and a shout of "God-f**kin'-damn it, where the hell is that kit?"

 

Finally, Vito takes over and runs to the back room, finding it after a short search. When he brings it back, the thugs, too unnerved to question him, do as he says and move back. They don't exactly go to the door, but actually try to see what Vito is trying to do.

 

Inside the kit, Vito find only the bare necessities. There are a handful of bandages, a roll of gauze, a rusting pair of surgical scissors, a roll of strings, a tweezer, and, strangely, a small carton of .45 cartridges (full) and a small flask of whiskey (half-full).

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Following along after his brother, Sal can only stand aside mutely with the others and watch what Vitto is up to. He doesn't have any skill in the medical arts and waits with anticipation to see what his brother will do to help the battered individual on the pool table.

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James lying on his back tries to keep some-what conscious. Looking up at the light he say's, "Wheeeere innnn da HEL* am I?"

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"You're safe an that's all that matters at the moment," Vitto says as he goes through the meager first aid kit. "You," he orders looking at the closest thug. "I need some hot water and any clean rags you can get. We gotta get some pressure on this or he's not gonna be collectin' the next paycheck."

 

Vitto looks down at the Irishman laying on the pooltable, " so we talkin' bullet, knife, what?"

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