Shoot the Piano Player (8 page)

7

Now they were on Front Street, headed south toward the Delaware River Bridge. They were coming into heavy traffic, and south of Lehigh Avenue the street was jammed. In addition to cars and trucks, there was a slowmoving swarm of Saturday afternoon shoppers, some of them jaywalkers who kept their heads down against the wind and the snow. The Buick moved very slowly and Feather kept hitting the horn. Morris was cursing the pedestrians. In front of the Buick there was a very old car without chains. It also lacked a windshield wiper. It was traveling at approximately fifteen miles per hour.

"Give him the horn," Morris said. "Give him the horn again."

"He can't hear it," Feather said.

"Give him the goddam horn. Keep blowing it."

Feather pressed the chromed rim, and the horn blasted and kept blasting. In the car ahead the driver turned and scowled and Feather went on blowing the horn.

"Try to pass him," Morris said.

"I can't," Feather muttered. "The street ain't wide enough."

"Try it now. There's no cars coming now."

Feather steered the Buick toward the left and then out a little more. He started to cut past the old car and then a bread truck came riding in for what looked to be a head-on collision.

Feather pulled hard at the wheel and got back just in time.

"You shoulda kept on," Morris said. "You had enough room."

Feather didn't say anything.

A group of middle-aged women crossed the street between the Buick and the car in front of it. They seemed utterly oblivious to the existence of the Buick. Feather slammed his foot against the brake pedal.

"What're you stopping for?" Morris yelled. "They wanna get hit, then hit them!"

"That's right," the waitress said. "Smash into them. Grind them to a pulp."

The women passed and the Buick started forward. Then a flock of children darted through and the Buick was stopped again.

Morris opened the window at his side and leaned out and shouted, "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Drop dead," one of the children said. It was a girl about seven years old.

"I'll break your little neck for you," Morris shouted at her.

"That's all right," the child sang back. "Just stay off my blue suede shoes."

The other children began singing the rock-and-roll tune, "Blue Suede Shoes," twanging on imaginary guitars and imitating various dynamic performers. Morris closed the window, gritting, "Goddam juvenile delinquents."

"Yes, it's quite a problem," the waitress said.

"You shut up," Morris told her.

She turned to Eddie. "The trouble is, there ain't enough playgrounds. We oughtta have more playgrounds. That would get them off the street'

"Yes," Eddie said. "The people ought to do something. It's a very serious problem."

She turned her head and looked back at Morris. "What do you think about it? You got an opinion?"

Morris wasn't listening. He had the window open again and he was leaning out, concentrating on the oncoming traffic. He called to Feather, "It's clear now. Go ahead--"

Feather started to turn the wheel. Then he changed his mind and pulled back in behind the car in front. A moment later a taxicab came whizzing from the other direction. It made a yellow blur as it sped past.

"You coulda made it," Morris complained. "You had plenty of time--"

Feather didn't say anything.

"You gotta cut through while you got the chance," Morris said. "Now if I had that wheel--"

"You want the wheel?" Feather asked.

"All I said was--"

"I'll give you the wheel," Feather said. "I'll wrap it around your neck."

"Don't get excited," Morris said.

"Just leave me alone and let me drive. Is that all right?"

"Sure." Morris shrugged. "You're the driver. You know how to drive."

"Then keep quiet." Feather faced the windshield again. "If there's one thing I can do, it's handle a car. There ain't nobody can tell me about that. I can make a car do anything--"

"Except get through traffic," Morris remarked.

Again Feather's head turned. His eyes were dull-cold, aiming at the tall, thin man. "What are you doing? You trying to irritate me?"

"No," Morris said. "I'm only making talk."

Feather went on looking at him. "I don't need that talk. You give that talk to someone else. You tell someone else how to drive."

Morris pointed to the windshield. "Keep your eyes on the traffic--"

"You just won't let up, will you?" Feather shifted slightly in his seat, to get a fuller look at the man in the rear of the car. "Now I'm gonna tell you something, Morris. I'm gonna tell you--"

"Watch the light," Morris shouted, and gestured wildly toward the windshield. "You got a red light--"

Feather kept looking at him. "I'm telling you, Morris. I'm telling you for the last time--"

"The light," Morris screeched. "It's red, it's red, it says stop--"

The Buick was some twenty feet from the intersection when Feather took his foot off the gas pedal, then lightly stepped on the brake. The car was coming to a stop and Eddie glanced at the waitress, saw that she was focusing slantwise to the other side of the intersecting street, where a black-and-white Police car was double-parked, the two policemen standing out there talking to the driver of a truck parked in a no-parking zone. Eddie had seen the police car and he'd wondered if the waitress would see it and would know what to do about it. He thought, This is the time for it, there won't be another time.

The waitress moved her left leg and her foot came down full force on the accelerator. Pedestrians leaped out of the way as the Buick went shooting past the red light and narrowly missed a westbound car, then stayed southbound going across the trolley tracks and lurching now as Feather hit the brake while the waitress kept her foot on the accelerator. An east-bound trailer made a frantic turn and went up on the pavement. Some women screamed, there was considerably activity on the pavement, brakes screeched, and, finally, a policeman's whistle shrified through the air.

