Shoot the Piano Player (21 page)

Feather opened the rear door of the Buick and Morris climbed in. The Buick leaped into a turn and aimed at the wagon path to chase after the Packard.

Eddie sat up. He looked to the side and saw the waitress running out from the edge of the woods. She was coming fast across the clearing and he waved at her to get back, to stay in the woods until the Buick was gone. Now the Buick had slowed just a little and he knew they'd seen the waitress.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the .38. With his other hand he kept waving at her to get back.

The Buick came to a stop. Feather was using the Tommy, shooting at the waitress. Eddie fired blindly at the Buick, unable to aim because he wasn't thinking in terms of hitting anything. He kept pulling the trigger, hoping it would get the Tommy off the waitress. With his fourth shot he lured the Tommy to point in his direction. He felt the swish of slugs going past his head and he fired a fifth shot to keep the Tommy on him and away from her.

He couldn't see her now, he was concentrating on the Buick. The Tommy had stopped firing and the Buick was moving again. It picked up speed going toward the wagon path and he thought, It's the Packard they want, they're going away to go after the Packard. Will they get it? It really doesn't mattet You don't even want to think about it. You got her to think about. Because you can't see her now. You're looking and you can't see her.

Where is she? Did she make it back to the woods? Sure, that's what happened. She ran back and she's waiting there. So it's all right. You can go to her now. The hornets are gone and it's nice to know you can drop the gun and go to her.

He dropped the .38 and started walking through the snow. At first he walked fast, but then he slowed, and then he walked very slowly. Finally he stopped and looked at something half hidden in the deep snow.

She was resting face down. He knelt beside her and said something and she didn't answer. Then very carefully he turned her onto her side and looked at her face. There were two bullet holes in her forehead and very quickly he looked away. Then his eyes were shut tightly and he was shaking his head. There was a sound from somewhere but he didn't hear it. He didn't know he was moaning.

He stayed there for a while, kneeling beside Lena. Then he got up and walked across the clearing and went into the woods to look for the Chevy. He found it parked between some trees near the wagon path. The key was in the ignition lock and he drove the Chevy into the clearing. He placed the body in the back seat. It's gotta be delivered, he thought. It's just a package gotta be delivered.

He took her to Belleville. In Belleville the authorities held him for thirty-two hours. During that time they offered him food but he couldn't eat. There was an interval of getting into an official car with some men in plain clothes, and he guided them to the house in the woods. He was vaguely aware of answering their questions, although his answers seemed to satisfy them. When they found Tommy slugs in the clearing it confirmed what he'd told them in Belleville. But then they wanted to know more about the battle, the reason for it, and he said he couldn't tell them much about that. He said it was some kind of a dispute between these people and his brothers and he wasn't sure what it was about. They grilled him and he kept saying, "Can't help you there," and it wasn't an evasion. He really couldn't tell them because it wasn't clear in his mind. He was far away from it and it didn't matter to him, it had no importance at all.

Then, in Belleville again, they asked if he could help in establishing the identity of the victim. They said they'd done some checking but they couldn't find any relatives or records of past employment. He repeated what he'd told them previously, that she was a waitress and her first name was Lena and he didn't know her last name. They wanted to know if there was anything more. He said that was all he knew, that she'd never told him about herself. They shrugged and told him to sign a few papers, and when he'd done that, they let him go. Just before he walked out, he asked if they'd found where she lived in Philadelphia. They gave him the address of the rooming house. They were somewhat perplexed that he hadn't even known the address. After he walked out, one of them commented. "Claimed he hardly knew her. Then why's he taking it so hard? That man's been hit so hard he's goofy."

Later that day, in Philadelphia, he returned the Chevy to its owner. Then he went to his room. Without thinking about it, he pulled down the shade and then he locked the door. At the wash basin he brushed his teeth and shaved and combed his hair. It was as though he expected company and wanted to make a presentable appearance. He put on a clean shirt and a necktie and seated himself on the edge of the bed, waiting for a visitor.

He waited there a long time. At intervals he slept, pulled from sleep whenever he heard footsteps in the hall. But the footsteps never approached the door.

Very late that night there was a knock on the door. He opened the door and Clarice came in with some sandwiches and a carton of coffee. He thanked her and said he wasn't hungry. She unwrapped the sandwiches and forced them into his hands. She sat there and watched him while he ate. The food had no taste but he managed to eat it, washing it down with the coffee. Then she gave him a cigarette, lit one for herself, and after taking a few puffs she suggested they go out for a walk. She said the air would do him good.

He shook his head.

She told him to get some sleep and then she went out of the room. The next day she was there again with more food. For several days she kept bringing him food and urging him to eat. On the fifth day he was able to eat without being coaxed. But he refused to go out of the room. Each night she asked him to go for a walk and told him he needed fresh air and some exercise and he shook his head. His lips smiled at her, but with his eyes he was begging her to leave him alone.

Night after night she kept asking him to go for a walk. Then it was the ninth night and instead of shaking his head, he shrugged, put on his overcoat and they went out.

They were on the street and walking slowly and he had no idea where they were going. But suddenly, through the darkness, he saw the orange glow of the lit-up sign with some of the bulbs missing.

He stopped. He said, "Not there. We ain't going there."

"Why not?"

"Nothing there for me," he said. "Nothing I can do there."

Clarice took hold of his arm. She pulled him along toward the lit-up sign.

Then they were walking into the Hut. The place was jammed. Every table was taken and they were three-deep and four-deep all along the bar. It was the same crowd, the same noisy regulars, except that now there was very little noise. Just a low murmuring.

He wondered why it was so quiet in the Hut. Then he saw Harriet behind the bar. She was looking directly at him. Her face was expressionless.

Now heads were turning and others were looking at him and he told himself to get out of here, get out fast. But Clarice had tightened her hold on his arm. She was pulling him forward, taking him past the tables and toward the piano.

"No," he said. "I can't--"

"The hell you can't," Clarice said, and kept pulling him toward the piano.

She pushed him onto the revolving stool. He sat there staring at the keyboard.

And then, from Harriet, "Come on, give us a tune."

But I can't, he said without sound. Just can't.

"Play it," Harriet yelled at him. "Whatcha think I'm payin' you for? We wanna hear some music."

From the bar someone shouted, "Do it, Eddie. Hit them keys. Put some life in this joint."

Others chimed in, coaxing him to get started.

He heard Clarice saying, "Give, man. You got an audience."

And they're waiting, he thought. They've been coming here every night and waiting.

But there's nothing you can give them. You just don't have it to give.

His eyes were closed. A whisper came from somewhere, saying, You can try. The least you can do is try.

Then he heard the sound. It was warm and sweet and it came from a piano. That's fine piano, he thought. Who's playing that?

He opened his eyes. He saw his fingers caressing the keyboard.

About the Author

David Goodis was born in Philadelphia in 1917. The publication of
Dark Passage
in 1946 established him as a leading author of crime fiction and after the success of the film, starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, he joined the Warner Brothers payroll as a screen writer. His collaboration with Hollywood was less than ideal and in 1950 he returned to Philadelphia and continued to write crime fiction until his death in 1967.

Table of Contents

Shoot The Piano Player

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

About the Author