Heckle Me Not (Lest Ye Die - Laughing) - 1. A Career Begins Slowly

So, I took my experience with snappy comebacks and turned it into a career. I became a stand-up comedian. The first year or so after college, my business administration degree didn't work out too well for me. So, I performed at local clubs; having moved from New Jersey to New York, there were plenty of clubs to choose from. I made a living, but knew I'd never get on the comedy channel. Then one night I was at a club that I was a semi-regular at. I started my routine and everything felt different. I couldn't put a handle on it, but my jokes were appreciated much more than I was used to. Not that I really had a routine, I was more of an improv performer. But I got up on stage that night and things just clicked.

"Hello all. Assuming most of you can't read, I'm Laughs Luthor, and I'm here to entertain you tonight. I grew up in New Jersey. Anybody from New Jersey here tonight?... Oh, you are sir. Funny, you don't look like a mutant. Didn't live near the toxic swamps, I guess."

And they laughed. I mean really hard. I knew I was a little funny, but that threw me for a loop.

"Yeah, being from Jersey, whenever I told anyone where I was from, they would always ask, what exit? Like, really? Can you get everywhere in the state and only be a couple miles from the Garden State Parkway? Tell that to someone from Pennsville. That’s around sixty miles away.”

Guffaws followed. I went with it.

"Speaking of toxic swamps, anyone here from the planet Klypton? My arch nemesis, Blooperman, is from there and I heard a rock from his home planet can turn him into a blubbering idiot. No? Okay, fuck ya then."

That would never have gotten a laugh before. I got more insulting.

"Merci beaucoup. Anyone French out there? Yeah. That's all I know how to say in French. Stupid language. But what's with you people, the Eiffel Tower? Don't you believe in walls? And the Arc de triomphe. All those naked people in the middle of the street. Have you no shame?"

I picked on everyone that night, English, Italians, Germans... You name it, I hit them hard. And everybody laughed. By the end of the evening, I was really ripping on anybody. If I was on TV, I would have been quickly bleeped and banned. I ran into an old friend after the show. Ned had moved away after ninth grade. He had told me they moved around a lot, but never said why. Anyway, I'm backstage and this tall red-head comes up to me. It had been almost ten years since I saw him last. It took a second, but I realized who I was looking at.

"Ned?"

"Hi, um, Laughs."

"Wow, I haven't seen you since, wow, ninth grade. What have you been doing?"

"Actually something that could help you. I'm an entertainment agent. I heard you were here and thought, maybe I could help you. You really killed it tonight."

"Yeah. I don't know what happened. I was firing on all cylinders. Even my jokes that only got smiles before brought the house down."

"So I noticed. Anyway, I have a client in Las Vegas. I think you'd be exactly what he's looking for. It's none of the big hotels or anything, but he has a club that seats around eight hundred. I think you could be just the headliner to fill the place every night."

"No shit?"

"Not an ounce of fecal matter to be found. Do you have any firm commitments for the next week or so?"

"Yeah, well, I have a couple more shows lined up..."

"Get me the info, I'll call them and get you cut loose."

"Just like that? You can get me out of a few commitments?"

"Piece of cupcake."

I gave Ned the names of the three places I was booked in over the next week. I gave him my number. He called me the next day and asked if I could go to Vegas. DUH! What performer would turn that down? I met him at Teterboro airport the next day, climbed aboard a late model Gulfstream and away we went.

Once we landed, too soon in my mind, the plane was sweet, he set me up in a room at a good, but not great hotel, not one of the big names. But it was spacious, comfortable, and had all the services you'd expect from a Vegas hotel. Get your minds out of the gutter, hotels don’t offer THAT service. That night, he took me to the club I'd be performing at. I watched the show. Holy fuck, I thought Richard Pryor was dirty. The performer was mostly a hypnotist. What he had some of the people doing was probably illegal in every bible-belt state and forty-five countries. X-rated didn't cover it. But the lobby had disclaimers, the tickets had bold print warnings. Any volunteers had to sign a waiver, acknowledging that they may be performing sexual acts. May be. That’s funny. Will be was more accurate. But the line to be volunteers went around the corner before the show started. Nothing advertised 'Live Sex,' but that's sure what happened. After the show, and a visit to the men's room to relieve some pent up excitement, I met with the owner.

"Ned tells me you're an improvisational comic?"

"Yes, that's most of my show."

"Do you insult the audience?"

"As a group, yes."

"Would you have a problem insulting individuals? Like the hypnotist, these would be people that volunteer to be targets."

"I could do that. If they're expecting to be insulted, I wouldn't have to hold back."

