TROUBLE AT HOME
“Well don’t just stand there, Quick Draw, let’s move!”
The two bodyguards immediately rush to the bed and unlock the wheels. Paulie is turning the bed towards the door before the last wheel is freed.
“Grab the cocktail and follow me.”
The three men run as fast as they can with their awkward cargo. Paulie catches glimpses of figures dashing about, some towards the front door, other towards some other exit somewhere. Some carry papers, some have sacks with unmistakeable flashes of green in them, some even have silverware sticking out of their pockets. “Buncha fuckin’ scavengers,” he thinks.
The front door loom ahead, still open, a trail of blood leading outside and down the walk up to where the man Paulie encountered on the way in his making his painful way away from the house. He turns to the bodyguards. “Take it from here, boys.” They rush on ahead as Paulie stops over the fallen man.
“And where the fuck are you going?” he asks.
The man looks up in terror. “Aw please man, I was just doing my job!”
Paulie explodes, kicking the man hard in the ribs. “Your fuckin’ job is to protect that man on the big roller skate over there, not fuck around with someone who’s trying to save his life!” Another kick flips the man onto his back, the pain from the gunshot wound making him cry out. Paulie draws his pistol once again and gestures towards the door. “You wanna protect that room so goddamn badly? Back in the house.”
The man stares, wide-eyed, tears down his cheeks. “What?”
“You deaf and dumb? Back. In. The. House. Either you crawl in there or I carry you.”
"Are you out – "
BANG! The man cries out, his kneecap shattered. “Fine,” Paulie says, bending over to pick him up. “I already wasted enough time on your sorry ass today.” He hoists him up over his shoulders, drags him to the front door, and tosses him back inside. He backs away from the wounded man, who is now sobbing uncontrollably.
“I catch you following me, I swear to fuckin’ God I will make it as painful as possible.”
He turns and sprints after the two bodyguards. They’re a good distance from the house now, far enough to be out of harm’s way, Paulie guesses. The two men stand hunched over, panting. The don is stirring restlessly, asleep but somehow, subconciously, aware something is going on. Paulie runs up to the bruiser who took the shot at him earlier and strikes him across the face with his still-drawn pistol. With a grunt, the man falls to the ground.
“Next time keep it in your pants, you dumbass.” The fallen man’s companion reaches into his jacket, but Paulie whirls on him in an instant, the pistol inches from the man’s face. “I’m havin’ a real bad fuckin’ day. Don’t try me.” The man’s hand slowly comes out of his jacket and rises along with the other.
“We’re cool, man, we’re cool. Now what?”
Paulie puts his pistol away, pulls out a small flask and takes a long pull.
“Now we wait and see if this is a house-warming party or not.”