Sisters on the Case [Anthology]

‘‘I wouldn’t be so surprised.’’

‘‘Yeah, probably not. You look like a wise guy.’’

‘‘You wouldn’t think I was so wise, not if you’d ask my son.’’

‘‘What’s the matter with him?’’ The second man was talking faster now, now that he was asking questions, instead of answering them. They were getting into a rhythm, a pace, a patter. ‘‘He think you’re an idiot?’’

‘‘He says I’m a fool, ought to mind my own business.’’

‘‘But you retired from that, didn’t you?’’

‘‘From what?’’

‘‘Minding your own business.’’

That earned another explosive ha, followed by some coughing. ‘‘That’s right, I did.’’

‘‘So the only business you got left to mind is his.’’

‘‘Ha! You’re right. That’s pretty funny.’’

‘‘But he doesn’t think so. Your son, he’s not so amused by you?’’

‘‘A serious guy, my son.’’ The man in the baby blue gym suit sniffed, the corners of his mouth dropped into a frown. He settled his body more heavily into the bench. If he still smoked, it was a moment when he’d have puffed reflectively, resentfully, on his cigar. After a moment, he pulled himself up and alert again. ‘‘So. Tell me. You make any money being a comedian who didn’t want to get famous?’’

‘‘I made plenty.’’

‘‘Clubs?’’

‘‘I did some of those. And private jobs.’’

‘‘That’s how you got to know the rich people who aren’t famous?’’

‘‘Some were famous. Some got famous after I met them. I’d see their pictures and their names in the papers.’’

‘‘Those ones-they ever call you again after they got famous?’’

‘‘No.’’ He smiled slightly. ‘‘They were beyond me by then.’’

‘‘Really. Stupid shits. People get big heads, that’s what fame’ll do. They think they’re too good-’’

‘‘They’re dead to me now.’’ He smiled to himself again, as at a private joke.

‘‘Sure. So what was your act?

‘‘My act?’’ He frowned.

‘‘Your shtick. You know, your routine.’’

‘‘I didn’t have no set routine. That’s dangerous, to be too predictable like that. You don’t want people to know what’s coming, you want to keep your edge, keep them on edge, so you take them by surprise, startle them, come at them out of the blue where they’re not expecting it. It’s intimidating that way. You shock ’em. Knock ’em off balance and never let ’em get back up straight again. Then you just keep knocking ’em down-’’

‘‘Knockin’ the jokes down-’’

‘‘Until they’re bent over, pleading and gasping for you to stop, ’cause it hurts so bad.’’

‘‘Been a long time since I laughed like that. That’s as good as sex. If I recall.’’

The second man smiled at that. ‘‘Yeah, it’s real satisfying. I guess you’d say I have a talent for shocking people. And for improvisation.’’

‘‘Like George Carlin? Or that black kid with the mouth on him, Chris Rock? Not everybody can get away with stuff like that.’’

‘‘I’ve gotten away with it for a long time.’’

‘‘Good for you. So that was your act? Improv?’’

‘‘Sometimes. It varied.’’

‘‘Depended on the venue, I suppose. You’re smiling. Did I say something naive?’’

‘‘No, no, you’re right. A lot depends on the venue, whether it’s in the open air-like this, like a park, for instance. Or maybe it’s inside. Could be a great big room, even as big as a stadium, or could be as small as a bathroom. Size of the audience makes a difference, too, now that you mention it, now that you’ve got me talking about it. Some things will go over well in a big crowd that are just overkill when there’s nobody around. And vice versa. That was part of the improvisation.’’

‘‘You get hecklers?’’

‘‘If I did, I took them out.’’

‘‘Pretty good audiences, though?’’

‘‘I had very attentive audiences. Very.’’

‘‘What’s your secret?’’

‘‘You want to get their full attention immediately. Don’t give them any time to adjust to your appearance. Hit ’em upside the head.’’

‘‘A big joke right off the bat, huh?’’

‘‘A two-by-four. A baseball bat. Bam. Get their undivided attention. I’m not a subtle guy.’’

‘‘Pretty broad comedy, huh?’’

‘‘Pretty broad… there was one of those in Pittsburgh.’’

‘‘Ha ha. Vaudeville, like. Slapstick. That you?’’

‘‘Slapstick. I coulda used one of those.’’

‘‘Ha ha. Borscht belt comedy. You Jewish?’’

‘‘Me? No way. I was circumspect, not circumcised.’’

‘‘Ha! You’re a wise guy, too.’’

‘‘That I am.’’

‘‘What about costumes? You ever wear costumes?’’

‘‘Yeah. Hairpieces. Teeth. Mustaches. Canes, crutches. I got a closet full of them, or I would have if I’d kept any of it.’’

‘‘Your own mother wouldn’t have recognized you?’’

‘‘My mother’s dead.’’

‘‘Oh, I’m sorry.’’

‘‘It was a long time ago. I killed her, too.’’

‘‘That’s nice, that she appreciated your humor. Your dad, you get your funny bone from him?’’

‘‘Oh, yeah, he was hilarious.’’ It sounded bitter, as if there was jealousy. ‘‘He killed me. Nearly.’’

‘‘Is that unusual?’’

‘‘What?’’

‘‘A comic from a happy family? I thought all comedians came from bad families, like they had to laugh to keep from cryin’, that kind of thing.’’

‘‘I don’t know about that.’’

‘‘Not much of a philosopher, like you’re not much of a historian?’’

‘‘Hey.’’ Defensive. ‘‘When I was workin’, I knew what I believed, and what I didn’t. That’s philosophy, ain’t it?’’

‘‘Like, what did you believe?’’

‘‘I believed in doing my job, and not cryin’ over it.’’

‘‘Me, too.’’

‘‘That right?’’

‘‘Yeah, do your job and fuck the regrets.’’

‘‘Or fuck the pretty broads in Pittsburgh.’’

‘‘I think maybe we’re kind of alike, you and me.’’

‘‘A salesman and a comedian.’’

‘‘You still don’t buy it that I was a salesman, do you?’’

‘‘You said it yourself, you don’t look the part.’’

‘‘I look the part as much as you look like a comedian.’’

‘‘You bought it. Askin’ me all about it.’’

‘‘I was sellin’ you. You think I’m no salesman, but I sold people down the river all the time. But you already know that, don’t you? What? Gone silent again? Nothin’ to say? So who sent you? One of those wise guys I ratted out? My son? Somebody else in the Family? And where’s your two-by-four? You got a reputation for takin’ ’em by surprise, knocking ’em flat first thing, you said so yourself. So why the conversation first before you take me out?’’

‘‘The conversation was your idea.’’

‘‘What about the two-by-four?’’

‘‘Not as quick as the gun in my pocket.’’

‘‘What about the noise?’’

‘‘Silencer.’’

‘‘Witnesses?’’

They both looked around, both of them taking note of the two young women with baby carriages over by the historical markers, of the middle-aged male jogger moving their way from the west, of the young couple leaning up against a tree.

‘‘Witnesses to what? I get up and stand in front of you to continue our conversation. You slump over, but nobody sees past me. I grab your shoulder to say good-bye. When I leave, you’re an old man in a baby blue tracksuit, asleep on a park bench, and I’m an old man walkin’ back to my car.’’