Death by Sarcasm

Seventeen

Mary needed a drink, and she invited Braggs and the attorney. Of course, Ms. Hessberg begged off. Time is money was the unspoken excuse. She left Mary with a card and a lingering scent of Chanel. Or maybe J. Lo.

Mary had killed before. She’d shot an insane husband set on killing his ex-wife. She’d killed a drug dealer determined to kill her client’s son for some sort of supposed deal gone bad.

Each time, there was a delayed reaction. Initially, the justification was enough. Over time, however, it wasn’t easy. It was like a darkish cloud hanging over her for awhile. The immediate solution? Booze.

But Mary had to clean herself. So she had Braggs drive her home and sent him out for drinks. If the f*cking guy was going to be around, he might as well be useful. By the time she had showered, Braggs showed back up with enough bottles of beer, booze and wine to satisfy a fraternity during Rush week.

She requested a double Jack Daniels on the rocks. Braggs quickly complied. Mary sat on the couch. She didn’t want to look out at the water, but she did.

“Have you ever had a lychee martini?” Braggs asked.

“If you live in L.A., you have to,” Mary said.

She heard him using a shaker and turned to see him pouring its contents into a martini glass. He came over and sat to her left, in a club chair facing the ocean.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. The smooth voice had taken on the role of trusted confidante.

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Do you know who Noah Baxter is?” she said.

“Of course,” he said, and took a sip of his martini. Mary looked down at her drink. A bunch of ice. She held it out and shook it at Braggs. He hopped up and refreshed it, then brought it back to her.

“So?” she said.

“We all knew him,” Braggs said. “He was a stand-up, just like all of us. But he was the worst of the worst. He had a really, really dark sense of humor that never came across well with audiences. He shocked them instead of making them laugh. Not a good trait for a comedian.”

He drank from his martini and Mary drained half of her Jack on the rocks.

“He ended up writing for other comedians, who would take his stuff and lighten it up a little bit. It really wasn’t that bad, it just needed a little bit of…sanity.”

“Yeah, that’s the impression I had of him,” Mary said. Already her brain was going slightly numb. It felt good.

“But eventually, his stuff fell out of favor and as I recall, he had some personal problems. Drinking, drugs, or something.” Braggs waved his hand around as if a mosquito were bothering him.

“And then?” Mary said.

“And then he bought a one-way ticket to the Land of Hollywood Forgottens. It’s a community that keeps growing, every day. Easy to get into, very difficult to get out.”

Mary nodded. Of course. He went where it seemed like every lead in the case of her uncle’s murder had gone: nowhere.

Her glass looked empty so she held it out to Braggs again. He refilled hers and his own, then came back.

“I thought I heard some rumors about him getting a job in Las Vegas or something,” Braggs said. “Managing some female comedian, but that was it. He fell off of everyone’s radar.”

Mary nodded. Her head felt like it had put on ten pounds.

“There’s a million guys like Noah Baxter,” Braggs said. “A little flash of success, then a disappearing act when they realize the big payday is never going to come. Most of them don’t even realize it’s over. Can’t admit it to themselves. It’s really kind of sad. Of course, I can’t speak from experience. It’s just that I’m very sympathetic-”

Mary stretched out and put her head on a pillow. She drank awkwardly from her glass, but she got the Jack down. Drinking Jack made her think of Jake. Jake the Jerk. She giggled.

“I might know someone who could tell us more about Noah,” Braggs said.

“Oh, yeah?” Mary said. Her voice was thick with sleepiness.

“Margaret Stewart.”

“Martha Stewart? The domestic goddess?”

“No, Margaret Stewart,” Braggs said.

“Who the hell is that?” Mary slurred.

“She used to be my agent. And Brent’s agent. And Noah’s agent.”

“Lady gets around.”

“In fact, she was everybody’s agent back then. A powerhouse.”

Mary closed her eyes and the first faint stirrings of sleep, like the start of the incoming tide, slowly slept across her forehead.

“I think I’m going to fall asleep,” she said, a sound suspiciously similar to snoring began to come from mouth. “You can let yourself out-” she started to say, but never finished the sentence.

“She knew everyone,” Braggs said. “But most of all, she knew where all the skeletons were. That’s more valuable than anything for sale on Rodeo Drive, that’s for sure.”

Mary fell asleep then saw an image of the old man she’d shot as a skeleton, dancing around in the dark.