“Your voice sounds like shit. Are you taking care of yourself even a little bit? You keep it up and you won’t be able to talk in ten years.”
“I bet you’d love that.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Now, now, don’t get all sensitive on me, Bro’.”
“Get out of my restaurant.”
“Uh, uh, uh.” He sits up with glassy eyes and points at me. “This is our restaurant. The Masterson-King restaurant. We all own a piece. You just run it.”
I take a finger and push Bronx in the chest, and he stumbles back on his ass on the sofa.
“You’re drunk as fuck,” I scoff.
“Yeah, I am,” he chuckles.
I use my cell to call up to the front bar.
“Can you bring me my Jack and Coke back here?”
“Order me a whiskey neat.”
I ignore my brother’s request for more liquor and end the call.
“What’s up with you tonight?” I ask again, hoping to get to the bottom of his behavior tonight.
“I saw him.”
“Saw who?”
“Lev.”
I pull up a chair next to the sofa.
“And what happened?”
“Karma won’t look at me.”
“What?”
“She won’t look at me. I fucked up.”
“Did you kill him?” I ask in a low voice.
“Sometimes the truth isn’t how you remember it, Seven.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He was just a victim. Just like Karma. Just like me.”
“Who, Lev?”
“She won’t look at me,” he mumbles again as his eyelids close.
It doesn’t take the server long to bring me my drink. I thank her and take a seat back at my desk, staring at my big ass twin brother, lying flat on his back, and falling asleep.
Damn, I miss him.
