Shoot the Piano Player (7 page)

Feather's thin face was powder-white. "Let's make it three." But as he said it he was looking past Eddie.

Eddie was saying, "All right, we'll count to three. You want me to count for you?"

"Later," Feather said, still looking past him, and smiling now. "That is, when she gets here."

Just then Eddie felt the snow and the wind. The wind was very cold. He heard himself saying, "When who gets here?"

"The skirt," Feather said. "The skirt we saw you with last night. She's coming to pay you a visit."

He turned and saw her coming down the street. She was crossing the street diagonally, coming toward the car. He raised his hand just high enough to make the warning gesture, telling her to stay away, to please stay away. She kept advancing toward the car and he thought, She knows, she knows you're in a situation and she figures she can help. But that gun. She can't see that gun--

He heard the voice of Feather saying, "She your girl friend, Eddie?"

He didn't answer. The waitress came closer. He made another warning gesture but now she was very close and he looked away from her to glance inside the car. He saw Morris sitting slantwise with the gun moving slowly from side to side, to cover two people instead of one. That does it, he thought. That includes her in.

6

Then she was standing there next to him and they were both looking at the gun. He waited for her to ask him what it was all about, but she didn't say anything. Feather leaned back, smiling at them, giving them plenty of time to study the gun, to think about the gun. It went on that way for perhaps half a minute, and then Feather said to Eddie, "That counting routine. You still want me to count to three?"

"No," Eddie said. "I guess that ain't necessary." He was trying not to frown. He was very much annoyed with the waitress.

"What's the seating arrangement?" Morris wanted to know.

"You in the back," Feather told him, then took the gun from Morrjs and opened the door and got out of the car. He held the gun close to his side as he walked with Eddie and Lena, staying just a little behind them as they went around to the other side of the car. He told them to get in the front seat. Eddie started to get in first, and Feather said, "No, I want her in the middle." She climbed in and Eddie followed her. Morris was reaching out from the back seat to take the gun from Feather. For just an instant there was a chance for interception, but it wasn't much of a chance and Eddie thought, No matter how quick you are, the gun is quicker. You go for it, it'll go for. you. And you know it'll get there first. I guess we'd better face the fact that we're going on a trip somewheres.

He watched Feather climbing in behind the wheel. The waitress sat there looking straight ahead through the windshield. "Sit back," Feather said to her. "You might as well be comfortable' Without looking at Feather, she said, "Thanks," and leaned back, folding her arms. Then Feather started the engine.

The Buick cruised smoothly down the street, turned a corner, went down another narrow street and then moved onto a wider street. Feather switched on the radio. A cool jazz ouffit was in the middle of something breezy. It was nicely modulated music, featuring a soft-toned saxophone and someone's light expert touch on the keyboard. That's very fine piano, Eddie said to himself. I think that's Bud Powell.

Then he heard Lena saying, "Where we going?"

"Ask your boy friend," Feather said.

"He's not my boy friend."

"Well, ask him anyway. He's the navigator."

She looked at Eddie. He shrugged and went on listening to the music.

"Come on," Feather said to him. "Start navigating."

"Where you wanna go?"

"Turley."

"Where's that?" Lena asked.

"It ain't a town," Feather said. "It's his brother. We got some business with his brother."

"The man from last night?" She put the question to Eddie. "The one who ran out of the Hut?"

He nodded. "They did some checking," he said. "First they find out he's my brother. Then they get more information. They get my address."

"Who told them?"

"I think I know," he said. "But I'm not sure."

"I'll straighten you," Feather offered. "We went back to that saloon when it opened up this morning. We buy a few drinks and then we get to talking with big-belly, I mean the one who looks like a has-been wrestler--"

"Plyne," the waitress said.

"Is that his name?" Feather hit the horn lightly and two very young sledders jumped back on the curb. "So we're there at the bar and he's getting friendly, he's telling us he's the general manager and he gives us a drink on the house. Then he talks about this and that, staying clear of the point he wants to make. He handles it all right for a while, but finally it's too much for him, and he's getting clumsy with the talk. We just stand there and look at him. Then he makes his pitch. He wants to know what our game is.',

"He said it kind of hungry-like," from Morris in the back seat.

"Yeah," Feather said. "Like he has it tabbed we're big time and he's looking for an in. You know how it is with these has-beens, they all want to get right up there again."

"Not all of them," the waitress said. And just for a moment she glanced at Eddie. And then, turning again to Feather, "You were saying?"

"Well, we didn't give him anything, just some nowhere talk that only made him hungrier. And then, just tossing it away, as if it ain't too important, I mention our friend here who knocked down them beer cases. It was a long shot, sure. But it paid off." He smiled congenially at Eddie. "It paid off real nice."

"That Plyne," the waitress said. "That Plyne and his big mouth."

"He got paid off, too," Feather said. "I slipped him a half-C for the info."

"That fifty made his eyes pop," Morris said.

"And made him greedy for more." Feather laughed lightly. "He asked us to come around again. He said if there was anything more he could do, we should call on him and--"

"The pig,' she said. "The filthy pig."

Feather went on laughing. He looked over his shoulder, saying to Morris, "Come to think of it, that's what he looked like. I mean, when he went for the fifty. Like a pig going for slop--"

Morris pointed toward the windshield. "Watch where you're going."

Feather stopped laughing. "Who's got the wheel?"

"You got the wheel," Morris said. "But look at all the snow, it's freezing. We don't have chains."

"We don't need chains," Feather said. "We got snow tires."

