by Bill Noel
I knew ole Hank and Cal were good friends because Cal had confided that he met the fabled country singer twice; the second time, Hank had called him “buddy.”
Wallace whispered to Sal, “That tall drink of water needs to work on his introduction of the Legends.”
Cal finished his first song and swung into “Your Cheatin’ Heart,” another Hank Sr. classic. He’d performed the same songs for more than forty years, yet sold them to the audience like it was the first time. The noise level in the full room rose in time with the volume of Cal’s singing.
I turned from the stage just in time to see the man who had been with a woman who fit the description of Janice Raque push his chair back, throw cash on the table, and storm out.
Cal’s server, Joy, a new addition to the staff, had been behind the man as he exited before she came to our table to see if we needed more drinks.
I tilted my head toward Janice’s table. “What’s going on over there?”
Joy looked the direction I’d nodded. “Nothing unusual, I hear. That’s Horace and Janice. I’m told they come in every so often, get in a fight most every time. One of them usually charges out. Good tippers though. Why?”
“Curious. What do they fight about?”
“You name it. One of the other servers told me if Horace says the sky is up, she’ll say it’s down. If he says water’s wet, she’ll argue it’s as dry as the desert. Gotta keep moving. Cal’s croonin’ turns beer sippers to guzzlers. Ya’ll need anything else?”
Sal said, “Another round for all of us. Stick it on Theo’s tab.”
Joy said it’d be right up, Cal switched to songs from another of his “good friends,” George Jones, and Wallace kept glancing at his watch, no doubt wondering how much longer he’d have to listen to the undercard.
From the stage, Cal said, “I’m going to finish my first set with ‘Don’t We All Have the Right,’ a song made famous by my good friend, the late Roger Miller.”
Three minutes later, he finished the song with, “Don’t we all have the right to be wrong now and then?”
A nice round of applause filled the room, none louder than from the comedians. I suspected because he was finished rather than appreciation for his singing.
Cal’s curved spine leaned toward the silver mic. “Now, guys and gals, Cal’s is privileged to have some funny guys entertaining until I start my next set in an hour. I’m plum piss-poor at remembering names, so I’ll let Theo Stoll’s brother Sal serve as MC for their part of the show.” He snapped his fingers. “Almost forgot, Cal’s doesn’t have a budget large enough to pay the group their normal rate, so feel free to slip some paper money out of your pocket, after you pay your bar tab, that is. Before you leave, slip the cash in a bucket that I’ll be parking on the corner of the stage.”
I glanced over at Sal and could almost read his mind thinking, He ain’t paying us anything, much less something from his budget, and, That was a “plum piss-poor” way to turn the stage over to the Legends. He gritted his teeth and faked a smile as he made his way to the mic.
“Thank you, Cal, for the nic—umm, introduction. I’m Sal Stoll. I’m honored to be one of the stand-up comics who’ll entertain you tonight. I’ll also be master of ceremonies and will introduce my fellow famous comedians so they can bring hilarity to your evening.” He paused, looked around the room. “I was over at my brother Theo’s this morning. There was a tap on the door.” Sal gave a stage nod. “Yep, his plumber has a strange sense of humor.”
The other comedians laughed like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.
A handful of others in the room chuckled.
Once again, I considered jumping off the Pier.
Sal smiled. “Now that we’re off to a good start, let me bring to the stage one of the best comics who ever stood behind a microphone. He’s travelled all over the country, bringing laughs to thousands, no, millions, at comedy clubs, Las Vegas stages, and television variety shows. Let’s have a big hand for Pete Marvin.”
Pete moved to the microphone, lifted it off the stand, and unwrapped the cord from the stand. In the stage lights, I noticed how much more frayed his and Sal’s outfits were. “Thanks Sal.” Pete stepped toward the front of the stage and tapped on an imaginary door. “Knock, knock.” He moved to the other side of the door. “Who’s there?” He scooted back to the spot where he’d said, “knock, knock.” Held his arms out wide. “It’s me, ladies and germs. Your entertainment!”
