Mr. Duffy was obviously not expecting company, as he was currently engaged in what could have only been some very shady dealings judging from the stacks of hundred dollar bills laid out on the table, the bookie sitting across from him and the gun tucked neatly under a cloth in his hand. Despite the cold fear now creeping through his entire body, Shawn continued toward the men.
Gus, being the more conservative of the two only burst in himself when an all too familiar cry of pain followed the sound of gunfire echoed from behind the door. Unfortunately, what he found was almost exactly what he expected. The bookie lay on the ground, in a rather large pool of blood. Mr. Duffy, on the other hand was standing over Shawn's prone form, a literally smoking gun still held with an iron grip in his hand. Without a thought about his own safety or his squeamish insides, Gus rushed over to his friend. Taking advantage of the situation, the perp merely walked outside the room, getting lost in the sea of human traffic now herding toward his office.
Gus turned him over he saw the gunshot wound right away. From the looks of it, it was a good, clean hit. The only problem was the fact that it was a clean hit through his upper chest. He could also tell that for the moment, he was still breathing and lucid, although in great pain. Without wasting any more time, he pulled out his cell phone and called an ambulance.
After that brief call, he searched the room for something to staunch the blood-flow with. Finding nothing, he tore off his own jacket and pressed it to the wound. At the mere contact, Shawn let out a very un-Shawn-like whimper, which he stifled a minute later, knowing that his friend was only trying to help him. Gus himself was rambling random nothings at Shawn in a horrible attempt at trying to keep him calm and with him.
Suddenly, and before Gus knew what to do with himself, the room was swarmed with people. Soon, he found the situation so well taken care of that he was forced to move on to the more daunting task while he waited for the ambulance to show up. Stepping away from the swarm, cautiously trusting his best friend to the group of strangers, he stepped outside for a moment, got his phone out and dialed Henry's phone number.
When he delivered the news finally, Henry having fished out of him after a rather lousy attempt at softening the blow with a little small talk, Henry curtly told him that he would meet them at the hospital and hung up so fast Gus barely got the chance to say goodbye nor did he even notice that he had not had a chance to tell him which hospital Shawn would be taken to. The next number on the list in his head was the most intimidating. Though he did not want to, he knew he had to call Juliet. For her, he did not even mince words like he had tried to with Henry. He got straight to the point; because he knew that if he tried to pull that with her she would suspect something right off the bat anyway. The phone rang three times, and for one blissful moment, he thought that he was not going to have to face her, but before the answering machine could pick up, her voice came across the line.
"Hey Gus, um how are you," she asked hesitantly, and he knew she was still thinking about the bitterness between the two of them.
"I've been better."
All it took was that simple sentence and Juliet caught on.
"What's wrong? Where's Shawn?"
"Hopefully, he'll be on his way to the hospital soon."
"Gus, what happened?"
"We were following a lead, at the car plant downtown, Mark Duffy, who turned out to be a very dangerous man with an itchy trigger finger."
"I'll be right there," Juliet said urgently, and then the call disconnected.
When Gus turned back toward the room, he was relieved to find that the paramedics were already there strapping Shawn into a stretcher. He took a moment to find out which hospital they would be taking him to, and then raced to the Blueberry, making it out of the lot mere feet behind the ambulance.