More writings of a madman??

That heading got you intrigued did it?! Don’t worry, I haven’t gone mad… yet.

The World Cup is over, as is Wimbledon, and any other sport the British may have an interest in. As usual, British interest ended long before the tournaments themselves, which allowed us to marvel at the German team in Brazil, and the immense Wimbledon final between Federer and Djokovic
But now we have to entertain ourselves once again. Well, let me help you with that! For here is a short story written 12 months ago, and presented here in all it’s first draft ‘glory’!

 

The English countryside can be a good place to live. All those small, scenic villages, with their close-knit communities where everyone knows each other’s business and new residents are welcomed, purely because of their curiosity value.

Tony lived in such a village, with his girlfriend, Sarah. They found that living in the big city was way too expensive, so they moved back to the area that Tony had grown up in. Sarah was a city girl at heart, and found the complete change of pace difficult to adjust to initially. Thankfully, Sarah had a job in the next town, which allowed her a little escape from the village environment. Tony was out of work at the moment, a casualty of Local Government cuts. He was using the down time to re-model the gardens, as the previous owner of their cottage had been of the opinion that paving and gravel was the way to go. The little house they had rented in London was barely big enough to swing the neighbours’ cat, let alone grow vegetables and so on, so Tony was looking forward to getting to grips with his new gardens. He decided to start on the front garden – dull, grey, unimaginative gravel. His plan was to restore it to lawn, with some borders and a tree, to get the blossom in the summer.

It was while he was raking up the gravel that Vincente Gamberini walked past looking lost. Or Vinny Jones, as he was calling himself. Now, unbeknownst to Tony, Vincente was American, of Italian descent, as you can guess from his name. As for his reason for being in a small village in the heart of the English countryside, this will become apparent in good time. But when Vinny stopped and chatted to Tony right there, over the front hedge, nobody knew who he was, where he came from, or why he was here.
“Good Mornin’” Vinny said, trying to hide his Chicago accent.
“Morning,” Tony replied, absent minded, as he studied his little drawing.
“It’s a great day, isn’t it?” Vinny continued, running through the standard pleasantries he’d heard in various British movies.
“It is, I suppose, yes,” Tony agreed.
“Perfect for doing the garden,” Vinny observed.
“Indeed,” Tony chuckled. “I must be mad.” They shared a laugh at this.
“Say, do you know where Church Street is?” Vinny asked, referring to a crumpled piece of paper.
“Yeah, sure,” Tony said. “Carry on to the end of this road, turn right.” Pointing out the directions with his hand as he spoke. “You’ll see the church,” he permitted himself a smile. “And you’re pretty much there.”
“That’s great, thanks,” Vinny said, smiling and offering his hand. Tony wiped his hand on his old jeans, then shook Vinny’s hand. Tony let go, and Vinny set off, turning and giving Tony a wave as he turned the corner at the end of the street. Tony returned to his gardening without giving the meeting much further thought.

The second meeting was later that evening, in the local pub, The Cock and Bull. Tony and Sarah had gone for a quick drink after tea, and as they stood at the bar, Vinny came out of the pub kitchen carrying two plates of fish and chips – by the look of it, he was working there. He nodded and smiled at Tony as he walked past and served up an old couple who were sat by the window. Tony nudged Sarah’s arm.
“That’s the fella I was talking about. The Yank.” He hissed. Sarah looked round and looked, unimpressed. But then, coming from a city, she was used to meeting people of all nationalities, so this was nothing. Although, from behind, this Yank had a pretty nice arse.
Tony paid for the drinks and they sat down. Vinny came past and smiled.
“Did you finish your garden?” He asked Tony.
“Barely made a start,” Tony shrugged, and smiled wrly. Vinny nodded knowingly and went back into the kitchen.

Tony and Sarah were still there when Vinny finished his waiting, and came out with a plate of steak and chips. He sat down at a table and tucked in to his food like a ravenous lion.
“He seems like a nice guy,” Sarah commented, as she watched him eat. “Why don’t you go and buy him a drink?” No sooner had she finished speaking, than the barman rang the bell and yelled “Time, please”.
“That’s why not, I suppose,” Tony shrugged, something he seemed to do a lot of. “Maybe next time.” He downed the last few gulps of his beer and stood up, waiting for Sarah to finish her Gin and Tonic in a more ladylike fashion. They gave Vinny a wave as they left and headed out through the door into the early summer evening and back home. He smiled and waved his knife wielding hand, his other hand conveying a forkful of chips towards his mouth.

