Page 33 of Joker's Ghost
“Can you tell me what year it is?” Henderson asks.
“2025.”
“And the month?”
“October.” Then I add, “Halloween.”
“Very good.” The whole time he’s shining a light in my eyes, he examines my head. “No cuts or bleeding, but you’re going to have a good-size bump on the back of your head. He holds up two fingers. “How many fingers do you see?”
“Two.”
“Your pupils aren’t dilated, but there’s still a chance you might have a slight concussion.” He braces his arm behind my back. “Can you sit up?”
With his help, I get into a sitting position. The room spins for a second, then settles. I rub the back of my head, and sure enough, I’m growing a golf-ball-sized lump.
My brothers are gathered around the basement, and their serious faces scare me more than the fall.
“When you’re ready,” Henderson advises, “try to stand up.”
I suck in a deep breath, and with his help on one side and Python on the other, I stand. Again, the room pitches, but I keep it together.
A vision of Daisy bleeding out on the floor hits me like a sledgehammer, and I reach out to her. “Are you all right?” I look her over from head to toe.
“I’m fine. It’s you who fell.”
“Yeah, but you got stabbed. You were bleeding out all over the—” I stop when I see the confused faces staring back at me. I suck in a breath. “You sure you’re all right?” I caress the baby still snug in her belly.
“Yes.” Daisy covers my hand with hers. “We’re both fine.”
“Take it easy for the next forty-eight hours. Stay awake for a least another few hours just to be safe, then no drinking, smoking or drugs of any kind.”
“Shit, Doc, you sure do know how to ruin a guy’s good time.” Python attempts to lighten the mood with a joke, but no one laughs.
“Any nausea, dizziness or severe headache, call me.” Henderson heads for the stairs.
Cobra steps up. “Shit, brother, you had us fuckin’ scared.”
I survey the basement. Broken bottles and puddles of beer where I dropped the cases. “What the hell happened?”
Python nods toward the stairs. “We were taking up those cases of booze, and you lost your footing. You fell backwards down the stairs.”
Cobra shakes his head. “Fuck, man, falling down all those stairs, you’re lucky to be standing.”
Python grabs my shoulder. “He’s too hard-headed to get hurt.”
“He’s been hit harder than that in the cage,” Mamba says around a laugh, then shoulder-butts me. “Glad you’re all right.”
My heart jacks up at the exact same words they said before.
I grab Mamba’s arm. “It’s 2025, right?”
“Yeah, brother, you just told Doc the right date.”
I point to Python. “And you’re dressed like Jesse James.” Then to Rattler. “And you’re dressed like Dillinger.” I motion between us. “These are costumes, right?”
“Yeah, I told you Serafina got my costume from the wardrobe department at the studio.”
Then my eyes rest on Mamba and Cobra. “And we’re all dressed like gangsters in the ‘30s and ‘40s.”
