Ten Dead Comedians

by Fred Van Lente

  “But a boat is coming tomorrow morning, right?” Ollie said.

  “That’s what Captain Harry said,” Meredith said.

  “You believe him?” Dante said.

  “I don’t know what to believe,” Meredith said. “I can’t believe any of this is happening.” She dropped into a nearby armchair and held the shotgun between her legs, with the stock on the ground and her hands folded over the barrel. She laid an exhausted cheek on it.

  “Uh,” Ruby said, “should you really be doing that?”

  “It’s not loaded,” Meredith said.

  “What?” Steve said.

  Meredith sniffled and wiped her nose, then held the shotgun horizontally. She cracked open the barrel from the stock so they could see she was right. “This antique is for shooting clay pigeons. The skeet setup was left over from the island’s previous owners. We only tried it once, then Dustin mothballed the whole apparatus, but I know this gun fires just two shots at a time.”

  “Wait,” Steve said, turning to Dante. “If no one’s helping Dustin, who’s taking the photos off the wall?”

  “You know who.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone who thinks it’s funny.” Dante said. “Think about the degenerates you’re surrounded by.”

  Steve frowned but said nothing.

  Ruby reached for the remains of the trip wire in Dante’s hand. “Let me see that thing.”

  Dante handed it to her. It was an abstract jumble of broken wood and rusty wire. Still.

  “It’s such a…” Ruby started to say, then trailed off.

  “What?” Dante said.

  Ruby tried not to look directly at Ollie.

  She stopped herself before she could say, “It’s such a prop.”

  V

  “What do you have against Steve?” Zoe asked TJ once they were alone. He had steered her outside by the front fountain. A water element, bordered by perfectly square flagstones that formed another path, gurgled out of the base of the fountain through a tall curtain of bamboo that obscured the view of the cabana beyond.

  “Who?” TJ asked.

  “Steve Gordon. Gordo. Why do you pretend you never met him before?”

  “Forget Gordo. I want to talk about who’s behind all this insanity.”

  “Who do you think it is?”

  “I got a pretty good idea.”

  Zoe put her face in her hands. “This isn’t frigging Clue, dude. Take the answer out of the little paper sleeve. Who killed Billy the Contractor in the Clown Lounge with the tallboy?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but that Dante Dupree, man, he’s got a lot of issues.”

  “Really, you’re going straight for the unidentified black male? That only works when you’re trying to blame somebody else for the crime. Oh, wait, maybe you are.”

  “Don’t dump your white guilt shit on me, lady. I’m Spanish, I got no dog in that fight. Dude has a reputation as a nasty drunk. We wouldn’t let him on my show because he messed up a line producer on Craig Ferguson while he was lit. He thinks I don’t know. But I do.”

  Zoe blinked. “Everyone knows Dante’s a drinker, but it’s kind of a leap from trashing a green room to being the supervillain mastermind behind Death Island.”

  “Hey, whoever arranged this has to be some Dexter-level whack-a-doo, a psycho who looks mostly normal on the outside. I don’t know enough to say definitely yes or no; all I’m saying is, you and I trust each other, so we should be watching each other’s back. I know you, you know me, we’ve worked together before. We’re—I know you have the FX thing, I’m in between TV things. Now that Janet’s gone”—he crossed himself—“may she rest in peace, you and I are, no offense to them, the only ones with real careers here. We have something at stake. We need to look out for our best interests. We should be watching Dupree. Together. Make sure he doesn’t try anything, you know? Particularly against me. Because he really does seem to have it out for me, man. I find it kind of frightening, for real, being stuck on this island with him.”

  “There is just a slight problem with this plan.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t trust you, TJ.”

  “What? You, too? Come on, why not?”

  Zoe shook her head. “I can’t even.”

  “What? Was it that thing I tweeted? Look, how was I supposed to know you can’t say ‘gaybird’ no more? We used to say it all the time as kids! I don’t even know what it really means, much less why it’s supposed to be so offensive!”

