Shoot the Piano Player (4 page)

But even so, he made a final effort. He squinted hard at the piano man, and said, "Tell me one thing. Where'd you come from?"

"I was born," Eddie said.

The bouncer thought it over for some moments. Then, "Thanks for the tipoff. I had it figured you came from a cloud."

Eddie laughed softly. Plyne was walking away, going toward the bar. At the bar the dark-haired waitress was arranging shot glasses on a tray. Plyne approached her, hesitated, then came in close and said something to her. She didn't reply. She didn't even look at him. She picked up the tray and headed for one of the tables. Plyne stood motionless, staring at her, his mouth tight, his teeth biting hard at the inside of his lip.

The soft-easy music came drifting from the piano.

3

It was twenty minutes later and the last nightcapper had been ushered out. The bartender was cleaning the last of the glasses, and the bouncer had gone upstairs to bed. The waitress had her overcoat on and was lighting a cigarette as she leaned back against the wall and watched Eddie, who was sweeping the floor.

He finished sweeping, emptied the dust-pan, put the broom away, aild took his overcoat off the hanger near the piano. It was a very old overcoat. The collar was torn and two buttons were missing. He didn't have a hat.

The waitress watched him as he walked toward the front door. He turned his head to smile at the bartender and say good night. And then, to the waitress, "See you, Lena."

"Wait," she said, moving toward him as he opened the front door.

He stood there smiling somewhat questioningly. In the four months she'd been working here, they'd never exchanged more than a friendly hello or good night. Never anything much more than that.

Now she was saying, "Can you spare six bits?"

"Sure." Without hesitation he reached into his pants pocket. But the questioning look remained. It even deepened just a little.

"I'm sorta stuck tonight." the waitress explained. "When Harriet pays me tomorrow, you'll get it back."

"No hurry," he said, giving her two quarters, two dimes and a nickel.

"It goes for a meal," Lena explained further, putting the coins into her purse. "I figured Harriet would cook me something, but she went to bed early, and I didn't want to bother her."

"Yeah, I saw her going upstairs," Eddie said. He paused a moment. "I guess she was tired."

"Well, she works hard," Lena said. She took a final puff at the cigarette and tossed it into a cuspidor. "I wonder how she does it. All that weight. I bet she's over two hundred."

"Way over," Eddie said. "But she carries it nice. It's packed in solid."

"Too much of it. She loses a little, she'll feel better."

"She feels all right."

Lena shrugged. She didn't say anything.

Eddie opened the door and stepped aside. She went out, and he followed her. She started across the pavement and he said, "See you tomorrow," and she stopped and turned and faced him. She said, "I think six bits is more than I need. A half is enough," and started to open her purse.

He said, "No, that's all right." But she came toward him, extending the quarter, saying, "At John's I can get a platter for forty. Another dime for coffee and that does it."

He waved away the silver quarter. He said, "You might want a piece of cake or something."

She came closer. "Go on, take it," pushing the coin toward him.

He grinned. "High finance."

"Will you please take it?"

"Who needs it? I won't starve."

"You sure you can spare it?" Her head was slanted, her eyes searching his face.

He went on grinning. "Quit worrying. I won't run short."

"Yeah, I know." She went on searching his face. "Your wallet gets low, you just pick up the phone and call your broker. Who's your broker?"

"It's a big firm on Wall Street. I fly to New York twice a week. Just to have a look at the board'

"When'd you eat last?"

He shrugged. "I had a sandwich--"

"When?"

"I don't know. Around four-thirty, maybe."

"Nothing in between?" And then, not waiting for an answer, "Come on, walk me to John's. You'll have something."

"But--"

"Come on, will you?" She took his arm and pulled him along. "You wanna live, you gotta eat."

It occurred to him that he was really hungry and he could use a bowl of soup and a hot platter. The wet-cold wind was getting through his thin coat and biting into him. The thought of hot food was pleasant. Then another thought came and he winced slightly, He had exactly twelve cents in his pocket.

