“You should be feeling the effects by now,” Nick said. “Your mind should be overwhelmed with a sense of utter despair. In less than a minute, you’ll have no choice but to end your own life.”
Pinky pulled out his knife.
“That’s it,” Nick said. “Now cut your own throat. That would be a quick way to end it all.”
Pinky looked up at Nick and smiled.
“Hey, why the hell are you smiling?” Nick asked.
Nick shot him again. But even with a double dose of depressors, Pinky wouldn’t stop smiling. He pointed his knife at Nick.
“What are you doing?” Nick asked. “You’re supposed to use that on yourself.”
Pinky pulled himself back to his feet.
“What the hell’s going on?” Nick cried. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Pinky staggered back for a moment, but then he took another step forward, the smile beaming from his face.
“Why are you still standing?”
Pinky raised the knife and kept coming at him.
“There’s no way,” Nick said, shooting him one more time. “Nobody can withstand that many depressor bullets.”
But what Nick didn’t realize was that Pinky Smiles was just too damn happy. Even after all he’d been through in the past twenty-four hours, Pinky still held on to his positive attitude. No amount of depressors in the world could wipe that off his face.
“It’s impossible…”
Even after he reached Nick and drove the blade deep into the rat’s belly, Pinky was still smiling—not because he got his revenge on Nick, but because he was thinking about how much he loved Taffy Bozo. He was thinking about what his day would’ve been like if he’d never gotten the black joker card, if everything had gone just as he imagined it. The thought of Taffy Bozo agreeing to marry him was enough to drive off any sorrow he could possibly face.
Chapter 77
As Nick fell to the ground, he fired the last round from his gun. But he didn’t hit Pinky with it. He shot the love of his life.
When Pinky turned to Taffy, he saw her muscles go slack, then tears pooled in her big clown eyes. He could sense the sadness radiating off her. Seeing her in such a state, it was almost enough to push Pinky into succumbing to his own artificially induced depression.
Taffy fought against her restraints with all her might. She wanted to free herself from her bonds, then free herself from the miserable world. She was looking at the rooftop. Then Pinky realized that she wasn’t firmly bound anymore. Shrapnel from Mr. Pogo’s explosives had hit her and cut into her ropes. She was nearly free. And Pinky was too wounded to reach her in time.
As Pinky tried to pick up his pace, a bloody form fell out of the sky and landed in front of him, blocking his path. It was Mr. Pogo. He looked beaten and bruised. Hats was lying wounded on the other side of the rooftop. The stubby clown had held him back for as long as he could, but the hit man finally got the best of him.
“Time’s up,” Mr. Pogo said. He had a surprisingly high voice for such an intimidating figure.
But before Pogo opened fire and finished him off, the hit man stopped in his tracks. Something got his attention over Pinky’s shoulder. Smiles looked back and saw a clown car pull up to the restaurant. Three clowns stepped out. Vinnie Blue Nose, Jackie the Grump, and Beano Moretti.
Beano Moretti had a black eye and a bloody lip. One of his massive plate-sized ears also looked bruised and swollen. When Beano Moretti made eye contact with Mr. Pogo, he shook his head. Pogo got the message. He looked back at Pinky Smiles only once. Then he hopped away, bouncing from rooftop to rooftop on his springing legs.
Once Pogo was gone, Taffy cried out in despair as she pulled her gag out of her mouth. She had gotten free of her bonds, and the depressant in her bloodstream was now overwhelming her system.
“Taffy…,” Pinky said, staggering toward her.
She looked back at him. Her tears had melted her green mascara down her white cheeks. Her bright-red lips were dry and cracked. Snot dripped from her tiny purple nose.
“Just wait there,” he said, trying to reach her in time. “Fight the depression. Don’t do anything stupid.”
But as she looked Pinky in the eyes, Taffy couldn’t help but remember all the bad things she’d ever done to him. The times she’d ditched him so that she could go dancing at clubs. The times she’d slept with other men. The times she’d made fun of him to her friends behind his back in order to save face for dating a half clown. She felt like such a horrible person.