As they lay in bed, Sarah mused whilst Tony read his book.
“I’d imagine you don’t get many foreigners around here, do you?”
“Not really,” Tony agreed. “Unless it’s the Poles or whatever, working on the farms.”
“So, this American guy must be quite a novelty then,” she pointed out.
“Yeah,” Tony shrugged. “I’ve never met an American before.”
“You’ve had a sheltered life, haven’t you?” Sarah laughed. Tony shrugged, yet again. As sleep started to take over, he closed his book, put it on his bed-side table and he leaned over and kissed Sarah on the cheek, whispering “Good Night”. He turned over and promptly fell asleep.

The next morning, Sarah was going to work early and Tony was seeing her off, when they saw Vinny jogging past, wearing a vest and running shorts, showing off quite an array of muscles, something Tony could only dream of. He clocked Sarah take an admiring glance as she got into the car. She must have felt guilty, because she shot Tony a glance that said ‘I can look, can’t I?’ Tony smiled at her and waved her off the driveway and down the road. He set about doing some housework to start with – washing up, putting the washing machine on, even pushing the vacuum cleaner round a bit – before going back out into the garden to continue the work he’d started the day before.

At around eleven o’clock, he was out in the garden, chatting to Alf, their neighbour, over the fence, when Vinny came past again. He was walking now, the sweat glistening off his tanned skin, his vest now sodden and stuck to his body. He was drinking milk straight from the bottle. He paused right by Tony’s hedge, and was about to continue on his way when Alf piped up.
“Hey, Vinny,” he called. Vinny turned and smiled. He wandered back and up Alf’s driveway, shaking Alf’s hand jovially.
“Hey Alf, what’s up?” He smiled. Tony was puzzled – how did these two know each other?
“Have you met then?” Tony asked to nobody in particular.
“Oh aye,” Alf answered. “He picked up my potatoes in the corner shop.” Tony must have looked a picture of confusion, because Vinny let out a little laugh.
“To be fair, Alf, I kinda knocked them down in the first place.” They both chuckled at this, like a private joke that Tony wasn’t party to.
“So, Vinny, is it?” Tony asked, holding his hand out over the fence. “I’m Tony.” Vinny nodded and shook Tony’s hand, cementing the greeting.
“So, we meet properly, at last,” Vinny laughed, alluding to their initial meeting yesterday.
“Absolutely,” Tony said. “My girlfriend was admiring as you jogged past earlier.”
“Ha ha, great,” Vinny nodded, Tony sensing a smidgeon of embarrassment as he did so.
“That’s the girl you were with last night huh?”
“Yeah,” Tony confirmed.
“Where you staying, Vinny?” Alf interjected.
“Uh, Pete is letting me stay at the pub. I’m working for my food and board really.”
“Oh, no no,” Alf shook his head. “I’ve got two spare rooms, and I’m here on my own. You can stay here,” he offered.
“I couldn’t possibly,” Vinny protested.
“Look, it makes sense,” Alf reasoned. “I’ve got room, you need room.”
“The man’s got a point, you know,” Tony said to Vinny.
“Course I’ve got a bloody point,” Alf chuckled. “So stop being a wally, and just accept my offer.”
“Okay, okay,” Vinny held his hands up in submission. “I accept your offer, Alf.”
Alf patted Vinny on the back.
“And to say thanks, let me make lunch on Saturday. For you and Sarah too,” Vinny gestured at Tony.
“That’s fine by me,” Tony agreed. “I’ll bring the liquid refreshment.”

And so it was arranged. Tony went back to his garden for the rest of the day and had collected all the gravel together, pulled up the weed suppressant and even dug over and raked the soil underneath. When Sarah returned from work, she found Tony flopped down on the sofa, a sheen of sweat on his face and bare torso, drinking deeply from a bottle of lemonade whilst watching the game show, Pointless. Tony told her about lunch on Saturday with Alf and his new lodger, Vinny.