  Zoe held up a hand. “I’m curious: does this whole clueless hey-let’s-be-pals act actually work on other people? Does no one call you out on your nonsense?”

  “You lost me.”

  Zoe’s face froze in disbelief. “You’re actually going to make me say it out loud?”

  “If you want me to know what the hell you’re talking about, yeah!”

  She took a deep breath. “The last time I was on your show, you came into my dressing room, locked the door, whipped your dick out, and jerked off in front of me.”

  TJ laughed. “What? That? Aw—really? No! C’mon. Zoe. Babe. That was a joke.”

  “No. No.” Zoe got right in his face, her finger pointing:

  “A Hasidic Jew walks into a bar with a frog on his shoulder. Bartender says, ‘Where’d you get that?’ Frog says, ‘Brooklyn. They’re everywhere.’

  “That—that, dumbass—is a joke. Trapping a woman in a corner and jizzing on her shoes is some kind of weird sexual dominance game and indecent exposure and sexual assault all combined into one, which I would have a lawyer look into if remembering it didn’t make my frontal lobe want to vomit.”

  The smile faded from TJ’s face. “Hey, now. You shouldn’t…you shouldn’t talk to me like that, kiddo.”

  “Really? And why is that?”

  “I’m just saying. You should get a hold of yourself.”

  Zoe laughed and shook her head. “Oh. My God. That’s why you wanted to ‘ally’ with me, isn’t it? Because you think I’ll keep my mouth shut. Well, I guess that’s my fault. I haven’t given you any reason to think any different.”

  “No, I—”

  “You don’t get it, do you? You’re off the air, genius. Your show is gone. No one is going to enable you anymore. No one is going to look the other way because you can’t do anything for anyone. I am ashamed to admit it, but that is why I didn’t tell anyone. Other than it being just weird enough to be borderline unbelievable—kudos, by the way, for coming up with a kink so specific and bizarre—you were scary powerful, TJ, you were. And I kept my mouth shut. Because I was a coward.”

  Her voice quavered with oncoming tears. “I don’t know how many women you’ve done that to. Knowing you, scores. Hundreds? But it’s all over for you, TJ. No one is going to protect you anymore. No one is going to pay for your lawyers but you. All you had going for you was that stupid talk show, with your stupid laugh track, and now that it’s gone there’s nothing to keep those chickens coming home to roost.

  “So when I get back, if I get back, I’m going to tell everyone about you. In my act, in interviews. Your time is over, motherfucker. Just like poor crazy Dustin Walker. You stayed on stage too long, man. I’m going to ruin you, you smug little shit. When I’m through with you, no one will be able to hear your name without thinking, ‘Oh, yeah, the Shoe Jizzer.’

  “I’m going to do the worse thing I can possibly think to do to you, TJ.

  “I’m going to make you a punchline.”

  As she spoke, the smug smile slowly crawled back onto TJ’s face. “I see. I get it. This is a stressful situation we’re in, for everybody. I can’t talk to you when you’re hysterical.”

  “Sure. Sure. The woman is hysterical. Shocking, shocking that’s your takeaway from all this.”

  A figure, backlit by the lights from the house, appeared in the arched doorway to the front gallery.

  “What are you guys up to?” Steve Gordon asked.

  “Nothing,” Zoe said. “Hopping
and skipping down memory lane is all.”

  She swung her arm back and slapped TJ so hard between his shoulder blades that he staggered forward a couple steps.

  Steve didn’t say anything for a second.

  Then he asked:

  “Hungry?”

  VI

  The kitchen, on closer inspection, lent support to the theory that no one had been on the island in a week or more. A loaf of bread spotted with mold was removed from the pantry. Deflated vegetables lay rotting in the fridge’s crisper drawer, marinating in pools of their own viscous slime.

  Nevertheless, they found canned diced tomatoes and dried peaches, several varieties of Hot Pockets in the freezer along with a small box of frost-shrouded peas. They stacked every edible item on the marble-topped island in the center of the room.

  Zoe picked up a can of sliced beets and inspected it closely, even going so far as to rip off the label. “Take a look,” she said, handing the can to Dante, “there’s not a mark on it. I have no idea how anyone could poison that.”