“I love you,” Pinky said as he arrived in front of her.
Those words only made Taffy hate herself even more. She knew she didn’t deserve anyone as loving and faithful as Pinky. She didn’t deserve anyone. She was a spoiled brat and she knew it. Pinky was better off without her.
Taffy turned around to run for the ledge. She had to end it. She thought it was the only thing she could do to escape her overwhelming guilt. But before she even made it one step, Pinky Smiles grabbed her by the arm. He got down on one knee and held out the ring that he’d been dying to give her since the day they first met.
“And I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Pinky said.
As Pinky Smiles proposed, the depression in Taffy’s mind drained as happiness poured into her.
She said, “Yes,” and then helped him balance his trembling hand as he put the ring on her finger.
When the two clowns embraced, not a soul in Little Bigtop would’ve been able to guess that they’d just been shot up with a bunch of depression bullets. The both of them looked as if they’d never been happier in all their lives.
Part Four
Funny Business
Chapter 78
The country hadn’t been the same ever since the government outlawed comedy three decades ago. Some comedian by the name of Bobby Goldstein, who was all the rage back in the day, made one too many jokes about how the presidency was handling the war overseas. This was not at all uncommon back in the day, but once some loon quoting one of Goldstein’s gags made an assassination attempt on the president’s life and took out the First Lady by mistake, a law banning jokes against the president was quickly passed. When the feds realized how easily they were able to get away with it while the country was in mourning, they also outlawed political satire of any kind.
It probably would’ve been fine if they stopped there, but the US government was like a bad gambler—they didn’t know how to stop when they were on a roll. The next thing everyone knew Congress was passing the Comedy Prohibition Act, which made all forms of comedy illegal. Sitcoms were pulled off the air, Hollywood stopped producing comedy films, and television censored jokes from older movies like they were obscenities. All types of comedians from stand-up comics to sketch comedy actors found themselves out of work. A person couldn’t even tell a joke on the street or laugh out loud at a funny thought without spending a night in jail. It turned the entire country into one dry, humorless place that took itself way too seriously.
But this was all good news for some people. Just as it was proven when they outlawed alcohol in the last century—in times of prohibition, the mafia prospered. Comedy didn’t disappear. It just moved underground.
Since then, the joke trade had been a good racket for the Bozo Family. They created a large distribution network, selling bootlegs of old uncensored comedies as well as any comical films still being made overseas. But a large portion of the Bozos’ income came from the speakeasy-style comedy clubs they had all over Little Bigtop, where citizens could be entertained to their heart’s content for steep ticket prices.
The business proved more lucrative than extortion, drug dealing, and prostitution combined. It was nothing less than an empire. And the clown in charge of this comedy empire was a capo by the name of Buggy Buttons.
Chapter 79
“Your jokes stink, Snuggles.”
Buggy Buttons sat behind his desk, bored out of his mind. He’d been auditioning two-bit comedians all day
, and none was good enough to hire. Bad news. He needed some new blood, and fast. With the majority of his top comedians behind bars, he didn’t have enough acts to fill the shows he had lined up for that week. The boss was not going to be happy about it.
“What do you mean they stink?” Snuggles yelled. “I gave you my best routine. Those jokes should’ve left you in stitches.”
Moisture filled Buggy’s cream-colored clown suit as the afternoon sun invaded the room. He undid the top button to let some air inside, releasing a stench from his sweat-stained undershirt.
Buggy said, “Well, they didn’t leave me in stitches. They damn near put me to sleep.” He pointed at an elderly bulldog lying in the corner of the room. “Mittens didn’t like them, either.”
Snuggles started when he saw the bulldog; he hadn’t noticed it had been lying there the whole time. The animal’s hide was so mangy it blended in with the weathered furniture behind him.
