Sonata (Butcher and Violinist 2)

I checked out the side of his face that was bandaged and shook my head.

Yeah. No more women for me. They make you fucking crazy. . .and they die. Maybe. . .if they didn’t die.

I watched my odd family some more, not ready to go over yet.

Louis inspected his cards and frowned. Bad hand, huh? Louis couldn’t hide his emotions, when he held a gun. But when he held cards, he had no poker face.

Gambling was another funeral family tradition, but our generation had started it. Our grandparents dealt with death in spiritual ways. They prayed to their gods. They set jars and crosses out. They cried on bended knees for days.

Our parents masked their emotions as well as their faces. When they cried, our fathers hid it and so did our mothers.

For us, death triggered a greater gratitude for life. While we always started off the day in the old traditional ways, we ended with the loves of our lives—gambling, naked women, drinks, food, and laughter.

And maybe losing our money, made death feel better. Or perhaps it was the only way we could sit together, without dealing with the Corsican or more death.

I’m ready.

Jean-Pierre always bought a box of expensive cigars and whiskey.

I sniffed the air and knew he’d brought out the Black Dragons. The limited-edition cigars were released in 2006. They boasted a size of 52 inches, and a length of 8.5. They came in a chest carved from camel bone.

Sparing no cost for Shalimar. Thank you, Jean-Pierre.

I walked in on Jean-Pierre bragging about the cigars. “The wrapper made them from Connecticut Broadleaf Maduro.”

“Which he assumes is a good thing.” Louis rolled his eyes. “I just want a good taste to the smoke. I don’t need to know the birthplace of every part of the cigar.”

Jean-Pierre ignored him. “The binder is Cameroon, and the five-year aged filler is Dominican.”

“Jesus,” Louis muttered and picked one up to light.

“No smoking. She’s pregnant.” Jean-Pierre took the lighter from Louis. “Tonight, we respect the artwork and simply smell.”

Louis frowned. “But, they’re smoking downstairs.”

“Then, go downstairs.” Jean-Pierre looked at Eden. “Each cigar is packed individually, in a frosted tube and then placed in a leather box, that has orange velvet layers. All of this, is then delivered in a—”

Louis and I chimed in, “In a chest carved by camel bone!”

“They’re jealous.” Jean-Pierre sniffed one and damn near groaned. “The flavor of each cigar is quite complex. It ranges from sour to sweet through its length.”

“No one cares.” I sat down next to Eden and snatched her cigar away. “Let’s begin.”

She laughed. “Hope you’re ready to lose your money.”

“Listen.” I waved the cigar at her. “No way I’m letting a violin player beat me in poker.”

“You would be surprised how much orchestra players gamble. When the symphony is on tour, and we’re stuck in boring towns, there’s not much else to do but drink and gamble.”

“Nerds.” I set the cigar down.

“Save your geek jokes and put your money where your mouth is.” She snatched her cigar back and put it in her purse. “And get your own cigar.”

“You can’t smoke it.”

“Not the point. It will always remind me of tonight.”

Giorgio sat down across from me. I was happy about that. He was a tricky little bastard. I liked a good eye on him during the game. He was liable to cheat.

“I’m watching your hands,” I hissed at him.

“I don’t cheat. I don’t think you can cheat with poker.” Giorgio gave us all that innocent look. That shit would work on our mothers, not us. He was the baby of the cousins and took complete enjoyment in the favoritism.

But we’re not kids anymore.

“Let’s begin.” I grabbed my cards.

We did.

And the game was cold. Like a dead body. Like this fucked up world. Like the moment, I thought I had the winning cards in my hand and then Giorgio placed his winning ones down.

“I think this means I won?” Whistling, Giorgio grabbed the large pile of money. “What a lucky one.”

“What? That can’t be right.” Eden shook her head. “How do you even have those cards?”

I leaned her way. “He cheats.”

“I’m going to watch him.” Eden pointed at him. “You’ve been warned, Giorgio.”

Giorgio raised his hands in the air and batted his eyes. “I’m just a simple French man from the country. It was only a lucky hand.”

“Fuck this. I’m done with you, Giorgio. It’s on.” I took off my suit jacket, cracked my neck, and turned to Eden. “Watch him.”

She nodded. “We’ve got this.”

I gestured for the waitress to get me and Eden something to drink —liquor for me and pink lemonade for her. She had become my new poker buddy.

Jean-Pierre laughed as he watched us whisper and strategize the next game. He’d only been looking our way most of the game. Apparently when Eden was around, he would try to be on his best behavior.