Buggy let out a loud groan as he leaned back in his chair to pet Mittens behind the ear. He wondered if the young comedian had a point before he left the room, if he really was losing his sense of humor. Buggy couldn’t even remember the last time he had a good laugh. Were the comedians who came to him looking for work really so bad or had Buggy just become jaded? He was getting old, at least ten years past the age of retirement, and the joke trade was wearing him to the bone. If it weren’t for the exorbitant medical bills he had to pay to keep his terminally ill bulldog alive, he would’ve quit the business years ago.
“Come on, Mittens,” Buggy said. The dog hadn’t moved from his spot all day.
“Erff…,” Mittens said, his lower canine teeth poking out over his jowls.
Buggy clapped his hands. “Come on, boy. Let’s go. Let’s get some lunch.”
“Errr…” Mittens closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
After ten minutes of coercing the dog out of its prone position, Buggy opened his office door and waved a bone at the entrance. Mittens groaned and pulled himself to his paws, lumbering slowly toward the old clown. He was connected to a life-support machine on wheels that made a squeaking noise as it dragged behind him. The dog didn’t seem to notice the machine was even there.
As he arrived in the doorway, Mittens looked up at Buggy. “Erff…”
Buggy knew that look. Mittens was too lazy to walk and wanted to be carried.
“Come on, Mittens,” Buggy said. “You can’t walk more than ten feet without giving up?”
“Erff…” Mittens sat down in the doorway and licked his jowls.
“Fine, you big lump.” Buggy picked the bulldog up in his arms. “But tomorrow you’re going on an exercise regime. You’re getting fat again.”
“Erff…,” Mittens said, then sneezed goobers of saliva against the side of Buggy’s neck.
Buggy packed his bulldog into the backseat of his clown car and squeezed himself into his front seat—he had to pull the seat all the way up to make room for his dog’s life support machine. One second after he started the engine, the streets filled with the roars of police sirens.
The feds didn’t see Buggy inside his car as they raided the comedy club. They burst through the front door with enough guns that you’d think they were going after a terrorist cell. Buggy didn’t wait around to see what happened to the members of his crew who were still inside. He hit the gas and got out of there as fast as he could go.
In his rearview mirror, Buggy saw Manny Malone, the son of a bitch who’d been trying to take down every one of Buggy’s comedy clubs in Little Bigtop. This was the last large venue Buggy had left in town, and Manny had finally made his move on the place. The old clown was able to avoid the slammer for now, but he wondered if he wouldn’t have been safer inside. After the fourth raid this month, he wasn’t looking forward to facing the boss.