He shrugged and went on walking with Lena. He decided to settle for a cup of coffee. At least the coffee would warm him up. But you really oughtta have something to eat, he told himself. How come you didn't eat tonight? You always grab a bite at the food counter at the Hut around twelve-thirty. But not tonight. You had nothing tonight. How come you forgot to fill your belly?

Then he rementbered. That business with Turley, he told himself. You were busy with Turley and you forgot to eat.

I wonder if Turley made it or not. I wonder if he got away. He knows how to move around and he can take care of himself. Yes, I'd say the chances are he made it. You really think so? He was handicapped, you know. It's a cinch he wasn't in condition to play hare-and-hounds with him the hare. Well, what are you gonna do? You can't do anything. I wish you'd drop it.

And another thing. What is it with this one here, this waitress? What bothers her? You know there's something bothering her. You caught the slightest hint of it when she talked about Harriet. She was sorta fishing then, she had the line out. Well sure, that's what it is. She's worried about Harriet and the bouncer and their domestic difficulties, because the bouncer's got his eyes on someone else these days--this waitress here. Well, it ain't her fault. Only thing she offers Plyne is an ice-cold look whenever he tries to move in. So let him keep trying. What do you care? Say, you wanrta do me a favor? Get outta my hair, you're buggingme.

But just then a queer idea came into his brain, a downright silly notion. He couldn't understand why it was there. He was wondering how tall the waitress was, whether she was taller than he was. He tried to discard the thought, but it stayed there. It nudged him, shoved him, and finally caused him to turn his head and look at her.

He had to look down a little. He was a few inches taller than the waitress. He estimated she stood about five-six in semi-high heels. So what? he asked himself, but he went on looking as they crossed a narrow street and passed under a street lamp. The coat she wore fitted rather tightly and it brought out the lines of her body. She was highwaisted and with her slimness and her certain way of walking, it made her look taller. I guess that's it, he thought. I was just curious about it, that's all.

But he went on looking. He didn't know why he was looking. The glow from the street lamp spread out and lighted her face and he saw her profiled features that wouldn't make her a cover girl or a model for cosmetic ads, she didn't have that kind of face. Except for the skin. Her skin was clear and it had the kind of texture guaranteed in cosmetic ads, but this didn't come from cosmetics. This was from inside, and he thought, Probably she's got a good stomach, or a good set of glands, it's something along that line. There's nothing fragile about this one. That ain't a fragile nose or mouth or chin, and yet it's female, more female than them fragile-pretty types who look more like ornaments than girls. All in all, I'd say this one could give them cards and spades and still come out ahead. No wonder the bouncer tries to move in. No wonder all the roosters at the bar are always looking twice when she winks past. And still she ain't interested just in anything wears pants.

It's as though she's all finished with that. Maybe something happened that made her say, That does it, that ends it. But now you're guessing. How come you're guessing? Next thing, you'll want to know how old she is. And merely incidentally, how old you think she is? I'd say around twenty-seven. Should we ask her? If you do, she'll ask you why you want to know. And all you can say is, I just wondered. All right, stop wondering. It ain't as if you're interested. You know you're not interested.

Then what is it? What put you on this line of thinking? You oughtta get off it, it's like a road with too many turns and first thing you know, you just don't know where you are. But why is it she never has much to say? And hardly ever smiles?

Come to think of it, she's strictly on the solemn side. Not dreary, really. It's just that she's serious-solemn, and yet you've seen her laugh, she'll laugh at something that's comical. That is, when it's really comical.

She was laughing now. She was looking at him and quietly laughing.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Like Charlie Chaplin," she said.

"Like who?"

"Charlie Chaplin. In them silent movies he used to make. When something puzzled him and he wanted to ask about it and couldn't find the words, he'd get a dumb look on his face. You hid it perfect just then."

"Did I?"

She nodded. Then she stopped laughing. She said, "What was it? Whet puzzled you?"

He smiled dimly. "If we're gonna get to John's, we oughtta keep walkin."

She didn't say anything. They went on walking, turning a corner and coming onto a rutted pavement that bordered a cobblestoned street.

