GHETTO SUPERSTAR (12 page)

“The three of us,” Tonk echoed, then added, “Mouths are definitely closed on this one. Not even niggas in the after-hour spots are talking, and those niggas gossip like broads in a beauty salon when they want to.”

“Maybe this shit was some type of omen,” Casino said, causing both Tonk and Spade to look at him curiously. “I mean … I been doing this shit for too long. The drugs—shit—I do that shit more for sport than income. Maybe it's time for me to step back.”

“Am I hearing this right?” Spade looked confused. “Are you saying you want out of the game?” Casino had been
that dude
since before Spade was born.

“Who said anything about getting out of the game? I'm a G until death. I just want to change the game up a little bit,” Casino tried to explain. “When what you are investing in has more downside than upside it's time to reevaluate. And in this game the investment is your life. It's a young man's game, son … and a young man should be in charge of it.”

“I feel ya, Dad,” Spade said, understanding that Casino was practically gift wrapping the baton for him to take over the business and run with it if that's what he wanted—and it was. “But right now my main concern is trying to find out who crossed the line and give it to 'em like they tried to give it to you. Now, can you please go over with me again what you saw the night those clowns did the unthinkable?”

Casino thought for a few seconds about what had been on his mind nonstop since the shooting, then he spoke. “Like I said before, it was two tiny muthafuckaz, just a little taller than midget small, but not quite.”

“Kids?” Tonk said with a wrinkled forehead.

“Maybe.” Casino had been going over that possibility himself. “But they handled them tools like they'd used them before. Not with the skill of an old hand, but certainly not the awkwardness of a novice either.” Casino sat back and thought about what he had just said. Two assailants, possible midgets, skilled at handling semiautomatic assault weapons? If he wasn't lying in a hospital bed unable to move his legs as a result of it, it would have been laughable. But Casino was in a hospital bed, and he was paralyzed from the waist down, and no one in the room was laughing. “I wonder how come I didn't remember that before,” Casino almost whispered.

“Remember what?” the other two men in the room said at almost the same time. They were both looking at Casino.

“There is one other thing that I remember.”

“Well?”

“If you shut up, I'll tell you.” Spade put a lock on his tongue and Casino continued. “Before it went down, I'm almost sure they were sitting in a purple or dark-blue Impala.”

“Are you sure about the car?” Tonk asked. This would be the first real clue they had in finding the jokers that were responsible.

“I would be willing to bet the farm on it.”

asino was looking and feeling better by the day. Tranquility, peace, and quiet were just what the doctor ordered, but it was also driving Casino a little stir-crazy If it weren't for Fabiola's daily visits, Casino probably would have had Spade and Tonk sign him up out of there by now. Fabiola brought a welcome change whenever she visited.

Even Tonk noticed the change in his boss during Fabiola's visits. At first, Tonk was skeptical of Fabiola's motivation for wanting to visit Casino. Being as close as he was to a man like Casino who had power and extra money to toss around afforded Tonk the opportunity to witness the selfish and greed-driven characteristics of so-called friends or associates. Fabiola displayed none of the obvious or not-so-obvious
behaviors. That's why whenever Fabiola came by, Tonk made it his business to leave the room. Sometimes he went out for a breath of fresh air or to the cafeteria to get a snack, but mostly he just sat in the hallway outside the door and allowed Casino and Fabiola some privacy. Today was no different.

Fabiola sat at the edge of the hospital bed as she'd done every day for the past week, laughing with Casino. She was wearing a blue-jean hooded Vera Wang–inspired jumpsuit that Adora had made for her after Fabiola saw it in a magazine and fell in love with it.

Adora made the outfit, but it wasn't
just like
the one in the photo. She took it a step further and added fur around the hood to give it a little more attitude.

“So, what do you think I should do about Ricky?” Fabiola got to the point. She had just finished telling him how Ricky had tried to fine her again for some foolishness. This time it was because she was talking on the phone in the van on the way from a gig.

“Can you be more specific?”

“He's just so extra. I don't know how to deal with all of his BS.”

Casino considered the question for a few moments before he answered. “It seems to me you both need each other equally right now: You need his name to get booked in order to make money and circulate your name until your opportunity comes, and he needs your vocal prowess to be asked to come back after performing at these venues he's booking.” Casino paused. “That's normally a recipe for a good relationship. But for it to be effective both parties must be aware of their need for the other.”

“I never really thought about it like that,” Fabiola said softly. When she began coming to see Casino she thought she would be helping a man in need; Fabiola had no idea that the visits would turn out to be so beneficial to her. “This may sound like a crazy question,” Fabiola said to Casino.

“The only crazy questions are the ones not asked, young lady.”

“Well, my question is,” she said after being unable to remember where she'd heard that quote, “How did you become so insightful?”

“Experience,” Casino said before biting into a giant red apple. “Experience is the best teacher of all things.” Casino enjoyed talking to Fabiola about life's lessons. When he looked into her eyes he saw the future fighting to create its own destiny—not letting circumstances dictate it—and it made him want to protect her from the madness of the world.

“Surely you're not saying because a person is older they are smarter than someone that's younger?”

