Death by Sarcasm

Thirty-seven

She should have known. Really, she couldn’t let herself off the hook for this one. Mary should have known that Marie Stevens would have taken up residence at the house where she’d been violated.

Because that’s what had happened, Mary was sure of it. It just wasn’t the typical form of violation most people experienced. It was the kind that could drive a person insane, and plant the seeds of revenge that would take on a life of their own.

The house was a ramshackle structure just off of PCH, north of Malibu. ‘Ramshackle’ being the operative word in this region of overpriced real estate. The sprawling, dilapidated ranch style beach house was still worth millions, despite its condition. And despite the Porsche parked in the driveway.

Mary pulled in behind it and went to the door. It opened before she could knock. The sight of the woman shocked Mary. Not because of any unsightly appearance or violent apparition, it was simply because Mary had met her.

“Hello, honey,” Marie Stevens said.

“Hello, Janet,” Mary said. Mary had reloaded the .45 and tied a makeshift bandage around her leg with a kitchen towel from Alice’s. It hurt like hell and Mary didn’t know how much blood she’d lost, but her head felt funny.

“How’s my favorite talent agent?” Mary said. So stupid. Janet Markowitz had been the sarcastic, but very funny, talent agent in the comedy club. The same comedy club where Mary had been looking for the fat witness who’d had a crush on a female comic who was known for her leather pants. The old lady had acted half in the bag, but her wit had been razor sharp.

“Come in, Mary, I promise I won’t bite,” the old woman said.

Mary recognized the face in the picture with the face now in front of her. In the comedy club, it had been dark and smoky. Now, in the unforgiving light, Marie Stevens actually looked better. Beneath the wrinkles and yellowed skin and eyes that spoke of a road filled with nasty crashes, were the bones of a very beautiful woman. Mary could see why her uncle and his cronies would have liked to have her around.

Mary slipped her hand inside her coat and when it came out, it had the .45 resting in its grip.

“The lack of trust is hurtful, dear,” the old woman said. “Very hurtful.”

The place was just as uncared for inside as out. There was detritus scattered here and there, as well as empty beer cans, cigarette butts and fast food wrappers.

The only place that seemed cared for was a dining room table with a computer humming quietly away, its bright screen the only source of light other than the sun through the many windows.

“Nice little place you got here,” Mary said. “What kind of mortgage do you have, thirty year, fifteen year, adjustable ARM?”

“It’s as if Brent Cooper had appeared in the guise of a lovely young woman,” Marie Stevens said.

“Or did you already pay it off – with Harvey Mitchell’s money?”

Marie Stevens sat down at her computer and swung her chair around to face Mary. Mary sat down in the chair opposite her and put her .45 on the table between them.

“What kind of woman do you think I am?” the old lady said.

“In order to answer that I would have to know what they did to you way back when, in this house.”

“What makes you think they did something to me?” The old woman smiled, the teeth were her own, straight and yellowed from cigarettes.

“Why else would Mitchell pay you blackmail, hire another p.i. to try to keep tabs on me and kill me?” Mary said. “And why else would Whitney Braggs try to kill me and everyone else? Obviously, you had them all by the balls.”

The old woman sighed. She turned and looked out toward the windows, out at the gently rolling Pacific.

“They raped me,” she said, still turned away from Mary. “Both literally and comedically.”

“Comedically?” Mary said.

She nodded. “They supplied the booze, the drugs, the sex, and I supplied the one-liners, the skits, the acts, and they took it all.” The old woman’s voice was thick and raspy. She waved a wrinkled hand in the air. Mary could smell the woman’s perfume.

“They took it all and made great careers out of it,” Marie Stevens said. “And then when I wore out, they had me tossed into an institution while they all got rich off my work.”

The sound of a car speeding by on PCH reached Mary’s ears.

“So that’s where you were all these years?” Mary said. “An institution?”

The old woman nodded. “Under a different name,” she said. “I got out awhile back and began exacting my revenge. I’d had quite a long time to plan it. Thirty years or so. Give or take a lifetime.”

“Some people take up gardening or pottery,” Mary said.

“Some people needed to die,” the old woman countered.

Mary sighed. “So who actually killed Brent?”

“Braggs,” the old woman said. “He did the dirty work. I was the brains. But Braggs is psychotic. I kept you alive because I knew in the end, I would need you to take him out. I didn’t think I could do it.”

Mary nodded. She was angry. Angry about the whole thing. That this woman had murdered her uncle. That her uncle had played a part in destroying this woman’s life for some money that didn’t last, and jokes that had long since been forgotten. But she couldn’t hurt the old woman.

“But you shouldn’t have hard feelings toward Braggs,” Marie Stevens said. “I had him shoot that McAllister jerk to keep you alive. Just before Braggs shot Harvey, the a*shole.”

“That was very nice of Braggs,” Mary said. “I think I’ll send him a pick-me-up bouquet from FTD.”

The old woman looked at Mary. “Whatever Braggs was doing at Alice’s house, that was his own plan. I guess to tie up loose ends on his part.”

Mary felt blood trickle down her leg. There were now two Marie Stevenses in front of her.

“I’m done,” the old lady said.

“Done?”

“I’ve done what I needed to do. I want to go back now. Call your boyfriend. Jake. That’s his name?”

“Go back where?”

“To the hospital,” Marie Stevens said. “I don’t like it out here. Besides, with this,” she said, and pointed at her laptop. “I can send my stuff out. Leno used one of my jokes a couple weeks ago. Under a false name, of course.”

Mary put away the .45. She felt funny, almost sleepy. Her foot was soaked in blood and now it felt cold.

“I want to hear it,” she said.

“Hear what?” Marie Stevens said.

“The joke.”

Jake and the Shark arrived minutes later with a whole contingent of LAPD’s finest. They entered the room with guns drawn.

“Hate to interrupt you two,” the Shark said. “But one of you is under arrest for murder.”

“I didn’t know reptiles could become homicide detectives,” Marie Stevens said, and looked Davies up and down. “Or is this some kind of diversity mandate?”

Mary, still feeling lightheaded and like she was going to pass out at any moment said, “Yeah, she has to sit out in the sun to raise her body temperature.”

Davies took out a pair of handcuffs.

“Don’t worry,” Mary said to Marie Stevens. “Those are for Jake. They have his and hers. Instead of monogrammed towels.”

“He went from you to her?” Marie said. “And I thought my judgment was questionable.”

“That’s enough,” Jake said. “Come on in guys.” A team of paramedics came through the door and Jake directed them to Mary. He followed them over and held Mary’s hand as the paramedics began to set up the stretcher and examine her leg.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Marie said as the Shark put her in handcuffs. “Getting arrested. Or getting arrested by a Macy’s mannequin and her eunuch.”

“Save it for prison, honey,” Davies said.

“Bet you’d love a conjugal visit,” the old lady said to Davies. “Well, forget it, even if I get 20 years, I wouldn’t be that desperate.”

Davies shoved her toward the door where two uniforms escorted the lady to a patrol car. Davies turned to Jake, saw him holding Mary’s hand, and turned and followed the old lady out into the sunshine.

Jake smiled at Mary as the paramedics lifted her onto the stretcher. He still held her hand and stroked her hair.

“That old lady’s pretty funny,” he said. “For a murderer.”

In response, Mary passed out.