Shoot the Piano Player (13 page)

"Something messy," the waitress said. She indicated the bouncer. "Ask your man there. He knows all about it. He stirred it up."

Harriet squinted at Plyne. "Spill," she said.

"Spifi what?" The bouncer backed away. "She's talkin' from nowhere. She's dreamin' or somethin'."

The waitress turned and looked at Harriet. "Look, if you don't wanna hear this--"

The fat blonde took a deep breath. She went on looking at Plyne.

"I hope you can take it," the waitress said to her. "After all, you live with this man."

"Not lately." Harriet's voice was heavy. "Lately I ain't hardly been living at all."

The waitress opened her mouth to speak, and Plyne gritted, "Close your head--"

"Close yours," Harriet told him. And then, to the waitress, "All right, let's have it."

"It's what they call a sellout," Lena said. "I got it straight from the customers. They told me they were here this morning. They bought a few drinks and something else."

Eddie started to move away. The waitress reached out and caught his arm and held him there. He shrugged and smiled. His eyes said to the bouncer, It don't bother me, so don't let it bother you.

The waitress went on, "It was two of them. Two ambassadors, but not the good-will type. These were the ugly kind, the kind that can hurt you. Or make you disappear. You get what I'm talking about?"

Harriet nodded dully.

"They were looking for Eddie," the waitress said.

Harriet frowned, "What for?"

"That ain't the point. The point is, they had a car and they had a gun. What they needed was some information. Like finding out his address."

The frown faded from Harriet's face. She gaped at Plyne. "You didn't tell them--"

"He sure as hell did," Lena said.

Harriet winced.

"They gave him a nice tip, too," the waitress said. "They handed him fifty dollars."

"No." It was a groan. Harriet's mouth twisted. She turned her head to keep from looking at the bouncer.

"I don't wanna work here no more," the waitress said. "I'll just stay a few days, until you get another girl."

"Now wait," the bouncer said. "It ain't that bad."

"It ain't?" Lena faced him. "I'll tell you how bad it is. Ever bait a hook for catfish? They go for the stink. What you do is, you put some worms in a can and leave it out in the sun for a week or so. Then open the can and get a whiff. It'll give you an idea of what this smells like."

Plyne swallowed hard. "Look, you got it all wrong--"

And the waitress said, "Now we get the grease."

"Wifi ya listen?" Plyne whined. "I'm tellin' you they conned me. I didn't know what they were after. I figured they was--"

"Yeah, we know," Lena murmured. "You thought they were census-takers."

The bouncer turned to Eddie. His arms came up in a pleading gesture. "Ain't I your friend?"

"Sure," Eddie said.

"Would I do anything to hurt you?"

"Of course not."

"You hear that?" The bouncer spoke loudly to the two women. "You hear what he says? He knows I'm on his side."

"I think I'm gonna throw up," Harriet said.

But the bouncer went on, "I'm tellin' you they conned me. If I thought they were out to hurt Eddie, I'da--why for Christ's sake, I'da ripped 'em apart. They come in here again, I'll put them through that plate-glass window, one at a time."

A nearby drinker mumbled, "You tell 'em, Hugger."

And from another guzzler, "When the Hugger tells it, he means it."

"You're goddam right I mean it," Plyne said loudly. "I ain't a man who looks for trouble, but if they want it they'll get it." And then, to Eddie, "Dontcha worry, I can handle them gun-punks. They're little. I'm big."

"How big?" the waitress asked.

Plyne grinned at her. "Take a look."

She looked him up and down. "Yeah, it's there, all right," she murmured. "Really huge."

The bouncer was feeling much better now. He widened the grin. "Huge is correct," he said. "And it's solid, too. It's all man."

"Man?" She stretched the word, her mouth twisted. "What I see is slop:'

At the bar the drinkers had stopped drinking. They were staring at the waitress.

"It's just slop," she said. She took a step toward the bouncer.

"The only thing big about you is your mouth."

Plyne grunted again. He mumbled, "I don't like that. I ain't gonna take it--"

"You'll take it," she told him. "You'll eat it."

He's eating it, all right, Eddie thought. He's choking on it. Look at him, look what's in the eyes. Because he's getting it from her, that's why. He goes for her so much it's got him all jelly, it's driving him almost loony. And there's nothing he can do about it, except take it. Just stand there and take it. Yes he's getting it, sure enough. I've seen them get it, but not like this.

Now the crowd at the bar was moving in closer. From the tables they were rising and edging forward so as not to miss a word of it. The only sound in the Hut was the voice of the waitress. She spoke quietly, steadily, and what came from her lips was like a blade going into the bouncer.

Really ripping him apart, Eddie thought. Come to think of it, what's happening here is a certain kind of amputation. And we don't mean the arms or the legs.

And look at Harriet. Look what's happening to her. She's aged some ten years in just a few minutes. Her man is getting slashed and chopped. It's happening right in front of her eyes, and there ain't a word she can say, a move she can make. She knows it's true.

Sure, it's true. No getting away from that. The bouncer played it dirty today. But even so, I think he's getting worse than he deserves. You gotta admit, he's had some hard knocks lately, I mean this problem with the waitress, this night after night of seeing it there and wanting it, and knowing there ain't a chance. And even now, while she tears him to pieces, spits on him in front of all these people, he can't take his hungry eyes off her. You gotta feel sorry for the bouncer, it's a sad matinee for the Harleyville Hugger.