That got a laugh from the comedians.
No one else in the room cracked a smile. Several groaned.
Sal leaned over toward me. “That gets them every time. They were expecting a knock, knock joke. What makes comedy funny is the unexpected.”
I suspected the most stupid, childish knock-knock joke would’ve been funnier. But, hey, what’d I know about comedy? After all, Pete was the Legend.
Pete didn’t let the lack of laughter deter him. “This morning, Theo over there,” he hesitated and pointed at Theo, “told me to follow my dreams. Now Theo’s a wise man, so I followed his advice. I went back to bed.”
That did garner laughs from some customers, probably from those who had consumed the most beer. There was hope.
I began to lose faith after Pete shared several more jokes. From what I could tell, customers at three of the tables thought he was funny. That would have been good if there weren’t four times that many tables in Cal’s. One of the three tables was occupied by the rest of the Legends.
Pete looked around, gave a wide stage smile, then thanked the audience for being so enthusiastic. I wondered if he’d been in the same room as I had for the last ten minutes.
“Now I’m going to welcome Sal back to the stage to share his unique brand of humor.”
I wondered if unique could mean the same thing as not funny.
Sal returned and took the mic from Pete.
“Let’s give Pete another big hand,” Sal said and clapped his hands together with the sound echoing through the speakers.
How had I missed the first big hand the audience had given Pete? He returned to the table and received pats on the back from Wallace, Ray, and Theo.
Sal waited for the applause from two drunks by the back door to die down, leaned toward the microphone, and looked at Cal who was standing by the bar. “Hey, Cal, I didn’t know you were Chinese.”
Cal looked at Sal and held out his hands like, “What’re you talking about?”
Sal pointed to Cal’s guitar on top of its case in the back corner of the stage. “That last song you sang, remember: ‘Don’t we all have the right to be Wong now and then?’”
Pete slapped his hands on his knees and leaned over to me. “Sal loves to bring local flavor to his set. See how he weaved in the country music?”
I saw how he’d insulted the owner of the bar who was giving Sal a chance to perform. I said, “Hmm.”
“Speaking of Cal’s,” Sal continued from the stage, “a termite walked in here last night. It said, ‘Is the bar tender here?’”
I heard three people laughing behind me but didn’t turn to see who they were. I was confident Cal wasn’t one of them.
Sal did three jokes about marriage, and a couple about priests, before saying, “Time for me to get off the stage to turn it over to Wallace. Before I go, here’s one for the road. A snake slithers into Cal’s, and my country buddy refused to serve him. The snake was miffed, if snakes can be miffed. It asked Cal why. Old Cal tipped his fancy hat to the snake. ‘You can’t hold your alcohol.’”
That did bring laughter from a couple of tables that had been acting like they were at a funeral visitation rather than a comedy show.
Sal thanked the audience for being so attentive then introduced Wallace.
Wallace bounded on the stage with a burst of energy that I hadn’t seen from him during our fateful meeting in the street, or the other times I’d seen him. He grabbed the mic, thanked Sal for the kind introduction, gazed out at the audience, and said, “
Yes, I know what you’re thinking. You expected a comedian. Instead you got Johnny Cash.” He moved his hand up and down his all-black garb. “Before I upstage Cal and burst into ‘I Walk the Line,’ let me give you some advice. You may want to write some of this down, so I’ll give you time to get out a pen and paper.”
He looked at his watch then at the audience. If he was waiting for pens and paper to appear, it would be a long night.
“Okay, here goes. First, no matter what they tell you at the store, don’t waste money on expensive binoculars.” He paused, looked around before leaning closer to the tables, and whispered in the microphone, “All you have to do is stand closer to what you want to see.”
There were chuckles from two ladies at the bar and from a couple of tables near the rear.
“Thank you,” Wallace said. “Here’s something that’s even more important. Never get in line in the bank behind someone wearing a ski mask.”