Mittens looked up at the comedian with glazed eyes and said, “Erff…”
It was the laziest bark the comedian had ever heard in his life.
Snuggles approached Buggy’s desk. “I think your problem is that you didn’t get any of them. Everyone back home thinks my jokes are hilarious.”
Buggy was sick of having to deal with the egos that came into his office. Every single comedian thought they were God’s Gift to Comedy and took every ounce of criticism as a personal insult. The newer the comedian, the worse their attitude. And this clown was as green as they came.
Buggy used a copy of Playjoy to fan himself as Snuggles dug through his bag of whoopee cushions, plastic mallets, ventriloquist dummies, and other groan-worthy props.
Then Snuggles said, “I’m telling you, my stuff is comedic gold. Unlike your usual comedians, my jokes have edge. They’re going to blow people away. You just have to give me a chance.”
Buggy Buttons stared at the young clown. It was the same with every comedian who stepped into his office. No matter how direct he was with them, they just wouldn’t take no for an answer. And worst of all, they didn’t show him any respect despite the fact that he was a capo-ranked member of the Bozo Family crime syndicate.
“You had your chance,” Buggy said. “Try your routine at Open-Mike Mondays and see how it goes over with that crowd.”
“Are you kidding me? Only amateurs do open mike. I expect to get paid when I perform, especially with the risk it puts me in with the feds.”
Buggy just shrugged. “Then give up. Not everyone’s suited for comedy.”
Snuggles packed up his props. “You know what your problem is, Buttons? You have no sense of humor. You wouldn’t know a good joke if it was slapped across your face with a rubber chicken.”
Then the comedian stormed out of the office.
Buggy breathed a sigh of relief once Snuggles slammed the door behind him. He thought the guy would never leave. There were only three more auditions he had to suffer through, but judging by their nervous demeanor he doubted they had any promise at all. The clowns were going to have to wait a little longer. Buggy Buttons needed to take a long break.
Chapter 80
Buggy let out a loud groan as he leaned back in his chair to pet Mittens behind the ear. He wondered if the young comedian had a point before he left the room, if he really was losing his sense of humor. Buggy couldn’t even remember the last time he had a good laugh. Were the comedians who came to him looking for work really so bad or had Buggy just become jaded? He was getting old, at least ten years past the age of retirement, and the joke trade was wearing him to the bone. If it weren’t for the exorbitant medical bills he had to pay to keep his terminally ill bulldog alive, he would’ve quit the business years ago.
“Come on, Mittens,” Buggy said. The dog hadn’t moved from his spot all day.
“Erff…,” Mittens said, his lower canine teeth poking out over his jowls.
Buggy clapped his hands. “Come on, boy. Let’s go. Let’s get some lunch.”
“Errr…” Mittens closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
After ten minutes of coercing the dog out of its prone position, Buggy opened his office door and waved a bone at the entrance. Mittens groaned and pulled himself to his paws, lumbering slowly toward the old clown. He was connected to a life-support machine on wheels that made a squeaking noise as it dragged behind him. The dog didn’t seem to notice the machine was even there.
As he arrived in the doorway, Mittens looked up at Buggy. “Erff…”
Buggy knew that look. Mittens was too lazy to walk and wanted to be carried.
“Come on, Mittens,” Buggy said. “You can’t walk more than ten feet without giving up?”
“Erff…” Mittens sat down in the doorway and licked his jowls.
“Fine, you big lump.” Buggy picked the bulldog up in his arms. “But tomorrow you’re going on an exercise regime. You’re getting fat again.”
“Erff…,” Mittens said, then sneezed goobers of saliva against the side of Buggy’s neck.
Buggy packed his bulldog into the backseat of his clown car and squeezed himself into his front seat—he had to pull the seat all the way up to make room for his dog’s life support machine. One second after he started the engine, the streets filled with the roars of police sirens.
