April 1st, 2021.
Stark City, Oregon.
6:11 p.m.
Guy Wilcox had many loves in his life. First and foremost, he loved a good joke with what he called a stiff, solid, punchline. But he also loved women—including his wife, Darlene, and numerous mistresses. He loved a ten-to-one underdog at the racetrack. He loved going all-in on an inside straight or better. He loved rye whiskey, he loved traveling, and he loved selling insurance.
It’s like he always said: “So many loves, so little time!”
And speaking of love, speaking of time, Guy intended to indulge both by having a few drinks in the hotel lounge. He’d arrived in seedy, crime-ridden Stark City this morning, and looked forward to four days of vapid insurance seminars, followed by four nights of drinking, joking, and—if his lucky stars burned bright enough—perhaps a tender dalliance with a young, wayward angel.
And what better place to begin than the Stark Towers Hotel?
Saw some decent-lookin’ gals at the meet-n-greet, anyway. They all looked like librarians or executive ice-queens, but maybe if I catch ’em at the right time, they’ll be willin’ to let their hair down…
Grinning, Guy stepped into the lounge with the air of a man ready to let loose and party. His grin faltered, however, when he saw that, including the bartender and now himself, a total of five people languished in the small, dim room. A middle-aged couple sat in the far corner, sipping martinis. A lone man wearing a dark sport coat sat in the middle of the bar, sipping a vodka tonic. The bartender—a young, slender kid who looked to be twenty-five-going-on-fifty—wiped down the near end of the bar with a white dish towel. Above the bar, a large flatscreen TV showed an intense-looking old man lining up a putt. Overhead, the speakers played a soft ballad that Guy had never heard before. The singer sounded like a wannabe Nina Simone, and the synth drum beat ruined the whole effect, anyway.
Okay…not a great start. But the night is young.
Approaching the bar, Guy smoothed the front of his tan polo shirt and cleared his throat. The lone man in the dark sport coat didn’t look over, but the bartender did.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Evenin’, gents.”
Again, the man in the sport coat didn’t respond. The bartender smiled and nodded toward the stools.
“Have a seat. What can I get ya?”
“Oh, let’s see…” Guy heaved himself up onto the stool next to the lone man, and planted his hairy-knuckled hands on the cherrywood bar. His wedding and high school class rings gleamed in the soft light. “How about Sex On The Beach—then I’ll have a couple drinks!”
Moving down the bar, the young bartender smiled and tossed his towel into a nearby sink. “Good one, sir.”
Guy scoffed. “Sir? You gotta be kiddin’! Call me Guy there, guy.”
“Guy. You got it. What’re we drinking tonight?”
Guy leaned over the bar, straining his forty-eight-year-old eyes to see that the kid’s name badge read Scott in black letters.
“Well, Scotty, can you beam me up first? It’s kinda funky down here with these green alien chicks!”
Scott’s smile brightened as he shook his head. Guy threw his head back with a belly laugh, glancing right to see if his joke had caught the other man’s attention. To his delight, the other man looked over with a slight smirk.
“Just kiddin’ ya there, Scott. I’m sure ya get that all the time.”
“Yep. My whole life.”
“You like Star Trek, do ya?”
Scott shrugged. “I watched the first one and Into Darkness, but they’re not my thing.”
“I see. Well…how’s about an Old Fashioned to get the night rollin’?”
“You got it, Guy.”
Guy rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Now we’re talkin’!”
“I like Star Trek.”
Guy looked to his right. The man in the sport coat still had a slight smirk on his face and a keen glint in his eye. He looked both intelligent and serious, nice but guarded. A cynical edge, perhaps. Not the type you’d want to pitch an insurance plan to, but someone you could shoot the shit with for at least an hour before it got boring.
We got a live one here! Thank God!
“Ya do, huh?” Guy looked the man up and down. He hadn’t seen him in the conference, but he sure looked like he belonged there. He’d be a predator in the board room. “You here for the insurance seminars?”
“Nope. Just passing through.”
Guy chuckled. “Business, pleasure, or a bit of both?”
The man mulled it over for a moment. “I guess you could say…a bit of both.”
Another chuckle as Scott placed the Old Fashioned in front of Guy.
“Thanks, partner!”
“No problem, Guy.”
