Shoot the Piano Player (6 page)

"Sometimes I wonder why she lets me stay."

"You really wanna know?" He smiled dimly. "Her room is right under yours. She could take a different room if she wanted to. After all, it's her house. But no, she keeps that room. So it figures she likes the sound it makes."

"The sound? What sound?"

"The bedsprings," he said.

"But look now, that woman is seventy-six years old."

"That's the point," he said. "They get too old for the action, they gotta have something, at least. With her it's the sound."

Clarice pondered itfor a few moments. Then she nodded slowly. "Come to think of it, you got something there." And then, with a sigh, "It must be awful to get old like that."

"You think so? I don't think so. It's just a part of the game and it happens, that's all."

"It won't happen to me." she said decisively. "I hit sixty, I'll take gas. What's the point of hanging around doing nothing?"

"There's plenty to do after sixty."

"Not for this one. This one ain't joining a sewing circle, or playing bingo night after night. If I can't do no better than that, I'll just let them put me in a box."

"They put you in, you'd jump right out. You'd come out doing somersaults '

"You think I would? Really?"

"Sure you would." He grinned at her. "Double somersaults and back flips. And getting applause."

Her face lighted up, as though she could see it happening. But then her bare feet felt the solid floor and it brought her back to here and now. She looked at the man in the bed.

And then she was off the chair and onto the side of the bed. She put her hand on the quilt over his knees.

He frowned slightly. "What's the matter, Clarice?"

"I don't know, I just feel like doing something."

"But I told you--"

"That was business. This ain't business. Reminds me of one night last summer when I came in here and we got to talking, I remember you were flat broke and I said you could have credit and you said no, so I let it drop and we went on talking about this and that and you happened to mention my hair-do. You said it looked real nice, the way I had my hair fixed. I'd fixed it myself earlier that night and I was wondering about how it looked. So of course it gimme a lift when you said that, and I said thanks. I remember saying thanks.

"But I don't know, I guess it needed more than just thanks. I guess I hadda show some real appreciation. Not exactly what you'd call a favor for a favor, but more like an urge, I'd call it. And the windup was I let you have it for free. So now I'll tell you something. I'll tell you the way it went for me. It went all the way up in the sky."

His frown had deepened. And then a grin mixed with the frown and he said, "Watcha doing? Writing verses?"

She gave a little laugh. "Sounds that way, don't it?" And tried it for sound, mimicking herself, "--way up in the sky." She shook her head, and said, "Jesus Christ, I oughtta put that on tape and sell it to the soap people. But even so, what I'm trying to say, that night last summer was some night, Eddie, I sure remember that night."

He nodded slowly. "Me too."

"You remember?" She leaned toward him. "You really remember?"

"Sure," he said. "It was one of them nights don't come very often."

"And here's something else. If I ain't mistaken, it was a Friday night."

"I don't know," he said.

"Sure it was. It damn sure was a Friday night, cause next day at the Hut you got your pay from Harriet. She always pays you on Saturdays and that's how I remember. She paid you and then you came over to the table where I was sitting with some johns. You tried to give me three dollars. I told you to go to hell. So then you wanted to know what I was sore about, and I said I wasn't sore. And just to prove it, I bought you a drink. A double gin."

"That's right," he said, remembering that he hadn't wanted the gin, he'd accepted it just as a gesture. As they'd raised glasses, she'd been looking through her glass and through his glass, as though trying to tell him something that could only be said through the gin. He remembered that now. He remembered it very clearly.

He said, "l'm really tired, Clarice. If I wasn't--"

Her hand went away from the quilt over his knee. She gave a little shrug and said, "Well, I guess all Friday nights ain't the same."

He winced slightly.

She walked toward the door. At the door she turned and gave him a friendly smile. He started to say something, but he couldn't get it out. He saw that her smile had given way to a look of concern.

"What is it, Eddie?"

He wondered what showed on his face. He was trying to show the soft-easy smile, but he couldn't get it started. Then he blinked several times and made a straining effort and the smile came onto his lips.

But she was looking at his eyes. "You sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Why shouldn't I be? I got no worries."

She winked at him, as though to say, You want me to believe that, I'll believe it. Then she said good night and walked out of the room.

5

He didn't get much sleep. He thought about Turley. He said to himself, Why think about that? You know they didn't get Turley. If they'd grabbed Turley, they wouldn't need you. They came after you because they're very anxious to have some discussion with Turley. What about? Well, you don't know, and you don't care. So I guess you can go to sleep now.

He thought about the beer cases falling onto the floor at the Hut. When you did that, he thought, you started something. Like telling them you had some connection with Turley. And naturally they snatched at that. They reasoned you could take them to Turley.