I heard a few more chuckles, a smattering of laughter, and, of course, more than a smattering from the comedians at our table. Apparently, they thought their reactions would be contagious. They were wrong.
Wallace smiled at the audience. “Thank you, thank you. Ready yet for ‘I Walk the Line’?”
“No,” yelled a man leaning against the bar.
I’d venture to guess that he was speaking for most everyone in the room, although, I wondered if Wallace’s singing was worse than his opening jokes.
Wallace smiled. “Your loss. Okay, did you hear about the proctologist who …” Wallace hesitated, looked at the floor, then stared at the silver microphone. “I remember once, while I was headlining in Vegas at the Sands. Been a while back. Well, umm, who’s that singer who’s called green eyes?”
Ray, Wallace’s son, was sitting beside me. He mumbled something, looked at his dad, and yelled, “Frank Sinatra, old blue eyes.”
Wallace smiled, “That’s it, Frank Sinatra. What was I saying about him?” He looked at the audience.
I was expecting, no, hoping for a joke.
Most of the others in the room were wondering where Wallace was going with the story.
Wallace shook his head and giggled. “Did you hear about the agnostic dyslexic insomniac? He stayed up all night wondering if there was a dog.”
That received the most laughs of anything Wallace had said. I wondered if it was because the audience felt it was that funny or were relieved that he managed to share a whole joke.
Wallace took a deep breath and laughed. “That’s more like it. Hey, when we got here, Cal told me that beer won’t make you smarter. Wrong. I said it made Bud wiser.”
Cal pulled a chair up beside me on my right. He leaned over and said, “Know where I can get a shepherd’s hook to yank him off the stage?”
Charles said, “Don’t know many shepherds on Folly.”
“Not many?” I said.
“Okay, none.”
From the stage, Wallace said, “Did I tell you about that time I found little Ray out back smoking … what was it again, Ray?”
Ray slammed his hand on the table and whispered something to Sal, who started to respond, before Ray said, “No! I’m out of here.” He pushed his chair back, shoved his way past a couple at the table behind us, and stomped out of the building.
Most of the patrons didn’t notice; they were staring at Wallace, probably wondering what he would say, or not say, next.
Pete said something to Sal, who stood and moved to the side of the stage.
Wallace saw him, looked at his watch, and shook his head. “Sorry folks, out of time. Won’t be able to sing my big hit.” He turned to Sal and said, “Want me to introduce Ray, or are you?”
Sal rushed to the microphone, took it out of Wallace’s hand, and put his arm around the much shorter comedian.
“Ladies and gents, we’re running a bit long. I know you want to hear more tunes from the legendary Cal Ballew, so Ray has agreed to skip his set. Let’s put our hands together for Pete, Wallace, and, of course, me.” He took an extended bow, while the audience gave a more than generous round of applause.
Cal’s next set wasn’t scheduled to begin for twenty minutes. Like the professional he was, he strapped his Martin acoustic guitar over his shoulder then took the microphone from Sal.
“Great job, boys. Great job. Now Sal is too humble to ask, but remember, the tip bucket is right there.” He pointed to the tin bucket on the corner of the stage. “Be sure to plop some big bucks in there for these here Legends of Comedy.”
I wouldn’t have associated the word humble with Sal. Cal had been nice to remind the audience about tips.
Cal strummed a chord on his Martin. “Now, let’s go back a few years. Here’s one made famous by my good buddy Roy Acuff called ‘Wabash Cannonball.’”
Charles tapped me on the arm. “Chris, have we been here a week yet?”
It was the funniest thing I’d heard all night.
Chapter Nineteen
Cal had been kind enough to give the stand-up comics the stage, so I wanted to support him and stay until the bitter end, emphasis on bitter. There was little more I wanted to say to the comics, and Charles had remained quiet—quiet for Charles. I hoped that Theo’s guests would leave.
Instead, they stayed at the table and ordered two more rounds of beer during Cal’s second set. Most of the customers had drifted out. Those who remained spent more time staring at their drinks than paying attention to what was happening on the stage.