"Well, even so," Morris said, "you better drive careful."

Again Feather looked at him. "You telling me how to drive?"

"For Christ's sake," Morris said. "I'm only telling you--"

"Don't tell me how to drive. I don't like when they tell me how to drive."

"When it snows, there's always accidents," Morris said. "We wanna get where we're going--"

"That's a sensible statement," Feather said. "Except for one thing. We don't know where we're going yet."

Then he glanced inquiringly at Eddie.

Eddie was listening to the music from the radio.

Feather reached toward the instrument panel and switched off the radio. He said to Eddie, "We'd like to know where we're going. You wanna help us out on that a little?"

Eddie shrugged. "I told you, I don't know where he is."

"You haven't any idea? No idea at all?"

"It's a big city," Eddie said. "It's a very big city."

"Maybe he ain't in the city," Feather murmured.

Eddie blinked a few times. He was looking straight ahead. He sensed that the waitress was watching him.

Feather probed gently. "I said maybe he ain't in the city. Maybe he's in the country."

"What?" Eddie said. All right, he told himself. Easy, now. Maybe he's guessing.

"The country," Feather said. "Like, say, in New Jersey." That does it, Eddie thought. That wasn't a guess. "Or let's tighten it a little." Feather said. "Let's make it South Jersey."

Now Eddie looked at Feather. He didn't say anything. The waitress sat there between them, quiet and relaxed, her hands folded in her lap.

Morris said, sort of mockingly, with pretended ignorance, "What's this with South Jersey? What's in South Jersey?"

"Watermelons," Feather said. "That's where they grow them."

"The melons?" Morris was playing straight man. "Who grows them?"

"The farmers, stupid. There's a lotta farmers in South Jersey. There's all these little farms, these watermelon patches '

"Where?"

"Whaddya mean, where? I just told you where. In South Jersey."

"The watermelon trees?"

"Pipe that," Feather said to the two front-seat passengers. "He thinks they grow on trees." And then, to Morris, "They grow in the ground. Like lettuce."

"Well, I've seen them growing lettuce, but never watermelons. How come I ain't seen the watermelons?"

"You didn't look."

"Sure I looked. I always look at the scenery. Especially in South Jersey. I've been to South Jersey loads of times. To Cape May. To Wildwood. All down through there."

"No watermelons?"

"Not a one," Morris said.

"I guess you were driving at night," Feather told him.

"Could be," Morris said. And then, timing it, "Or maybe these farms are far off the road."

"Now, that's an angle." Feather took a quick look at Eddie, then purred, "Some of these farms are way back there in the woods. These watermelon patches, I mean. They're sorta hidden back there--"

"All right, all right." the waitress broke in. She turned to Eddie. "What are they talking about?"

"It's nothing." Eddie said.

"You wish it was nothing," Morris said.

She turned to Feather. "What is it?"

"His folks," Feather said. Again he looked at Eddie. "Go on, tell her. YQu might as well tell her."

"Tell her what?" Eddie spoke softly. "What's there to tell?"

"There's plenty," Morris said. "That is, if you're in on it." He moved the gun forward just a little, doing it gently, so that the barrel barely touched Eddie's shoulder. "You in on it?"

"Hey, for Christ's sake--" Eddie pulled his shoulder away.

"What's happening there?" Feather asked.

"He's afraid of the rod," Morris said.

"Sure he's afraid. So am I. Put that thing away. We hit a bump it might go off."

"I want him to know--"

"He knows. They both know. They don't have to feel it to know it's there."

"All right." Morris sounded grumpy. "All right, all right."

The waitress was looking at Feather, then at Eddie, then at Feather again. She said, "Well, if he can't tell me, maybe you can--"

"About his folks?" Feather smiled. "Sure, I got some facts. There's the mother and the father and the two brothers. There's this Turley and the other one, his name is Clifton. That right, Eddie?"

Eddie shrugged. "If you say so."

"You know what I think?" Morris said slowly. "I think he's in on it."

"In on what?" the waitress snapped. "At least you could give me some idea--"

"You'll get the idea," Feather told her. "You'll get it when we reach that house."

"What house?"

"In South Jersey," Feather said. "In them woods where it used to be a watermelon patch but the-weeds closed in and now it ain't a farm any more. It's just an old wooden house with a lot of weeds around it. And then the woods. There's no other houses around for miles--"

"No roads, either," Morris put in.

"Not cement roads, anyway," Feather said. "Just wagon paths that take you deep in them woods. So all you see is trees and more trees. And finally, there it is, the house. Just that one house far away from everything. It's what I'd call a gloomy layout." He looked at Eddie. "We got no time for fooling around. You know the route, so what you do is, you give the directions."

"How come?" the waitress asked. "Why do you need directions? You pictured that house like you've been there."

"I've never been there," Feather said. He went on looking at Eddie. "I was told about it, that's all. But they left out something. Forgot to tell me how to get there."

"He'll tell you," Morris said.

"Sure he'll tell me. What else can he do?"

Morris nudged Eddie's shoulder. "Give."

"Not yet," Feather said. "Wait'll we cross the bridge into Jersey. Then he'll tell us what roads to take."

"Maybe he don't know," the waitress said.

"You kidding?" Feather flipped it at her. "He was born and raised in that house. For him it's just a trip to the country, to visit the folks."

"Like coming home for Thanksgiving," Morris said. Again he touched Eddie's shoulder. This time it was a friendly pat. "After all, there's no place like home."

"Except it ain't a home," Feather said softly. "It's a hide-out."