The feds didn’t see Buggy inside his car as they raided the comedy club. They burst through the front door with enough guns that you’d think they were going after a terrorist cell. Buggy didn’t wait around to see what happened to the members of his crew who were still inside. He hit the gas and got out of there as fast as he could go.
In his rearview mirror, Buggy saw Manny Malone, the son of a bitch who’d been trying to take down every one of Buggy’s comedy clubs in Little Bigtop. This was the last large venue Buggy had left in town, and Manny had finally made his move on the place. The old clown was able to avoid the slammer for now, but he wondered if he wouldn’t have been safer inside. After the fourth raid this month, he wasn’t looking forward to facing the boss.
Chapter 81
To say that Don Bozo was not happy would be putting it mildly. The boss clown was so angry that you could almost see the smoke billowing out the tops of his bushy eyebrows.
Uncle Jojo spoke for his brother. “Do you know how much money we’re losing because of you, Buggy?”
All eyes were on Buttons. He was having a sit-down with the Bozo Family administration and a handful of the top capos. Besides the boss and underboss, there was Vinnie Blue Nose, Beano Moretti, Lorenzo Laffypants, Chunks Santoro, and Jimmy Bozo who was still covered in bandages from his run-in with the Juggler Brothers last month. All of them had stakes in the comedy business and didn’t like that Buggy was messing it all up.
“You think I don’t know?” Buggy asked. “Whose wallet do you think’s getting hit the hardest over here?”
Jojo said, “It’s your job to keep those clubs up and running. They’re not up and running. So what are you going to do about it?”
Buggy was getting smaller and smaller in his seat. “It’s not my fault, Jojo. It’s Manny Malone. He’s coming after me like he’s got some kind of secret vendetta against me or something. You can’t blame me for—”
Vinnie Blue Nose, the street boss, stopped Buggy before he embarrassed himself any further. “Excuses don’t go over well with this crowd, Buggy. You know that. Only results matter.”
“But what am I supposed to do?”
“Why are you asking us?” Jojo said. “It’s not our job to figure that out for you.”
“The only clubs I got left are a few dives with a max capacity of twenty or thirty people each. I’ll never be able to meet my quota with low turnouts like that.”
“Then get some more clubs,” Jojo said. “This isn’t rocket science here. You’ve got the clientele. You’ve got the comedians. You just need the space to bring them together. It shouldn’t be this difficult.”
“I don’t have comedians. Manny Malone put all the decent ones behind bars. And
as for the space, discreet venues cost money. I can’t afford to open enough new clubs. Are you going to front me that kind of candy?”
“What do you mean you can’t afford it? You earn more than most of the men at this table. It should be no problem.”
“I got medical bills to take care of.”
“What medical bills?”
“For Mittens,” Buggy said, pointing at his bulldog. “He’s not been doing well lately. He just had a new liver transplant last month and now his kidneys are beginning to fail. I can’t keep up with these kinds of expenses.”
Jojo looked at his brother, than back at Buggy. “Are you freakin’ kidding me?”
Mittens eyeballed Jojo and said, “Erff…” Then he rolled over, exposing his belly.
“Why don’t you just put that damn thing to sleep already?” Jojo asked.
“I can’t do that. He’s my best friend and the closest thing to family I got. I don’t know what I’d do without my Mittens.”
“How old is he anyway?” Jimmy Bozo asked. “I remember you taking that thing with you everywhere you went back when I was a kid.”
“He’s only twenty-two. He was just a puppy back then.”
Beano covered his round nose with a hankie. “Why’d you even bring him in here anyway? You know I’m allergic to mutts.”
“I can’t leave Mittens at home,” Buggy said, looking over at his dog. “He’s sensitive. He gets nervous and starts chewing up the furniture.”
“Erfff…,” Mittens said, chewing on the wires that connected him to the life support machine.
“Enough about the bulldog,” Don Bozo said, finally speaking up after ten minutes of silent frustration.
Buggy didn’t say another word about Mittens. He knew to shut his mouth when the boss was talking.
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