Shoot the Piano Player (20 page)

He was dressed now, pulling the gun from under the pillow, putting it in his jacket pocket, then slipping into the overcoat as he went out of the room. He moved quietly but hastily down the hall, then down the steps and out through the back door. The snow was high, and he churned his way through it, running fast across the clearing, toward the waitress.

15

She was leaning against a tree, waiting for him. As he came up, she said, "You ready?"

"For what?"

"Travel," she said. "I'm taking you back to Phily'

He frowned and blinked, his eyes flicking questions.

"You're cleared," she told him. "It's in the file. They're calling it an accident."

The frown deepened. "What're you giving me?"

"A message," she said. "From Harriet. From the crowd at the Hut, the regulars. They're regular, all right."

"They're backing me?"

"All the way."

"And the law?"

"The law bought it."

"Bought what? They don't buy hearsay evidence. This needs a witness. I don't have a witness--"

"You got three."

He stared at her.

"Three," she said. "From the Hut."

"They saw it happen?"

She smiled thinly. "Not exactly."

"You told them what to say?"

She nodded.

Then he began to see it. He saw the waitress in there pitching, first talking to Harriet, then going out to round up the others, ringing doorbells very early in the morning. He saw them all assembled at the Hut, the waitress telling them the way it was and what had to be done. Like a company commander, he thought.

"Who was it?" he asked. "Who volunteered?"

"All of them."

He took a deep breath. It quivered somewhat, going in. His throat felt thick and he couldn't talk.

"We figured three was enough," the waitress said. "More than three, it would seem sorta phony. We hadda make sure it would hold together. What we did was, we picked three with police records. For gambling, that is. They're on the list as well-known crapshooters."

"Why crapshooters?"

"To make it look honest. First thing, they hadda explain why they didn't tell the law right away. Reason is, they didn't wanna get pinched for gambling. Another thing, the way we lined it up they were upstairs, in the back room. The law wantsa know what they're doing up there, they got a perfect answer, they're having a private session with the dice."

"You briefed them on that?"

"We went over it I don't know how many times. At seven-thirty this morning I figured they were ready. So they go to the law and spill it and then they're signing the statements."

"Like what? What was the pitch?"

"The window in the back room was the angle we needed. From the window you look down on a slant and you can see that backyard."

"Close enough?"

"Just about. So the way they tell it to the law, they're on the floor shooting crap and they hear the commotion from downstairs. At first they don't pay it no mind, the dice are hot and they're betting heavy. But later it sounds bad from downstairs, and then they hear the door slamming when you chase him out to the alley. They go to the window and look out. You getting it flow?"

"It checks," he nodded.

"They give it to the law like a play-by-play, exactly the way you told it to me. They said they saw you throwing the knife away and trying to talk to him but he won't listen, he's sort of off his rocker and he comes leaping in. Then he's got you in the bear hug and the way it looks, you won't come outa there alive. They said you made a grab for the knife, tried to stick him in the arm to get him off you and just then he shifts around and the blade goes into his chest."

He gazed past her. "And that's it? I'm really cleared?"

"Entirely," she said. "They dropped all charges."

"They hold the crapshooters?"

"No, just called them names. Called them goddamn liars and kicked them outa the station house. You know how it is with the law. If they can't make it stick, they drop it."

He looked at her. "How'd you get here?"

"The car."

"The Chevy?" frowning again. "Your landlady's gonna--"

"It's all right," she said. "This time it's rented. I slipped her a few bucks and she's satisfied."

"That's good to know." But he was still frowning. He turned and looked across the clearing, at the house. He was focusing on the upstairs windows. He murmured, "Where's the car?"

"Back there," she said. "In the woods. I didn't want your people to see. I thought if they spotted me, it might get complicated."

He went on looking at the house. "It's complicated already. I can't go away without telling them."

"Why not?"

"Well, after all--"

She took hold of his arm. "Come on."

"I really oughtta tell them."

"The hell with them," she said. She tugged at his arm. "Come on, will you? Let's get outa here."

"No," he murmured, still looking at the house. "First I gotta tell them."

She kept tugging at his arm. "You can't go back there. That's a hide-out. We'll both be dragged in--"

"Not you," he said. "You'll wait here."

"You'll come back?"

He turned his head and looked at her. "You know I'll come back."

She let go of his arm. He started walking across the clearing. It won't take long, he thought. I'll just tell them the way it is, and they'll understand, they'll know they got nothing to worry about, it stays a hide-out. But on the other hand, you know Clifton. You know the way he thinks, the way he operates. He's strictly a professional. A professional takes no chances. With Turley it's different. Turley's more on the easy side and you know he'll see it your way. I hope you can bring Clifton around. Not with pleading, though. Whatever you do, don't plead with him. Just let him know you're checking out with the waitress and give him assurance she'll keep her mouth shut. And what if he says no? What if he goes out and brings her into the house and says she's gotta stay? If it comes to that, we'll hafta do something. Maybe it won't come to that. Let's hope so, anyway. Let's see if we can keep it on the bright side. Sure, that's better. It's nice to think along the cheery lines, to tell yourself it's gonna work out fine and you won't be needing the gun.

He was a little more than halfway across the clearing, moving fast through the snow. He was headed toward the back door of the house, the door some sixty feet away and then fifty feet when he heard the sound of an automobile.

And even before he turned and looked, he was thinking, That ain't the Chevy going away. That's a Buick coming in.

He pivoted, his eyes aiming at the edge of the woods where the wagon path showed a pale green Buick. The car came slowly, impeded by the snow. Then it gave a lurch, the snow spraying as the tires screeched, and it was coming faster now.

