Johnny raised a brow as he continued to wash his hair. "What?" he called out, not understanding her words... But as he turned, and her questions in pristine, crisp English flowed out, he slipped on the wet tile of the shower... Spiraling backward, he called out, "Holy shit Barbara! Don't play with that! It's loaded!"

*CRACK*

His back slammed into the water knob for the shower, breaking it as he fell to the ground. The cold metal gouged him deep in the back as his head bounced off the wall, followed by a *THUD* as it bounced a second time off the broken and sharp knob.

*THUNK*

His head bounced one more time off of the floor before his almost glassy eyes stared up at Barbara. She coould tell from the way he craddled his head that he was hurt badly, but he pushed himself up and against the wall. Holding his hands up, he looked at her, all three of her, as best he could focus.

"Barbara. I don't know what you're talking about! Really, put that thing down! You could kill me!"

Droplets of blood ran down his neck, his back, his legs, and pooled in the shower below... The water had at least turned off when he fell on the knob. It wouldn't be stuck on. But there Johnny stood, naked and bloody in front of his own pistol; the beautiful (and apparently dangerous) Barbara turned on him.

"Quem a voche?" his accent -extremely- white and a fair amount of southern. "What tha fuck does that even me? And whattaya mean who am I?" He hissed as he reached one hand behind to hold his pounding head. "I'm fuckin' Johnny. Johnathan Edouard Young, I fuckin' told ya's that! Johnny Mother Fucking Christ! Only fucker that sent me anywheres was my pops an' fuckin' Mickey in Vegas. Whatsamatta with you? Holy ME!" He bent at the waist, not even trying to wrestle the gun from her. He was in enough pain that if she was gonna shoot him, it just might feel better than he currently did.

"An' right now, all tha fuck I want is some God-damned Asprin, capisce?"

At that moment a knock at the door came, and the "ROOM SERVICE" yell that followed echoed in Johnny's head, making it pound more. "YEAH YEAH!" he yelled, grabbing his head and hissing again. "LEAVE IT AT THA FUCKIN' DOOR, THANKS."

Johnny fell back against the wall of the shower and slid down it slowly until his bare ass hit the bloody floor beneath him.

"If you're gonna shoot me, doll. Why wait till now? Jesus, ya had all god damn day. Mickey send ya or somethin'? Tryin' ta play it off like some... Idunno. Some fucked up lover's spat of somethin'?"

His head thumped lightly against the wall as he stared at her. "Well go on then, a bullet's gotta feel better than my head an' my back... An' my heart." He chuckled. "Never thought someone I loved..." He paused at that word and looked off to the side as if it was just as stunning for him to hear as it would be Barb.

"Huh... Guess first I never thought I'd fall for someone so fuckin' fast... That's a new one for me. But yeah," he looked up at her. "Never thought someone I loved would be the one ta shoot me. Guess it ain't a mutual feelin', huh?"

His eyes closed slowly as his head bobbed a little back and forth, slowly losing consciousness. "Fuck..."

At the resound *CRACK* of his head against the tile, Barb immediately regretted not just shooting him outright... the sound of George’s helpless gurgling rushing back to the forefront of her mind. She didn’t want to go through that again. She didn’t want HIM to go through that. She didn’t want him to die.

She... didn’t want... him... to die. The arctic realization slipped through her in slow motion as she watched him crumple to the floor.

Then came the cascade of screaming questions. A near match to her own. It would have been comical, were it not for the haze of crimson that slowly stained the drain. He thought someone sent HER? But he... 

OH. FUCK. 

And then it happened. One word, and her entire world crumpled in on it’s self. The gun clattered to the floor as she stood there, frozen, feeling like her chest was going to collapse and implode. Johnny’s eyes closed, and Barb blinked. It was all she could do... just blink. Standing there dumbstruck while he bled out. She was still for a long minute, until she realized how still HE’D gotten. Too still. 

Lurching foreword, she slid to her knees in the shower, shaking for entirely different reasons now. 

“No, no, no, no. Fuck... FUCK!! Shit... I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please no. Please, please no,” a helpless whine stole into her voice as her hands traced his cheeks and found their way to his shoulders. There was no use pleading with his unconsciousness. She’d get no answer, it seemed. But she begged all the same, to whomever might listen... though she knew God rarely did. 

Kicking the broken shower knob to one side, she carefully slid her arms beneath him. Doing her best in the slick shower to move him. She was small, and his dead weight was far heavier than she realized; her bare feet skidding in place along the wet floor. It took three tries and one tumbling smack to the head of her own before she could drag him out of the shower. And then there was the long, carpeted distance to the bed. But, she thought sourly, what was a little carpet burn compared to brain damage?

The thought chilled her. Perhaps, there was a chance he wouldn’t remember what had happened. But just the same, there was a chance he wouldn’t remember her at all... maybe even his own name... or worse yet how to eat or wipe his own ass. What then? Sliding the cash from the bed, she glanced at Jerry’s will and the arrangements of care for his son. Mrs. White would execute the long-term care of Jerry Wence, Jr. That was what, she guessed with a dread-filled shudder. “Ohhhh... if you’ve ever looked kindly on me a day in my life, let it be now,” she mumbled softly under her breath. “Give me this ONE thing, and we’ll call it all even. Just this one,” she prayed. 