Guy hoisted his drink. “Well, gents—here’s to swimmin’ with bowlegged women!”
Scott smiled, leant back against the rear counter with his arms folded. The other man lifted his glass in salute but didn’t sip.
Smacking his lips, Guy set his drink down. “Damned fine Old Fashioned, Scotty!”
“Thanks. Glad ya like it.”
“Well, now…I’ve got some time to kill. Just waitin’ for my wingman to get done workin’ out in the hotel gym. This place gonna liven up, ya think?”
Scott shrugged. “Hard to say, Guy. Your insurance group like to party?”
Chuckling, Guy grimaced. “Probably not. They all looked like a bunch of stuffed shirts to me. They’ll probably stampede in here after they finish stuffin’ their faces in the buffet upstairs.”
“Well, I wouldn’t expect too much else in here tonight.”
“Damn. That’s all right, though. I got four nights. I’ll take it easy tonight, throw back a few with my buddy. In the meantime, I guess I’ll have to shoot the shit with you fellas…if ya don’t mind.”
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Scott replied.
The other man nodded in silent understanding.
Guy set his sights on the man beside him. “How’s your night goin’ so far, partner?”
“Not bad, sir.”
“Sir? Hell, didn’t ya hear what I told Scotty?” Guy chuckled, extended his right hand. “Guy’s my name, insurance is my game.”
Smiling, the man shook Guy’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Guy. I’m Mel.”
“Likewise.” Guy raised both hands like a carnival barker addressing a small crowd of rustics. “Say, either of you fellas interested in life insurance? I can get premium rates for my friends…”
“I’m good,” Scott said.
“All covered,” Mel said.
Guy waved them away. “Aw, hell. Had to try, fellas. I ain’t here to talk shop, anyway. Of course, if either of ya change your minds, I’m at your service…”
Scott nodded. Mel sipped his drink.
Again, Guy raised his hands like a carnival barker. “Say, you fellas know why the chicken stopped crossin’ the road?”
“No idea,” Scott replied.
Mel shrugged.
“Because it got tired of the jokes!” Guy threw his head back with a hearty laugh, then took another drink.
Scott and Mel smiled, shook their heads.
With another smack of the lips, Guy pointed to his head. “Sorry, fellas. That just slipped out. Got a problem with my kidneys…”
Neither Scott nor Mel got the joke. Guy busted up laughing anyway.
“Sorry, fellas! I got a million of ’em.” Grinning, Guy hoisted what remained of his Old Fashioned. “Some days, I got a million-and-one!”
“I’m sure,” Scott said.
With another smack of his lips, Guy turned to Mel. “So…what’s your line, partner?”
Mel pursed his lips. “Well…I’d love to tell you, Guy…but if I did…”
A moment passed.
A smile crawled across Guy’s reddening face. His eyes lit up. “You’d have to kill me, right?”
“You got it.”
Scott snickered, shook his head.
Looking at Mel, Guy began to tremble. His cheeks swelled, then burst forth with a loud belly laugh which echoed throughout the near-empty lounge.
Also laughing, Mel raised his drink in salute. The two men clinked glasses, then drank. Mel drained his glass while Guy took a large swallow.
Behind the laughing trio, the annoyed middle-aged couple left their table without leaving a tip.
Grinning, Guy slapped his right thigh. “Damn, that’s a classic!”
Mel gestured toward Guy. “Well, you seem like a man who appreciates a good joke.”
“Damned sure do, partner!”
Mel slid off his stool, reached into his sport coat for his wallet. “Be that joke our sign of parting, friends.”
Scott gave Mel a head flip which meant, So long, man.
Guy’s face crinkled with annoyance. “What? You’re takin’ off already?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Mel tossed a crisp five-dollar bill on the bar next to his empty glass. “Duty calls.”
“Well, hell. It was nice meetin’ ya, partner.”
“Likewise. Take care now.”
Guy turned his full attention to Scott as Mel sauntered out of the lounge. The next hour passed without much to keep poor Guy entertained. He shot the shit with Scott for a while, tossed back a couple more Old Fashioneds, then shuddered in horror as his fellow insurance salespeople began to drift into the lounge.
“Well, hell. Looks like my wingman ain’t gonna show.” Guy sighed, shook his head. “Probably got caught up talkin’ to the wife and kids on the phone or somethin’.”