They followed her, he thought. They followed her from Philly. Kept their distance so it wouldn't give them away in the rear-view mirror. Score one for them. It's quite a score, that's for sure. Maybe it's a grand slam.

He saw Feather and Morris getting out of the car. Morris circled the car and came up to Feather and they stood there talking. Morris was pointing toward the house and Feather was shaking his head. They were focused on the front of the house and he knew they hadn't seen him. But they will, he thought. You make another move and you're spotted. And this time it's no discussions, no preliminaries. This time you're on the check-off list and they'll try to put you outa the way.

What you need, of course, is a fox-hole. It would sure come in handy right now. Or a sprinter's legs. Or better yet, a pair of wings. But I think you'll hafta settle for the snow. The snow looks deep enough.

He was crouched, then flattened on his belly in the snow. In front of his face it was a white wall. He brushed at it, his fingers creating a gap, and he looked through it and saw Feather and Morris stifi standing beside the car and arguing. Morris kept gesturing toward the house and Feather was shaking his head. Morris started walking toward the house and Feather pulled him back. They were talking loudly now but he couldn't make out what they were saying. He estimated they were some sixty yards away.

And you're some fifteen yards from the back door, he told himself. Wanna try it? There's a chance you can make it, but not much of a chance, considering Moms. You remember what Clifton said about Morris and his ability with a gun. I think we better wait a little longer and see what they're gonna do.

But what about her? You forgetting her? No, it ain't that, you know damn well it ain't that. It's just that you're sure she'll use her head and stay right there where she is. She stays there, she'll be all right.

Then he saw Feather and Morris taking things from the car. The things were Tommy guns. Feather and Morris moved toward the house.

But that's no way to do it, he said to them. That's like betting everything on one card, hoping to fifi an inside straight. Or it could be you're too anxious, you've waited a long time and you just can't wait any more. Whatever the reason, it's a tactical error, it's actually a boner and you'll soon find out.

You sure? he asked himself. You really sure they'll come out losers? Better give it another look and line it up the way it is. I think it's Clifton and Turley in bed asleep and of course you're hoping they heard the car when it came outa the woods and they ain't asleep. But that's only hoping, and hoping ain't enough. If they're still asleep, you gotta wake them up.

You gotta do it now. Right now. After all, it's only fifteen yards to the back door. Maybe if you crawl it--Ne, you can't crawl it. You don't have time for that. You'll hafta run. All right let's run.

He was up and racing toward the back door. He'd made less than five yards when he heard the blast of a Tommy and saw punctures in the snow in front of him, a few feet off to the side.

Nothing doing, he told himself. You'll never make it. You'll hafta pretend you're hit. And as the thought flashed through his brain he was already going down in simulated collapse. He hit the snow and rolled over and then rested on his side, motionless.

Then he heard the other guns, the shots coming from an upstairs window. He looked up and saw Clifton, with the sawed-off shotgun. A moment later it was Turley showing at another window. Turley was using two revolvers.

He grinned and thought, Well, anyway, you did it. You managed to wake them up. They're really awake now. They're wide awake and very busy.

Feather and Morris were running back to the cat Feather seemed to be hit in the leg. He was limping. Morris turned and let go a blast at Turley's window. Turley dropped one of the revolvers and grabbed at his shoulder and ducked out of sight. Then Morris took aim at Clifton, started a volley and Clifton quickly took cover. It was all happening fast and now Feather was on his knees crawling behind the Buick to use it as a shield. Morris moved close to the house and sent another blast at the upstairs windows, swinging the Tommy to get as many bullets up there as he could. Now from the house there was no shooting at all. Morris kept blasting at the upstairs window. Feather yelled at him and he lowered the gun and walked backwards toward the Buick. He stood at the side of the Buick, the Tommy stifi lowered but appearing ready as he looked up at the windows.

Some moments later the back door opened and Clifton came running out. He was carrying a small black suitcase. He was running toward the gray Packard parked near the woodshed. As he neared the car, he stumbled and the suitcase fell open and some paper money dropped out. Clifton bent over to pick it up. Morris didn't see this happening. Morris was stifi watching the upstairs windows. Now Clifton had the suitcase closed again and was climbing into the Packard. Then Turley, holding a sawed-off shotgun and a revolver with one hand while his other hand clutched his shoulder, came out of the back door and joined Clifton in the Packard.

The motor started and the Packard accelerated very fast, coming out from the rear of the house and sweeping in a wide circle, cutting through the snow with the skid-chained tires getting full traction, the car now moving at high speed across the clearing, aiming at the wagon path leading into the woods. Morris was using the Tommy again but he was somewhat disconcerted and his shooting was off. He shot for the tire and he was short. Then he shot for the front side window and hit the rear side window. Feather was yelling at him and he kept shooting at the Packard, now running toward the Packard as it went galloping away from him. He was screaming at the Packard, his voice cracked and twisted, with the Thompson still blasting but no longer useful because he couldn't aim it, he was much too upset.

Feather was crawling along the side of the Buick, opening the door and dimbing in behind the wheel. Morris had stopped running but was stifi shooting at the Packard. From the Packard there was a return of fire as Turley leaned out and used the sawed-off shotgun. Morris let out a yowl and dropped the Thompson and began to hop around, his left arm dangling, his wrist and hand bright red, the redness dripping. He kept hopping around and making loud noises. Then with his right hand he pulled out a revolver and shot at the Packard as it cut across the clearing headed for the wagon path. The shot went very wide and then the Packard was on the wagon path and going away.