Poor Hugger. He wanted so much to make a comeback, some sort of comeback. He thought if he could make it with the waitress, he'd be proving something. Like proving he still had it, the power, the importance, the stuff and the drive, and whatever it takes to make a woman say yes. What he got from the waitress was a cold, silent no. Not even a look.

Well, he's getting something now. He's getting plenty. It's grief in spades, that's what it is. I wish she'd stop it, I think she's pushing it too far. Does she know what she's doing to him? She can't know. If she knew, she'd stop. If I could only tell her--

Tell her what? That the bouncer ain't as bad as he seems? That he's just another has-been who tried to come back and got himself loused up? Sure, that's the way it is but you can't put it that way. You can't sing the blues for Plyne; you can't sing the blues, period. You're too far away from the scene, that's why. You're high up there and way out there where nothing matters.

Then what are you doing standing here? And looking. And listening. Why ain't you there at the piano?

Or maybe you're waiting for something to happen. It figures, the bouncer can't take much more of this. The waitress keeps it up, something's gonna happen, sure as hell.

Well, so what? It don't involve you. Nothing involves you. What you do now is, you shove off. You cruise away from here and over there to the piano.

He started to move, and then couldn't move. The waitress was still holding onto his arm. He gave a pull, his arm came loose, and the waitress looked at him. Her eyes said, You can't check out; you're included.

His soft-easy smile said, Not in this. Not in anything.

Then he was headed toward the piano. He heard the voice of the waitress as she went on talking to Plyne. His legs moved faster. He was in a hurry to sit down at the keyboard, to start making music. That'll do it, he thought. That'll drown out the buzzing. He took off his overcoat and tossed it onto a chair.

"Hey, Eddie." It was from a nearby table. He glanced in that direction and saw the yellow-orange dyed hair, the skinny shoulders and flat chest. The lips of Clarice were gin-wet, and her eyes were gin-shiny. She was sitting there alone, unaware of the situation at the bar.

"C'mere," she said. "C'mere and I'll show you a trick."

"Later," he murmured, and went on toward the piano. But then he thought, That wasn't polite. He turned and smiled at Clarice, and walked over to the table and sat down. "All right," he said. "Let's see it."

She was off her chair and onto the table, attempting a one-armed handstand. She went off the table and landed on the floor.

"Nice try," Eddie said. He reached down and helped her to her feet. She slid back onto the chair. From across the room, from the bar, he could hear the voice of the waitress, still giving it to Plyne. Don't listen, he told himself. Try to concentrate on what Clarice is saying.

Clarice was saying, "You sure fluffed me off last night."

"Well, it just wasn't there."

She shrugged. She reached for a shot glass, picked it up and saw it was empty. With a vague smile at the empty glass she said, "That's the way it goes. If it ain't there, it just ain't there."

"That figures."

"You're damn right it figures." She reached out and gave him an affectionate pat on the shoulder. "Maybe next time--"

"Sure," he said.

"Or maybe--" she lowered the glass to the table and pushed it aside--" maybe there-won't be a next time."

"Whatcha mean?" He frowned slightly. "You closing up shop?"

"No," she said. "I'm still in business. I mean you."

"Me? What's with me?"

"Changes," Clarice said. "I gander certain changes."

His frown deepened "Like what?"

"Well, like last night, for instance. And just a little while ago, when you walked in with the waitress. It was--well, I've seen it happen before. I can always tell when it happens."

"When what happens? What're you getting at?"

"The collision," she said. She wasn't looking at him. She was talking to the shot glass and the table top. "That's what it is, a collision. Before they know it, it hits them. They just can't avoid it. Not even this one here, this music man with his real cool style. It was easy-come and easy-go and all of a sudden he gets hit--"

"Say, look, you want another drink?"

"I always want another drink."

He started to get up. "You sure need it now."

She pulled him back onto the chair. "First gimme the lowdown. I like to get these facts first hand. Maybe I'll send it to Winchell'

"What is this? You dreaming up something?"

"Could be," Clarice murmured. She looked at him. It was a probing look. "Except it shows. It's scribbled all over your face. It was there when I seen you comin' in with her."

"Her? The waitress?"

"Yeah, the waitress. But she wasn't no cheap-joint waitress then. She was Queen of the Nile and you were that soldier, or something, from Rome."

He laughed. "It's the gin, Clarice. The gin's got you looped."

"You think so? I don't think so." She reached for the empty glass, pulled it toward her on the table. "Let's have a look in the crystal ball," she said.

Her hands were cupped around the shot glass, and she sat there looking intently at the empty jigger.

"I see something," she said.

"Clarice, it's just an empty glass."

"Ain't empty now. There's a cloud. There's shadows--"

"Come off it," he said.

"Quiet," she breathed. "It's comin' closer."

"All right." He grinned. "I'll go along with the gag. Whaddya see in the glass?"

"It's you and the waitress--"

For some reason he closed his eyes. His hands gripped the sides of the chair.

He heard Clarice saying, "--no other people around. Just you and her. It's in the summertime. And there's a beach. There's water--"

"Water?" He opened his eyes, his hands relaxed, and he grinned again. "That ain't water. It's gin. You're swimmm' in it."

Clarice ignored him. She went on gazing at the shot glass. "You both got your clothes on. Then she takes off her clothes. Look what she's doin' She's all naked."

"Keep it clean," he said.

"You stand there and look at her," Clarice continued. "She runs across the sand. Then she takes a dive in the waves. She tells you to get undressed and come on in, the water's fine. You stand there--"