Meanwhile, in Chicago, the murder of Mafia underboss ‘Big Paulie’ Paul Marcotti was all over the news, having been gunned down in a barber’s shop by an unknown gunman. There were murmurings of an internal war between rival factions vying for control, to be acknowledged as running the Chicago outfit. The gunman had disappeared, and the word on the street was he was on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

Saturday morning was a stormy, wet morning. Tony gazed out of the front window at his newly laid turf, receiving a timely watering to help it bed in. Sarah was at the supermarket looking for a suitable bottle of wine to take round for lunch – the village shop was deemed too basic for her taste. In the background, the radio was on – a local station – talking about some big issue or something affecting the local council. The cooking smells coming from Alf’s next door were making Tony’s stomach rumble, and it was only half past ten. Sarah had made them a light breakfast, because she told Tony that it would be rude to load up with a Full English Breakfast and be full for lunch when Vinny had gone to all that trouble.

Sarah finally returned with a bottle of wine, and a summer dress she’d seen in the sale that was too good to ignore. Tony lay on their bed upstairs, watching as Sarah slipped out of her jeans and t-shirt, standing in her matching white t-shirt bra and cotton panties while she fiddled with the opening on her dress. She eventually got it open and slipped it on over her head, pulling it down over her chest, then her hips and then her thighs. Tony looked at her, stood there in the lemon coloured dress that stopped just above her knees. She looked as beautiful then as she had done when he first met her at a mutual acquaintance’s garden party three years previously. Tony felt a bit frisky as he marvelled at this amazingly attractive woman – his girlfriend – taking off her new dress. He got up off the bed and put his arms around her, gently squeezing her nice peachy pert bottom.
“Do you, erm, fancy a quickie?” Tony asked hesitantly and hopefully. Sarah squirmed in his arms.
“Really? Now?” She questioned him. She stopped squirming and looked up into Tony’s eyes. “We’re going for lunch soon.”
“Not for another hour and a half,” Tony pointed out, leaning down and kissing Sarah’s neck where he knew she couldn’t resist. “Besides, we haven’t made love for ages.”
“That’s a lie,” Sarah protested, melting under Tony’s kisses. “We did it on Monday night, remember. On the-“ Before she could finish her sentence, Tony threw her down on the bed, and lay on top of her, kissing her passionately on the lips. When she got the chance, Sarah took a breath.
“You’re a little over-dressed then, aren’t you?” She whispered in his ear as he placed small, soft kisses on her cheek and ear. Tony stood up and began to unbuckle the belt on his jeans. He managed it, then pulled them down to his ankles with a flourish, kicking them off as he yanked his t-shirt off over his head. Sarah lay back on the bed, partly impressed at the speed in which Tony was removing his clothes, and partly impressed at the bulge beginning to take shape in his boxers. Finally, Tony was able to leap back onto the bed, in only his boxers, and Sarah still in her bra and panties. They kissed each other, gently at first, then with increasing passion, their tongues intertwining and searching in each other’s mouths. Their hands caressed each other, then sought out the other’s intimate parts. Sarah arched her back, allowing Tony to get his hand round to unfasten her bra, then he tugged it at the front, between the cups and off it came. He flung it over his head with abandon and bent forward to kiss her now exposed breasts, his tongue flicking her nipples. Sarah moaned with pleasure, running her hands up and down Tony’s back, her nails gently scratching the skin. As the temperature and intensity rose, Tony slid his hands into Sarah’s pants, inching them down over her bottom, down her thighs and to her knees, where she took control and worked them down to her ankles until they dropped onto the floor at the end of the bed. She then pulled at Tony’s boxers and whispered “Off”. Tony slipped out of his boxers and climbed back on top of Sarah and felt a jolt as skin touched skin. Tony paused for a minute, which Sarah picked up on.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“What about a condom?” Tony asked, hoping to come across responsible but without killing the moment.
“We don’t need to bother with that now.” She put her hands on his hardened, erect penis and guided him inside her. He could feel the warmth and this made him even harder. As he rocked gently backwards and forwards, Tony felt as happy as he ever had been.

