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voice a heavy thud in the microphone, hitting every table in the room. There was mostly mid-range laughter, somewhere between ‘I get it’ and ‘that’s actually funny’. A couple of young women up front were totally in the zone, whooping and clapping every second line. Drunk, most likely. Possibly Canadian. There were also a few blank expressions – doubtless from people who had no concept of Pandora or personalized radio. Ignorance of contemporary culture could be a stand up’s worst enemy.
    By the time Bruno described the random songs his playlists came up with, and the embarrassment of having Nickelback play on a first date, he’d won the entire room over. The girls up front were bordering on hysterics, and they’d pulled the rest of the crowd in with them – even the po-faced luddites.
    Bruno knew to leave the crowd wanting more, and he promptly introduced the next act, a young, curly-haired comedian who gave the host a small bow of appreciation as he walked on stage.
    Bruno’s broad face was beaming as he approached my table, clutching an ever-present bottle of Miller in his meaty paw. “Hey Sam, you hear that?”
    “I did. Nice reaction. I told you Pandora’s a household name.”
    “Yeah, you did. Thanks for the lead-in. You see I added the bit with Nickelback?”
    “That was the best part.”
    “I think so,” he agreed proudly. “Everyone hates Nickelback.”
    I answered by raising my glass and nodding sagely. Bruno had come a long way in the last six months. He was already learning more than I could teach him – coming up with his own material, and tweaking his routine to fit the audience. That’s what happened with all my genuinely talented clients. Eventually, they moved on.
    “Hey, you okay?” Bruno asked.
    “Yeah, of course.”
    Bruno’s eyes narrowed. “Bullshit. Those stress veins in your forehead are bigger than your scars already. And that’s saying something.” 
    I smiled at the familiar gibe. From day one, Bruno had been obsessed with my scars. He couldn’t get through a conversation without throwing in a random theory on how I’d been cut, hoping that one day he’d hit on the truth and a facial tick would betray my secret. I considered it a mildly amusing but ultimately pointless exercise. He’d never come close to guessing the truth.
    “There’s something strange going on at work,” I said. “You know that lawyer who shares my office? I think he called me last night, at one in the morning. And the weird thing was, he disguised his voice.”
    Bruno lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah? So how do you know it was him?”
    “Just a feeling I got. So I left a message on his desk, and he didn’t bother to reply. I mean, if he didn’t know anything about the call, why wouldn’t he say so?”
    Bruno shrugged. “Fuck, I don’t know. Unless…do you think he’s the dirty cop who pushed you in front of a streetcar?”
    I ignored his latest stab in the dark. “And he kept calling me Johnny. That was my nickname years ago.”
    “ Johnny . Why Johnny?”
    “Long story. Anyway, he acted like he knew me.”
    “Johnny’s a pretty common name. It could’ve been a wrong number.”
    “I know, I know,” I said, lifting my glass. Bruno’s indifference was making me feel better, like I was making a mountain out of a molehill. “You’re right, it’s probably nothing.”
    “No doubt. You should be more worried about finding the crazy bitch who attacked you with a kitchen knife.”
    “Jesus, Bruno. Give it a rest.”
    “Never,” he said, checking the stage. The curly-haired comic looked relaxed, and was generating a steady stream of laughter, earning him the right to finish his set. Bruno could relax for another five minutes. He said, “Oh yeah, I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up. I’m playing a club in Oakland tomorrow night. Chloe’s coming over for it. She’s bringing a friend from her gym, this girl Maxine….”
    “–I’m not interested…”
    “–Just hear me