When Jimmy Bozo woke in Earl Berryman’s bedroom, he saw Vinnie looking down at him.
“You stupid son of a bitch,” Vinnie said.
“What?” Jimmy said. Then he winced at the pain that shot through his body when he spoke.
“Do you know how much trouble I’d be in if you got yourself killed?”
“Hey, fuck you, Blue Nose. I almost died back there.”
Vinnie stared him in the eyes. Jimmy stared back. Then they laughed.
“I can’t believe we actually got through that one,” Vinnie said.
Jimmy chuckled. “I know, right? When we were in that basement with The Butcher, I thought we were toast. Did you ever send help for that legless guy we left behind? What was his name again?”
“Bobo,” Vinnie said. “Yeah, I called it in. Hopefully, he’ll be all right.”
They looked down for a moment. They both knew that there was no way Bobo was going to be all right.
“You really need to be careful from now on,” Vinnie said. “The Juggler Brothers still want you dead. I might not be around to help you next time.”
Jimmy shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I can take care of myself.”
“Even when your father finds out about this?”
Jimmy chuckled at the comment, but Vinnie wasn’t laughing.
“I’m serious,” Vinnie said. “You started a war by killing Pierre Beaumont. It’s coming no matter what we do and it’s going to end messy. Your father’s not going to be happy about it.”
Jimmy stopped smiling and nodded in agreement. “We’ll get through it. The Bozo Family always comes out on top.”
“Only when we use our heads,” Vinnie said. “And if you want to live to become boss of this family someday, you’re going to have to start using yours.”
Jimmy didn’t have a response. He knew the blue-nosed clown had a point, but he hated when Vinnie was right.
“Damn you, Blue Nose,” Jimmy said. “Why do you always have to act like you’re so much smarter than everyone all the time?”
Vinnie replied, “Who said I’m acting?”
Then he pulled out a deck of cards from his suit pocket and passed them to Jimmy. The clown prince was going to need something to do while he was recovering, and exercising that lazy side of his brain was probably just the thing he needed. In the clowning business, without a good head on your shoulders, you needed to be lucky or you’d be a dead man. And luck in this town lasted only about as long as a scoop of rainbow sherbet on a summer afternoon.