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He runs his hand over his bald head a couple of times. “Might have somethin’ next week. Still waiting on a call from Boz.”
I nod. “I need you to find me more. I need as much cash as I can get.”
His hairy brows dip down, showing his concern. “You in some kind of trouble, boy?” he asks, his voice gruff.
“The doctors want to put Danielle on the transplant list, but the insurance company is refusing to pay for it. Claims her case isn’t dire enough.”
“Stupid fuckin’ insurance companies. They’ve all got God complexes. Bastards. Every single one of ‘em.”
“You’ll get no disagreement from me.” I take a deep breath, hold it in for a moment, and let it out slow. “It’s getting worse, Hart. Sometimes she can’t breathe on her own.”
It scares the shit out of me when she has a bad episode. And they’re happening more and more.
“Shit, kid, I’m sorry to hear that,” he mumbles sympathetically. “That precious girl doesn’t deserve this lot in life.”
I couldn’t agree with him more. There isn’t another person I know who’s more caring and loving as Danielle. She’s like the perfect blend of all things good. Nothing like her big brother, that’s for sure.
“Think you can hook me up?” I ask.
His brows pucker, making the lines by his eyes more pronounced. “Can’t promise anything, but I’ll see what I can do.”
I tip my chin up. “Thanks. I owe you.”
His frown turns into a scowl. “You don’t owe me shit. Besides, the more you win, the more money goes in my pocket,” he finishes with a smirk.
I chuckle and slap him on his massive back. “I see why you keep me around. Bread and butter.”
“It sure as shit ain’t for your conversation skills,” he snarks good-naturedly.
I take no offense to his statement. I’m not much of a talker, never have been. In the beginning, when Oliver and I would visit, it was mostly Hart talking to us, Oliver jabbing about something that happened at school, or us helping him around the store. I’d always wondered why he kept letting us come around, but now I think it’s because we remind him what it was like to be young again. Hart never married or had kids. Other than the fighters he employs, he’s been alone.
“In all seriousness,” he continues, his tone turning somber. “You’re a good boy, Zayden, with a good head on your shoulders.”
“Thanks, Hart. That means a lot coming from you.”
A boy in his young teens approaches the counter carrying a couple of comics. I tap my knuckles against the glass display case, turning to leave. “I’m headed out. Call if you hear anything.”
“You got it. And bring that sister of yours by sometime! It’s been too long since I’ve seen her!” he yells as I walk out the door.
I toss a wave over my shoulder, letting him know I’ll bring Danielle for a visit. I glance at my watch and curse. I’ve got twenty minutes to get home before dad has to leave for work. Luckily, my truck starts on the first try.
I pull in the driveway with five minutes to spare. At the youthful age of nine, along with her illness, Danielle can’t be left alone.
I shove through the front door, drop my keys and books on the kitchen counter, and grab a glass to fill with water. I’m halfway through draining my second glass when dad walks into the kitchen.
“How was school?” he asks, snatching up his own keys and shoving them into his pocket. He walks to the fridge and pulls out a brown paper bag that I know contains his dinner.
“Fine,” I grunt, spinning to set the glass in the sink. I step to the side so he can reach the spigot, then lean back against the counter and cross my arms. “Mrs. Miller gave me a C on my base 12 math paper.”
He pauses filling up his big half-gallon water bottle. “You deserve it?”
“Hell no, I didn’t deserve it.”
“Watch the language,” he warns, keeping his head forward, but slanting his eyes toward me. “And Mrs. Miller must feel like you did. You take it up with her?”
I jerk my chin up.
“She gonna give you a chance to make it up?”
