No Joke

by Bill Noel

  “No. I’ll be a couple of minutes late. Must go, the Brit’s awaitin’ to catch a wave.”

  I told him that I’d wait for him in the vacant lot across the street.

  He said, “Cheers.”

  I turned to cross the street, when the front door opened.

  Pete stuck his head out and yelled, “You selling encyclopedias or wanting me to join the Mormons?”

  I smiled. “Yeah, you buying or converting?”

  He motioned me up the steps and said, “Got a question that’s been bothering me since 1979. If everybody says you’re not supposed to eat at night, why’s there a lightbulb in the refrigerator?”

  I humored him with a smile, thought, Once a comedian, always a comedian, and followed him into the house.

  Before I could tell him that Charles was on his way, Pete patted me on the back and said, “Heard anything about Wallace or the dead bookie?”

  Then it hit me. I was looking at the person who first asked about the dead bookie. I was looking at the man who wouldn’t have had any reason to know the occupation of the man found murdered at the beach. Unless ….

  How do I ease out of here or stall for Charles to arrive? Stay calm, I told myself. Act natural. I told him that I hadn’t heard anything about the bookie or Wallace, and said, “Is Theo here?”

  Pete pushed the front door closed. “Yep, Old ET’s roaming around upstairs. Go on up.”

  I looked at the steps leading to the second floor. “I don’t want to bother him. I’ll come back later.”

  I turned and saw Pete several feet behind me. He looked like anything but a comedian. I saw nothing funny about the pistol in his right hand, the pistol pointed at my heart.

  The same moment I noticed the gun, the front door flung open. Charles stepped in and saw me standing by the stairs. Pete had moved behind the door and out of Charles’s line of sight.

  Charles was breathing heavily, took a deep breath, and said, “Hope it’s okay for me to barge in. I saw the door close, so I figured you’d be close.”

  Pete stepped out from behind the door and slammed Charles’s head with the weapon. My friend’s eyes rolled up in his head and he hit the floor like a sack of rocks. He didn’t utter a sound on the way down.

  I started to kneel to see how he was when Pete slammed the door, mumbled a string of profanities, and again, pointed the pistol at me.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “Let me help my friend,” I said, staring at the gun.

  Pete motioned for me to go up the stairs. “He’ll be fine. That’s the least of your worries.”

  Charles still didn’t make a sound. I was afraid he was dead but didn’t get a chance to check.

  Pete barked, “Upstairs. Now!”

  He was four feet behind me, too far away for me to reach the firearm. I shook my head and started up the steps.

  Pete said, “Know what Theo said about you?”

  I walked up two more steps when he said, “Stop. Change of plans.”

  I stopped and waited for directions.

  He appeared indecisive, looked up the stairs, and said, “We’re going to the kitchen.” He waved the handgun in that direction.

  I descended the steps, glanced down at Charles’s unmoving body, and headed toward the kitchen.

  “What’d Theo say about me?”

  “After you left the first time I met you, the old coot kept going on, and on, and on, about how you singlehandedly caught more killers than all the cops in South Carolina combined. Sal and Wallace laughed like they thought he was joking. I figured he was exaggerating. Either way, I stuck that bit of trivia in here.” He hesitated then, with his free hand, pointed to his head.

  “You killed Michael Hardin,” I said, to keep him talking.

  “I’ve got the mic. You’ll get your turn.”

  The only sound I heard was coming from Pete, so I assumed either Theo wasn’t in the house or, if he was, he was unable to say anything, like my friend splayed out on the entry floor. I waited for him to continue.

  “I wasn’t worried. Poor Wallace was doing a bang-up job convincing everyone that he killed the guy. He was nearby when the bookie took his last breath but didn’t get there soon enough to see what happened. He was so out of it, he couldn’t tell if he saw what he saw, or if he imagined it.” He hesitated and chuckled. “Saw, see, seesaw, there’s a joke in there somewhere. I bet you don’t think it’s funny.” His smile turned to a frown. “The poor guy’s been losing it for years. The rest of us have been propping him up, pretending he’s sane.” He chucked again. “I would’ve loved to have seen his face when the cop showed him the credit card that magically appeared under his mattress. That would’ve been worth the price of admission.”

