Shoot the Piano Player (15 page)

The crowd saw Eddie running toward the bar, then vaulting over its wooden surface, then was hurling himself toward the food counter at the other end of the bar. They saw him arriving at the food counter and grabbing a bread knife.

He came out from behind the bar and moved between the waitress and the bouncer. It was a large knife. It had a stainless-steel blade and it was very sharp. He thought, The bouncer knows how sharp it is, he's seen Harriet cutting bread with it, cutting meat. I think he'll drop that club now and come to his senses. Look, he's stopped, he's just standing there. If he'll only drop that club.

"Drop it, Wally."

Plyne held onto the cudgel. He stared at the knife, then at the waitress, then at the knife again.

"Drop that stick," Eddie said. He took a slow step forward.

Plyne retreated a few feet. Then he stopped and glanced around, sort of wonderingly. Then he looked at the waitress. He made the gurgling noise again.

Eddie took another step forward. He raised the knife a little. He kicked at the overturned table, clearing the space between himself and the bouncer.

He showed his teeth to the bouncer. He said, "All right, I gave you a chance--"

There was a shriek from a woman in the crowd. It was Harriet. She shrieked again as Eddie kept moving slowly toward the bouncer. She yelled, "No Eddie--please!"

He wanted to look at Harriet, to tell her with his eyes, It's all right, I'm only bluffing. And he thought, You can't do that. You gotta keep your eyes on this one here. Gotta push him with your eyes, push him back--

Plyne was retreating again. He still held the cudgel, but now his grip on it was loose. He didn't seem to realize he had it in his hand. He took a few more backward steps. Then his head turned and he was looking at the back door.

I think it's working, Eddie told himself. If I can get him outa here, get him running so's he'll be out that door and outa the Hut, away from the waitress--

Look, now, he's dropped the club. All right, that's fine. You're doing fine, Hugger. I think you're gonna make it. Come on, Hugger, work with me. No, don't look at her. Look at me, look at the knife. It's such a sharp knife, Hugger. You wanna get away from it? All you gotta do is go for that door. Please, Wally, go for that door. I'll help you get through, I'll be right with you, right behind you--

He raised the knife higher. He moved in closer and faked a slash at the bouncer's throat.

Plyne turned and ran toward the back door.

Eddie went after him.

"No--" from Harriet.

And from others in the crowd, "No, Eddie. Eddie--"

He chased Plyne through the back rooms of the Hut, through the door leading to the alley. Plyne was going very fast along the wind-whipped, snow-covered alley. Gotta stay with him, Eddie thought, gotta stay with the Hugger who needs a friend now, who sure as hell needs a chummy hand on his shoulder, a soft voice saying, It's all right, Wally. It's all right.

Plyne looked back and saw him coming with the knife. Plyne ran faster. It was a very long alley and Plyne was running against the wind. He'll hafta stop soon, Eddie thought. He's carryin' a lot of weight and a lot of damage and he just can't keep up that pace. And you, you're weighted down yourself. It's a good thing you ain't wearin' your overcoat. Or maybe it ain't so good, because I'll tell you something, bud. It's cold out here.

The bouncer was halfway down the alley, turning again, and looking, then going sideways and bumping into the wooden boards of a high fence. He tried to climb the fence and couldn't obtain a foothold. He went on running down the alley. He slipped in the snow, went down, got up, took another look back, and was running again. He covered another thirty yards and stopped once more, and then he tried a fence door. It was open and he went through.

Eddie ran up to the door. It was still open. It gave way to the small backyard of a two-story dwelling. As he entered the backyard, he saw Plyne trying to climb the wall of the house.

Plyne was clawing at the wall, trying to insert his fingers through the tiny gaps between red bricks. It was as though Plyne meant to get up the wall, even if he had to scrape all the flesh off his fingers.

"Wally--"

The bouncer went on trying to climb the wall.

"Wally, listen--"

Plyne leaped up at the wall. His fingernails scraped against the bricks. As he came down, he sagged to his knees. He straightened, looked up along the wall, and then he turned slowly and looked at Eddie.

Eddie smiled at him and dropped the knife. It landed with a soft thud in the snow.

The bouncer stared down at the knife. It was half hidden in the snow. Plyne pointed with a quivering finger.

"The hell with it," Eddie said. He kicked the knife aside.

"You ain't gonna--?"

"Forget it, Wally."

The bouncer lifted his hand to his blood-smeared face. He wiped some blood from his mouth, looked at his red-stained fingers, then looked up at Eddie. "Forget it?" he mumbled, and began to move forward. "How can I forget it?"

Easy now, Eddie thought. Let's take it slow and easy. He went on smiling at the bouncer. He said, "We'll put it this way--I've had enough."

But Plyne kept moving forward. Plyne said, "Not yet. There's gotta be a winner--"

"You're the winner," Eddie said. "You're too big for me, that's all. You're more than I can handle."