Five and a half minutes later, they lay on the bed exhausted, their bodies glistening with their exertions. Tony lay on his back, cradling Sarah, her head resting on his shoulder, and let out a sigh. Sarah lifted her head and looked at him.
“Can you do it again?” she beamed. Tony laughed and looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist.
“Yeah, in about three and a half hours.” Sarah gave his thigh a gentle stroke, causing Tony to shiver at her light touch. Then she got up off the bed and started looking in her bedside cabinet for fresh underwear. Tony stayed where he was and admired her figure from the side, from the gentle profile of her face, to the 32DD breasts she was blessed with, her slightly rounded tummy and round pert bottom, and her lithe, athletic legs. He watched as she slipped some black cotton shorts on and then a matching black lacy bra that gave her boobs even more volume.
“You’ll give poor Alf a heart attack if you’re not careful,” Tony smirked. Sarah gave him an amused look and readjusted herself for comfort. She looked at Tony, still lay there in all his naked glory.
“If you don’t hurry up and get dressed, you’ll put Alf of his lunch altogether,” she retorted. Tony chuckled and went about getting dressed again himself.

At One o’clock on the dot, Tony and Sarah stood outside Alf’s front door and rang the doorbell. After a short delay, the door opened an Alf stood there resplendent in his best cardigan and an old school tie.
“Come on in, you two,” he beamed. As they stepped over the threshold past Alf, Tony took a closer look at the tie.
“I never knew you went to Harrow,” he commented. Alf had a bit of a giggle.
“I didn’t. I got it off a kid me and my gang mugged.”
“Gosh, really?” Sarah said, her mouth open in surprise.
“Yep. I was a real tearaway in my youth,” Alf confirmed. He led them into the living room, and gestured for them to sit down and make themselves comfortable. Faced with a sofa and a couple of easy chairs, Tony and Sarah both went for the sofa.
“Drink?” Alf asked. Sarah handed him the wine she’d painstakingly chosen and bought from the supermarket, which he took graciously with a bow. He went out, leaving the two of them alone. Tony was awestruck by the sheer number of books on the shelves, spying the likes of War & Peace, The Count of Monte Cristo, alongside more contemporary works such as Wilt, Trainspotting and To Kill A Mockingbird.

When Alf returned with three glasses of wine on a tray, Tony commented on the book selection. Alf shrugged.
“I like to read, I suppose. Doesn’t matter what, as long as there’s a good tale to be told.” He held the tray down so that Sarah, then Tony could take a glass each, then with his own glass in hand, eased himself down into one of the easy chairs.
“Young Vincent is cooking up quite a bloody storm in that kitchen,” he mused. Tony made appreciative grunts as he sipped his wine. Sarah was distracted, as she honed in on a picture on the mantelpiece.
“Alf, who’s that woman in the picture?”
“That one there?” Alf pointed at the picture.
“Yes, she’s very pretty.” Sarah commented.
“That’s Jean, my dear wife.” He informed them. Tony’s look of puzzlement bordering on confusion led Alf to continue. “My late wife. She passed on about five and a half years ago.”
“Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry,” Sarah gasped, feeling awful.
“Don’t be, love. She was a marvellous girl, I was lucky to have known her.” At this, he fished in his trouser pocket, and pulled out a hanky, dabbing his eyes, then blowing his nose quite dramatically. Taking this as a hint, Sarah fell silent and took a few sips of her own drink. Before the ensuing silence could become too awkward, Vinny put his head round the living room door.
“Hey guys. Lunch is ready, so come on through.” He disappeared again as quickly as he had appeared. Alf hauled himself up out of his chair and led them through to the dining room. Before them was an old-fashioned dark wood table with matching high backed chairs set with plates and shining silver cutlery. Vinny then swept in carrying a large pan of something steaming. He put it down on a wooden mat in the centre of the table. As he sat down, Tony leaned over to see what it was.
“It’s Meatballs and spaghetti, a family speciality.” Vinny explained. Tony nodded his head and sat down next to Sarah. Alf sat down opposite Tony, and they waited for Vinny to return from the kitchen. Moments later he reappeared with a half empty glass of wine in hand, and took his seat next to Alf.
“Okay, let’s eat,” Vinny laughed. “Sarah, ladies first.” He gestured for her plate. She obliged, and watched as he dished out a substantial portion and handed it back to her. He then dished up for Alf and Tony, before filling his own plate.
“This is fantastic,” Tony enthused as he sampled the food before him. “How do you make it?”
“I’m sorry, Tony,” Vinny smiled as he speared a piece of meatball on his plate. “But if I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”
“Okay,” Tony smiled, going along with what he guessed was a joke.
“No, seriously, Tony. I swore to my mother on her deathbed – this recipe doesn’t leave the family.” He gave Tony a deadpan stare as he shovelled a forkful into his mouth. Tony, uncomfortable to say the least, broke the stare and carried on eating. Alf and Sarah had begun talking about Coronation Street or Eastenders, things Tony had no interest in.
“So, Vinny,” Tony asked casually. “What brought you here, all the way from America?” Sarah and Alf broke off their conversation, obviously keen to hear what Vinny had to say.
“Well, I kinda got into something and let’s just say it was the right time to get a change of scenery for a while,” he smiled. “Ok?”
“You slept with someone you shouldn’t have?” Sarah asked.
“Did you lose money on gambling?” Tony wondered.
“Have you killed someone?” Alf queried. Vinny made a non-committal grunt as he finished his plate.
“It’s really not a big deal,” he reasoned. “But it’s probably an idea for me to keep it to myself.”
Tony could feel Sarah positively sizzling with curiosity – she loved a good mystery. He already knew that she would be formulating a plan to find out just exactly what Vinny’s story was.

