Death by Sarcasm

Thirty-one

An oversized ancient penis loomed in front of Mary’s eyes. It looked like a decommissioned World War II sub destined for the scrapyard. Torpedoes loaded, ready to fire. Das Boot, the porn version. Das Booty.

She snapped her eyes opened, saw her bedroom wall and realized she’d been having a nightmare. A nightmare where a bunch of old men hyped up on Viagra have their way with her over and over again. She wanted to retch.

“And I thought I’d seen it all,” she said, as she swung out of bed. “Molested by octogenarians? Cross it off the list.”

She showered and drove to Aunt Alice’s house. The owner of the house was parked on the couch, watching Animal Planet.

“What do you know about Mark Reihm?” Mary asked.

“Limp-dicked wussy,” Alice said, without taking her eyes from the television.

“Nice,” Mary said. “Very colorful.”

“Thank you.”

“So could he kill someone?”

“With his breath, yes. Definitely. Death by halitosis.”

Mary took a deep breath. Dealing with a Cooper was never an easy proposition. Being a Cooper herself, she didn’t feel bad making this observation. Being a Cooper, she wouldn’t really care if anyone made that observation in the first place. It was a Chinese mirror. She could go on like this forever.

“Have you had your Mac ‘N Cheese?” Mary said. “Or did you go with bacon wrapped scallions this time?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Alice said. “Mark Reihm couldn’t kill anyone. He was funny, but that was it. The man was a useless pile of flesh with bad breath and the occasional good punch line.”

“Are you writing the obituary?” Mary said. “That was very powerful. Very heartfelt.”

“He was a wimp,” Alice said. “Sorry, but it’s true. He didn’t have the balls to kill anyone. His nuts were probably like small brussel sprouts. Mini brussel sprouts. They should make those, you know, like those mini corn cobs in Asian stir-fry…”

Mary took yet another deep breath. “You’re absolutely sure,” she said. “You’re positive that this man couldn’t have killed Brent. Because I don’t plan to pursue it, and hope I’ll gain a lot of ground on the cops. If I’m wrong, I’ll blame you.”

“What else is new?”

“So?”

“He didn’t do it,” Alice said. “I’m positive. I know psychopaths are always the guys who the neighbors said they couldn’t have imagined them killing someone. But I knew this Reihm guy pretty well. Maybe fooled around with him a little bit.”

Mary raised her eyebrow.

Alice’s face took on a slightly naught expression. “Well,” she said. “His last name was Reihm.”

“Too much information,” Mary said.

“Oh, yeah, who’d you have sex with?”

“What?” Mary said.

“I can tell. You don’t seem so manly. I figured you must’ve gotten laid. About time. Was it Braggs?”

Mary headed for the door.

“It was Milton Berle,” Mary said.

“He’s dead!” Alice called out.

Just before the door, Mary got in the last word.

“Could’ve fooled me.”