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Vinny

The Family

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The Irish

 

The reaction from the crowd is not as Jame expected.

 

Hushed murmurs arose from the crowd...

 

"He just murdered him!" "Oh my god, he's dead!" "Someone call the police! Oh my gawd!"

 

James's call that Marlesco is in trouble falls on mostly deaf, disbeliving ears. However, as soon as he picks up the gun, the crowd bursts into agitation.

 

"Oh no! He's got a gun!" "GUN, run, run!" "Police! HELP!"

 

The people's voices suddenly become screams as two gunshots fire off from inside. The front window of Marlesco's shatter under the impacts of bullet. The shots are horribly inaccurate, three shots, two veering off into the streets, smashing the window or a parked car. The third however, found its mark

and James himself nearly jumped out of the way, but is knocked to the ground by a great push, like a train smashing into his torso.

 

The world blurred for a few moments and James finds himself staring up at the sky a few seconds later. He is slumped on top of the white thug's corpse. A huge numbing followed by a great pain rises from James' left shoulder and as he looks, his shirt begins to stain red where the bullet hit him. It had missed his heart, seemingly, but his left arm seemed unresponsive from the agony. His gun is laying only a feet and a half away from his right hand but he can't get at it without getting up.

 

"Henry!" the black thug shouts. "God, Henry! He killed Henry!"

 

Out from the broken window, the black thug jumps out, firing his revolver wildly at James. Another bullet finds its mark, grazing the flesh on the Irishman's leg. The other two misses, one hitting the sidewalk and the other hitting the corpse of the white thug with a wet thump. The black thug remains there, still firing his gun but only receiving the click of a hammer on an empty chamber. He curses loudly and begins to fumble in his pocket for bullets.

 

The Brothers

 

With Vito covering him, Sal walks closer to the desk. There is the wound of whimpering, a frightened sob and even a low squeal. As he peers over the counter, he sees a puddle of blood and, laying slump against the desk next to it, his clothes soiled with the red fluid, was the old clerk.

 

He is sitting, clutching his knees, his eyes huge red puffs from the frightened tears rolling down his aged cheeks. Upon seeing Sal, he curls himself into a fetal position, holding one hand up, his voice inaudibly cracked as he tries to beg for his life.

 

As for the thug, there is no sign of him save for a blood-stained fedora lying on the floor. Blood-stained hand prints marks the floor along with a great smear of the liquid, the trail leading into the back room behind the register. The door to the back room, bullet scarred from the shots the Vitale brothers had fired, is half-closed.

 

Vito notices none of this but he does notice the blond thug is now lying still on the ground. Being closer to the front door, Vito hears the wail of sirens in the far distance.

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"Keep an eye on da old man, bro. I'm goin after da other one." He slams a kick into the partially open door and moves quickly to the side in case he's fired upon again.

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Sal-

 

The door swings violently from Sal's kick and there is a grunt from behind it. Walking in with his gun raised, Sal sees the thug slumped on the floor behind the door. The man had apparently tried to hide behind the door, waiting for Sal to come in to ambush him, but the swinging door had knocked into him, stunning him.

 

He sits with a bloodied hand clutched over his bleeding neck, his breathing ragged and agonized. His other hand is limp, the revolver held weakly in its grasp. His face is pale and blanched, blood trailing from the corner of his lips. He looks up at Sal and mutters with a rasping voice:

 

"D-... Don't... sssssssshoot."

 

The exertion causes him to choke and he coughs blood.

 

The room itself is a small storage area. There is about half a dozen cardboard boxes stacked around. Several more boxes are flattened and propped near where the thug is laying.

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The Brothers-

 

The sirens grow louder until both brothers can hear it. They're coming closer, and closer...

 

The wounded thug lets the gun slip from his hand. However, he too expires and his head head slumps forward, his bloodied hand falling limply away from his throat.

 

Terrified, the old man looks at you and whimpers: "Oh my god! Oh my god! What do you want???"

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The third however, found its mark

and James himself nearly jumped out of the way, but is knocked to the ground by a great push, like a train smashing into his torso.

 

"God Da#$(T!!!! Mother F*@$$R!!!!!!!!"

 

The world blurred for a few moments and James finds himself staring up at the sky a few seconds later. He is slumped on top of the white thug's corpse. A huge numbing followed by a great pain rises from James' left shoulder and as he looks, his shirt begins to stain red where the bullet hit him. It had missed his heart, seemingly, but his left arm seemed unresponsive from the agony. His gun is laying only a feet and a half away from his right hand but he can't get at it without getting up.

 

Out from the broken window, the black thug jumps out, firing his revolver wildly at James. Another bullet finds its mark, grazing the flesh on the Irishman's leg. The other two misses, one hitting the sidewalk and the other hitting the corpse of the white thug with a wet thump. The black thug remains there, still firing his gun but only receiving the click of a hammer on an empty chamber. He curses loudly and begins to fumble in his pocket for bullets.

 

Trying to gather as much of courage and stamina as he can James makes a quick dash to get the gun.

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" We want ya to remember that the Don doesn't take kindly to anysbody that thinks they can play on his turf without his permission. Time to hit it Bro."

 

Vitto checks the door and covers Sal looking for anyone who may still be lurking about.

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"Yeah, I think that's a good idea." Sal says, the sirens registering finally.

