Festival: Chapter 2

Kiry came to win, no plan B

Kiry
“And there was Huggy Bear!”

The audience went absolutely nuts as he dropped the punchline. He knew this would kill. They were his from from the moment his first joke, which was just a throwaway greeting, hit hard. Then the next three jokes destroyed like closers. In the first five minutes of his 15 minute set, he could tell he was hitting it out of the park, each joke building from the prior joke until he had audience members literally holding their sides and gasping for air. Unless the judges were paid off, or voting for their buddies, this comedy competition was in the bag. He’d come to Vegas to win, and this was what winning felt like. He felt invincible.

The emcee had a hard time getting the audience to quiet down after his set and when they announced it would be a minute while the judges counted up the votes, a couple in the front row started chanting Kiry, Kiry, Kiry and it quickly spread through the audience. Kiry smiled, and grabbed his luggage which he had stashed stage right where he could keep eye contact with it during his set. His whole life was in this large rollaboard suitcase. The bartender poured him a Sprite and he sipped it while he waited for the results to be announced.

A hush spread across the crowd as the emcee returned to the mic. After thanking their casino host, and a few sponsors, it was finally time to announce the winners. When he didn’t come in third, and he didn’t come in second, Kiry knew the big prize was his and started back toward the stage, carefully positioning his suitcase back in its spot, stage right. 

He took the envelope holding the prize money, shook the emcee's hand while giving half a hug. He exchanged half hugs with Shelly, the 2nd place winner, and with 3rd place, Rhys. This mother fucker definitely had friends on the judgin’ panel he thought as Rhys squeezed his shoulder, and said “Goddamn, you earned that money, my dude.”

Hurrying back to his luggage, Kiry tore the envelope open; ‘Fuck, a check.’ He went to find the promoter. Brent was talking to an older man who was seated at a slot machine. They squeezed slot machines into the bars, the comedy venues, even the airport. Sitting on the toilet was the only time a slot machine wasn’t in reach in Vegas. Everywhere on the strip was loud. A scattershot rainbow of bright colors were flashing any direction you looked. Trying to focus on anything other than playing slots was by design difficult and overwhelming. 

“Hey Brent, I need to get this check cashed. Can you help me out.” Kiry was a large round black man, with a face that, when he wasn’t smiling, looked like that of a chess player holding his next three moves ready behind his eyes. He stood with one hand on his suitcase’s extended handle and the other holding out the envelope with the $2,000 check in it.

“Hey, it our big winner. Congratulations, man. Let me get you a drink. What you having?” Brent asked. He was wearing a slim fit vintage suit with no tie, the top button of his shirt unbuttoned, his beard was perfectly shaped and Kiry had teased him earlier in the day for having “…the official Proud Boy hairstyle. I’m not saying you’re a racist. I’m just saying you look like a racist.”

“I’m sorry Brent. I really gotta run. I’m supposed to get a bus up to Eriksville for a comedy festival.”

“Oh yeah, Riff Randell is this weekend. Cool. How many shows are you on?”

“I’m on three, but only if I get there. I really gotta go. I need this money to buy my bus ticket.”

“Really? So what were you gonna do if you didn’t win?” 

“I don’t know. I just knew I needed to win.”

“Ha!” Brent slapped Kiry on the shoulder. “You’re fuckin’ crazy.” He turned to his friend playing slots. “Are you hearing this guy? He came without a ticket back. It’s win or be homeless in Vegas, I guess.” His friend did not look up from his slot machine or otherwise acknowledge that he’d been spoken to.

“Yeah, something like that. So listen, can you cash this check for me?” Kiry asked trying not to sound desperate or impatient though he was both.

“No, brother. Of course not. I don’t walk around with that kind of cash. Sorry man. But I’m still good for that drink if you want it.” 

“Another time. Like I said, I gotta get on the road pretty quick. Thanks for everything. I’ll call you later about booking some gigs.”

“For sure, man. We need to get you back here to headline. Go celebrate, you earned it.”

Kiry looked across the room full of flashing lights, comedians, and departing audience members, trying to find someone amidst the sea of machines and their electronic cacophony who might be able to help him out. There at one of the many bars sat Rhys. Kiry made  his way across the casino, being stopped several times by comedians and audience members congratulating him, most just exclaiming “Huggy Bear!” and patting him on the shoulder.

“Hey, it’s the big winner. Good job tonight, my dude.” Rhys greeted him as he finally reached the bar.

