that your work was that hard,” Casino confessed. He thought it was all fun. Singing and dancing.
“It goes beyond the stage, you know.”
“How so?”
“The delivery is a large part of it, but having the drive to get there is the harder work, keeping not only my voice in tip-top shape but my body as well, staying fit, not eating chocolate or things that could break me out. These are things that I have to stay consistent with long after the curtain drops or the band stops playing.”
“Well, I commend you for that.”
They continued joking and enjoying each other's company, when Roxy and Spade returned as Fabiola and Casino shared a laugh. “Well, anything that can make two people laugh that hard in this gloomy muthafucka is worth listening to,” Spade said.
They looked up after hearing Spade's voice. “Our secrets, son,” Casino said.
“I thought we were a sharing family,” Spade attempted.
“And you know I carry secrets to my grave.”
Fabiola started to pack up. “I'm going to get out of here. I'll see you tomorrow.” Fabiola touched Casino's hand, but due to his injury he couldn't really feel her touch. His eyes gave her the embrace back, however. “See you later, and be good, ya hear?”
“Don't worry, I will.”
She grabbed her jacket and purse, then left.
On her way out the door, Fabiola heard Roxy ask, “What was that all about, Casino?”
Fabiola stopped in her tracks and waited outside the door for Casino's response. “Damn, Roxy, when did I start answering to you?” Casino said. “I might as well have a woman if I have to answer to one.”
That's all Fabiola needed to hear—that Roxy wasn't his woman. Fabiola smiled as she walked away.
* * *
“How're you feeling, old man?” Tonk asked. He sat in the corner of the hospital room watching over his boss. Although there had been no other attempts on Casino's life, no one was taking any chances.
“The doctors say if things keep improving the way they are I may be out of here in a few weeks. Afterward, he says I'm going to need about six months of therapy and maybe I'll walk again without a limp.” Casino's voice was a lot stronger than it had been.
“With all due respect, Casino, I don't give a flying fuck about what no quack that barely speaks English has to say. I'm asking you.”
“I'll be out of this place in less than two weeks one way or another,” Casino declared. “A month of therapy and I'll be walking. Two months and I may be dancing.”
Tonk was happy to hear his boss sounding optimistic. “Those are pretty lofty goals for a nigga that never could dance before.” Tonk stopped talking when he heard someone turning the doorknob. The doctor had already made his daily visit and the nurse wasn't due to make another round for at least an hour. Instinctively, Tonk's right hand slid under his jacket and gripped the handle of the .357 he kept holstered there.
“Whoa, big fella,” Spade announced with his hands in the air, “it's just me.”
“We weren't expecting anyone. You're an hour early.” Tonk removed his hand from the weapon but the tension was still evident in his eyes.
“Yeah, I was in the area and thought you might be able to use the extra rest. Did I interrupt anything?” Spade removed the leather coat he was wearing, threw it on the end of the bed, and took a seat. “Besides, I need to talk to the both of you.”
“You can start by getting your shit off the bed,” Casino said, staring at Spade's multicolored, butter-soft leather jacket.
Spade moved the coat to the back of the chair. “My bad,” he apologized, taking off the matching leather baseball cap.
“You look a little ragged, and I'm the one lying up in the hospital shot up. What's wrong?” Casino said to Spade.
“Every hour that I'm not up here I've been manning the streets trying to find out who shot you, and I've come up with nothing.” Casino saw the frustration on his son's face.
“Don't let it get you all worked up,
“It goes beyond the stage, you know.”
“How so?”
“The delivery is a large part of it, but having the drive to get there is the harder work, keeping not only my voice in tip-top shape but my body as well, staying fit, not eating chocolate or things that could break me out. These are things that I have to stay consistent with long after the curtain drops or the band stops playing.”
“Well, I commend you for that.”
They continued joking and enjoying each other's company, when Roxy and Spade returned as Fabiola and Casino shared a laugh. “Well, anything that can make two people laugh that hard in this gloomy muthafucka is worth listening to,” Spade said.
They looked up after hearing Spade's voice. “Our secrets, son,” Casino said.
“I thought we were a sharing family,” Spade attempted.
“And you know I carry secrets to my grave.”
Fabiola started to pack up. “I'm going to get out of here. I'll see you tomorrow.” Fabiola touched Casino's hand, but due to his injury he couldn't really feel her touch. His eyes gave her the embrace back, however. “See you later, and be good, ya hear?”
“Don't worry, I will.”
She grabbed her jacket and purse, then left.
On her way out the door, Fabiola heard Roxy ask, “What was that all about, Casino?”
Fabiola stopped in her tracks and waited outside the door for Casino's response. “Damn, Roxy, when did I start answering to you?” Casino said. “I might as well have a woman if I have to answer to one.”
That's all Fabiola needed to hear—that Roxy wasn't his woman. Fabiola smiled as she walked away.
* * *
“How're you feeling, old man?” Tonk asked. He sat in the corner of the hospital room watching over his boss. Although there had been no other attempts on Casino's life, no one was taking any chances.
“The doctors say if things keep improving the way they are I may be out of here in a few weeks. Afterward, he says I'm going to need about six months of therapy and maybe I'll walk again without a limp.” Casino's voice was a lot stronger than it had been.
“With all due respect, Casino, I don't give a flying fuck about what no quack that barely speaks English has to say. I'm asking you.”
“I'll be out of this place in less than two weeks one way or another,” Casino declared. “A month of therapy and I'll be walking. Two months and I may be dancing.”
Tonk was happy to hear his boss sounding optimistic. “Those are pretty lofty goals for a nigga that never could dance before.” Tonk stopped talking when he heard someone turning the doorknob. The doctor had already made his daily visit and the nurse wasn't due to make another round for at least an hour. Instinctively, Tonk's right hand slid under his jacket and gripped the handle of the .357 he kept holstered there.
“Whoa, big fella,” Spade announced with his hands in the air, “it's just me.”
“We weren't expecting anyone. You're an hour early.” Tonk removed his hand from the weapon but the tension was still evident in his eyes.
“Yeah, I was in the area and thought you might be able to use the extra rest. Did I interrupt anything?” Spade removed the leather coat he was wearing, threw it on the end of the bed, and took a seat. “Besides, I need to talk to the both of you.”
“You can start by getting your shit off the bed,” Casino said, staring at Spade's multicolored, butter-soft leather jacket.
Spade moved the coat to the back of the chair. “My bad,” he apologized, taking off the matching leather baseball cap.
“You look a little ragged, and I'm the one lying up in the hospital shot up. What's wrong?” Casino said to Spade.
“Every hour that I'm not up here I've been manning the streets trying to find out who shot you, and I've come up with nothing.” Casino saw the frustration on his son's face.
“Don't let it get you all worked up,
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