 

He tucks the gun firmly into his waistband, wincing a bit as the heat of it is brought so close to his skin. He then moves quickly out of the building and heads back towards where they left the car.

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The Brothers-

 

The old squirm and slides into a fetal position, weeping and sobbing. The sirens come closer and closer.

 

Outside, the streets are empty. All the windows have been shut, no one is outside. However, as the gunshots have died down, people begin to peak out the windows at the events that have unfolded. The Vitales prepare to move back to where the car was parked, but they find Joey was thinkign ahead. The car rounds the street corner and speeds towards the brother, slowing down until it stops in front of them. Joey is waving. There is a sawed off shotgun lying on top of the dashboard, just in case.

 

"Get in! Let's go! Let's go!" he shouts.

 

As you get in and drive away, you catch a glimpse in the rear-view mirrors of squad cars rounding the intersection. The loud, honking sirens become distant as Joey speeds away.

 

"How'id it go? What happened?" Joey asks. "Were they there?"

 

The Irish-

 

There is a loud screech of tires in the distance. A low, deep rumbling of a powerful motor...

 

James reaches the gun a second too late. A foot lands on his hand, nearly crushing it with its weight. His fingers reach out but merely scrapes the butt of the gun lying on the sidewalk. He looks up to find the black man looming over him, a gun pointed for his head. The thug draws the hammer on the gun back, his thick lips curlings into a cold grin.

 

"Say g'night, mothaf-..."

 

The sound of a roaring engine draws closer and closer. The black man looks up and a grimace of fear creeps over his face. His eyes are frozen. James glances sideways to see a car, speeding towards them. A grey car, a roadster.

 

"Oh f**k..."

 

Suddenly, the air explodes with the roar of a machine gun. Bullets fly in all directions, ripping across the storefront of Marlesco's. Window shatters, wood splintering and sending off countless shards of broken fragments. The black thug is struck once, twice, three times, four, five, six... His body shudders under the vicious, relentless impacts of .45 caliber rounds, convulsing as he falls to his knees then onto his belly. His face lies right next to James's, and the Irishman can see the cold, dead eyes staring aimlessly at him.

 

The machine gun continues its torrent of destruction, peppering the store until even the door flew open and fell off its hinges. James catches the sight of the boss-guy, Cruco, stumbling out the front door. The man is bloodied, several shots have hit him across the chest. Cruco looks up and emits a horrying scream of pain and terror as the bullets saw its path across him, ripping him to bloody shreds. The body slumps into a kneel, propped against the doorframe. Even with that, however, the machine gun does not silence. It continues its roar, ripping across the store again and tracing its way left and right, hitting Cruco again and again until finally, it comes to a sudden, silent stop. There is the hollow, tinkling sound of empty shell casings hitting the asphalt.

 

The car door opens and James sees the large, bulky shape of a man walking over him, heading towards Marlesco's. It's Frank, the man who had picked him up earlier. An M1911 was in his hand and he steps over the bodies lying on the sidewalk and stops in front of Cruco's corpse. Frank fires two shots into Cruco's head and continues inside the store. A few moments later, he reapears, holstering his pistol into the side of his coat. He walks over to where James is lying and reaches out with large, thick hands, grabbing the Irishman by the collar and hoisting him up and depositing him roughly in the backseat of the roadster. Before the cops could arrive, Frank hops into the front passenger seat. With another roar, the car speeds away.

 

In the backseat, James is bleeding profusely from his wounds. The pain is numbing, and the bloodlust causes his vision to blur. Still, he can see the interior of the car. It is still fairly same as it was a few horus ago when he had riden in it under normal circumstances. However, now there is a Tommy submachine gun lying on the floor, along with spent shell casings. The leather seats are stained red with blood, his own blood. 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.

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"Yeah, they was there," Sal says a bit breathlessly. "They didn't take none too kindly wit us tellin' them what the should or shouldn't do, so things got outta hand. I don't think da Don will have any more problems wit 'em though."

 

He slumps back in the seat and looks his brother over, "You ok, Vitto?? They didn't hurt ya or nuttin' did they?"

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"Nah, they didn' get a piece, Bro. Your right that the Don will be clear of those two," Vitto replys. "In fact I bettin' that anyone with a thought of tryin' ta hedge in on the Don's turf will be thinkin' again."

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"Glad to hear that you're ok, V. Good thing Joey came along when he did or dem coppas woulda nabbed us for sure!" The big man breaths a sigh of relief and settles back into the seat, obviously wiped out now that the adrenaline is leaving his system.

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"Yeah, Joey. Nice thinkin'," Vitto says smiling at the driver. He feels the same drain as his brother does but it seems that despite the exhaustion his muscles won't relax. "Well let's head back and see just how fast news spreads."

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The Brothers-

 

"Holy stuff! You bet people'll be talkin' bout it." Joey says. He takes more than one glance on the rear mirrors on the ride back to the pool hall. After about halfway through, he cocks his head to the side and says:

 

"Gimme your guns."

 

He fumbles around the front dashboard and produces a brown paper grocery bag and hands it behind him.

 

"Put'em in dere. I'll take care of 'em. The shells too if ya got any left."

 

Vitto and Sal notice that the buildings they are passing are familiar. They're back in the heart of Little Italy again.

 

"Hey, I have a feelin' you might want to lay low for the night, tho." Joey warns. "Got anywhere ya need to go t'night?"

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