"Excellent. As you saw tonight, pretty much anything goes. It's an adult only club, everybody who comes in knows the limits are only what the audience will stand for. And since this is Vegas, the clientèle is up for just about anything. We do two shows a night. Two hypnotist shows started getting a little stale. Attendance is down. I felt a comic would help boost attendance. Ned recommended you. After watching a recording of your latest show. I agree you're just what we needed."

"That show was recorded?"

"Surreptitiously, yes. Don't worry, we're not planning on selling it. We only used it as an audition, so to speak."

"Okay. I'm willing to give it a shot."

Sonny, the owner, needed a few days to get the word out, get tickets printed, etc. I was scheduled to do the late show Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights. If they went well, I'd be given a long-term contract. I'd be paid five thousand dollars a night, and that would go up to eight thousand if I stuck long-term. I was walking on air when I left the club that night. I had five days to consolidate my best stuff into a show, and modify it to have specific people as targets, rather than ethnic groups and the like. Sonny said there were no limits. I worked on the most vicious material I'd ever used and made it worse. By Friday night, I was ready. Actually, by Thursday night, I was ready in another way. Watching six shows by that time from the hypnotist, had me so horny I was ready to explode. Sonny didn't have a problem with me volunteering to be hypnotized, so the second show Thursday night, I was on stage.

Most of the "victims" were given post-hypnotic suggestions to not remember the worst of what they did. A select few were asked to remember nothing, and even smaller number was asked to remember everything. I wanted to remember everything. It was the best night of my life so far. I may have to volunteer once a week.

I fucked two women, one man, had three men fuck me, I sucked six guys to orgasm, and performed oral sex on three women, two of which were the ones I fucked. And I still needed to take a cold shower at the end of the evening. It was an all-out orgy. Forty people took part in some way. I think the split was 25/15 men to women. Oh, did I mention I was bisexual? No? Well, now you know. I think most of the men volunteers were gay, so there was plenty of FF action as well.

Then it was my turn on stage, well performing. Comedy. I skipped watching the hypnotist's show before I went on stage. I needed the blood in my upper head, not the lower one. Sonny's marquee said 'First Time in Las Vegas, Comedian Laughs Luthor. You'll Die Laughing.' Sonny liked my stage name so he kept it. There were only eight volunteers, four to my left, and four to my right. The six men all wore red velvet jackets. The two women were given pink jackets. They were easy to spot from on stage. They each listed a few things about themselves on the volunteer application, so I knew what I had to work with.

My first target was a morbidly obese gentleman. I hoped he was a good sport, because if he really got mad, he could kill me by sitting on my head. I tore into him. Blamed everything for his weight problem, fast food, his parents, calling them whales, and his laziness. He laughed, so the rest of the audience felt comfortable laughing at him as well. One of the women was also obese, although not quite as bad as the man. I told her she needed to start taking eating lessons from the first guy, she could still fit through the door of the club. On and on like that it went. I think mostly people were laughing because it was someone else I was picking on. The last guy was very tall, and very slim. By the time I was done with him, he'd pissed his pants. I was on a post-show high like I'd never been before.

The next night, I was on fire once again. One of the guys got to laughing so hard he actually passed out. I looked at Sonny, to see if I should stop, but he motioned me to go on. One of the waitresses got the guy a drink and helped him back into his seat. As I figured, they knew what the deal was coming in, so I kept at it. That night, a man and one of the ladies walked out smelling like urinals.

I'd survived my three night probationary period. The word was getting around fast. I got myself a lucrative contract, and a nice apartment. For Tuesday’s show, there were a couple hundred already on the reserved list for the next night. Monday was an off-night. By Thursday night, the end of my first week, my shows were sold out almost two weeks out. There was even one online booking for a night three months away. I was hoping I'd still be there by then. A couple of the volunteers looked a little shady. I started getting afraid I'd lose the gig. And not just the gig, I was starting to get nervous about losing my life. But Sonny assured me, nothing would happen to me. And he was right. At least until the club closed down.

I was in my fifth week. If I didn't know any better, I'd have guessed one of my victims that Saturday night was in the mob. He looked like he could have starred in 'The Godfather,' 'Goodfellas,' or even 'A Bronx Tale.' I started on him a little bit nervous. Hell, who am I kidding, I was terrified. But he laughed. Even at my mafia accusations. I said something about how many guns he was probably carrying and he laughed so hard he fell over. I got the usual, 'keep going' sign from Sonny, and started on the next victim. I'd been told to alternate sides, so I really didn't see them carry the mob guy out. But the next night, when I showed up for work, the place was infested with cops. I found Sonny and asked him what was up.

"It's nothing. One of our patrons had a heart attack last night."

"The fourth guy?"

"Yeah."

"Is he okay?"

"Okay is relative. If he wasn't too bad in this life, he's in heaven. I'd have to bet he's in the other place, though."