Janice was still at a table, so I thought it would be a good time to meet her. Cal began John Anderson’s hit, “Would You Catch a Falling Star,” as I walked to Janice’s table.
“Oh,” I said, like I’d just noticed her. “Aren’t you Janice Raque?”
Her eyes narrowed. Instead of saying anything, she nodded.
“Thought so. I was on my way to the bar and saw you. I’m Chris Landrum. You were talking to Michael Hardin one afternoon in Bert’s. Someone told me who you were. Just wanted to say hi.”
I didn’t remember seeing her before and hoped, at some point, that she’d had a conversation with Michael in Bert’s.
She maintained her skeptical look. “You know Michael?”
“Not well,” I said.
“He handle your bets?”
“No, but I know several of his customers. You?”
“Huh, yeah. Some of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. Can’t say I’m sorry. He got what he deserved.”
I moved to the seat across from her. She didn’t ask me to leave.
“Mistakes?”
Cal was singing “Chiseled in Stone,” so I leaned closer to Janice to hear her.
“He cheated me out of a lot of money. You’re fortunate you didn’t give him any.”
“Sorry to hear it. Any idea who killed him?”
She looked to see where I had come before staring at me. “You a cop?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “Hardly. I’m here with some friends. We were over there talking about Michael’s murder. You knew him, so I thought I’d ask.”
“You can tell your friends that I didn’t. The cops have already talked to me.” She grabbed her purse off the floor. “I gotta go. Nice meeting you.”
She headed to the exit without looking back. None of her words, body language, or attitude said that she thought it was nice meeting me.
I returned to our table where Charles whispered, “You need to work on your pick-up lines. She left like you’d stuck her butt with a straight pin.”
Cal finished his song. I started to respond when I heard Wallace tell Sal, “I know I killed him.”
I turned to Wallace and started to ask the comedian what he meant.
Charles also heard him. He pivoted away from me and said, “Kill who, Wallace?”
Sal slipped his arm around Wallace then turned to Charles. “Wallace said that we killed the audience. Isn’t that right, Wallace?” Before Wallace responded, Sal added, “That means we were a hit.”
Wallace
had a glazed look in his eyes. Each of the comics had consumed several beers, so I didn’t know if the look was alcohol-induced, or if he was drifting from reality.
Theo was behind Wallace, and he shook his head.
From the stage, Cal said he was taking a “pause for the cause,” as opposed to having to “take a piss,” as he often announced. He was on his best behavior in front of the Legends.
Sal took advantage of the quieter room to say, “Well, Theo, Charles, Chris, what’d you think of our show? Like Wallace said, I think we killed them.”
I was relieved at not having to say a slow death by razor blades, when Pete said, “We were a little rusty. I screwed up a couple of jokes. It’s been a few nights since we preformed.”
“Few nights,” Wallace said. “How about months?”
Sal jumped in, “He’s always joking. Good one, Wallace.”
Charles, the peacemaker, said, “I’ve been a regular at Cal’s since our friend took over seven years ago. That’s the best comedy show I’ve seen in here.”
“I’ve got to agree with Charles,” Cal said as he walked over to the table.
I wondered if the comedians realized that it was the only comedy show in Cal’s history. I also wondered how I could bring the conversation back to what I heard Wallace say and not what Sal wanted us to believe Wallace had said.
Wallace tapped his beer bottle on the table and pointed it at Pete. “Pete, remember the other night when we were waiting in the green room to appear with Johnny Carson on the Tonight Show? You said I should tell my joke about the Rabbi and the priest. Remember what I said?”
Pete said, “Now Wallace, that was a few years—”
Wallace laughed. “I said not that joke, because … Umm, guess it was funnier then.”
Sal said, “Think we’d better call it a night. We’re not as young as we used to be.”
Theo said, “Good idea, I’ll get the car, the limo.”
Cal headed to the stage to finish his set, the comics wobbled out of the bar, and I wondered what Wallace meant about killing someone.
Charles and I were the only customers left when Cal finished singing.