  “I didn’t—”

  He waved the gun in my face.

  I closed my mouth.

  We entered the kitchen, Pete looked around, then back at me. “I kept seeing you nosing around. You weren’t buying Wallace’s confession. You were looking at each of us like we were criminals, not hilarious Legends. It damned near hurt my feelings. I knew, as sure as I’m standing here, that you were going to be a thorn in my side. I don’t know how, but you were going to figure it out. You understand why I couldn’t have that, don’t you? Know what my plan was?”

  “What?”

  Pete appeared distracted like he was trying to find something in the kitchen. I faced him and with my right hand, slipped the phone out of my back pocket. If I could tap 911, the dispatcher might hear our conversation and trace the call. I slid my finger over the screen to unlock it and glanced back to see the phone icon.

  Two things happened. Pete looked at my hand holding the phone, and the phone rang. Pete lunged toward me as I saw Chief LaMond’s name on the screen.

  Before I hit the answer button, Pete smacked the phone out of my hand. He muttered a profanity as the device hit the floor. The screen cracked on impact. The rest of the phone met instant death when Pete stomped on it. His arm holding the gun bounced around like it had a mind of its own, but not for long.

  Pete took a deep breath, moved the gun in its previous position pointing at my head, then grinned like nothing had happened. “I was going to get you and Wallace somewhere together and put a bullet in your meddling body. You’d be able to visit the bookie guy. Poor Wallace is so brain-rattled that I could convince him that he shot you, then sit back and watch him confess to a second murder. Poor, pitiful Wallace would spend the rest of his days in a nuthouse. I’d mourn the loss of one of Theo’s friends, and be so sad about poor Wallace.” He shook his head and made a clicking sound with his mouth.

  Pete slammed the butt of the gun against the wall. I jumped. He laughed. “Wallace screwed my plan up when he went loony. He got the cops interested enough to find the credit card and haul him off before my perfect crime could commence. When Wallace was at his best, oh so many years ago, he had trouble with timing. Even you, one of the least funny people I know, could understand how that could mess up a joke.” He looked down at the gun, then back at me. “A recent study found that women who carry a little extra weight live longer than men who mention it.”

  I sighed. How could I get the gun away without getting killed?

  “See, knew you didn’t have a sense of humor. That was funny.”

  “Why’d you kill the bookie?” I asked, to stall.

  He laughed, again. “Who said I killed him. Think I’m stupid? If I said I did it, I’d be admitting to a crime. Now shut up and let me think about plan B, that being how to get rid of you and get away with it. I’ve almost got it, so chill.” He chuckled. “That was funny, wasn’t it?” He looked around the room.

  I inched my way toward the patio door.

  He twirled back to me. “My humorless friend, where do you think you’re going?”

  I stopped.

  He smiled, not the kind he would use on stage, but one teemed with anger. He motioned with the gun for me to sit. “I’m getting long in the tooth, not as fast as I used to be
, but bullets are swift.”

  I sat. He hadn’t admitting to killing the bookie, so I tried another theory that had been rattling around in my head. “Why’d you push Ray down the stairs?”

  His eyes narrowed, and he nodded. “Theo was right about you. Didn’t you pay attention to the idiot cops? Poor drunken Ray got up in the middle of the night in a strange house. It was dark up there.” He pointed the gun to the ceiling before returning it to my head. “Everyone knows he stumbled out in the hall in a drunken stupor and fell down the steps. A tragic accident.”

  I needed to keep him talking. “Did he know you killed Michael Hardin?”

  Pete sighed. “There you go again. Did I say I killed the bookie, or anyone else for that matter?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “Okay, let’s pretend I’m not only a comedy legend but, in my spare time, I’m a genie. If you’re stupid enough to make your last wish a question about a damned bookie, I’ll answer. Yes, I killed him.”

  “Why?”