They were all sat in Alf’s lounge again, having got through dessert of profiteroles, enjoying a nice coffee.
“That was quite a feed for a lunch time,” Tony commented, lay back on the sofa, patting his full stomach. Vinny laughed gently.
“Where I come from, we like to eat, I guess,” he explained.
“So, where do you come from?” Sarah quizzed him. She was onto something now.
“Chicago, mostly,” Vinny told her.
“Like Sam Giancana and Al Capone,” Alf murmured to himself.
“Who?” Sarah asked.
“Sam Giancana and Al Capone,” Alf repeated, more audibly this time.
“Who are they? Footballers?” Sarah asked, showing the gaps in her knowledge.
“No,” Vinny intervened. “Sam Giancana and Al Capone are famous, ah,” he searched his mind for a word to finish his sentence.
“Bloody criminals,” Alf finished. “Mafia hoodlums.”
“Oh, I know them,” Tony chirped up. “Al Capone got done for tax evasion, and Sam Giancana was supposed to have got JFK bumped off and was best mates with Sinatra.”
Vinny started to get a bit uncomfortable, and was even more so once he noticed that Sarah was watching his every move, down to the twitch of his cheeks.
“Do you know them?” Sarah continued. She watched him like a hawk.
“No,” Vinny told her. “They were way before my time.”
“I see,” Sarah muttered, lifting her coffee cup to her lips and taking a sip.
“How long are you staying?” Tony asked, placing his empty cup on the coffee table.
“Well, I don’t know really,” Vinny answered him. “As long as I’m welcome.” He looked at Alf, who was sat in his chair, starting to doze off.
“Well, as long as you feel happy,” Alf nodded, then he stretched and was soon asleep. Tony and Sarah took this as a sign and quietly got up to leave. Vinny joined them out in the hall and thanked them for coming. Tony shook his hand and Sarah gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in front of the television, watching an old film that Sarah wanted to watch, but was about four hours long. Tony succumbed to boredom less than half way through and turned on the laptop. He did some on-line shopping, buying some CDs that he’d been after for a while, then, his mind fresh from the earlier conversation at Alf’s, curiosity got the better of him, and he started looking for information regarding the Chicago Mafia. He came across a news article that was only a few weeks old, relating to the death of a high-ranking Mafioso called ‘Big Paulie’ Paul Marcotti. He read the article, and then followed some links which took him to Youtube clips of the television news reports. Tony listened intently as the Chicago news anchor discussed motives for the killing, then a graphic came on the screen showing what appeared to be a hierarchy. Marcotti’s picture was crossed out, alongside the caption ‘Underboss’. There were a few other mean looking types, all with Italian sounding names, before the screen changed, and much to Tony’s shock and disbelief, there was a picture of Vinny. Or as the caption stated, ‘Vincente Gamberini – DeVitti Soldier’. Tony nudged Sarah, sat next to him on the sofa.

“You have to see this,” he urged her, pausing the clip so that Vinny’s picture was freeze-framed.
“What? I’m watching this film, Tony,” she groaned. “If it’s porn, I’m not interested.”
“It’s definitely not porn,” Tony promised her. He plonked the laptop in front of Sarah, and watched as her expression turned from confusion to disbelief to amazement to possibly fear. She looked at Tony.
“Fucking hell, Tony,” she whispered, suddenly aware that they shared a wall with someone that turned out to be a Mafia hitman. “What are we going to do?”
“What can we do?” Tony countered. “He’s not done us any harm.”
“Yet,” Sarah hissed. Tony re-started the clip and they both watched from the beginning. The television was still on, the film continuing un-watched.