There was no getting him into the bed. It was logistically impossible. So, instead, she arranged all the pillows in the room as comfortably as she possibly could into a pallet on the floor. Her favorite handkerchief skirt was scrapped for bandages, his ammo case raided for pain meds. Though she hesitated to give him too much in his state, for fear that he’d never wake. There was a first aid kit in the bathroom. It wasn’t GREAT, but it would do. Tenderly, she sutured the worst of the task on his back and his eyebrow. The battlefield triage would no doubt leave a scar, but - she thought as she brushed the dark hair from his eyes - that might actually make hi look more dashing... if that were possible. the rest of his wounds she doused in alcohol and bandaged carefully. It wasn’t perfect, but you’d hardly find better care in any of the clinics on their side of town. 

Tenderly caressing his hair, she leaned down and lightly kissed his forehead. “Please be okay,” she whispered softly; her breath stinging-warm against his fevered skin. Rising to her knees, she tucked him in carefully, trying her best to make the carpet as comfortable as possible. Stretching toward his bag, she lit a cigarette before moving to a nearby armchair. The rest of her night would be spent in silent, worried, pacing vigil as she kept a careful, sleepless watch over him. She’d be there that way until he woke... whenever that may be. 

Johnny laid for hours... At least he wasn't DEAD though. That was easy to tell. Bodies didn't make all the soft and subtle whimpers and groans he did, let alone the rise and fall of his chest as he continued to breathe. As the night wore on, the moaning and groaning grew more persistent, as did body movement. From light jerks of his arms to his head rolling around, he seemed to be slowly coming to.

"Me..." Johnny rambled lightly as his eyes opened slowly. The light was bright and his head pounded. He felt warm, and cold, all at the same time. "Ugh, fuck... My head..." he groaned again, loudly, as a dark silhouette moved toward him with haste. He could hear the soft sounds of Angel's voices and he blinked, vision still blurred and fading in.

"Where the fuck am I?" he looked around, not able to make anything out. His ears rang loudly and he could visibly see the feeling of his head pounding, his vision pulsing with each frustratingly painful throb. His hand raised and rubbed against his forehead. "A hospital? Heaven? God-dammit don't tell me I'm in Heaven. Fuck that..."

He tried sitting up against the angelic voice's stressed sounding concern, even if the words didn't make any clear sense to his muddled head. Unfortunately, the stinging pain that ripped through his back put him right back to the floor.

"MOTHER MARY HOLY FUCKING MOTHER OF MOTHER FUCKING CHRIST!"

He hissed and hummed loudly to himself... But, with the pain came clarity, ripping him back into the now.

As his vision cleared up, he stared at Barbara. "WHY DIDN'T YOU SHOOT ME!" he yelled, grinding his teeth following the pain of an even more throbbing headache. "You wanna prolong my suffering or somethin'? Shit, Mickey must be really pissed if he wants me to die slow..." Johnny grunted and tried to push Barbara away. "Don't worry, ain't like my heart can break more. I'll finish tha job for ya. You can go an' tell 'em I'm done. Where tha fuck's my gun?"

He tried to get up again, but Barbara was back on him and, this time, he could understand her coaxing and care-giving voice. Which utterly confused the shit out of him.

"What gives, doll? First ya got me all fallin' for ya, then you got a gun levied at me. MY gun... An' now you're tryin' to keep me from bein' dead? What's in that head'a yous, woman? Should I even calls ya Barb?"

He grunted, trying to get up once more, but giving up as another jolt of pain shot through his back. "FUUUUUCK!" he cried out and doubled over in pain... Which only hurt even more. "Don't make it slow... Just do me in, yeah?"

Tears finally came as she tried to console him, only to be pushed away and begged for death. His words stung, more than she wanted to admit. How could she possibly explain? Would he even care? Where the fuck did they even GO from here? They still had a job to do. Which was gonna be fucked sideways at this point. But beyond that... what could she even say? It wasn’t like she MEANT to hurt him... even she had been ready to kill him, she never wanted to HURT him. 

It was too much. It was all too much. Even more than just this, or just him, or even just the past two days. Suddenly, keenly, overwhelming, her entire LIFE felt like too much. And the old, familiar longing for it to just BE OVER snuck slowly over her. It felt like drowning... like an uncontrollable pounding wave that drove her back under again and again, stealing her breath away every time she got even a single gasp with which to speak. It felt like an eternity that she struggled to make them come, but there were no words. Only bitter, shameful tears and silence. 

“Anna,” she finally managed to break the surface with a shuddering, gasping hiccup. “My... my name was Anna.” She looked away from him, unable to bear the sight of his confused and betrayed expression. ‘Was’. The word hung in the air like soured aerosol. Her name WAS Anna. “Anna...” she started slowly again,  the words hanging and strangling as if it stung her throat to say it... or it had been so long that she’d forgotten how, “Anna Maria Madelena Teles de Marialva.” She whimpered just a bit, seeming to be mentally in as much pain as he was physically, “Formerly of House Braganza of the Kingdom of Portugal.... when there was a Kingdom of Portugal.” 