"He's dead?"

"What, you think living people go to heaven or hell?"

"Fuck. I didn't cause it, did I?"

"No, Prentiss, I can guarantee one hundred percent you didn't cause it."

I had no idea at the time that he was telling the absolute truth about me not causing it. I wasn't savvy enough to wonder if someone else did. Somehow.

The following Friday, another of my victims had to be carried out on a stretcher. He didn't look quite as connected as the first guy, but I wasn't going to have to worry about him seeking me out for revenge either. His cause of death was a burst brain aneurysm. I was completely satisfied that I couldn't have caused that one.

One night later, I had my third victim. In this case I mean dead victim. I was starting to get worried. The worry train turned into an express the next day.

It was all over the news, 'Suspected Mob Boss Dies in Comedy Club.' 'Was Vito Spanio Murdered?' 'Third Victim at Sonny's Night Out had OC Connections.' OC? Organized Crime? I was shitting my britches. Sonny had to cancel the shows that night. The cops wouldn't let anyone into the theater portion until every inch was checked for forensic evidence. I was questioned, but being up on stage was pretty much an iron-clad alibi. The forensic guys didn't find a thing. The cops got subpoenas for the videos. Every volunteer for my shows sat in one of eight specific seats. The seats were the focus of sixteen different cameras that would be projected on one of the two large screens behind me on the stage. One more camera was pointed at me, so I had some screen time too.

We didn't open Tuesday night either. The autopsy results were in. Vito Spanio's aorta was cut. The ME insisted the injury could not have occurred naturally. It was a clean cut. As if someone opened up his pericardial cavity, sliced the aorta, and sewed him back up. This obviously didn't happen in a theater with eight-hundred plus witnesses, and two cameras recording him the entire time he was my focus.

More and more came out about the club during the investigation. Apparently many of the volunteers for the hypnotist's shows paid a premium to be included in the show. Sonny DeFazio was arrested and charged with pandering. Once the cops went over his books, he was hit with two-thousand, four-hundred and thirty-two counts. He was essentially running a brothel, having people pay him to have sex in his establishment. Not legal in Clark County, Nevada. Or anywhere else in Nevada, not without a license anyway.

My three victim's deaths were all ruled homicides. The heart attack was actually a case of the victim’s heart literally exploding in his chest. Not something that could happen naturally. The brain aneurysm was actually one of twenty-three aneurysms found inside the victim's head. The fatal one also appeared to have been cut with a knife. Four others had apparent knife marks that didn't cut deep enough to burst the aneurysm. Of course there were no suspects. Every single death was recorded on video. Nobody touched the victims.

With Sonny's arrest, the club closed down. The hypnotist was charged as an accessory to pandering. Apparently, he knew about the extra money being paid, having gotten a percentage. I was questioned about the murders, but it was perfunctory, the police knew I couldn't have been directly responsible. I was warned that if a suspect was located, I could very well be charged with three counts of accessory to murder.

Ned Blatty disappeared immediately after the third death. I found that very curious. It got me thinking, could Ned have somehow been responsible for Mark Dent's disappearance a dozen years ago? And these three murders? I remember he called what he did to Mark, a kind of hypnosis.

I tried to get another job at a Vegas comedy club. At the fourth rejection, I was told I was black-balled. I'd never work in Vegas again. Innocent or not, I was screwed. Three days after the third murder, I got a call from Ned.

"Hello?"

"Hi Prentiss. Ned."

"Hi Ned. What the fuck did you do?"

"What? Nothing. No, that's not true. I got you another gig. Do you have a passport?"

"A passport? Yeah. Where would this gig be, anyway?"

"North Korea."

"Nor... North Korea. Are you fucking nuts?"

"No. Why would you say that?"

"Um, hello! Crazy dictator? Kim Do-yun? Maybe you've heard of him."

"Of course I have. The club owner will send Do-yun a special invite. You probably won't need to do more than three shows. Technically, only one, but Do-yun may want to make sure nobody dies at your show before he goes."

"No. What's next, Moscow with an invite for Borchev?"

"I'm actually trying to work that one too. I'm close. Iran too."

"Have you got a death wish? Any of those leaders die, even accidentally, you're a dead man."

"Never happen."

"Cocky son of a bitch, aren't you?"

"Call it that if you want. Nobody can hurt me. I'll be released due to old age when I’m close to a hundred years old."

"You've been smoking some really good shit."

"Funny. No. Don't say the name, but do you remember the bar we went to in New York when I offered you the Vegas gig?"

"Yeah."

"Meet me there Friday night at eleven, and I'll explain it all to you."

"I have to be crazy to be going along with this. Okay."

Next Up - “Back To New York”