Free Death by Sarcasm by Dani Amore Page B

wondered why she had insisted on a condo with a view of the ocean. Her parents had died in the Pacific when she was just three. Lost during a storm while sailing their 36’ catamaran. The bodies had never been found. It was right after that she’d moved in with Aunt Alice, who had raised her.
    Mary toyed with the pasta but she’d lost her appetite. She threw it away then filled her glass again.
    Her mind drafted back to her new neighbor. It had been awhile since her last relationship. Jake had really been it. There’d been a few serious guys before that. A few not-so-serious. You had to have those once in awhile. At least when you were younger. Now, it just seemed like a waste of time.
    A lot of the guys she’d been with had two big problems with her: one, she was a little bit sarcastic. And two, she carried a gun and knew how to use it. A lot of times, guys were okay with one of those. It was the rare individual who could handle both.
    Even Jake. He’d been fine with career. It was the mouth that got her into trouble. One of the last times they’d been together, they’d made love and Jake had asked her if she had fantasized about someone else.
    She still laughed about her answer.
    “You mean like Kevin Costner in ‘Dances with Wolves?” she had said. “Did I imagine Kevin and I on a buffalo rug in a warm teepee, with him pleasuring me to the thunder of the hoofbeats of Tatonka! No,” she’d said, calming down. “Absolutely not.”
    Mary thought it had been a funny joke – it had been a joke. She may have fantasized about Kevin Costner in Dances with Wolves when she was by herself, in her hot tub doing something naughty, but not when she was with Jake. And it wasn’t just that, they had cooled off slightly anyway. And they had never formally broken up, it just seemed that both of them were a little bit scared to make a decision one way or the other.
    She’d had some really good times with Jake, not that they had seen each other that long. He was very kind, gentle, and funny in a way that complemented her sense of humor. Mary wondered if she’d made a mistake, if she should have told him how she truly felt. That she was in love with him. Was it too late?
    Mary polished off her third glass of wine, her limit, and headed for the hot tub. After everything she’d been through, crying in her condo about a past relationship was not on her agenda.
    She fired up the Jacuzzi in her master bedroom, sunk into the hot water, and thought about Kevin Costner in Dances with Wolves. Had he ever been cuter?
    Mary had a feeling she was going to see some Tatonka.

Fourteen
    T he comedy club names were a parade of bad puns: Punch’s Line. The Delivery Room. Stand Me Up.
    Mary went to them all. She talked to every bartender, manager and comedian she could find. She sat and listened to countless comedians talk about such lofty topics as why women check their makeup in the mirror, why there’s so much meat on pizza, and observations on the differences between New York City and Los Angeles. She wondered why so many had the same material. Maybe that’s why they were in these shithole comedy clubs instead of on the Tonight Show. The only thing she knew was that the few times she laughed, it was at something a heckler said, rarely the other way around.
    It was at the Comedy Cabin, yes, designed like a log cabin in the Adirondacks, that Mary found the first glimmer of recognition.
    “Yeah, I’ve seen the fat fuck,” the bartender said. He was a skinny white guy with a soul patch and a black T-shirt. “Dickbag never tips. I love it when someone rips him a new asshole. He deserves it.”
    “Is ‘Fat Fuck’ his Christian name, or does he go by something else?” Mary said.
    “No clue, babe. All I know is he’s fat, stupid and obnoxious. And he’s got a thing for a chick comic. The one who wears the leather pants all the time?”
    He looked at Mary as if she could spout out the name immediately. “No clue, babe,” she