There was a long pause. It was a lot of words. She knew. “I’m sorry,” she whispered softly, utterly unable to even look in his direction. “I’m so sorry, Johnny,” his name fell from her lips like a prayer as she floundered for ANY words that might ease his pain. “I thought... well... I thought you were my ‘mickey’,” her tone lilted up like a question, hoping that she had his story straight AND that - in his state - he would understand her meaning. “You said what you said, and I thought what you’re thinking now, and... and I’m sorry. But I never meant to HURT you. I... I could never hurt you. Not like that.” 

Moving away from his side, the sound of a glass filling echoed into the bedroom. Her soft steps whispering back to his makeshift bed as she bent with a palm full of pain meds. “Take these,” she insisted softly. “They’ll take the edge off... the physical part at least.” Her gaze flickered to his eyes for blink of a second before she turned away in shame again. It was too much. It was all just too much. 

Johnny blinked, utterly confused and still in a lot of pain... Begrudgingly, he slowly took the medication she'd brought to him in his hand. Looking at it, he noted it was his medication from his box. Popping them into his mouth, he drank the water to down them and sighed. Then he was quiet and shut his eyes. Quiet for a long time. So much so that he could hear Barbara's worried breathing as if she thought he might have slipped back out of consciousness. It was then that he broke the silence.

"Anna, huh?" He let out a chuckle and shook his head, raising it to look at her. "Honestly, I like Barbara better anyway."

He was quiet again, but she could see the wheels turning slowly in his head as he tried to digest it all.

"Hell of a fuckin' misunderstanding, yeah?" He offered her a pained smile. "But, knowin' where you're from? I understand the paranoia. Shit's still fucked up down that way, ain't it?"

He reached for her hand, grasping her fingers as best he could. "Help me up, yeah? I never got to finish my shower..." Smiling, he squeezed her hand. "If there's one thing I've learned in my life is that shit happens. This?" He gestured between them. "Is that shit." Johnny nodded. "So quit saying you're sorry, chérie. I'da done tha same, capisce?"

He squeezed one more time and then allowed his head to fall back on the pillow. "On second thought..." His voice was softer now as he tried to ease the strain on his head. "Is dinner still outside? I'm really, really hungry."

He wanted food? That had to be a good sign, right?

Johnny laid there as Barb quickly ran to get the cart... Even if all of the food was cold by now.

"Oh. And, uh. Maybe something to put on? Since I'm just layin' here all out an' shit. Yeah?" He softly chuckled. "And I gotta piss. So I'm still gonna need that help up."

Perched next to him on the floor, Barb melted into his as he squeezed her hand, hugging him as tightly as she dared. ... which wasn’t very, all things considered. She didn’t care that they were each naked beneath their respective covers... his sheet and her robe. She didn’t care about anything in the moment other than he was okay (ish) and he didn’t hate her. She didn’t say anything else. There was too much of it to sort through, and his head hurt enough already. she just gingerly hugged him, and then silently went to fetch the cart. 

Sure, it was all cold by now. But it was there. And, truth be told, she was starving. Panic would do that to a person, she remembered, as a familiar delayed hunger roared to life like a bonfire in the core of her stomach. At least food was easy. Even should they decide they wanted something hot, a little extra green and it would be delivered post haste with minimal effort. 

Clothes, on the other hand, seemed far more complicated. The robe would be easiest... but it was heavy. And the terrycloth could prove problematic over his wounds and stitches. She’d been through his suitcase once already, and she knew he only had a small number of shirts... far too few to go ruining one with blood that would likely never come out. So, what then? 

Moving as if she cradled a Faberge egg, Barb sized him up as she carefully eased him up from the floor. Perhaps her kimono would drape lightly enough to cover him without pressure. She was silent as they - slowly - made their way to the bathroom, tiptoeing as far as she possibly could without losing her balance to close the gap between them and lessen the slump he required to lean on her. 

“Sit,” she told him bluntly shuffling him to the toilet, “It’ll be easier.” The bathroom was still a disaster. His pistol, still loaded, lay in a small puddle exactly where she’d dropped it. The shower was a wreck; blood staining the grout, tiles cracked, one knob entirely missing. Not to mention the mixed droplets and footprints and smears of blood that snaked to the door, where she’d struggled to extricate him from the mess she’d made. Now that he paused to look, he could see the blood dried between her fingers, in the beds of her nails, and around the soles of her feet. There were smudge marks across one cheek from it soaking into her hip-length hair and a large stain along one side of the back of her robe where, he could only assume, she’d fallen in the process of getting him up. 

As they passed the mirror, he recognized the brightly colored strips of fabric that served as make-shift bandages; patches from her signature favorite skirt... now ruined... much like she felt. 

Easing him tenderly down from her shoulders, she smiled apologetically as she turned for the door. “I’ll give you some privacy,” she sighed, “Let me go get everything ready. Be right back.” The sounds of rustling and clinking and soft cussing floated to him from the main room as she tried her best to be as quiet as possible... failing more than once as her shaking hands lost their grip on the serving lids or silverware. You’d think she’d never had to prepare a meal before. But then, the thought struck him, perhaps she hadn’t. Surely it wasn’t true, given what he knew of her. But it was humorous to consider nonetheless. 

Peeking nervously around the bathroom door, Barb tiptoed in, a robe in each hand. “I wasn’t sure which one you’d want,” she offered, holding both out. “The cotton may fit better. But it’s a heavy... and a little clingy,” switching arms she continued, “The silk is technically a size smaller, but they’re built flowy... so I think the fit will be about the same. Just... lighter.” Shaking her head, she chewed her lip, “I don’t mind, if you think it would be easier on your back.” 

