Shuffling to his right made him turn. Randy was doing something to a bag, no doubt unpleasant, and John sighed at the thought of yet another problem that he'd have to bail Randy out of. So far he'd protected him twice from the anger of some of the newer arrivals in the WWE, those not accustomed to his many tricks.
"That better be your bag," John muttered, causing Randy to look up.
"It isn't," Randy answered, giving John a cheeky grin. "It's Punk's."
John groaned in annoyance. Punk would not put up with this, he was certain, and he doubted even his girlfriend's interference would keep him from telling Randy.
"You're going to get him in trouble, Randy."
Randy looked up, shrugging. "It doesn't matter."
Yes, it does. John wanted to say, but he heard someone from the hallway. He was needed. Looking back at Randy as he left the locker-room, he sighed deeply. In the end, not even John Cena could take care of everything.