But I guess it's all right now. Item one, they don't know you're his brother. Item two, they don't know where you live. We'll skip item three because that item is the waitress and you don't want to think about her. All right, we won't think about her, we'll concentrate on Turley. You know he got away and that's nice to know. It's also nice to know they won't get you. After all, they're not the law, they can't go around asking questions. Not in this neighborhood anyway. In this neighborhood it sure as hell ain't easy to get information. The citizens here have a closed-mouth policy when it comes to giving out facts and figures, especially someone's address. You've lived here long enough to know that. You know there's a very stiff line of defense against all bill collectors, skip tracers, or any kind of tracers. So no matter who they ask, they'll get nothing. But hold it there. You sure about that?

I'm sure of only one thing, mister. You need sleep and you can't sleep. You've started something and you're making it big, and the truth is it ain't nothing at all. That's just about the size of it, it's way down there at zero.

His eyes were open and he was looking at the window. In the darkness he could see the white dots moving on the black screen, the millions of white dots coming down out there, and he thought, They're gonna have sledding today, the kids. Say, is that window open? Sure it's open, you can see it's open. You opened it after Clarice walked out. Well, let's open it wider. We have more air in here, it might help us to fall asleep.

He got out of bed and went to the window. He opened it all the way. Then he leaned out and looked and the street was empty. In bed again, he dosed his eyes and kept them closed and finally fell asleep. He slept for less than an hour and got up and went to the window and looked out. The street was empty. Then he had another couple hours of sleep before he felt the need for one more look. At the window, leaning out, he looked at the street and saw that it was empty. That's final, he told himself. We won't look again.

It was six-fifteen, the numbers yellow-white on the face of the alarm clock. We'll get some sleep now, some real sleep, he decided. We'll sleep till one, or make it one-thirty. He set the clock for one-thirty and climbed into bed and fell asleep. At eight he woke up and went to the window. Then he returned to the bed and slept until ten-twenty, at which time he made another trip to the window. The only action out there was the snow. It came down in thick flurries, and already it looked a few inches deep. He watched it for some moments, then climbed into bed and fell asleep. Two hours later he was up and at the window. There was nothing happening and he went back to sleep. Within thirty minutes he was awake and at the window. The street was empty, except for the Buick.

The Buick was brand-new, a pale green-and-cream hardtop convertible. It was parked across the street and from the angle of the window he could see them in the front seat, the two of them. He recognized the felt hats first, the pearlgray and the darker gray. It's them, he told himself. And you knew they'd show. You've known it all night long. But how'd they get the address?

Let's find out. Let's get dressed and go out there and find out.

Getting dressed, he didn't hurry. They'll wait, he thought. They're in no rush and they don't mind waiting. But it's cold out there, you shouldn't make them wait too long, it's inconsiderate. After all, they were thoughtful of you, they were really considerate. They didn't come up here and break down the door and drag you out of bed. I think that was very nice of them.

He slipped into the tattered overcoat, went out of the room, down the steps, and out the front door. He walked across the snow-covered street and they saw him coming. He was smiling at them. As he came closer, he gave a little wave of recognition, and the man behind the wheel waved back. It was the short, thin one, the one in the pearlgray hat.

The car window came down, and the man behind the wheel said, "Hello, Eddie."

"Eddie?"

"That's your name, ain't it?"

"Yes, that's my name." He went on smiling. His eyes were taking the mild inquiry, Who told you?

Without sound the short, thin one answered, Let's skip that for now, then said aloud, "They call me Feather. It's sort of a nickname. I'm in that weight division." He indicated the other man, saying, "This is Morris."

"Pleased to meet you," Eddie said.

"Same here," Feather said. "We're very pleased to meet you, Eddie." Then he reached back and opened the rear door. "Why stand out there in the snow? Slide in and get comfortable'

"I'm comfortable," Eddie said.

Feather held the door open. "It's warmer in the car."

"I know it is," Eddie said. "I'd rather stay out here. I like it out here."

Feather and Morris looked at each other. Morris moved his hand toward his lapel, his fingers sliding under and in, and Feather said, "Leave it alone. We don't need that."

"I wanna show it to him," Morris said.

"He knows it's there."

"Maybe he ain't sure. I want him to be sure."

"All right, show it to him."

Morris reached in under his lapel and took out a small black revolver. It was chunky and looked heavy but he handled it as though it were a fountain pen. He twirled it once and it came down flat in his palm. He let it stay there for a few moments, then returned it to the holster under his lapel. Feather was saying to Eddie, "You wanna get in the car?"

"No." Eddie said.

Again Feather and Morris looked at each other. Morris said, "Maybe he thinks we're kidding."

"He knows we're not kidding."

Morris said to Eddie, "Get in the car. You gonna get in the car?"

"If I feel like it." Eddie was smiling again. "Right now I don't feel like it."

Morris frowned. "What's the matter with you? You can't be that stupid. Maybe you're sick in the head, or something." And then, to Feather, "How's he look to you?"

Feather was studying Eddie's face. "1 don't know," he murmured slowly and thoughtfully. "He looks like he can't feel anything."

"He can feel metal," Morris said. "He gets a chunk of metal in his face, he'll feel it."