“Surely”—he paused for a second with his index finger in the air while he swallowed a mouthful of apple—“I'm not saying that at all. Experience and age are two completely different animals; one hasn't anything to do with the other. Every minute of your life you age, whether you like it or not. It takes virtually no effort. Experiences, on the other hand, whether yours or someone else's, are like a map of life. If a person lived their entire life making decisions based on experience—meaning he does what he does based on results he's already had or the results of other people doing what he's attempting to do—that person would live a virtually flawless life.” Fabiola was thinking about the heavy jewel Casino had just laid on her when there was a knock on the door, followed by the doctor walking in.

“'Ello, Mista Winn. How are you today?” the doctor asked in his Middle Eastern accent as he picked up Casino's chart from the end of the bed.

“That's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question that I've been waiting on you to answer for me, doc.”

The doctor finished reading the chart, put it back on the
hook, and began to examine Casino's legs one at a time by probing and lifting them in the air. First the right: “Um-huh;” then the left: “Um-huh.” Casino watched the doctor attentively. “I have good news for you,” the doctor said.

“That's the best kind, doc. Give it to me.”

“Well, the swelling has gone down tremendously and it's my expert opinion that you will be able to walk again, but you're going to need quite a bit of therapy.” The doctor smiled triumphantly. “They have one bed available at The Sheltering Arms Rehabilitation Center—they are one of the best in this region—and I took the liberty of reserving that bed for you. I hope you don't mind?”

“Not at all; you can take all the liberties you need when it comes to getting me walking again, doc. Just be sure to check with me first.” The doctor looked confused. “It's a joke, doc.”

“You are a funny man, Mista Winn. I like you. I wish I could spend all my time talking to you, but I have other rounds to complete. Have a nice day, Mista Winn.”

After the doctor left, Casino looked at Fabiola. “This is going to be our little secret, okay? I don't want anyone knowing how close I am to getting back on my feet.”

“Nobody will hear it from me,” she said, making a zipper motion across her mouth.

“Good.”

“I probably won't be able to get up here to see you tomorrow, because I have an important lunch meeting with Johnny Wiz.”

“That's good news. How come you're just mentioning it?”

“I wanted to save the best for last and leave you on a positive note.”

“I've heard of Johnny Wiz.” How could he not have? The man in some way touched half of everything being played on the radio. “How did you arrange the meeting?”

“My mother met someone from his camp when I won the Hot Soundz contest in New York three years ago and they kept in touch. Finally the person passed on my stuff to Johnny Wiz,” Fabiola said proudly “I need to get a full glam workout: hair, nails, makeup, brows … the works.” Thinking about the magnitude of the meeting started to make Fabiola a little nervous.

Sensing her anxiety, Casino said, “You're going to knock 'em dead. All you have to do is be yourself.”

“I really hope so,” Fabiola sighed. “My mother and sister are depending on me to make this happen. It's all of our dream. I have to do it.”

Casino could see the dedication and determination on Fabiola's face. She was glowing with the hope for an opportunity to succeed. “I believe that anything can be achieved if we want it bad enough and are willing to put in the work.”

“My mother and sister have sacrificed so much for me. I don't want to let them down.”

“Your mother is a hardworking lady that wants the best for her children, especially one as talented as you.”

“Speaking of which, she wanted to come up here to see you and thank you personally for what you did the day we were getting evicted, and for continuing to let us use your property.”

“Tell her that her gratitude is appreciated, but that wasn't the reason I let you all stay in the home.”

“Why did you do it then?” Fabiola had always wondered why Casino did what he did for her family.

“I did it for me.”

“I'm not quite sure I understand what you mean by that,” Fabiola said.

“I've done a lot of shit that people could say was selfish and fucked up. And they would probably be right,” Casino admitted. “That's why on the rare occasion I get to help someone that
really needs it, I relish the opportunity. It's my way of balancing out the other shit I do—the stuff that's not so good.”

Now that Casino's health was improving, Fabiola was noticing, for the first time, how young he looked. If Casino hadn't told her his age—forty-five—she wouldn't have believed the man was older than thirty.

“Your mother can visit me when I get to the rehabilitation place. Looks like I'll have my own room and they won't trip off of all of my fans,” he joked. “Now you go on and get yourself ready for tomorrow. I want you to knock that Johnny Wiz's socks off, and as soon as you're done, no matter how late it is, make sure you call me and let me know how it went. I don't want to have to wait until our next visit. The anticipation may cause me to regress in my rehabilitation.”

“It's going to be late by the time we're finished.”

“It's never too late for you to call me. You hear me, don't you? Never too late.”

“You got it.”

Casino smiled when she got up to leave.

he call didn't come until after nine
PM
, and it forced Adora to be up all night long trying to get all of Fabiola's outfits together for her big day. She needed an outfit and accessories for the lunch meeting, one for The Wizard Showcase, and one to change into after the performance. The Wizard Entertainment Group was hosting a showcase to find new talent for the label. The A&R department moved around from city to city looking for new sounds and faces. The following day the showcase would be in Richmond. If Adora had anything to do with it, her sister was going to be the best-dressed performer any of those industry bastards had ever seen.