Motioning to the door, she continued... rambling slightly in her anxious worry... “I thought the balcony might be nice. There’s a chaise, so you could lay back somewhat comfortably. And the breeze might help... I thought.” 

“... and then if you want a shower, I think I can rig that knob to work. You broke the hot... so it really only has to move a little bit. I can make it work... if you want....” 

It had to be an odd sensation, she thought, her standing here while he sat on the pot. And as her teeth tore slits in the chapped skin of her lips, she wondered exactly what it must be like for him... to suddenly know... and to realize (whenever he did, if ever he did) that surely this must be areal once-in-a-lifetime experience: being waited on by nobility. It struck her as somehow, inexplicable endearing. And, despite her regret and worry and pain, she smiled. 

Johnny looked at Barb incredulously. "Sit? I don't think so. I just gotta p-" There was no arguing. She removed her arm and he almost fell over. "Sit it is. Jeez, we fucked me up pretty badly, huh?" He sighed as she helped him sit on the toilet. Looking around as she left the room, attempting to be quiet and failing, he went ahead and let it flooowww, let it floooooowwwww...

Leaning back against the toilet, he sighed softly. This was both embarassing and annoying. Indignifying. That was the word that came to mind. Unsure of his ability to stand without it hurting his back, he inhaled deeply and attempted to push himself up. With liftoff he heard Barb shuffling back his direction. Assuming it would be better to not get a motherly earful, Johnny sat his ass right back down.

"I just needed some pants, doll..." he answered, chuckling softly to himself. "But, I don't wanna ruin any more of your clothes. I noticed I'm wearing pieces of your favorite skirt, and that hurts my heart. So, gimme the big fluffy robe and we'll call that good, yeah?"

Continuing, he looked up at her. "Balcony and chaise sounds nice, fuck the shower for now. I know I need one and would like one, but it can wait till I can stand better." Smiling, he held his hands out to her. "Let's go have a seat and eat. Talk business. Maybe." He smirked. "Or perhaps I might just enjoy the company of you, Barbara Anne. I know it would be a pleasure." He grinned. The cheesy kind of grin that often found him in trouble later... But regardless, he couldn't help himself for the twist of her names.

Taking her hand as she gave him an anchor, he shifted most of his weight onto his own feet and allowed her to "carry" him, one arm over her shoulder, to the balcony. If she wanted to dote on him, he would let her. At least for tonight... Knowing he wouldn't want to burden her any further than tonight, mentally he prepared for the sore, stiffness that would follow. The pain which he'd carry himself so she wouldn't feel guilty. Hopefully.

After a few moments of scooting along at what felt a snail's pace, Barbara eased him onto the lounge. Grabbing her hand before she could turn away, he pulled her close and onto the lounge with him, wrapping an arm around her. "Stay for a moment," he coaxed. The pain meds were kicking in now and Johnny certainly wanted to take advantage of the less painful movement. Smiling at her as she curled up next to him, his fingers traced along her form; down her arm, along her hips, and below the hem of the robe to her soft, exposed leg. Once he grazed her skin slightly, his fingers trapsed their way back up her side and repeated. Slowly, he leaned in and kissed her, lip to lip as he'd wanted to do since meeting her. She'd pulled a gun on him, what could be worse than that? Rejection? Doubtful...

Pulling away, he noted the blush the flushed across her face, and could feel the heat in his own cheeks. Silently they sat, staring into each others eyes, until Johnny cleared his throat and rolled slightly away and onto his back. "Well, um. Yeah," he chuckled nervously as she stayed right where she was. "About that food?" His words lilted in question as he looked her in the eye. He was hungry in more ways than one, and she'd know...

Food. Food was good. They should food. 

"Uhhh.... yes!" was all Barb managed to say as she lurched from the chaise, as if it took extra momentum to move. Once she tore her eyes away, she didn't look at him anymore. But the softest shadow of a smile danced across her flushed features as her fingers lighlty touched her lips. 

This day was So. Fucked. 

How?? What was the probability? That this entire course of events would align... TO THIS? It was hardly fair. He couldn't have waited? Or NOT waited? He had to pick NOW of all moments? When she could do absolutely NOTHING without fear of... well, at this point, EVERYTHING?

Sighing softly, she focused on the only thing that mattered in the moment... food. They were both starving. And, no matter what either of them wanted, everything else would have to wait. Possibly business included. As she shoved the cart gracelessly across the thick and cumbersome carpet, the weight of it all threatened to drag her back into that lightless abyss that so frequently stalked her nightmares. 

That would do no good... for anyone. So, swallowing it down like she always did, she breathed a heavy inhale and slipped back into what came naturally now... 'Barb'. 

"Y'know, sugar, I think yas musta hit yas head a little harder than we thought," her joking tone danced across the balcony on the midnight breeze, "That or yas meds is kickin' in." She grinned as she settled back onto the chaise next to him. For a split second, they shared a 'look'; a silent understanding, an unspoken agreement. 

With anyone else, there would have been questions, confusion, protest. But she knew, without a single word, that he understood all too well. THIS is who she was. It happened that way sometimes, even without such a heavy history. You play a role long enough, and one day it stops being play. Whatever used to be is still there. But... it becomes the OTHER, the falsehood. And the illusion created becomes TRUTH.