They covered another block and on the corner there was a rectangular structure that had once been a trolley car and was now an eatery that stayed open all night. Some of the windows were cracked, much of the paint was scraped off, and the entrance door slanted on loose hinges. Above the entrance door a sign read,
Best Food in Port Richmond-- John's
. They went in and started toward the counter and for some reason she pulled him away from the counter and into a booth. As they sat down he saw she was looking past him, her eyes aimed at the far end of the counter. Her face was expressionless. He knew who it was down there. He knew also why she'd talked him into walking with her when they'd left the Hut. She hadn't wanted him to walk alone. She'd seen his maneuver with the beer cases when the two men had made their try for Turley, and all that talk about you-gotta-eat was merely so that he shouldn't be on the street alone.

Very considerate of her, he thought. He smiled at her to hide his annoyance. But then it amused him, and he thought, She wants to play nursemaid, let her play nursemaid.

There weren't many people in the diner. He counted four at this section of the counter, and two couples in other booths. Behind the counter the short, chunky Greek named John was breaking eggs above the grill. So with John it comes to nine, he thought. We got nine witnesses in case they try something. I don't think they will. You had a good look at them in the Hut. They didn't look like dunces. No, they won't try anything now.

John served four fried eggs to a fat man at the counter, came out from behind the counter and went over to the booth. The waitress ordered roast pork and mashed potatoes and said she wanted an extra roll. He asked for a cup of coffee with cream. She said, "That all you gonna have?" He nodded and she said, "You know you're hungry. Order something."

He shook his head. John walked away from the booth. They sat there, not saying anything. He hummed a tune and lightly drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

Then she said, "You loaned me seventy-five cents. What you got left for yourself?"

"I'm really not hungry."

"Not much. Come on, tell me. How much change you got?"

He put his hand in his pants pockets "I hate to break this fifty-dollar bill."

"Now, listen--"

"Forget it," he cut in mildly. Then, his thumb flicking backward, "They still there?"

"Who?"

"You know who."

She looked past him, past the side of the booth, her eyes checking the far end of the counter. Then she looked at him and nodded slowly. She said, "It's my fault. I didn't use my head. I didn't stop to think they might be here--"

"What're they doing now? They still eating?"

"They're finished. They're just sitting there. Smoking."

"Looking?"

"Not at us. They were looking this way a minute ago. I don't think it meant anything. They can't see you."

"Then I guess it's all right," he said. He grinned.

She grinned back at him. "Sure, it's nothing to worry about. Even if they see you, they won't do anything."

"I know they won't." And then, widening the grin, "You won't let them."

"Me?" Her grin faded. She frowned slightly. "What can I do?"

"I guess you can do something." Then, breezily, "You could hold them off while I cut out."

"Is that a joke? Whatcha think I am, Joan of Arc?"

"Well, now that you mention it--"

"Lemme tell you something," she interrupted. "I don't know what's happening between you and them two and I don't care. Whatever it is, I want no part of it. That clear?"

"Sure." And then, with a slight shrug, "If that's the way you really feel about it."

"I said so, didn't I?"

"Yeah. You said so'

"What's that supposed to mean?" Her head was slanted and she was giving him a look. "You think I don't mean what I say?"

He shrugged again. "I don't think anything. You're doing all the arguing."

John arrived with the tray, served the platter and the coffee, figured the price with his fingers and said sixty-five cents. Eddie took the dime and two pennies from his pocket and put the coins on the table. She pushed the coins aside and gave John the seventy-five cents. Eddie smiled at John and pointed to the twelve cents on the table. John said thanks, picked up the coins and went back to the counter. Eddie leaned low over the steaming black coffee, blew on it to cool it, and began sipping it. There was no sound from the other side of the table. He sensed that she wasn't eating, but was just sitting watching him. He didn't look up. He went on sipping the coffee. It was very hot and he sipped it slowly. Then he heard the noise of her knife and fork and he glanced up and saw that she was eating rapidly.