“I don’t think an audience would like that. Especially the Vegas crowd.”
“Yeah.” Harpo turned away. “They have discerning tastes there in Vegas.”
He’d said discerning. Groucho was intent on his food, so he hadn’t heard. Harpo would tell him later. No. He wouldn’t. He’d never tell him at all. He’d never tell Groucho anything ever again. So they were going their separate ways. Somehow, it had already been decided.
“I’m taking Maxie with me to Vegas,” Chico was saying. “She’ll love it there. It’s nice for a kid, lots of colours, and it’ll be nice to spend some time with family.”
Harpo nodded, even though he was their family too. And he’d been their family first. Stupid tied down brothers.
“I just thought of another game,” said Chico.
“I don’t want to play.” It had been comforting to kno