Smiling warmly... although still ashamed and sorry and sad... she disappeared once again and returned with the cash and goods from their heist. Curling comfortably next to him, she nestled the goodies between them before settling in to *FINALLY* enjoy her food. The calamari was, of course, going to be a no-go. No one wanted cold squid... too rubbery. But the lobster and prawns were DELICIOUS, even despite their chilly temperature. Grinning through chipmunk cheeks, she winked at him before mumbling. 

“So... whatchyas got in mind now thatchyas mind’s actually workin’ again? .... mostly?” OBviously she meant the money, but the brief, hesitant, somewhat regretful glance that she shot his way seemed like... just maybe... she wouldn’t entirely turned down desert if he offered. At least, were it not for his current state. 

"Nothin' but you, doll. Nothin' but you..." He chuckled softly before taking a bite of his sandwich, forgoing the au jus sauce since it was cold. No one wanted cold sauce on their sandwich; unless it was supposed to be that way.

"Mmm, that's tasty. OH!" He looked at Barb with a smile. "Have them send up some hot coffee. I'm gonna need it to keep myself awake while we're fuckin' around..."

He purposely let the words hang as he chewed and swallowed, her eyes growing wide with fear, excitement, and worry. He swallowed. "...with the money and stuff." He could see it in her face immediately. She wanted to smack him but didn't. Smirking, Johnny pressed his forehead against hers. "I would love to do just that, Barbara... You gotta know that. But I don't wanna be embarrassed by the performance. I mean, I'm an entertainer, yeah? A performer? That's in my blood, doll. I don't show up not ready. And this?" he gestured to himself with a soft chuckle. "Is not ready to perform."

Stuffing another bite of his sandwich in his mouth, he grinned. "Besides, it feels like we just met!" He stuck his tongue out playfully. Food and drugs were definitely making him feel better.

"Anyway, after you order the coffee, we should count the money to see how much we came away with. It looked like mostly twenties and bigger in the stacks. I saw a few in hundreds too, I thought. Oh, and bring the cigars. I want a new one after my meal. And then we'll see if I feel like dessert. You never know what good drugs, coffee, and tobacco can do for a man."

He winked devilishly and blew her a kiss. Yup, he was a little loopy...

Barb chuckled lightly, shaking her head. He was DEFINITELY high. There was no way in the seventh level of hell they’d be doing anything but SLEEPING after the day they’d had. She knew it. He knew it. And yet he still needed to pick and poke. WHY? And WHY the hell did that make her even more fond of him? 

Lifting the receiver, she called down to the lobby, “Yes. Fresh coffee and whatever yas got warm sent up to... ah. Yes. That’ll do fine,” she replied as the same receptionist from earlier cut her short with an overly helpful order. “Thanks,” Barb hung up the phone, not even needing to give the room number. Had they made an impression? She certainly hoped not. She hated making impressions. 

Scurrying back to the balcony, she pulled her robe tight around her neck as the breeze stirred her long hair into a hurricane of chaos. “This,” she hissed, levying a salty glare in John’s direction as she hecticly gathered it into a knot at the nape of her neck, “Is precisely why I keeps it up.” Plopping back onto the chaise, she downed the last of her wine before turning to the money. “Are as sure yas need ta be talkin’ shop in this state? I know yas a little loopy. I can see it in yas eyes,” passing him the humidor, she chewed her lip as she took the cash in her hands. She didn’t wait for an answer. It had to be done. She knew. Everything aside, they had to wrap this up before it went sour. Loopy or not, the meeting was in two days. And they had no time to spare. 

Muttering softly to herself, Barb carefully smoothed and counted each bill, stacking them neatly in rows by denomination. “Two thousand, five hundred and fifty-two,” she nodded sharply, stacking and tucking the money back in the box with the rest of their take. “There’s a few bonds, too. A handful of twenty-fivers and two grands... for tha kids, I’s thinkin. They’s not at maturity yet. But, ifs yas want, we could cash ‘em in all tha same.... thata make...” she was quiet for a moment as she mentally crunched the numbers, her eyes tracing the arithmetic through the air, “four thousand, six hundred and seventy-seven? ... I think.”

Grinning Barb ran her fingers across the pearls and diamonds, a familiar glint sparkling in her eyes. “I figures by tha time we’s hock tha gems we’s lookin’ at a little over five grand, not accountin’ for property and asset values. All in all, not a bad take.” 

About that time, the gentle knock of the now-shy room service girl echoed into the room, pausing Barb in her tracks. At first, she breathed as if going to call out and have it brought in. But a Single glance at the bloodstained floors stole the words from her lips. It was far from a murder scene or anything nearly so grave, but just as alarming, nonetheless. Chuckling lightly, she shot Johnny yet another gently apologetic smile before shuffling to the door. 

The ensuing conversation, though muffled, drifted to the balcony like a whisper; both women doing their best not to rouse any of the other tenants. “Thank you,” Johnny heard Barbs soft voice from the door. “Oh. Yeah... we’s, uh, had a little slip in tha shower. You know how it goes,” he heard the bellhop chuckle awkwardly, the innuendo clear and less than unusual in this business. “No. No, really. He’ll be fine. We’s Got it handled,” there was a brief pause, Barb’s bouncing laughter splitting the quiet evening like a screaming child. “Well, I cans fetch’im from tha balcony if yas insist. But we’s kinda in tha middle a makin’ up for tha shower, if yas get my drift. An’ I’m startin’ ta think maybe we’s just ain’t s’posed ta get it off.” 