“You want another Old Fashioned?” Scott asked.
Another loud sigh as Guy looked from Scott to his empty glass, then back to Scott.
Another drink wouldn’t hurt at all, would it? But…then again…
“Naw…guess I oughtta call it a night.”
Scott nodded. “Well, like ya said, ya got four nights. Might as well take it easy tonight.”
Guy leant back on his stool. A slight smirk played on his lips as he looked at Scott the way an uncle looks at a nephew who’s made him proud.
“Ya know what, Scott?”
“What’s that?”
“You’re a good kid. You’re gonna go places.”
“Thanks, Guy. I sure hope so.”
Guy slid off the stool and dug out his wallet. “Here,” he said, dropping two twenties and a ten on the bar. “For the drinks, and the rest is for you.”
Scott smiled as he swiped up the money. “That’s cool, man. I appreciate it.”
“Yep,” Guy replied, walking out of the lounge on unsteady legs. “That kid’s gonna go places…”
With effort, Guy made it across the hotel lobby without looking like a total drunk. Once inside the elevator, he leant against the cool metal wall and closed his eyes until the car reached his floor—
Ding!
Once in the hall, Guy felt a little more sure of his stride. His brain hadn’t begun to spin, and he didn’t want it to. Not tonight, at least.
Damn. That’s what I get for drinkin’ on an empty stomach. Now I’m tired as shit…
“Maybe tomorrow I’ll go workout with Adam,” Guy muttered as he opened his hotel room door. Then he laughed again. “Shit! Good one there, Guy! That’ll be the day…”
The door closed behind him as he fumbled for the light switch—
Click!
Conditioned by many years of marriage, Guy slipped off his shoes and set them aside before walking into the main room.
More darkness greeted him.
“Damn…where’s the switch in here at?”
Guy began to slide his hand along the wall.
“Gotta be around here somewh—”
“Hello, Mister Wilcox.”
Guy froze. A voice had just called from the shadows. A man’s voice. Familiar, yet unknown.
Click!
A lamplight in the corner flashed on. The lamp stood next to an easy chair. In the easy chair sat a man in a dark sport coat, legs crossed, holding a gun with a silencer attached to its barrel. The man had a slight smirk on his face and a keen glint in his eye.
“Uh…hey there,” Guy replied, stiffening, sobering. “Sorry…I, uh…I forgot your name, partner.”
The man smiled. “Mel, remember?”
Guy attempted a chuckle. “Mel! That’s right! I remember now!”
“Keep your voice down.”
Guy raised his hands. “Oh, shit! Sorry!”
“Quite all right.”
Hands still raised, Guy leant back against the wall. “Okay, Mel. I’m gonna assume you’re not here to discuss my company’s Deluxe Life and Wellbeing Policy…”
“Quite correct.”
“Well, then…what are you here to discuss, partner?”
Mel smiled, shrugged as if to say, Oh, no big deal, Guy.
“Let’s play a little game, shall we?”
Guy took a deep breath. “Okay, partner.”
Mel uncrossed his legs and leant forward—keeping the gun leveled at Guy’s torso all the while, of course.
“Why on earth would a man with a gun be in your hotel room with the intent to kill you, Guy?”
Jesus Christ! Is that a joke?
“I, uh…I haven’t the foggiest idea, Mel.”
Again, Mel smiled. “Come now, Mister Wilcox. Ask yourself a few questions. Do you know me?”
“I mean, we had a drink at the bar, but—”
“I meant personally, Mister Wilcox. Do you know me, personally?”
Guy shuddered. His breath felt like shards of broken glass in his dry throat. “Nope. Can’t say I do, partner.”
“Then this wouldn’t be personal, would it?”
“Nope. Guess not.”
“Then who, Mister Wilcox, might have a personal vendetta against you?”
Guy glanced upward, looking past the ceiling and into the dark recesses of his life. Who, indeed, would have a personal vendetta against him?
Christ, if you put a gun to his head, Guy could’ve thought of many, many names.
“Well…I suppose it could be Delisle. I know I’m pretty deep in hock with him…”
Mel’s smile became a predatory grin. “You know, I’ve worked for bookies, Mister Wilcox. They get rather pissy when they don’t get their money. But it’s rare that things get this bad, especially with a lowlife like you. They’d rather keep an easy mark like you around for laughs.”