“Thanks, man. I did my best.” Kiry did not like Rhys. He felt like the fashionably disheveled younger comic with a mop of blond hair sitting messily on top of his head had secured his place in the comedy scene mostly by spending money. He had plenty of cash on hand at all times but original premises and punchlines, not so much. His delivery was charming enough, delivered with the confidence of someone who trusted their expensive private school education to come through when they spoke. “Hey listen Rhys, I need a favor. Can I sign this check over to you? I’m about to miss my bus and I gotta get some cash.”

“Why don’t you just put it in your bank and use your debit card.” he said, as if it were obvious.

“I had some trouble with my bank. I don’t have access right now. Can you hook me up?”

“So I’m the bank now?” Rhys laughed as if he’d just made a very funny joke. The two other comics sitting with him laughed as if he’d just made a very funny joke. Kiry forced a smile. “Alright man, you give me twenty percent and I’ll cash it for you right now.”

“Sure, thanks.” Kiry started to pull the check out of the envelope.

“Sure? Ha, listen to this dude.” he said to the toadying comedians drinking on his tab at the bar and laughing at his jokes. “I’m kidding, man. Twenty percent! Damn, you are desperate.”

“Yeah, I really am. This isn’t fun for me, dude. I am gonna end up sleeping at the bus station and missing my gig in Eriksville. I don’t have time for fucking jokes.” Kiry was getting angry. He’d spent enough nights in bus stations, and here in Vegas where the security didn’t know him as a frequent traveler, he might be chased out since he didn’t yet have a ticket.

“My (n-word) chill. I can’t help ya with that check or that bus, but you can totally crash in my hotel room.”

Kiry hated when Rhys used the n-word, and had to suppress the urge to tell him to fuck off, or to punch his smug face. The truth was, a warm hotel room might be his best bet at this point. Rhys of course knew this, and that’s why he risked it. He was gambling but he held all the cards.

“That would be great. Thanks.”

Kiry watched people endlessly and dispassionately feeding coins into slot machines and sipped his Sprite as he waited for Rhys to be done at the bar. He didn’t want to sit close enough for this douchebag to buy him a drink. He went into his bag and fished out a Snickers bar and made eye contact with an older black man wearing the red vest of a casino employee who was walking toward him. He hoped he wasn’t about to be told he couldn’t eat outside food in the bar.

“You’re funny.” the thin, gray haired man said. His voice was scratchy but soft with a slight southern lilt.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate that.” Kiry responded.

“You hungry? We just had someone bounce before their BLT and fries came up. It's yours if you want it.”

“For real?”

“I got ya, young man. Wait right here.” 

Kiry folded the wrapper around what was left of his Snickers bar and put it away for later. He was mostly vegetarian these days when he was paying but saying no to free food went against the broke comic’s creed.

As the server came back with the plate of food Kiry fished in his pocket for the few loose bills he had to use as a tip. He found 3 dollars.

“Put that away, son. You gave me a good laugh in there. I needed that more than I knew. A good laugh is a blessing. I expect to see your name up in lights here before too long. Enjoy your sandwich.” the older man said, walking away and muttering “Huggy Bear. Heh heh.” under his breath.

As he was finishing the last of his fries Rhys came by and gave him a smack on the shoulder, “Let’s hit it, dude.”

The hotel room, a 10 minute Lyft ride from the casino, was small but clean. Most of the floor was taken up by the two twin beds and the dresser with a TV mounted to the wall above it. Rhys and a comic named Blaire, both from Modesto, California, took the two beds. Kiry situated himself on the floor and used his hoodie as a pillow. He was a large man, and the only space he’d fit blocked the bathroom door. He had to get up every time Rhys or Blaire needed to use the bathroom. The two of them were sharing a 12 pack of Coors Light so this inconvenience was frequent.

Kiry sat on the corner of Rhys’ bed waiting for him to finish in the bathroom. He feigned interest in the Professional Wrestling bout playing out on the television to avoid having to make small talk with Blaire. As Rhys came out, Kiry stood, preparing to lay back down. “It’s funny isn’t it,” Rhys said, with a slight slur. “You’re the big winner tonight, but I’m the one sleeping in a bed.” 

“Yeah, man. That’s a riot.”

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You’re reading my novel, Festival.
For Chapter 3 click here.

Or you can click here start at Chapter 1