  “Sal fed his brother some fantasy about us being successful, playing all over the country to sold-out crowds, rolling in dough. Fed him the story that the reason we showed up here was out of concern for Theo.” He shrugged. “Suppose some of that’s true. Sal was worried about Theo. When we got here, it took us seven minutes to figure out that Theo was in better shape than we were. There was nothing wrong with his mind. Years ago, we were hot stuff on the comedy tour. The key words being years ago.” He looked over my head and shook his head. “I told you before, we’re broke. That’s a condition I’m not comfortable with.”

  “So, you killed him for money?”

  “Duh.”

  I didn’t know what I’d hoped would happen. What I knew was, the longer I kept him talking, the better chance something would happen—or so I prayed.

  “How’d you meet Michael or learn he had money on him?”

  “You know what, it’s like hanging around in this house with two old farts who think everything they say is a joke, one son of a … umm, son of one of the old farts who thinks the only jokes in the house are the rest of us, and took every opportunity to make fun of us or put us down?”

  “No, I don’t—”

  He waved the gun in my face. “Then, there’s the slowest moving human in history who tries to be nice to each of us, but grates on my nerves like a piece of sandpaper. That’s a long way to say that I got out of here every chance I could. I walked around, would’ve liked to plant my ass on a barstool at one of your bars, but didn’t have enough money to buy a used beer.”

  He hadn’t answered my question but was helping me stall. “So?”

  “I was out on that long pier, saw some well-dressed guy wearing a god-awful looking hat with, would you believe, a feather sticking out the top. He was scrunched up against another guy. He looked around like he was hawking meth. I figured he was a dope dealer. One thing those guys have in common, other than selling death in a plastic bag, is a roll of cash. I thought there goes my bank, walking down the beach. I jogged down the handicap ramp then followed him out past where people were sunning themselves in front of the hotel.”

  Still no sounds from Charles.

  “A robbery gone bad.”

  “You make it sound so cold. I wanted a permanent loan, not to hurt him. He was a drug dealer. It would’ve been stupid for him to go to the cops about being robbed. I caught up with him and didn’t think there was anyone nearby. I pulled this out of my pocket and said for him to give me his money. The damn dealer looked at the gun, up at my face, said something like he didn’t want any trouble, then asked if he owed me money. That confused the hell out of me. Why would a drug dealer owe me money? I asked him why. He acted like I should know.” Pete rolled his eyes. “The guy said he was a bookie.”

  “Because taking bets wasn’t as big a crime as selling drugs, you thought that he might go to the police to report a robbery, and—”

  “I couldn’t have that, could I?”

  “Shooting him would draw too much attention.”

  “Sure would. Your god of the sea, Neptune, left a piece of wood by the bookie’s feet. Unfortunate for him, he lunged for it. It all happened before I could think. He was a lot younger than me, but not as quick.” He shook his head. “I grabbed the wood, swung it at him before he got to me. He was deader than a doornail, as they say. I found a bundle of cash in his pocket, grabbed it, and casually strolled away.” He hesitated and shook his head again. “Did you know there are more than 300 million people living in this country?”

  I didn’t think this was a time to show off. I stared at him and waited for his point.

  “Out of all 300 million, what are the odds that the one person who happened to come by after I took the guys money was Wallace? Whatever the odds, it was lucky for me. Lucky because he didn’t see me—lucky that he was so out of it he confessed just because he happened to see the body. Considering where he is now, it was unlucky for Wallace. If the bookie was still alive, he could have taken bets on what would happen next.”

  “Why’d you kill Ray?”

  “Do you ever stop asking questions?”

  “You told me about the bookie. We both know you don’t plan to let me live to tell anyone, so you might as well tell me.”