There was another long pause, and a cacophony of feminine laughter. “Yeah, doll,” Barb giggled, “I’ll send ‘I’m down first thing in tha mornin’. An’ dontchyas worry any. The repairs’ll be paid in full.”  “Yeah, yeah. You, too.” Shaking her head, Barb rolled ANOTHER cart out to the balcony with a smile. Hot coffee, espresso, fries, pastries, nuts, and an odd mixture of sample size late night and early morning entres... it wasn’t *exactly* what Barb had meant by ‘whatever you have warm’, but it certainly worked. Chuckling, she shifted everything around so that they had access to the coffee and warm food before settling back down. “Poor thing, I think she thought I killed yas.” 

Ripping into a fist full of French fries, Barb veritably melted, moaning with abase carnality that seemed wholly at odds with her now-revealed roots. “Oh my fucking you, they’re DUCK FRIES!” Somehow, this meant something profound. However, be it because he was high, ignorant, distracted, or some admixture thereof, the depth of the meaning seemd lost on Johnny as he simply watched her nearly-erotic enjoyment of whatever a ‘duck fry’ was. 

Oblivious to his glass-eyed staring, Barb mumbled through chipmunk cheeks, “Now, where was we?”

Johnny chuckled overhearing the conversation and nodded as Barb returned.

"I figured as much. I'll make sure and visit the front desk in the morning."

His brow raised as he frowned at her expression of "duck fries"... Whatever those were. Shaking his head, Johnny simply smiled to himself. Taking another bite of sandwich, he chewed and swallowed before grabbing the hot cup of coffee.

"Well, we were talking about money. You said there was roughly four and a half if we cash in the bonds. I'm good with that. We can worry about other properties and vehicles and such -after- we get through with the gym sell in two days."

Johnny took a sip of the coffee and shivered, in the good kind of way. "Ohhhhh that's nice and warm." Smiling at Barb, he nodded happily and leaned back on the chaise.

"So, do you wanna be there for the sale, or do you want me to turn it over to that Vegas cat by myself. That way you aren't caught up in it any more than you already are?"

He rolled his head so he could look Barbara in the eyes. "Absolutely your choice, and I don't mind either way. You can sleep too if you want. I'll stay up and deal with the rest of this shit. Sorting it and such... Unless you just wanna be a part of that. Or think I should try and sleep."

He shrugged. "I feel like sleep would be a bad idea, personally. At least for me." He gestured to his head. "But I did wake up, already. So I'm probably perfectly fine aside from bein' banged up, huh?"

Barbara checked her watch with a frown. “Yas got about two more hours,” she informed him with a sideways glance, “Personally, I’d be more comfortable iffin yas waited, but I’m gettin’ a little sideways myself. So ifs yas really wanna rest... like ifs yas body is sayin’ it’s time. Then I’d say it’s time. Yes already come out tha worst of it. So... barrin’ some weird medical shit, yas oughta be alright.” Bending forward, she rapped lightly on the hardwood floor of the balcony... just for good measure. 

“But,” she continued with a tired sigh, “If yous stayin’ up, I’m stayin’ up witchyas. I can sleep whiles ya hit tha sale, unless yas want tha back up. I don’t care either way. I’m in as I can get at this point far as I’m concerned. So’s you tell me.” 

Johnny chuckled. "I say rest. And you can sleep in when I go to do the sale with Mr. Hyoudou if you'd like. That doesn't bother me none." Smiling, he pushed himself off of the chaise and rolled over her, stealing a quick little kiss of her cheek as he did so. Pushing himself up, Johnny winked then spun, SLOWLY, and walked himself to the bed. The bastard walked...

Crawling onto the bed, he looked out on the balcony at Barb, who still was simply staring at him. That ASSHOLE could WALK? Maybe it was the drugs. Had to be the painkillers, right? Yeah, probably.

"You comin'" he called to her before crawling under the covers. By the time she'd get over there, he'd be out... Johnny was out, even after the coffee. The lightest sounds of breathing and snoring assured Barb throughout the night that he was still alive, just sleeping like a rock.

The light was barely peeking through the windows from the morning Sun as Johnny opened his eyes. Looking to his left he smirked at Barbara's passed out form beside him; a tiny, rhythmic snore making him chuckle quietly. Mentally preparing himself for the stiffness, and perhaps to stick to the bed, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

As quietly and slowly as he could, he rolled himself out of the bed with minimal effort, hissing lightly as the sheet tugged on his homemade stitches. Downing a cup of cold coffee, Johnny got dressed and sat down at the desk to write a note.

Looking up, he noticed that Barb had picked up some before coming to bed. His gun was back in its holster, the blood was cleaned up in the bathroom. The carpet? That would need to be paid for, but no one had died. It was a legitimate accident. So he wasn't worried about it. He'd leave money to cover the cost of the cleaning. Looking back at the bed, he smiled wide.