  “Or why anyone would bother,” Ruby said. “They’re already canned beets.”

  They all just stared at the meager collection of food.

  “I am frigging starved,” TJ said.

  “I haven’t had a bite since that Fruit Roll-Up at the airport,” Ollie said.

  “Our host deigned to leave us a can opener,” Steve said, holding it up.

  “Who wants to dig in first?” Dante said.

  No one said anything.

  “Fine, whatever, I’ll do it,” Ruby said. “Though no Hot Pockets. Those things are nasty.”

  “Pick your poison,” Steve said, handing her the can opener.

  She shot him a look.

  “Sorry, poor choice of words.”

  Ruby chose a can of sweet corn and opened it, took a spork and barely filled the tip. She nibbled at it like a bird for three bites while the others watched.

  She set the spork aside and looked at them with a shrug. “Seems okay to me. Anybody want to see if the microwave is booby-trapped?”

  VII

  The microwave was not booby-trapped.

  Various canned and frozen foods were heated, particularly for the Hot Pocket–allied and Hot Pocket–curious. The dirty sporks and plates were piled in the kitchen for later, in the unspoken hope there would be a later.

  For obvious reasons, everyone prepared their own food, and they didn’t let anything that was supposed to go into their mouths out of their sight.

  A thin patina of normalcy settled over the evening for about half an hour.

  Steve broke it by saying:

  “Meredith, how well do you know Dave’s-Not-Here?”

  “Who?” Meredith said.

  “That’s the in-joke name we made up for the caretaker,” Zoe said.

  “Aw, you guys came up with in-jokes without me?” Ollie said.

  Meredith considered the question. “I mean…not a whole lot. He’s from Maine. Or Vermont? Some place cold and American. Moved to the West Indies to solve a midlife crisis. Real beach-bum type. Dustin met him on one of the islands somewhere. He’s divorced, with kids back in the States, I think.”

  “When’s the last time you talked to him?”

  “I emailed him this morning. I’ve been arranging the trip with him all week. Or so I thought.”

  “Why you thinking about Dave’s-Not-Here?” Dante asked.

  Steve pointed through the wall. “Because that house that’s supposed to be his house, it’s really a recording studio made to look like a comedy club. Except I found in the very back, where the dressing rooms would normally be, a little tiny room with a cot and a bureau in it, and a bathroom just big enough for a toilet. Dusty made Dave’s-Not-Here live in a servant’s quarters inside the servants’ quarters.”

  “So what’s your point?”

  “My point is he’s the only person who was supposed to be on the island who’s not accounted for. We searched the island, and Meredith searched the island before us, and nobody found nobody. But who would know better where to hide than the groundskeeper?”

  “The butler did it?” Ollie gasped.

  “I don’t know. Seems like Dusty went out of his way to make Dave’s-Not-Here feel like a second-class citizen. Like a pet, almost. Doing its master’s bidding.”

  “I feel like you’re overstating the situation just a bit,” Meredith said.

  “C’mon, the situation we’re in? The only way to accurately describe it is hyperbole.”

  “Except,” Ruby said, “Meredith insists there’s no one else on the island but us.”

  “There isn’t,” Meredith said.

  “And Dante says there doesn’t need to be anyone else on the island for us to get knocked off by the booby traps.”

  “So far, that’s right,” Dante said.

  “So what you’re saying is, either one of us did it…or no one did it…or some other person we haven’t found yet did it.”

  “That about covers it,” Steve said.

  “You’re a frigging genius,” Ruby said.

  At that moment the last bit of air seemed to squeak out of the balloon of the group, which was now thoroughly deflated.

  Ruby said, “Should we think about maybe going to bed? I am so sick of looking at your goddamn faces. No offense.”

  Zoe Schwartz said, “My first thought is, you’re crazy, who can sleep at a time like this? My second thought is, I feel like I’m buried under an avalanche. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

  Meredith looked at the digital clock on the stove and said, “It’s nearly eleven.”