Eddie stood there next to the opened window, his hands going through his pocket and hunting for cigarettes. Feather asked him what he was looking for and he said, "A smoke," but there were no cigarettes and finally Feather gave him one and lit it for him and then said, "I'll give you more if you want. I'll give you an entire pack. If that ain't enough, I'll give you a carton. Or maybe you'd rather have cash."

Eddie didn't say anything.

"How's fifty dollars?" Morris said, smiling genially at Eddie.

"What would that buy me?" He wasn't looking at either of them.

"A new overcoat," Morris said. "You could use a new overcoat."

"I think he wants more than that," Feather said, again studying Eddie's face. He was waiting for Eddie to say something. He waited for some fifteen seconds, then said, "You want to quote a figure?"

Eddie spoke very softly. "For what? What am I selling?"

"You know," Feather said. And then, "A hundred?"

Eddie didn't reply. He was grazing slantwise through the opened window, through the windshield, and past the hood of the Buick.

"Three hundred?" Feather asked.

"That covers a lot of expenses," Morris put in.

"I ain't got much expenses," Eddie said..

"Then why you stalling?" Feather asked mildly.

"I'm not stalling," Eddie said. "I'm just thinking."

"Maybe he thinks we ain't got that kind of money." Morris said.

"Is that what's holding up the deal?" Feather said to Eddie. "You wanna see the roll?"

Eddie shrugged.

"Sure, let him see it," Morris said. "Let him know we're not just talking, we got the solid capital."

Feather reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and took out a shiny lizard billfold. His fingers went in and came out with a sheaf of crisp currency. He counted it aloud, as though counting it for himself, but loud enough for Eddie to hear. There were twenties and fifties and hundreds. The total was well over two thousand dollars. Feather returned the money to the billfold and put it back in his pocket.

"That's a lot of money to carry around," Eddie commented.

"That's chicken feed," Feather said.

"Depends on the annual income," Eddie murmured. "You make a bundle, you can carry a bundle. Or sometimes it ain't yours, they just give it to you to spend."

"They?" Feather narrowed his eyes. "Who you mean by they?"

Eddie shrugged again. "I mean, when you work for big people--"

Feather glanced at Morris. For some moments it was quiet. Then Feather said to Eddie, "You wouldn't be getting cute, would you?"

Eddie smiled at the short, thin man and made no answer.

"Do yourself a favor," Feather said quietly. "Don't be cute with me. I'll only get irritated and then we can't talk business. I'll be too upset." He was looking at the steering wheel. He played his thin fingers around the smooth rim of the steering wheel. "Now let's see. Where were we?"

"It was three," Morris offered. "He wouldn't sell at three. So what I think is, you offer him five--"

"All right," Feather said. He looked at Eddie. "Five hundred dollars."

Eddie glanced down at the cigarette between his fingers. He lifted it to his mouth and took a meditative drag.

"Five hundred," Feather said. "And no more."

"That's final?"

"Capped," Feather said, and reached inside his jacket, going for the billfold.

"Nothing doing." Eddie said.

Feather exchanged another look with Morris. "I don't get this," Feather said. He spoke as though Eddie weren't there. "I've seen all kinds, but this one here is new to me. What gives with him?"

"You're asking me?" Morris made a hopeless gesture, his palms out and up. "I can't reach out that far. He's moon material."

Eddie was wearing the soft-easy smile and gazing at nothing. He stood there taking small drags at the cigarette. His overcoat was unbuttoned, as though he weren't aware of wind and snow. The two men in the car were staring at him, waiting for him to say something, to give some indication that he was actually there.

And finally, from Feather, "All right, let's try it from another angle." His voice was mild. "It's this way, Eddie. All we wanna do is talk to him. We're not out to hurt him."

"Hurt who?"

Feather snapped his fingers. "Come on, let's put it on the table. You know who I'm talking about. Your brother. Your brother Turley'

Eddie's expression didn't change. He didn't even blink. He was saying to himself, Well, there it is. They know you're his brother. So now you're in it, you're pulled in and I wish you could figure a way to slide out.

He heard Feather saying, "We just wanna sit him down and have a little talk. All you gotta do is make the connection."

"I can't do that," he said. "I don't know where he is."

Then, from Morris, "You sure about that? You sure you ain't trying to protect him?"

"Why should I?" Eddie shrugged. "He's only my brother. For half a grand I'd be a fool not to hand him over. After all, what's a brother? A brother means nothing."

"Now he's getting cute again," Feather said.

"A brother, a mother, a father," Eddie said with another shrug, "they ain't important at all. Like merchandise you sell across a counter. That is," and his voice dropped just a little, "according to certain ways of thinking'

"What's he saying now?" Morris wanted to know.

"I think he's telling us to go to hell," Feather said. Then he looked at Morris, and he nodded slowly, and Morris took out the revolver. Then Feather said to Eddie, "Open the door. Get in."

Eddie stood there smiling at them.

"He wants it," Morris said, and then there was the sound of the safety catch.

"That's a pretty noise," Eddie said.

"You wanna hear something really pretty?" Feather murmured.

"First you gotta count to five," Eddie told him. "Go on, count to five, I wanna hear you count."