"Yea Johnny," he whispered. "She's a fuckin' keeper. One bad bitch. Congrats." He smirked, then slipped the shoulder harness on before grabbing his coat and carefully slipping it over his shoulders. Rubbing his temples, he fiddled with his pill bottle before noticing there were four sitting on the desk already out next to a glass of water. Damn, did she think of everything? Maybe she had. Taking the pills and chasing them with water, Johnny exited the room and headed for the elevator.

A few dings of the bell and he exited into the lobby, waving to the front desk clerk and noting the relieved look on her and one of the younger girl's faces as he did so.

"Good morning, sir! We're so happy you're okay! We were worried!"

Johnny smiled through the pounding of their words. "Yeah, doll. I'm good. Banged up, but good. Had a fall in the shower. Gonna need maintenance to visit, but not right now. The lady is asleep still. Gonna grab a bite." He pointed to the restaurant and they both nodded, then exchanged looks. Great, now they probably thought BARBARA was dead... Just what kind of people did they think he and Barbara were, anyway? Degenerate gangsters? Shaking his head, Johnny chuckled and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He moved slow, obviously in pain, but it wasn't as bad as he'd expected. That was for certain.

"French toast, two eggs scrambled, two pieces of bacon, two pieces of sausage. And a black coffee!" he called out to the kitchen as he passed by, the one man back there nodding and starting the order quickly. "Thanks!" Johnny added as he headed to a corner seat, snagging a newspaper off of an empty table.

"So what's good today?" he mused aloud as he thumbed through the pages.

The peaceful stillness of silence settled over the room as the door closed quietly behind Johnny. And for a few moments, Barb slept blissfully. But soon enough the stillness crept into her bones in that suspicious, jarring way that startles and terrifies young mothers. It was TOO still. TOO quiet. Gasping awake, Barb rolled; reaching out for Johnny, but finding only empty, bloodstained sheets. For a few moments, she simply caught her breath, resting in the knowledge that his absence, obviously was a good sign. 

Noticing the note on the desk and - with some relief the empty glass and missing pills - she stretched and slowly made her way over to the desk. 

Peeking about, there seemed to be no sign of him in the room or on the balcony. So, praying he was still downstairs, she quickly slipped into a fresh change of clothes (in typical ‘Barb’ style) and headed for the lobby. Somehow, she was FAMISHED, and a h to breakfast sound like paradise. 

Not quite skipping through the lobby, she gave the receptionist a teasing, grinning wave as she headed for the restaurant. The booths were surprisingly empty this early in the morning. And it only took the briefest of glances to locate Johnny’s bright smile in a corner booth. Sliding smoothly into the opposite seat, Barb smiled as she teased him. 

“Nearly gave me a fuckin’ heart attack yas did,” she chuckled. “Yas said tha sale’s goin’ down tomorrow. So’s whatta yas thinkin’ in terms a gettin’ everything squared away?” 

She paused, smiling as runner brought Johnny’s plates. Hovering by the table side, the young girl silently gestured with her pad and pen, prodding Barb for her order. Johnny, with a quirk of his brow, hid a frown as he eyed the woman up and down. Barb, still smiling simply nodded. “Two Waffles. Peanut butter and syrup. Four bacon. Two eggs, medium. Spanish coffee.” The woman, tilting her head to one side, gave Barb a curious look. “Ask the bar,” Barb patted her arm reassuringly. Grinning, the woman nodded and happily scurried away to fill the order as Barb turned back to Johnny, giggling at his intrigued and assessing expression. 

Ignoring it, she simply returned to the previous conversation. “Tha will’s a problem,” she frowned, dropping the crisp enunciation she’d used with the waitress, “Junior’s almost entirely written out on account a his addictions, save a few stipulations for quality a life. So’s iffin tha banks go paper huntin’, tha sale’s gonna look suspicious without a little extra finagglin’... unless yas just ain’t worried. In which case, I’d say liquidate quick, yeah?”

BEAMING, she accepted the steaming cup of rum-scented coffee from the waitress with a silent nod; melting into the warmth of carmelized sugar and espresso. “Either way, I’s can follow yas lead,” she continued, eye’s heavy with contentment as she watched him over the rim of her cup, “Just gimme tha word an’ I’ll make it happen, cap’n.” 

Barbara certainly had a penchant for causing Johnny to smirk, which he did again. He took a bite of sausage and mulled over his words for a moment before starting.

"Ya know," he offered, then swallowed the bite of food. "I think we can liquidate it plenty fine. The assets will be gone before anyone at the bank could even bother to follow the paper trail, so I'm not so worried about that." He chuckled. "But, if you think it might be a problem, I'm listening to what plans you might have as alternatives. Gimme somethin' Barb. Whatcha thinkin'." He smiled.

Giving her a moment to pull her thoughts together, Johnny took a sip of coffee and followed it with a bite of his french toast. Egg. Bacon. Then another sip of coffee. Looking back, he nodded as he swallowed again. He'd be happy to go either way, but he definitely wanted to hear her ideas versus the ones he'd been thinking.

As she was about to open her mouth, Barb saw Johnny's eyes shift as he sat back some. The waitress smiled as she stepped to the table. "Here you go, miss! Waffles, bacon, eggs, peanut butter, and syrup." She curtsied after setting it all on the table and smiled. "Does everything look alright?"

"Great for me, doll. You?" Johnny looked at Barbara before dismissing the girl.