Guy looked at Mel and felt a wave of sheer loathing rise up from his liquor-filled gut. “Is it…Dar?” he whispered.
“Bingo.”
Guy felt a hitch in his chest, right next to his heart. His lower lip began to tremble. Sweat stood out on his forehead. Forty-eight years old, and about to die in a three-star hotel room. Murdered by a man who’d been hired to kill him by his sweet little wallflower of a wife.
Jesus Christ, Darlene! A man has needs! That’s no reason to have me offed!
“It seems that you’ll stick your dick into anything that moves, Mr. Wilcox.”
“Okay, Mel…let’s wait a minute here. Darlene’s a very passive woman. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. She’s just upset—”
“Oh, I’ll say she’s upset.”
“And with good reason! We’ve been married almost fifteen years!”
“Yes. Incidentally, Missus Wilcox gave me a message to relay.”
Guy exhaled. A wet, pathetic sound; like a deflating balloon. His glassy-eyed gaze fell to the floor. His hands flopped to his sides.
“Can’t I give her a call? I know I could talk her back to her senses. We could let this all go. You could keep whatever she paid you, plus whatever I could scrape together tonight…”
“Would you like to hear the message before you die, Mister Wilcox?”
Another sad exhale. “Sure. Why not…”
“Missus Wilcox said to tell you that, for fifteen years, she’s put up with your drinking, your carousing, your stupid jokes…”
Guy bit down hard on his sorrow. He couldn’t stop the tears from welling up, but he refused to sob and groan for this smug bastard’s amusement.
Jesus, Dar. I never meant to hurt you.
“And she did it with a smile, Mister Wilcox. Because she loved you…”
Guy squeezed his eyes shut. He wished that he could squeeze his ears shut, too.
“She cooked your dinners, washed your soiled underpants…kept a clean house…”
The cleanest, Dar. Goddamn spotless!
“Uh-huh.” Guy nodded to himself, reliving a thousand different memories. “What else?”
“Well, she went on to say that, everything was fine and dandy until several weeks ago, when a young woman…young enough to be your daughter, she said…showed up to the house about an hour after the kids had left for school…”
Aw, Christ! WHY?
“I told her!” Guy blubbered, shaking his head. “I told all of them! I told them I was happily married! That I just had needs when I was away from home!”
“Indeed, Mister Wilcox. Most admirable of you. But this young woman, however, was claiming to be pregnant with your child…”
Guy’s eyes snapped open. His head snapped up. His hands snapped into fists.
“WHAT?”
Mel nodded. “Missus Wilcox and this young woman have formed quite a friendship in the last few weeks, Mister Wilcox. Of course, when Missus Wilcox told her that she was only one in a long list of infidelities, well, naturally, she became enraged…”
Guy’s wet eyes flashed with sudden anger. “So this is all her idea? Which little tramp was it?”
“Oh, I’m not aware of that, Mister Wilcox. Of course, it doesn’t matter, anyway. The result remains the same.”
“Like hell, it doesn’t matter! I’ll wring the little bitch’s neck!”
Mel chuckled. “Now that’s most likely the funniest joke you’ve ever told in your whole life, Mister Wilcox.”
Guy took a deep, shaky breath, and melted back against the wall. He’d almost forgotten the gun, and the contract behind it.
“Anything else, you ruthless son-of-a-bitch?”
Grinning, Mel settled back in the chair. He still aimed the silenced pistol at Guy’s torso.
“Yes. Missus Wilcox wanted me to tell you that she’s grown very tired of your jokes, Mister Wilcox. And that, for once, she wanted to tell you one, just for old times’ sake. So, you see, when I made that joke about having to kill you…”
“It wasn’t really a joke,” Guy muttered, shaking his head. “Ha-ha. Very funny, Dar.”
“Of course, the joke isn’t quite finished, Mister Wilcox. Would you like to hear the punchline?”
“Yeah, sure,” Guy replied. “Shoot!”
And despite the rage, despite the sorrow, despite the utter disbelief…Guy Wilcox began to laugh.
He’d always loved a good joke with what he called a stiff, solid, punchline.
—April 19th, 2022.
