Daniel Datch was only able to see and hear the man in black the moment he decided to kill himself. The echoes of his own voice filled the silences after speaking into the microphone. What was supposed to be laughter proceeding his bits were moments of toxic introspection. This was supposed to be a therapeutic outlet. The microphone was supposed to control the way people laughed at him. Now it was the only thing that stopped the laughter. 

            Following suit with the rest of them, his last joke produced sounds of intermittent coughs, the rapid clicking of eyelids, ice cubes clinking in empty glasses. Daniel thought he could even hear the bartender’s towel scrubbing against a clean bottle. The crowd was filled with other participants reading over their notes, zero talent scouts, and empty chairs. The afternoon sun filled the olive green walls. The corners were inhabited by a broken popcorn machine, another empty chair, a jukebox with an abundant supply of Neil Diamond, and a man who wasn’t there a moment ago. 

            The man seemed out of place. His suit was jet obsidian. Immaculately pressed. Descending from his neck was a thin black tie resting atop a buttoned shirt of identical color. His short black hair was slicked back with a pomade that was probably expensive. The only thing his 50’s jazz bassist outfit was missing was an off-kilter fedora. The toothpick in between his teeth bobbed up and down as he smiled at Daniel. It certainly wasn’t from his last joke. 

            Forced laughter erupted from the man to his left. Rod Carney stood on the sidelines of every comic’s set. He introduced each name before they stumbled on stage. The names were often mispronounced, being read aloud for the first time. Each participant received a laugh from Rod. Whether they bombed or killed. It wasn’t out of pity; his laugh was known to be infectious and often helped after a bad joke. 

            Rod’s embellished cackle was cut short as he saw a hooded figure smash the window of his car. Glass exploded from the driver’s side and outlined the figure reaching inside. His eyes darted for the door as his feet followed suit. All six people in the bar watched their host storm outside. Daniel stood one foot above everyone else and watched the chaos outside. 

            The man in black was the only one who didn’t watch Rod walk out to his demise. He just kept smiling at Daniel. The wooden pick bounced again. Daniel looked at him. Glistening pearls peaked out of the man’s mouth. The man’s index finger slowly rose to the air next to him. Tires squealing against hot asphalt sang outside the bar. The man’s finger dropped on an imaginary button and a loud thud stopped the rubber squeals. Everybody left their seat and ran outside as a series of gasps filled the air. While most ran to Rod’s aid, some went after the hooded figure shrinking into the city.

            Daniel stayed planted on the stage. The chaos unraveled like a tragic play or one of Daniel’s acts. The front door slowly slinked back to its normal state and the cries and car horns softened to a thick muffle. Wet wood clicked against teeth once more. Full gusts came in and out of Daniel’s mouth as his chest rapidly rose and fell. His friend was sprawled out on the ground outside. Surrounded by comics better than him. And he was inside with this…stranger. He had a feeling this man had something to do with his friend’s predicament. He walked off the stage and shuffled to the man. 

            “Who are you?” he asked the man in black. 

            “I really don’t understand you people,” the man began. “Something like what’s going on outside happens and you want to know who I am, when deep down you all really know.”

            Maybe it was what the man in black had said or maybe it was the initial disbelief wearing off, but Daniel knew who he was. He was here to take his friend. But he wasn’t ready for his friend to go. Rod probably wasn’t ready to go either. 

            “Most people aren’t,” the man replied. Was Daniel thinking out loud? There’s no other way the man could have heard him. “Even the ones that think they are ready. Most are not,” he repeated. 

            Wasn’t Daniel ready to go? He decided it was his time halfway into his set. It wasn’t Rod’s time. A faint siren outside grew louder as Rod’s time became shorter. 

            “Mr. Datch, it’s important for you to understand that I never leave empty handed,” the man in black said as Daniel began to bargain. He knew what needed to happen. 

            “Can I tell you a joke first?” Daniel asked the man.

            “If you make it quick, Mr. Datch. I’m on a schedule.”

            “I once had a crush on the grim reaper. I knew I couldn’t be intimate with him because everything he puts his hand on dies. Do you know what I did instead?” 

            The sirens outside stopped and two uniformed individuals rushed to the man on the street. 

            “I beat it to death.”

            The man in black stared back at the comedian. Outside, Rod was strapped to a gurney and wheeled towards the back of a large white van. Rod lifted his hand as high as the straps would allow. His thumb extended outward, letting his friends know he was okay. As the comics applauded outside, the man in black spit out his toothpick from laughing. 

            Daniel smiled. He put an arm around his new friend as they exited the bar and the ambulance drove away. As the man under his arm continued to bellow, Daniel thought of the only person to actually laugh at one of his jokes. 

He thought it was pretty funny.

---

Follow My Stories

Get new stories delivered directly to your inbox.