Barb took a tentative bite of her bacon before dismissing the girl. Nodding happily, she motioned to the plate, bacon still in hand. “Yeah. I’s gonna need like... a plate a this. Just... a whole plate. Whenever the cook gets a chance.” Stammering, the server hesitated for a second before shrugging and nodding as she headed for the service window. 

Turning back to their conversation, Barb carefully dressed her waffles as she spoke; being extra careful to make sure each tiny hole was filled with peanut butter before dousing the whole mess in an ungodly amount of syrup. “Well,” she chirped as she waited for the syrup to stop dripping from her first bite, “The way I figures it, there’s two ways we could go about it, ‘legally’.” She grinned as she quoted the air with her fingers.  “First, thawill stipulates independent execution of deed and title sales for tha express purpose a funding treatment and long term care for tha kids. So’s, I could easily stand-in as ya executor on tha documents and slip it through thata way. OR, our secondary option is ta forge yas some discharge papers and a clean psyche eval... cuz tha papers ALSO allow for Junior to retain conservatorship IF and WHEN he meets certain psychological and medical criteria.” 

Tired of waiting, she nonchalantly switched from a fork to a spoon and dove into the miniature tower of gooey goodness with a happy squeak; continuing to chat through a mouthful of food. “Otherwise, if’s yas feel comfortable movin’ on bare, we’s can do that, too. I just figured this away might stick it ta tha old fuck a little rougher, y’know. Cuz it’s air-fucking-tight.” 

The waffles disappeared in record time, to Johnny’s mixed amazement and impression. The eggs were next down the hatch, each in one go as Barb chipmunked around the deliciously squishy yolks. by which point the waitress had returned with a veritable mound of bacon. Barb, seeming utterly gleeful, took the plate with glimmering eyes and - for the first time in the whole meal - actually slowed down enough to savor her food. Apparently, bacon was where it was at. 

Johnny slowly pulled his two pieces of bacon a little further away from Barb, and stole a second bite. It was good, but it's wasn't spectacular. Maybe she just hadn't had bacon in a while... Shrugging it off with a shake of his head, he smiled.

"Which do you think would be better? Execution of the deed for funding, and actually send the kid some money? Or forge the papers? Because air-tight seems really nice to me. I like the idea of actually sending the kid some money, personally. And when everyone gets wind of the mishap, there won't be anything left for the old man to do. It'll all be gone." He chuckled.

"And I guarantee his son's too fucked up to say otherwise if he sold the gym or not..." Johnny smirked.

"Anyway. What's the deal here?" One hand waved at her mound of bacon as he took another bite of eggs and french toast, followed by sausage. Sausage, oddly enough, seemed to be where it was for Johnny as he mmmm'd his way through his bite.

Barb blinked at him as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “Bacon’s expfensifve,” she mumbled through a mouthful of it before gulping down a glug of coffee. “I’s been involuntarily vegetarian for... ahh... like six weeks now?” She shook her head, “Too many other things ta cover an’ catch up’s on.” 

Daintily nibbling another piece, she mused for a moment before continuing, “I mean... that *could* work. Maybe. At least your *theory* would work. In terms a makin’ sure he’s too stoned ta know what’s what. Tha problem is that tha will stipulates a trust account. As it stands, he wouldn’t have direct access. So’s unless ya thinks otherwise, it might be easier ta forge records a him being here an’ THEN send him some money so’s he can’t be counted on ta know what’s what much less what day it is. Y’know?” 

Another piece of bacon. 

“Like he got better, got here ta looks for dear ol’ dad, and slipped up again. ... old stompin’ grounds an’ all that. Y’think?”

A thought struck her and her eye lit up, “What name didja gives tha receptionist last night??”

Johnny chuckled. "I didn't. Money talks enough sometimes." Smirking, he nodded. "So I put it under Wence, make it..." he cleared his throat and looked up at the waitress as she approached.

"Maybe two more links of sausage, love? And top off my coffee, please?" He took a large gulp of the coffee before offering her the cup with a smile. As she left, he turned back to Barb.

"Make it look like the son was in town? Is that what we're thinking?"

He ate the last bite of sausage he had, then finished the eggs and french toast. Begrudgingly, he stared at his bacon as if in thought... Then ate the piece he'd started on and tossed the other onto her bacon hoarde.

"Because if that's what you're thinking, it's a genius idea."

No sooner had the slice of bacon touched her plate, it was in her hand as she nodded emphatically. “That’s *exactly* what I’s was thinkin’. I figures we’s can forge a flight itinerary with one a tha local strips, put him here a few days ago, log him staying here last night and leadin’ up, do tha sale, purchase a ticket back so’s it’s in his name, an’ then drop him off tha face a tha earth. People relapse all tha time. S’pecially when there’s big money involved. So’s it wouldn’t be so odd. An’ it covers our asses.” 

The bacon was finally gone, and Barb sat back with a content sigh as she mulled over the rest of her coffee. “I figures we’s can have alla that done in a days time. S’pecially considerin’ I’ve already got some psych-stuff set up over at tha rehab for Kaya. Should be smooth sailin’, I think. ... certainly smoother than last night.” She didn’t wince, but there was the very slightest flutter to her lashes as she looked him over. 

“How yas feelin’ this mornin’ anyhow?”