"Don't con me," the bouncer said, his pain-battered brain somehow probing through the red haze, somehow seeing it the way it was. "They saw me running away. The bouncer getting bounced. They'll make it a joke--"

"Wally, listen--"

"They'll laugh at me," Plyne said. He was crouched now, his shoulders weaving as he moved in slowly. "I ain't gonna have that. It's one thing I just can't take. I gotta let them know--"

"They know, Wally. It ain't as if they need proof."

"--gotta let them know," Plyne said as though talking to himself. "Gotta cross off all them things she said about me. That I'm just a washed-up nothing, a slob a faker a crawling worm--"

Eddie looked down at the knife in the snow. Too late now, he thought. And much too late for words. Too late for anything. Well, you tried.

"But hear me now," the bouncer appealed to himself. "Them names she called me, it ain't so. I got only one name. I'm the Hugger--" He was sobbing, the huge shoulders shaking, the bleeding mouth twisted grotesquely. "I'm the Hugger, and they ain't gonna laugh at the Hugger."

Plyne leaped, and his massive arms swept out and in and tightened around Eddie's middle. Yes he's the Hugger, Eddie thought, feeling the tremendous crushing power of the bear hug. It felt as though his innards were getting squeezed up into his chest. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't even try to breathe. He had his mouth wide open, his head flung back, his eyes shut tightly as he took the iron-hard pressure of the bouncer's chin applied to his chest bone. He said to himself, You can't take this. Ain't a living thing can take this and live.

The bouncer had him lifted now, his feet several inches off the ground. As the pressure of the bear hug increased, Eddie swung his legs forward, as though he was trying to somersault backwards. His legs went in between the bouncer's knees, and the bouncer went forward stumbling. Then they went down, and he felt the cold wetness of the snow. The bouncer was on top of him, retaining the bear hug, the straddled knees braced hard against the snow as the massive arms applied more force.

Eddie's eyes remained shut. He tried to open them and couldn't. Then he tried to move his left arm, thinking in terms of his fingernails, telling himself it needed claws and if he could reach the bouncer's face--"

His left arm came up a few inches and fell back again in the snow. The snow felt very cold against his hand. Then something happened and he couldn't feel the coldness. You're going, he said to himself. You're passing out. As the thought swirled through the fog in his brain, he was trying with his right hand.

Trying what? he asked himself. What can you do now? His right hand moved feebly in the snow. Then his fingers touched something hard and wooden. At the very moment of contact, he knew what it was. It was the handle of the knife.

He pulled at the knife handle, saying to himself, In the arm, let him have it in the arm. And then he managed to open his eyes, his remaining strength now centered in his eyes and his fingers gripping the knife. He took aim, with the knife pointed at Plyne's left arm. Get in deep, he told himself. Get it in there so he'll really feel it and he'll hafta let go.

The knife came up. Plyne didn't see it coming. At that instant Plyne shifted his position to exert more pressure with the bear hug. Shifting from right to left, Plyne took the blade in his chest. The blade went in very deep.

"What?" Plyne said. "Whatcha do to me?"

Eddie stared at his own hand, still gripping the handle of the knife. The bouncer seemed to be drifting away from him, going back and sideways. He saw the blade glimmering red, and then he saw the bouncer rolling and twitching in the snow.

The bouncer rolled over on his back, on his belly, then again on his back. He stayed there. His mouth opened wide and he started to take a deep breath. Some air went in and came out mixed with bubbles of pink and red and darker red. The bouncer's eyes became very large. Then the bouncer sighed and his eyes remained wide open and he was dead.

12

Eddie sat there in the snow and looked at the dead man. He said to himself, Who did that? Then he fell back in the snow, gasping and coughing, trying to loosen things up inside. It's so tight in there, he thought, his hands clasped to his abdomen, it's all squashed and outa commission. You feel it? You're damn right you feel it. Another thing you feel is the news coming in on the wire. That thing there in the snow, that's your work, buddy. You wanna look at it again? You wanna admire your work?

No, not now. There's other work we gotta do now. Them sounds you hear in the alley, that's the Hut regulars coming out to see what the score is. How come they waited so long? Well, they musta been scared. Or sorta paralyzed, that's more like it. But now they're in the alley. They're opening the fence doors, the doors that ain't locked. Sure, they figure we're in one of these backyards. So what you gotta do is, you gotta keep them outa this one here. You lock that door.

But wait--let's check that angle. How come you don't want them to see? They're gonna see it sooner or later. And what it amounts to, it's just one of them accidents. It ain't as if you meant to do it. You were aiming for his arm, and then he made that move, he traveled just about four or five inches going from right to left, from right to wrong. Sure, that's what happened, he moved the wrong way and it was an accident.

