by Bill Noel
He was so proud of his plan that I thought he was going to take a bow, regardless if there was an audience or not.
He didn’t get a chance. The front door swung open. Theo yelled, “I’m back!”
Things happened so quickly that I wasn’t sure of the sequence of events. I think Pete jumped back and twisted his body, so it faced the open front door.
Theo stared at Charles on the floor then at Pete, and said, “What’s going—”
His question was interrupted by a gunshot. Theo collapsed.
I took two steps to the table along the wall and grabbed the silver frog.
Pete jerked back around to me, and yelled, “Stop!”
I swung my arm, and the frog caught him on the side of the head.
He staggered and fell to one knee.
Before I could get away, he grabbed my other arm as he raised his gun hand.
I didn’t have as much leverage. I yanked my arm as far as I could, managed to bring the frog back around, and caught his wrist with the silver amphibian.
The gun bounced on the floor.
Pete screamed, bared his teeth, and reached for the firearm with his good hand.
He may have been a weightlifter in years gone by, but most of Pete’s muscles had turned to flab. I still couldn’t afford to let him get a solid grip on me. I kicked the gun under the couch, then hit him one more time with the frog.
He went down for the count. I thanked Wallace, or whomever had taken the frog, for returning it.
Pete wasn’t moving, so I rushed to Theo lying half in the doorway. I didn’t see a bullet hole or blood on my friend. I gave a sigh of relief. I grabbed Theo’s phone and punched in 911. The second-best thing I heard was the dispatcher saying that emergency vehicles were on their way. The best thing I heard was a moan coming from Charles as he slowly moved his arm to the back of his head. I breathed another sigh of relief when Theo started to sit up.
Charles slowly sat, closed his eyes, and said, “Sorry I was late to the party. What’d I miss?”
I alternated between catching my breath and laughing although, if pressed, I wouldn’t be able to tell what was so funny. Being alive trumped funny.
Sirens came from all directions before Charles regained his composure. “What happened?”
Theo had moved to a seated position and leaned back against the doorframe. “I’ll second that question.”
I told them they’d have to wait to be part of my audience when I told the police.
Chapter Forty-Four
“How come ‘you’re a peach’ is a complement but ‘you’re bananas’ is an insult?” Sal asked the standing room only crowd at Cal’s. “Why are we allowing fruit discrimination to tear society apart?”
The room was not torn apart with uproarious laughter, although a sizable number of patrons laughed, a handful applauded. I attributed most of it to the clusters of empty beer bottles sitting on many of the tables. I attributed the laughter coming from those sitting at the two tables I’d pulled together two hours ago to several things, none of which were the jokes Sal was sharing from the stage.
It’d been two weeks—two traumatic weeks—since my near-death experience at Theo’s. Tonight, I would’ve laughed if Sal was reading the phone book. I was alive, something I wouldn’t have put money on that fateful day.
Charles, who’d spent the first week after being assaulted in his apartment, complaining about headaches, finally ventured out to tonight’s performance. He leaned my direction. “Think he really got someone to pay him real money for telling those jokes?”
Cindy and Larry LaMond were sitting beside Charles. “Hush,” Larry said, “I’m trying to listen. That guy’s funny.”
Cindy put her arm around her husband. “Larry thinks a can of Drano’s funny. He doesn’t get out much.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“Eww,” Charles said as he rolled his eyes.
Despite a concussion and incessant complaining about headaches, he’d shown more life and enthusiasm the last two weeks than I had seen in months. As tragic as it may have been, he seemed to thrive when first, there was something bad happening, and second, when he could help be part of the solution, albeit a painful part. I was thrilled to see him back to being Charles.
Sal continued unfazed. “Don’t know why those prospectors out west during the gold rush had so much trouble. All they had to do was dig where the gold was. Who knows, maybe they needed the exercise.”
“Larry thinks that’s funny?” Charles asked.
“So did one guy over there,” I said tilting my head toward the table where I thought I heard laughter, or maybe someone belching.
Sal said, “Any married man should forget his mistakes. There’s no use in two people remembering the same thing.”
A spattering of laughter followed, along with a couple of groans.
Sal reached for a bottle of water on the floor.
Theo took advantage of the break in the hilarity. “Guys, thanks for coming out. This has been a rough time for Sal. He feels horrible about subjecting me and all of you to Wallace, Ray, and don’t even get him started on Pete.”
“Any news on Wallace?” Barb asked.
Over the last fourteen days, she heard more about the group of comedians than anyone should have been subjected to. I’d spent several hours in her bookstore, talking about the near-tragic events, then when we went to the Dog for breakfast, 5,000 of Folly’s 2,000 locals had stopped by our table to ask about the comedians and to share their experiences with the funny men.
Theo looked at the stage where Sal was still sipping water. “Afraid he’s going to be in the psychiatric ward for a long time. At least Pete’s confession got him off the hook for killing the bookie.”
“What about stealing your money?” she asked.
Theo glanced at Sal and turned to face Barb. “I’m not pressing charges. I told Cindy I might have misplaced the cash.”
Barb grinned. “Did she believe you?”
“Can’t imagine she did, but she let it slide. Poor Wallace will be going through enough misery without adding that to his plate. Besides, he brought the frog back. That little hunk of silver ended up making it possible for Chris and me to be here tonight.”
Sal tapped on the mic to regain everyone’s attention and smiled. “Two construction workers were building a wooden storage shed. One worker was surprised to see the other going through the box of nails and throwing out half of them and said, ‘Why are you doing that?’ The other worker said, ‘Those nails have the heads on the wrong end.’ The first worker said, ‘You idiot. They’re for the other side of the shed.’”
The joke received the best response of the evening, and even Sal laughed. I suspected it was more from relief than thinking what he’d said was that funny.
Cal joined us after helping Joy and Kristin deliver beers to his thirsty crowd. He looked toward the entry, waved at someone, and said, “Neil, tomorrow, 5:00. See you then.”
I turned and saw Neil leaving. “Cal, what’s that about?”
He looked toward the door. “I figured, with all the new funny business I’ll be bringing in, I’ll need more help in the kitchen. Did you know Neil’s a cook?”
I told him that I did.
“He’s going to be using that talent working here.”
“That’s great.”
Cal pulled his chair close to Charles, Barb, and me.
“Cal,” Barb said, “I hear you‘re going to let Sal do comedy between your sets on the weekends.”
Cal pushed his Stetson back. “He’s spent a lot of time in here since the frog conking at Theo’s. He’s not a bad guy. According to Theo, the old broken-down comedian’s going to become a permanent resident of our island.” Cal leaned closer to Barb. “Tell him this, and I’ll swear on a stack of Lenny Bruce albums that I never said it. I think we could become friends.”
Charles, who apparently had been suffering withdrawal symptoms from not being the center of attention, tapped Cal on the arm. �
�Woodrow Wilson said, ‘Friendship is the only cement that will ever hold the world together.’”
Sal must have been channeling Woodrow Wilson when he said, “Folks, it’s been great being here with you tonight. I hope you come back Friday, when I’ll be sharing the stage with my good friend, the legendary Country Cal. And, speaking of friends, let me finish with an observation. Friends wave red flags when you have a bad idea. Real friends pick up a camera.”
About the Author
Bill Noel is the best-selling author of sixteen novels in the popular Folly Beach Mystery series. Besides being an award-winning novelist, Noel is a fine arts photographer and lives in Louisville, Kentucky, with his wife, Susan, and his off-kilter imagination. Learn more about the series, and the author by visiting www.billnoel.com.