  “Perceptive fellow, aren’t you? You’re right. Why’d I kill Ray? Good question. It could’ve been because he was one of the most obnoxious humans I’ve ever known. Believe me, I’ve known my share. I didn’t think he knew anything until the day we went to Cal’s to ask—beg—for a gig. Ray came up to me and in his self-righteous, cocky, demeaning way, said something like, ‘I know what you did.’ I played dumb, acted like I didn’t know what he was talking about. He said killing the guy was the only way I could have come up with the money I started spending. Said he’d make me pay. At Cal’s, he made that smartass comment about all Wallace killed was the audience. When we got back here, Ray was in his room. After everybody either went to sleep or were in an alcohol-induced coma, I went to his room to have it out.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He was so drunk, I had trouble figuring out what he was saying. He laughed and said I’d get mine. Then he made a mistake, turned out to be a deadly one. He stumbled to the hall and announced he was going for a beer. Let’s just leave it at me helping him down the stairs.” Pete gave me another sinister smile and tapped his non-gun toting hand on the granite island. “Got it?”

  “Got what?”

  “Plan B. Your grand finale.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I had hoped to find a way to distract the gun-toting comedian before he came up with an alternative plan to kill me and, if he wasn’t already dead, kill Charles. That was not to be.

  He kept the gun trained on me, stepped back to the sink, and grabbed the purple dish-washing gloves from the top drawer. “Take baby steps to the great room. Don’t try anything funny. Pretend like your and your friend’s lives depend on it.” He chuckled. “I suppose they do. For a few minutes.”

  He was still too far away for me to reach, so I followed his instructions. I was in the center of the room as he moved to look out the double doors leading to the deck.

  “You’re so nosy about everything, I think you’ll be interested in hearing Plan B.”

  “Yes,” I said, in hopes it may give me a way to thwart it.

  “It’s more painful than Plan A.” He laughed. “More painful for me, no different for you.” He waved the gun in front of his face. “You won’t be around for most of the plan, so I’ll give you a preview. First, we will drag your friend’s body to the kitchen where he’s going to be on the floor near the door. You’re going to be lying on the floor about right where you are now. You’ll be dead. If your friend isn’t already, he will be shortly.”

  “You don’t want to—”

  “Shut up. I’m telling the story. Here’s where my pain comes in. I’m going to shoot myself in the arm. A flesh wound, you know, the kind that’ll bleed all over Theo’
s ritzy room.” He chuckled. “Hell, I’ll drip some on his expensive couch just to piss him off.” He held the purple elbow-length gloves out for me to see. “Oh, yeah, in case you were wondering why I have these with me, I’m going to wear one on my gun hand. Want to hear more?”

  I said yes, hoping for a miracle.

  He moved the pistol to his other hand, pointed the forefinger on the hand that previously held the deadly weapon, and pointed it at his upper arm. “Bang, two shots, or three shots in case Charles ain’t already visiting the bookie. See, no gunshot residue on my hand or arm. Look at me, Mr. Policeman, I couldn’t have done it.” He grinned. “Anyway, with my arm feeling like it’d been bit by an alligator, I’m going to walk out there, fill the gloves with sand and tie the ends together. It’s such a lovely day, I’ll stroll to the end of Theo’s private pier, throw the gun and gloves in the river, never to be seen again.

  “I’ll come back in, call 911, and tell the cops about a masked intruder who slipped in the back door. You know, the door I’ll leave unlocked after depositing the gun and gloves. The guy was in a rage and going to rob Theo. Everyone knows he has money. Instead of money, the intruder found you, Charles, and me. Wow, was the gunman surprised? That’s why he hit Charles over the head and shot us. He must’ve panicked. He ran out instead of stealing anything. Such a terrible thing to have happen.” He shook his head, and grinned. “There it is, Plan B.”

  “The police are good. What makes you think you’ll get away with it?”

  “You give them too much credit. What reason would I have for shooting you? What kind of fool would they think I was to shoot myself? Don’t forget, poor old Wallace has already admitting to killing the bookie. Everyone knows that Wallace’s evil sperm, Ray, got himself drunk and fell down the stairs. You see, everything is solved, except catching the bad guy who came in here, killed you, killed your buddy, and thought he’d done the same to me. Yep, the perfect crime. Sadly, I won’t even get to hear an appreciative audience give me a standing ovation. C'est la vie.”