You say accident. What'll they say? They'll say homicide.

They'll add it up and back it up with their own playback of what happened in the Hut. The way you jugged at him with the knife. The way you went after him when he took off. But hold it there, you know you were bluffing.

Sure, friend. You know. But they don't know. And that's just about the size of it, that bluffing business is the canoe without a paddle. Because that bluff was perfect, too perfect. Quite a sale you made, friend. You know Harriet bought it, they all bought it. They'll say you had homicide written all over your face.

Wanna make a forecast? I think they'll call it seconddegree and that makes it five years or seven or ten or maybe more, depending on the emotional condition or the stomach condition of the people on the parole board. You willing to settle for that kinda deal? Well, frankly, no. Quite frankly, no.

You better move now. You better lock that door.

He raised himself on his elbows. He turned his head and looked at the fence door. The distance between himself and the door was somewhat difficult to estimate. There wasn't much daylight. What sun remained was blocked off by the dark-gray curtain, the curtain that was very thick up there, and even thicker down here where it was mottled white with the heavy snowfall. It reminded him again that he wasn't wearing an overcoat. He thought dazedly, stupidly, Oughtta go back and get your overcoat, you'll freeze out here.

It's colder in a cell. Nothing colder than a cell, friend.

He was crawling through the snow, pushing himself toward the fence door some fifteen feet away. Why do it this way? he asked himself. Why not get up and walk over there?

The answer is, you can't get up. You're just about done in. What you need is a warm bed in a white room and some people in white to take care of you. At least give you a shot to make the pain go away. There's so much pain. I wonder if your ribs are busted. All right, let's quit the goddam complaining. Let's keep going toward that door.

As he crawled through the snow toward the fence door, he listened to the sounds coming from the alley. The sounds were closer now. The voices mixed with the clattering of fence doors on both sides of the alley. He heard someone yelling, "Try that one--this one's locked." And another voice, "Maybe they went all the way up the alley-- maybe they're out there in the street' A third voice disagreed, "No, they're in one of these backyards--they could'na hit the street that quick."

"Well, they gotta be somewhere around."

"We better call the law--"

"Keep movin' will ya? Keep tryin' them doors."

He crawled just a little faster now. It seemed to him that he hardly moved at all. His open mouth begged the air to come in. As it came in, it was more like someone shoveling hot ashes down his throat. Get there, he said to himself. For Christ's sake, get to that door and lock it. The door.

The voices were closer now. Then one of them yelled, "Hey look, the footprints--"

"What, footprints? There's more than two sets of footprints."

"Let's try Spaulding Street--"

"I'm freezin' out here."

"I tell ya, we oughtta call the law--"

He heard them coming closer. He was a few feet away from the fence door. He tried to rise. He made it to his knees, tried to get up higher, and his knees gave way. He was face down in the snow. Get up, he said to himself. Get up, you loafer.

His hands pushed hard at the snow, his arms straightening, his knees gaining leverage as he labored to get up. Then he was up and falling forward, grabbing at the open fence door. His hands hit the door, closed it, and then he fastened the bolt. As it slipped into place, locking the door, he went down again.

I guess we're all right now, he thought. For a while anyway. But what about later? Well, we'll talk about that when we come to it. I mean, when we get the all-clear, when we're sure they're outa the alley. Then we'll be able to move. And go where? You got me, friend. I can't even give you a hint.

He was resting on his side, feeling the snow under his face, more snow coming down on his head, the wind cutting into his flesh and all the cold getting in there deep, chopping at his bones. He heard the voices in the alley, the footsteps, the fence doors opening and closing, although now the noise was oddly blurred as it came closer. Then the noise was directly outside the door, going past the door, and it was very blurred, it was more like far-off humming. Something like a lullaby, he thought vaguely. His eyes were closed, his head sank deeper into the pillow of snow. He floated down and out, way out.

The voice woke him up. He opened his eyes, wondering if he'd actually heard it.

"Eddie--"

It was the voice of the waitress. He could hear her footsteps in the alley, moving slowly.

He sat up, blinking. He raised his arm to shield his face from the driving wind and the snow.

"Eddie--"

That's her, all right. What's she want?

His arm came away from his face. He looked around, and up, seeing the gray sky, the heavy snowfall coming down on the roof of the dwelling, the swirling gusts falling off the roof into the backyard. Now the snow had arranged itself into a thin white blanket on the bulky thing that was still there in the backyard.

Still there, he thought. What did you expect? That it would get up and walk away?

"Eddie--"

Sorry, I can't talk to you now. I'm sorta busy here. Gotta check some items. First, time element. What time did we go to sleep? Well, I don't think we slept long. Make it about five minutes. Shoulda slept longer. Really need sleep. All right, let's go back to sleep, the other items can wait.

