"Goodis, David - Shoot the Piano Player" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goodis David)

Turley didn't reply. He turned his head slightly, looking away from the musician. Consternation clouded his face, as though he knew what he wanted to say but couldn't quite manage to say it.
"It's no go," Eddie said.
Turley let out a sigh. As it faded, the grin came back. "Well, anyway, how you doing?"
"I'm doing fine," Eddie said.
"No problems?"
"None at all. Everything's dandy."
"Including the finance?"
"I'm breaking even." Eddie shrugged, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
Turley sighed again.
Eddie said, "I'm sorry, Turl, it's strictly no dice."
"But listen--"
"No," Eddie said softly. "No matter what it is, you can't pull me into it."
"But Jesus Christ, the least you can do is--"
"How's the family?" Eddie asked.
"The family?" Turley was blinking. Then he picked up on it. "We're all in good shape. Mom and Dad are okay--"
"And Clifton?" Eddie said. "How's Clifton?" referring to the other brother, the oldest.
Turley's grin was suddenly wide. "Well, you know how it is with Clifton. He's still in there pitching--"
"Strikes?"
Turley didn't answer. The grin stayed, but it seemed to slacken just a little. Then presently he said, "You've been away a long time. We miss you."
Eddie shrugged.
"We really miss you," Turley said. "We always talk about you."
Eddie gazed past his brother. The far-off smile drifted across his lips. He didn't say anything.
"After all," Turley said, "you're one of the family. We never told you to leave. I mean you're always welcome at the house. What I mean is--"
"How'd you know where to find me?"
"Fact is, I didn't. Not at first. Then I remembered, that last letter we got, you mentioned the name of this place. I figured you'd still be here. Anyway, I hoped so. Well, today I was downtown and I looked up the address in the phone book--"
"Today?"
"I mean tonight. I mean--"
"You mean when things got tight you looked me up. Isn't that it?"
Turley blinked again. "Don't get riled."
"Who's riled?"
"You're plenty riled but you cover it up," Turley said. Then he had the grin working again. "I guess you learned that trick from living here in the city. All us country people, us South Jersey melon-eaters, we can't ever learn that caper. We always gotta show our hole card."
Eddie made no comment. He glanced idly at the keyboard, and hit a few notes.
"I got myself in a jam," Turley said.
Eddie went on playing. The notes were in the higher octaves, the fingers very light on the keyboard, making a cheery, babbling-brook sort of tune.
Turley shifted his position in the chair. He was glancing around, his eyes swiftly checking the front door, the side door, and the door leading to the rear exit.
"Wanna hear something pretty?" Eddie said. "Listen to this--"
Turley's hand came down on the fingers that were hitting the keys. Through the resulting discord, his voice came urgently, somewhat hoarsely. "You gotta help me, Eddie. I'm really in a tight spot. You can't turn me down."
"Can't get myself involved, either."
"Believe me, it won't get you involved. All I'm asking, lemme stay in your room until morning."
"You don't mean stay. You mean hide."
Again Turley sighed heavily. Then he nodded.
"From who?" Eddie asked.
"Two troublemakers."
"Really? You sure they made the trouble? Maybe you made it."
"No, they made it," Turley said. "They been giving me grief since early today."
"Get to it. What kind of grief?"
"Tracing me. They've been on my neck from the time I left Dock Street--"
"Dock Street?" Eddie frowned slightly. "What were you doing on Dock Street?"
"Well, I was--" Turley faltered, swallowed hard, then bypassed Dock Street and blurted, "Damn it all, I ain't askin' for the moon. All you gotta do is put me up for the night--"
"Hold it," Eddie said. "Let's get back to Dock Street."