The Buick was stopped on the south side of the trolley tracks. Feather sat there leaning back, looking sideways at the waitress. Eddie was watching the policeman, who was yelling at the driver of the trailer, telling him to back off the pavement. There was no one hurt, although several of the pedestrians were considerably unnerved. A few women were yelling incoherently, pointing accusingly at the Buick. Then, gradually, a crowd closed in on the Buick. In the Buick there was no talk at all. Around the car the crowd thickened. Feather was still looking at the waitress. Eddie glanced into the rear-view mirror and saw Morris with his hat off. Morris had the hat in his hands and was gazing stupidly at the crowd outside the window. Some of the people in the crowd were saying things to Feather. Then the crowd moved to make a path for the policeman from the blackand-white car. Eddie saw that the other policeman was still occupied with the parking violator. He turned his head slowly and the waitress was looking at him. It seemed she was waiting for him to say something or do something. Her eyes said to him, It's your play, from here on in it's up to you. He made a very slight gesture, pointing to himself, as if saying, All right, I'll handle it. I'll do the talking.

The policeman spoke quietly to Feather. "Let's clear this traffic. Get her over there to the curb." The Buick moved slowly across the remainder of the intersection, the policeman walking along with it, guiding the driver to the southeast corner. "Cut the engine," the policeman told Feather. "Get out of the car."

Feather switched off the engine and opened the door and got out. The crowd went on making noise. A man said, "He's stewed. He's gotta be stewed to drive like that." And an elderly woman shouted, "We just ain't safe any more. We venture out we take our lives in our hands--"

The policeman moved in close to Feather and said, "How many?" and Feather answered, "All I had was two officer. I'll drive you back to the bar, and you can ask the bartender." The policeman looked Feather up and down. "All right, so you're not drunk. Then how do you account for this?" As Feather opened his mouth to reply, Eddie cut in quickly, saying, "He just can't drive, that's all. He's a lousy driver." Feather turned and looked at Eddie. And Eddie went on, "He always gets rattled in traffic." Then he turned to the waitress, saying, "Come on, honey. We don't need this. We'll take a trolley."

"Can't hardly blame you." the policeman said to them as they got out of the car. From the back seat, Morris called out, "See you later, Eddie," and for a moment there was indecision. Eddie glanced toward the policeman, thinking, You wanna tell the cop what's happening? You figure it's better that way? No, he decided. It's probably better this way.

"Later," Morris called to them as they moved off through the crowd. The waitress stopped and looked back at Morris. "Yeah, give us a call," and she waved at the tall, thin man in the Buick, "we'll be waiting--"

They went on moving through the crowd. Then they were walking north on Front Street. The snow had slackened somewhat. It was slightly warmer now, and the sun was trying to come out. But the wind had not lessened, there was still a bite in it, and Eddie thought, There's gonna be more snow, that sky looks strictly from changeable weather. It could be a blizzard coming.

He heard the waitress saying, "Let's get off this Street."

"They won't circle back."

"They might."

"I don't think they will," he said. "When that cop gets finished with them, they're gonna be awfully tired. I think they'll go to a movie or a Turkish bath or something. They've had enough for one day."

"He said he'd see us later."

"You gave him a good answer. You said we'd be waiting. That gives them something to think about. They'll really think about that."

"For how long?" She looked at him. "How long until they try again?"

He made an ofthand gesture. "Who knows? Why worry?"

She mimicked his gesture, his indifferent tone. "Well, maybe you're right. Except for one little angle. That thing he had wasn't a water pistol. If they come looking for us, it might be something to worry about."

He didn't say anything. They were walking just a little faster now. "Well?" she said, and he didn't answer. She said it again. She was watching his face and waiting for an answer. "How about it?" she asked, and took hold of his arm. They came to a stop and stood facing each other.

"Now look," he said, and smiled dimly. "This ain't your problem."

She shifted her weight onto one leg, put her hand on her hip and said, "I didn't quite get that."

"It's simple enough. I'm only repeating what you said last night, I thought you meant it. Anyway, I was hoping you meant it."

"In other words," and she took a .deep breath, "you're telling me to mind my own damn business."

"Well, I wouldn't put it that way--"

"Why not?" She spoke a trifle louder. "Don't be so polite." He gazed past her, his smile very soft. "Let's not get upset--"

"You're too goddam polite," she said. "You wanna make a point, make it. Don't walk all around it."

His smile fell away. He tried to build it again. It wouldn't build. Don't look at her, he told himself. You look at her, it'll start like it started last night in that alley when she was standing close to you.

She's close now, come to think of it. She's much too close. He took a backward step, went on gazing past her, then heard himself saying, "I don't need this."

"Need what?"

"Nothing." he mumbled. "Let it ride."

"It's riding."

He winced. He took a step toward her. What are you doing? he asked himself. Then he was shaking his head, trying to clear his brain. It was no go. He felt very dizzy.

He heard her saying, "Well, I might as well know who I'm riding with."

"We're not riding now," he said, and tried to make himself believe it. He grinned at her. "We're just standing here and gabbing."

"Is that what it is?"

"Sure," he said. "That's all it is. What else could it be?"

"I wouldn't know." Her face was expressionless. "That is, I wouldn't know unless I was told."

I'll let that pass, he said to himself. I'd better let it pass. But look at her, she's waiting. But it's more than that, she's aching. She's aching for you to say something.

"Let's walk," he said. "It's no use standing here."

"You're right," she said with a little smile. "It sure ain't getting us anywhere. Come on, let's walk."

They resumed walking north on Front Street. Now they were walking slowly and there was no talk. They went on for several blocks without speaking and then she stopped again and said to him, "I'm sorry, Eddie."