The Comedians

John watched the river's inky depths as it oozed under the bridge, the dim moonlight casting ghostly reflections on the water. With his back to one of the bridge supports, he stretched out his legs, pushing the five-foot-long, protective black case at his feet over the edge. He watched it fall with a smile of sinister satisfaction as he raised a can of Philip’s Soda Works Sparkmouth in toast. The box hit the water, disrupting the stillness of the night before sinking into the river's depths. 

            "Here's to seven tours and the experience, Craig." John muttered, his mind slowly sliding back to the events that had led him there.

***

            John had been working at his hometown comedy club since his late high school years and quickly became one of the main acts. He had always been a part of a comedy duo, starting with the quippy and somewhat irreverent Arnold, later moving on to a duet with the politically focused Marissa, and finally, Craig, who had been kinder back when they had met. Or he had, at least, kept his true nature well hidden. As their act got stronger and word spread of their performances, they eventually began touring, starting with venues across central Canada or the coasts, before eventually being dragged by demand into touring across Canada and the States.

            It had been in the green room of their first tour over the border that John approached Craig with the idea for a contract he had.

            Craig had initially taken it in good humour, finding John's reasoning entertaining. 

"So, to clarify, you want a contract to ensure that we always perform in your hometown once per tour?" Craig asked him, raising an eyebrow. 

John nodded. "We can sign it later, but I wanted to bring it up. You're the one who wanted to take our show on the road, so this is my compromise."

            "You've got yourself a deal, kid." Craig said." I can't take this show on the road without you, and you can't get as big as you want without me saying things for you that you'd never say yourself."

John grabbed Craig's hand in a handshake, prompting Craig to raise another eyebrow. 

            "Don't be so touchy."

***

             John hadn't noticed that Craig had changed at first, but it became apparent on the drive to his hometown during their third major tour. John's travels were usually filled with the sounds of U2 and Coldplay streaming through his earbuds. However, this time, Craig had decided to chat, his voice ringing mockingly from the backseat.

            "Are we there yet?"

            John resisted the urge to turn and look at him as he paused his music. "What are you, eight?"

            "You know I deserve only the best flights around, John. This," he said with passion, "is about as far as you can get from a good flight."

            "Just shut up Craig. We're an hour away." John snapped back at him.

            "You don't tell me to shut up, got it?" Craig's voice took on a venom. "That's a part of our whole bit. I do and say what you won't, all so that you look better."

            "You came up with that premise!" John protested. 

            "So what? I don't have to like it."

            "I could bring Arnold or Marissa back for a tour if you want a break." John suggested.

            "And give up my glory to those half rates? Not a chance." Craig growled.

            "Well, forget I said anything at all!" John felt a stirring of anger deep in his chest.

            Craig laughed, an unpleasant sound. "Don't worry, unless it's related to that contract of yours, or about the dozens of things that you do wrong, I forget it right away."

            John's knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as he turned his music back on and the volume up.

***

            Their seventh tour had been going well, up until they performed in John’s hometown. As he entered green room after the performance, his head down, he heard Craig's voice come floating towards him.

            "You happy about butchering the routine tonight?" Craig snarled. 

John stood in the doorway watching the back of Craig's head, who was sitting right where John had last seen him, on the couch. He swallowed nervously, "I didn't think we did that badly out there tonight."

"That's because you grew up around these people. Given the size of this place, you're probably the closest thing they've ever had to a celebrity in years." 

John sighed, "Look, I know it's not Vegas and the like, but the least you can do is try and pretend like you don't mind performing here." He tried his best not to flinch as Craig began to laugh. 

"Don't mind?" Craig spat, "Of course I mind performing here! The audience is tiny, the venue has the smallest drink menu I've seen in years, and they're paying us shit. If you hadn't suckered me into your damn contract, and I didn't need you around to keep the act together, I would have ditched you and this town long ago."

"Well-"

"On the subject of the contract, I've been thinking about it for a while now. I'm making the executive decision that we're not coming back here on a tour again. It’s time for you to grow up and enter the real world."

John stepped around to the front of the couch and stared at him in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. We're done with this town after tonight. We'll only accept bookings from the big leagues. Vegas, New York, Chicago, Toronto." Craig said, his voice inviting John to challenge his decision. He grinned and spoke up as John opened his mouth to argue. "If you want to dispute it, get a lawyer. This is how your name really gets known. Now move it; we're supposed to be out of here in an hour. I'm going to get a drink and some shut-eye in the meantime."

 John returned to the stage and began taking down his equipment, trying hard to clamp down on the anger Craig had incited. He packed his props, save for a couple lengths of rope, into one of two five-foot, protective black cases. John could hear Craig humming to himself in the other room, enjoying, in his words, a basic G&T. Snapping the clasps on the case shut, he propped it up on a dolly and wheeled it out to his car. After securing the first case, he went back inside to collect Craig. Picking up his second case and the rope from the stage, John entered the green room, his eyes drifting over to Craig's now sleeping form. John felt a loathing fill him, so potent that it scared him. Creeping towards Craig's still form, he quickly bound his arms and legs, using a rope as a gag for good measure. Craig awoke with a start, glaring up at John.

"Mmghgmph!"

John ignored Craig's muffled protests as he forced him into the case, easily overpowering his struggles. Before closing the lid, he looked at Craig one final time. 

"I won't say it's been nice, but it's been informative. Thanks, Craig." John said as he slammed the lid shut before getting it all set to go. Surveying the room, John straightened out the couch cushions that had been knocked around during the struggle and placed the empty G&T glass into a bin on the bar labelled Dirty. As he wheeled the case out to his car, he stopped to briefly chat with Ally, the club's owner.

"We've got a couple stops left on the tour, but then we'll be back in town for the off season. Do you think you can fit me into the regular schedule again?"

Ally smiled. "For you, John, we'll make room." She paused momentarily as Craig's grunts came faintly from the case. "Did you hear something?"

John shook his head. "Must be the AC or something. Listen, I've got to get going. Have a good night, Ally." 

"Have a safe drive home." She called as he packed the case into his car and began driving, heading to the river instead of home.

***

His mind returned to the present, and John got up from his vantage point on the bridge and drove back to his apartment. He fiddled with his keychain until he found the key he was looking for, popping the lock with a soft click. Entering his apartment, he headed straight for his room, digging under the bed and pulling out a case identical to the one he had pushed into the river. Finding the correct key on his keychain for the second time, he unlocked the box and popped the latches, sneezing as the dust from the top floated upwards. Opening the lid, he reached inside and pulled out Arnold, staring at the Muppet-like face from his past. 

What's a ventriloquist without a dummy? He thought as he put his arm into Arnold's back, setting himself up. 

"Well, it's about time you came back!" Arnold said to John.