The Last Laugh

         Daniel smoothed out his shirt while he listened to the man on stage announce his coming performance.  It was his first time performing at “Risa”, and it was a make or break event.  A comic would only receive one shot to showcase his routine at Risa; if you succeeded, a lot of doors opened up for you. If you bombed, then you might as well pack away your pen and notepad and find a new line of work. 
         “He’s made his mark over the past few months at Laffy, Inc., Loki’s, and most recently, Comogul.  We’ve decided it’s time for this breath of fresh air to have his run here at Risa. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Daniel Waul!”
         The smile spread across his face as he strode out from the wing into the spotlight, throwing a hand up in greeting to the crowd. As bid, they clapped and hooted, likely that some had seen his previous shows. Others perhaps had heard their friends talking about his set.  The rest only knew him as a name on the fliers, but if he was performing at Risa, then he had paid his dues and would, at the very least, provide them with some entertainment for the night.  At the most, they’d scramble onto their computers when they arrived home to add him on Facebook to keep track of when he‘d perform next. 
         “Good evening! Good evening!” Daniel said, stepping up to the microphone and pulling it from the stand.  The crowd continued to clap and whistle and he waved once more. “Wow! Yeah, no pressure. Thanks.”
         A ripple of giggles passed over the five hundred faces. They were mostly the college age crowd, a combination of guys with their girlfriends, frat brothers out for drinks, and the regular comedy club surfers.
         “You know what never ceases to amaze me? The utter bitterness of women towards one another and the ability they have to carry that bitterness into a professional setting,” he said, slowly striding across the stage, followed by the spotlight.  Another ripple of giggles teamed with a few hoots from males in the audience let him know he was on the right track.
         “I have a friend who bartends.  Let me enlighten you to the method used by males and females behind a bar in case you’re ignorant to it. Generally speaking, your female will tend to the males and the male will tend to the females. This is a brilliantly concocted method used to increase the number and size of tips.  Capitalism at its best, ladies and gentleman!  And damn me for playing right along with it! I mean, really, who do I want serving me my drink: a model from GQ or one from Victoria’s Secret?”
         The giggle had risen to a full on laugh from his last remark.
         “Ladies, I know your answer to that question but trust me, when someone hands me my drink, I’m not real concerned with whether or not they can bench press a camel, or if they’ve managed to find that perfect blend of a boyish twinkle in their eyes with rugged handsomeness.  To be honest, I don’t even care how good my drink is! What I want to know is ‘are those real and what are the chances I’ll be seeing them tonight?’”
         The guys in the audience took up the cheer, clapping and hooting out their approval.
         “This isn’t so different from what the bartenders themselves want.  The girls don’t mind flashing a smile at a guy who at least looks like he showered that morning and the guys…well, let’s be honest, if she’s got a pulse and a rack we’re pretty much set.”
         He was on a roll, he could feel it.  The crowd was eating it up and he couldn’t help but smile more.  It was going more perfect than he could have hoped for.  They were responding even better than his shows at the smaller gigs.
         “So my friend is tending one night, teamed up with a girl, right? And it’s rather slow, but he still manages to get flagged down by this absolute knockout.  So he goes over and after getting her the drink, he starts flirting with her a bit while he pours some beers for the waitresses.  He pardons himself for a minute to take the beers over to the other side for the waitresses and the other bartender, the girl, says to him ‘ugh, what are you doing talking her?’.”
         His imitation of a disgusted female went over well.  The whole crowd laughed.
         “And she’s saying it all disgusted, y’know? She goes on to tell him how the girl is such a big slut and how they have this nasty past and so on and so forth.  My buddy looks at her and says, ‘she’s a slut? You’re not making a very compelling case here.’”.
         More laughter.
         “God, try something original!”
         The shout came from the front row and Daniel hesitated a moment. He scanned to see the culprit and saw a young man in his early twenties, sitting with his buddies on either side of him, laughing at the heckle.
         “And here we have it! My first heckler,” Daniel said, his voice faltering slightly but forcing himself to maintain a gleeful appearance.  It was true, though.  He had never had a heckler at his previous shows. 
         “No one gives a shit about men and women and their differences. Shit, man, tell us something we don’t know!” the man shouted.
         Daniel stood there a moment, his mind racing to find a comeback.  He couldn’t let the heckler show him up now, it would mean the death of his chances at coming back to Risa.  Combating a heckler was all part of the job description.
         “Pretty well informed on the differences between men and women already?” Daniel asked him, walking across the stage until he was in front of the heckler.
         “Yeah. You’re spitting a recycled routine,” the man said.
         The sweat had begun to bead on Daniel’s forehead and he stared blankly at the man.  He needed a comeback. Something. Anything.  The longer he waited, the most disenchanted the crowd became. He could see them glancing at one another, something covering their faces in embarrassment for him at his inability to defeat such a novice challenge.
         “You…” he began, then froze. What was he going to say?
         “How did you get your chance at Risa? Man, they’ve really lowered their standards,” the man shouted out.
         The laughter that had been his just moments ago was turned into ‘oo’s as the crowd reacted to the slander.  Daniel glanced off to the side and saw the announcer standing just off stage, his face set in a look of disapproval.  He shook his head slightly, indicating that Daniel needed to take back the crowd and would be receiving no help from him.
         “Man, say something or get off the stage for someone who will,” the heckler shouter.
         Just like that, Daniel realized he had failed.  Though the night had begun perfectly, it had been snuffed out by a few remarks from a nobody in the audience.  After such flawless shows, his shot at the big time was rapidly running down the drain.  His inability to step up to the challenge of a heckler would only invite more such people to any shows he did in the future. He’d have to spend the next year or so just rebuilding his reputation.  He felt anger surge up through him and his face turned red, making it appear as though he was blushing with embarrassment.  Additionally, the crowd was turning hostile, a few voices coming out and telling him to pack it up.  Giving the heckler a final, bitter look, he slipped the microphone back into the stand and walked off the stage.
         