  “The doors and shutters of my room lock from the inside,” TJ said. “I checked.”

  “Maybe a break would be good.” Steve nodded. “We can tackle these problems fresh in the morning.”

  “Those of us that are still here,” Zoe said, and much of the group laughed mirthlessly.

  “Captain Harry usually arrives around ten,” Meredith said.

  Ollie said, “Maybe we’ll all wake up, and we’ll all be back in our beds at home and find out this was all just a terrible dream.”

  Everyone else shared the impulse to mock his childish sincerity, but no one could because they all wanted it to be true.

  VIII

  Ruby and Meredith filed upstairs first, followed by Zoe and Dante and Steve. They entered and closed and locked their doors as if they had synchronized it.

  As Ollie started up the stairs, a hand grabbed him by the arm. He nearly screamed, but another hand clapped over his mouth.

  “Dude, it’s just me,” TJ whispered. “C’mere, I want to talk to you real quick.”

  TJ pulled Ollie back into the clown lounge. His eyes darted in all directions. “I feel like you’re the only one of this bunch I can trust, man. You and me, we’re both entrepreneurs. We both came from nothing. We built empires out of nothing except our own willpower and balls.”

  Ollie covered his mouth so TJ wouldn’t see him giggle at the word “balls.”

  “We’re in a tough spot, you know? All these people—they’re all comics, man. Iffy types.

  “Connie Chung Junior up there, she’s just itching to put a shiv between the ribs of anyone more famous than her, which is everybody.

  “Projects poseur, bargain-basement Chris Rock, he’s a real thug. I mean, violent. Watch your ass around him. Keep the booze far, far away.

  “Zoe Schwartz, she’s a blonde Jew, what’s that all about? You can’t believe a word out of her mouth.

  “The Nubian Princess, she’s been full of shit from the get-go. For all I know she’s carrying out Dusty’s crazy-ass plan because it’s a requirement for her to inherit all his dough.

  “And that Gordo…he’s a straight-up criminal, man. Believe me, I know from experience. He’s the worst of the bunch, man. Watch your back around him.”

  Ollie clutched his hands together and got more and more excited the more TJ talked. “O. M. G. Mr. Martinez, are you saying what I think you’re say
ing?”

  TJ said, “You…shouldn’t actually say text abbreviations out loud, man, but yeah, I think we should…”

  “Form an alliance?!” Ollie hopped up and down and grabbed TJ’s hands. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  “Sssh, dude, keep your voice down. Yeah, that’s the idea. Good, we got to watch out for each other. Particularly against Dante and Zoe. Remember, you can’t believe a word that bitch says.”

  “I was thinking, we could probably scrounge up enough materials to build a raft. My construction skills are excellent. The voyage could be pretty easy as long as we had the weather with us. We could steer back to Saint Martin by the stars. Unless…that might bring back painful memories for you.”

  “Painful…what? Why?”

  “Of how you and your family came to America.”

  “Dude. That’s racist.”

  “Oh, no! I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, man, you’re thinking of Cubans. Puerto Ricans come on airplanes like normal people. Don’t mix up the two. It’s very offensive.

  “But that doesn’t matter right now. The raft idea—I like it. You’re thinking along the right lines. I feel like this partnership is already paying dividends. But hitting the open water is more of a Hail Mary pass. I think the smart play is to stay put. Even if Meredith has double-crossed us and the boat that brought us here isn’t coming back, somebody is going to come looking for us. Or at least they’re going to come looking for me. You, I’m not so sure about. No offense.”

  Ollie shook his head. “I’m supposed to inspect the Orange Baby Man Theatre at Sandals Virgin Islands on Tuesday. If I’m not there, my company will definitely want to know why. I’m not just their boss. I’m their inspiration.”

  TJ felt queasy—maybe it was Ollie’s sickening earnestness, or perhaps it was the Hot Pockets bloating in his stomach—but he pressed on. “So we’re agreed. The important thing is staying alive until we get rescued. I need you to not let Zoe out of your sights. Or Dante. Or any of them, really.”