Sin City Grave Song

    It was a cold, dusty night in the Boneyard. Business was booming like usual, people rolling dice to lose their wages, some were drinking their paychecks away. People stumble around after drowning their sorrows throughout the streets, blinded by the bright lights of the city. However, beyond the sign of beautiful Las Vegas, a cruel consequence of rolling the dice was at play. A man lays unconscious on the desert floor, his hands and ankles tied with rope and gagged with a handkerchief. Three men stand above him, one wearing a yellow-striped Zoot Suit. He pops a gumball into his mouth as another man, gruff in a stained leather coat, digs a hole in the dirt. The third man, on the younger side, wearing suspenders and a plaid button up shirt, looks around as he taps his foot on the ground.

"How long is it gonna take for ya to finish that hole, Gary? We ain't got all night!" Exclaimed the young man.
    "Quiet, squirt! Unless ye wanna be the one to fill this grave," Threatened the old man.

"Shut up, both of you! The sooner we finish with this guppy, the sooner we can get outta here," Commanded the Zoot Suit. After the hole is done being dug, the old man gets out and tosses the shovel back into the trunk. "Wake him up." The young man walks up to the bondaged victim and slaps him awake. The man wakes up with his eyelids covered in dirt and his limbs tied. His breathing hitched as he sits upright, feeling the suffocating feeling of the handkerchief gagging him. He finds the three men standing on top of him, the man in the yellow-striped Zoot Suit looming over him. "Sorry mijo, did we wake ya?"

The man could only do muffled screams as he looks around, seeing the other two men standing behind the Zoot Suit.
    "Why don't we just get it over with and shoot him already?" complained the young man.
    "Zip it, Scotty! It ain't every day we get to toy with our food!" Responded the old man.
    "Quiet, Munch! Both of you're gonna ruin it. And I ain't gonna shoot him 'cause I ain't a fink, y'hear?" Replied the Zoot Suit.
    "Whatever ye say, Dollface," Said Scotty and Munch.
The man only looks in confusion and terror as Dollface takes out a 9-millimeter. It was steel-plated with an engraving that said "Los Muertos No Hablan" - The Dead Don't Speak.
"Now, I'm sorry for what's going to happen to ya soon, survivin' a war only to come back home to be executed. All's I knows is that your tenure of fortune just ended. Pobrecito," muttered Dollface. He takes aim at the victim's forehead, ending the ordeal with: "Perdoname, espiritu santo, for I will take a brave man's life."

BANG!

"Put him in the hole. I'm callin' the Don."

"Si, Señor."

......

......

The man's eyes slowly open with a pounding headache, the sunlight coming through the room blinding him. He sits up, feeling bandages all over his hair and covering his left eye. He tries getting up, only to fall back on the bed with the room spinning and seeing double of everything. A woman, wearing a blue cotton dress, her caramel eyes dilated, bursts into the room with her face looking as if she was told her son died.
    "Pio! You're alive!" Declared the woman. Before he could speak, the woman rushes across the room and wraps her arms around him, letting her tears freefall from her chiseled cheeks onto his shoulder.
    "A-April..? What happened?" He muttered.
    "You got shot, you reckless idiot!" The woman sputtered between gasps.
    "I... got shot?" Before either of them could say anything, a tall man with a brown trenchcoat over his shoulder leans over the doorway. His bushy eyebrows furrowed as his narrowed, wrinkly eyes analyzed the bedridden survivor.
    "How ya holding up, Boston?" questioned the giant.
    "I feel like I'm gonna vomitar."
    "Then drink some water, I don't think these folks'll like yesterday's dinner on their carpet."
    "Yes, sir." replied Boston. With the help of April, he gets out of the room and into the kitchen, where a young blonde white man is sitting, chatting with the owners of the house: A young woman, her black hair in curls in a flower-patterned sundress and a slightly older man, his hair slicked back and his soul patch resembling a sharp arrow in a black tuxedo with white rims. They all look at April holding the barely conscious Boston, the white man's eyes glued to April's smooth facial features.
    "Woah, there! I'll take him from here, Miss April. I don't think Boston would wanna end up crushing you." Joked the young man.
    "Back off, Matt! I've done this longer than you have," Responded April. Boston leans on the counter as April grabs a glass and Matt continues the conversation with the young man and woman.
    "But like what I was saying, Mateo, there's no way the Giants can beat the Yankees this year!"
    "If you're so passionate about the Yankees, why don't you go to New York?" Replied Mateo.
    "The day I move to New York would be the day the Soviet Union crumbles." Quipped Matt, taking a sip of his glass of water.
    "Alright you two, back off. When Boston's done with his glass of water, Rosita and I are gonna cook some breakfast," Declared April, setting down Boston on a chair as he drinks his water, hand rubbing on the wound the bandages are over. Matt and Mateo grab their glasses and move their conversation to the living room.
"Pobrecito, he just can't catch a break..."
"April, this might sound wrong but; What are you gonna do if he's gone? He just got back from his tour in Korea and he already got shot in the head. He can't keep pushing his luck like this," Declared Rosita.
"I know. There were so many times he came so close to death. I think it's time he settles down and... take a break for once, his boss has been taking care of me so he doesn't have to worry about me anymore. Pio trusts him." confessed April. Her eyes gave a feeling of traumatic worry, watching as he braves through his migraines to drink his water, his head covered in bandages.
"Maybe Boston needs someone to tell him he doesn't need to fight anymore, he's home, and he can rest," retorted Rosita, her cheeks converting to a strawberry red.
"Are you sure you're ready, Rosita? I know Boston. He's... he can be a lot to handle. Not to mention he's only been home for a few months," April replied. Rosita and April continue to look at Boston longingly. She's always been paranoid about his safety, but now, the fact that he got shot in the head and survived, she can't control her breathing anymore. She walks away to the bedroom with Rosita following suit, holding her shoulders as April's tears begin to form once again.