         “I’ll meet up with you guys in a bit, I gotta piss,” Dominic said as he and his friends walked out of Risa.  He had forgotten to hit the head on his way out and the beers he had consumed were demanding an exit.
         His friends waved and walked on while he turned down the alley next to Risa and made his way towards the back for some privacy.  It was dark, the only light coming from the light over the backdoor to the club.  Crumpled paper and foam cups were tossed here and there, and the ground beneath his shoes was grimy with city filth.  He walked past the dumpster just beyond the backdoor and turned to face the wall. Unzipping his pants and taking himself out, he let out a relieved sigh as he urinated.
         “Bet you thought that was clever.”
         Dominic looked over his shoulder and tried to steady his vision.  Someone stood in the gloom, their back to the light over the doorway so that their face was obscured in shadow.
         “What the hell?” Dominic said, finishing his business and turning to face the newcomer.
         The man began to roll up the sleeves of his button up shirt, revealing tattoos that seemed to almost writhe on his arms.  Dominic wiped a hand over his face, trying to sober up enough to make sense of what was going on.
         “He invested too much in me to have it all thrown away by some greasy haired nobody!” the man said, his voice boiling with rage.
         Before Dominic could react, the man reached out and the tattoos leapt from his arms, jet black tendrils lurching towards him while they squirmed in the air like worms on hooks.  Dominic’s cry of horror was cut short as the tendrils wrapped themselves around his head.  They felt slick and wet, but stronger than anything he had encountered in his life. He reached up and grabbed them, but it was useless, for they stretched and slid through his hands, coated in an oily slime.  The tendrils pushed their way into his mouth and nose, cutting off his air and crawling farther into his body.  His mind screamed in fear since his voice had been silenced and he felt his head begin to ache from the lack of oxygen. Slowly feeling disappeared from his body and he slipped into darkness.

         Daniel looked down at the body, the tendrils having returned to their place on his arms and taken up the visage of tattoos.  Though he could make out very little in the gloomy of the alleyway, he could see the horrific expression death had frozen the man’s face in.  The eyes bulged out and his lips were peeled back in a scream, with his tongue laying off to the side. 
         He won’t be our ruin, Daniel.  We’ll have another chance. I promised you that, said the voice in Daniel’s head.
         “I know,” Daniel said out loud, then turned and began to walk out of the alley.