"Eddie--Eddie--"

Is she alone? he asked himself. It sounds that way. It's as though she's saying, It's all clear now, you can come out now.

He heard the waitress calling again. He got up very slowly and unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Footsteps came running toward the door. He stepped back, leaning heavily against the fence as she entered the backyard. She looked at him, started to say something, and then checked it. Her eyes followed in the direction of his pointing finger. She moved slowly in that direction, her face expressionless as she approached the corpse. For some moments she stood there looking down at it. Then her head turned slightly and she focused on the bloodstained knife imbedded in the snow. She turned away from the knife and the corpse, and sighed, and said, "Poor Harriet."

"Yeah," Eddie said. He was slumped against the fence. "It's a raw deal for Harriet. It's--"

He couldn't get the words out. A surge of pain brought a groan from his lips. He sagged to his knees and shook his head slowly. "It goes and it comes," he mumbled.

He heard the waitress saying, "What happened here?"

She was standing over him. He looked up. Through the throbbing pain, the fatigue pressing down on him, he managed to grin. "You'll read about it--"

"Tell me now." She knelt beside him. "I gotta know now."

"What for?" He grinned down at the snow. Then he groaned again, and the grin went away. He said, "It don't matter--"

"The hell it don't." She took hold of his shoulders. "Gimme the details. I gotta know where we stand."

"We?"

"Yeah, we. Come on now, tell me."

"What's there to tell? You can see for yourself--"

"Look at me," she said. She moved in closer as he raised his head slightly. She spoke quietly, in a clinical tone. "Try not to go under. You gotta stay with it. You gotta let me know what happened here."

"Something went wrong--"

"That's what I figured. The knife, I mean. You're not a knifer. You just wanted to scare him, to get him outa the Hut, away from me. Ain't that the way it was?"

He shrugged. "What difference--"

"Get off that," she cut in harshly. "We hafta get this straight."

He groaned again. He let out a cough. "Can't talk now."

"You gotta' She tightened her grip on his shoulders. "You gotta tell me."

He said, "It's--it's just one of them screwed-up deals. I thought I could reason with him. Nothing doing. He was too far off the track. Strictly section eight. Comes running at me, grabs me, and then I'm gettin' squeezed to jelly:'

"And the knife?"

"It was on the ground. I'd tossed it aside so he'd know I wasn't out to carve him. But then he's usin' all his weight, he's got me half dead, and I reach out and there's the knife. I aimed for his arm--"

"Yes? Go on, tell me--"

"Thought if I got him in the arm, he'd let go. But just then he's moving. He moves too fast and I can't stop it in time. It misses the arm and he gets it in the chest."

She stood up. She was frowning thoughtfully. She walked toward the fence door, then turned slowly and stood there looking at him. She said, "You wanna gamble?"

"On what?"

"On the chance they'll buy it."

"They won't buy it," he said. "They only buy evidence."

She didn't say anything. She came away from the fence door and started walking slowly in a small circle, her head down.

He lifted himself from the ground, doing it with a great deal of effort, grunting and wheezing as he came up off his knees. He leaned back against the fence and pointed toward the middle of the yard where the snow was stained red. "There it is," he said. "There's the job, and I did it. That's all they need to know."

"But it wasn't your fault."

"All right, I'll tip them off. I'll write them a letter."

"Yeah. Sure. From where?"

"I don't know yet. All I know is, I'll hafta travel."

"You're in great shape to travel."

He looked down at the snow. "Maybe I'll just dig a hole and hide."

"It ain't right," she said. "It wasn't your fault."

"Say, tell me something. Where can I buy a helicopter?"

"It was his fault. He messed it up."

"Or maybe a balloon," Eddie mumbled. "A nice big balloon to lift me over this fence and get me outa town."

"What a picnic," she said.

"Yeah. Ain't it some picnic?"

She turned her head and looked at the corpse. "You slob," she said to it. "You stupid slob."

"Don't say that."

"You slob. You idiot," talking quietly to the corpse. "Look what you went and done."

"Cut it out," Eddie said. "And for Christ's sake, get outa this yard. If they find you with me--"

"They won't," she said. She beckoned to him, and then gestured toward the fence door.

He hesitated. "Which way they go?"

"Across Spaulding Street," she said. "Then up the next alley. That's why I came back. I knew you hadda be in one of these yards."

She moved toward the fence door, and stood there waiting for him. He came forward very slowly, bent low, his hands clutching his middle.

"Can you make it?" she said.

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Try," she said. "You gotta try."

"Take a look out there," he said. "I wanna be sure it's clear."

She leaned out past the fence door, looking up and down the alley. "It's all right," she said. "Come on."

He took a few more steps toward her. Then his knees buckled and he started to go down. She moved in quickly and caught hold of him, her hands hooking under his armpits. "Come on," she said. "Come on, now. You're doing fine."