At the end, Sarah didn’t seem the disgusted, frightened woman she had initially been. Tony was sure there was even a hint of something else. He’d heard of some women that were actually turned on by danger.
“Sarah,” he said, turning to face her. “Are you even a little bit turned on by the fact there’s a dangerous man living next door?”
“What?” Sarah asked, horrified. “Why would that turn me on?” She retorted.
“Well, you hear about some women being turned on by danger,” he explained. “Like you were when we were having sex during the electrical storm in Boston last year.”
“That wasn’t dangerous,” she smiled dismissively.
“You can’t get more dangerous than being outside on a golf course, underneath a huge tree, having sex while I’m still holding a nine iron!” Tony exclaimed. Sarah shrugged and bit her lip.

Later that night, Tony was having a bad dream wherein he had come back from work to find Sarah giving Vinny a blowjob in the kitchen, a sausage hotpot bubbling away unattended on the hob. Vinny then told Sarah to get rid of him (Tony), so she picked up a carving knife and proceeded to stab him in the chest. Tony woke with a start, then heard a frantic banging on the front door. He shook Sarah awake, who, from the look of her had been having quite a different dream, and they sat in the darkness listening. The banging continued, then Vinny’s voice could be heard calling them. Tony put his dressing gown on, and made his way downstairs cautiously, his grandfather’s police truncheon up his sleeve. He carefully opened the front door and was confronted by a wet and bedraggled Vinny, stood there before him in just a vest and boxer shorts.
“Tony, thank Christ! You gotta come quick, it’s Alf,” he babbled. Tony left the door open and followed Vinny round and into Alf’s house. Vinny led him upstairs and into a bedroom. Alf was lying on the bed, looking blankly at the ceiling. Tony went over to him, and checked his pulse.
“Have you called for an ambulance?” Tony asked.
“Yeah, they said they were on the way,” Vinny told him.
“So what happened?” Tony stood back from the bed.
“I dunno,” Vinny hesitated. “Alf had gone to bed, I was downstairs watching television, then all of a sudden I hear this yelling and shouting. I came up to see what the fuss was about and Alf starts swearing at me, saying I killed Jean, throwing stuff at me,” here he picked up an alarm clock from the floor, and cradled it in his hands while he spoke. “Then, just as I was about to try and restrain the guy, he starting talking total gibberish, stuff I couldn’t understand, and then he went over on to the bed.” Vinny paused for breath. “That’s when I came to get your help.”

Before Tony could say anything, they heard multiple footsteps coming up the stairs accompanied by murmured voices. Then Sarah came into the room, followed by two paramedics – a bulky male and a more delicate female. The female paramedic spoke first.
“So, who have we got here then?” She spoke loudly, addressing Alf, unresponsive and prone on the bed.
“His name is Alf,” Sarah told her.
“Okay, Alf, can you hear me love?” she said loudly again to Alf. Nothing. “So, can anyone tell me what happened?”
Vinny proceeded to repeat to the paramedics exactly what he’d told Tony.

Ten minutes later, after they had brought Alf down on a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance, Vinny went in the ambulance, and Tony and Sarah followed in their car, to the hospital. Alf had suffered a stroke and was seriously ill. Both Tony and Sarah agreed that it would be better not to mention to Vinny what they knew about his history, that he would need their help if Alf managed to pull through – the alternative would leave him with nowhere to live again.
When Tony and Sarah arrived at the hospital, the ambulance had already been relieved of its gravely ill cargo. They managed to work out the pay and display parking meters in the car park and made their way at a quick walking pace towards the Accident & Emergency entrance. As they got inside, they were faced with the usual Saturday night cases littering the waiting room like a drunken, bruised and bleeding army. Sat apart from everybody, Vinny sat with his head bowed. Tony and Sarah sat themselves down next to him, Sarah put her arm around him and gave him a squeeze.
“He stopped breathing on the way in,” Vinny murmured. “They took him straight through.”
Before either Tony or Sarah could reply, a doctor in green scrubs sidled up to the three of them and coughed politely. All three looked up at him, hope in their eyes.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor began. “We really did everything we could for him.”

Tony, Sarah and Vinny sat there in silence.

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