Shoot the Piano Player Read Free

Now sit still while I have a look."
"I'll have a look too," Turley said, and while the fat woman bent over him to study his damaged skull, he made a serious study of her forty-four-inch bosom. Again his arm went around her hip, and again she flung it off. "You're askin' for it," she told him, hefting her big fist. "You really want it, don't you?"
Turley grinned past the fist. "I always do, blondie. Ain't no hour of the day when I don't."
"You think he needs a doctor?" Eddie asked.
"I'll settle for a big fat nurse," Turley babbled, the grin very loose, sort of idiotic. And then he looked around, as though trying to figure out where he was. "Hey, somebody tell me somethin'. I' d simply like to know--"
"What year it is?" Harriet said. "It's Nineteen fifty-six, and the city is Philadelphia."
"You'll hafta do better than that." Turley sat up straighter. "What I really wanna know is--" But the fog enveloped him and he sat there gazing vacantly past Harriet, past Eddie, his eyes glazing over.
Harriet and Eddie looked at him, then looked at each other. Eddie said, "Keeps up like this, he'll need a stretcher."
Harriet took another look at Turley. She made a final diagnosis, saying, "He'll be all right. I've seen them like that before. In the ring. A certain nerve gets hit and they lose all track of what's happening. Then first thing you know, they're back in stride, they're doing fine."
Eddie was only half convinced. "You really think he'll be okay?"
"Sure he will," Harriet said. "Just look at him. He's made of rock. I know this kind. They take it and like it and come back for more."
"That's correct," Turley said solemnly. Without looking at Harriet, he reached out to shake her hand. Then he changed his mind and his hand strayed in another direction. Harriet shook her head in motherly disapproval. A wistful smile came onto her blunt features, a smile of understanding. She lowered her hand to Turley's head, her fingers in his mussed-up hair to muss it up some more, to let him know that Harriet's Hut was not as mean-hard as it looked, that it was a place where he could rest a while and pull himself together.
"You know him?" she said to Eddie. "Who is he?"
Before Eddie could answer, Turley was off on another fogbound ride, saying, "Look at that over there across the room. What's that?"
Harriet spoke soothingly, somewhat clinically. "What is it, johnny? Where?"
Turley's arm came up. He tried to point. It took considerable effort and finally he made it.
"You mean the waitress?" Harriet asked.
Turley couldn't answer. He had his eyes fastened on the face and body of the brunette on the other side of the room. She wore an apron and she carried a tray.
"You really like that?" Harriet asked. Again she mussed his hair. She threw a wink at Eddie.
"Like it?" Turley was saying. "I been lookin' all over for something in that line. That's my kind of material. I wanna get to meet that. What's her name?"
"Lena."
"She's something," Turley said. He rubbed his hands. "She's really something."
"So what are your plans?" Harriet asked quietly, as though she meant it seriously.
"Four bits is all I need." Turley's tone was flat and technical.
"A drink for me and a drink for her. And that'll get things going."
"Sure as hell it will," Harriet said, saying it more to herself and with genuine seriousness, her eyes aimed now across the crowded Hut, focused on the waitress. And then, to Turley, "You think you got lumps now, you'll get real lumps if you make a pass at that."
She looked at Eddie, waiting for some comment. Eddie had pulled away from it. He'd turned to face the keyboard. His face shbwed the dim and far-off smile and nothing more.
Turley stood up to get a better look. "What's her name again?"
"Lena."
"So that's Lena," he said, his lips moving slowly.
"That's sheer aggravation," Harriet said. "Do yourself a favor. Sit down. Stop looking."
He sat down, but he went on looking. "How come it's aggravation?" he wanted to know. "You mean it ain't for sale or