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

He stood there looking down at Turley. He was waiting for an answer. Turley looked up at him and said, "Why you buttin' in? Cantcha see I'm talkin'?"
"You're talking too loud," Plyne said. His tone remained pleasant, almost sympathetic. He was looking at the tears rolling down Turley's cheeks.
"If I don't talk loud they won't hear me," Turley said. "I want them to hear me."
"They got other things to do," Plyne said patiently. "They're drinkin' and they don't wanna be bothered."
"That's what's wrong," Turley sobbed. "Nobody wantsa be bothered."
Plyne took a deep breath. He said to Turley, "Now look, whoever messed up your face like that, you go ahead and hit him back. But not here. This here's a quiet place of business--"
"What you sellin' me?" Turley blinked the tears away, his tone changing to a growl. "Who asked you to be sorry for my goddam face? It's my face. The lumps are mine, the cuts are mine. You better worry about your own damn face."
"Worry?" Plyne was giving careful thought to the remark. "How you mean that?"
Turley's eyes and lips started a grin, his mouth started a reply. Before the grin could widen, before the words could come, Eddie moved in quickly, saying to Plyne, "He didn't mean anything, Wally. Cantcha see he's all mixed up?"
"You stay out of this," Plyne said, not looking at Eddie. He was studying Turley's face, waiting for the grin to go away.
The grin remained. At nearby tables there was a waiting quiet. The quiet spread to other tables, then to all the tables, and then to the crowded bar. They were all staring at the big man who stood there grinning at Plyne.
"Get it off," Plyne told Turley. "Get it off your face."
Turley widened the grin.
Plyne took another deep breath. Something came into his eyes, a kind of dull glow. Eddie saw it and knew what it meant. He was up from the piano stool, saying to Plyne, "Don't, Wally. He's sick."
"Who's sick?" Turley challenged. "I'm in grade-A shape. I'm ready for--"
"He's ready for a brain examination," Eddie said to Plyne, to the staring audience. "He ran into a pole and banged his head. Look at that bump. If it ain't a fracture it's maybe a concussion."
"Call for an ambulance," someone directed.
"Lookit, he's bleeding from the mouth," another voice put in. "Could be that's from the busted head."
Plyne blinked a few times. The glow faded from his eyes.
Turley went on grinning. But now the grin wasn't aimed at Plyne or anyone or anything else. Again it was the idiotic grin.
Plyne looked at Eddie. "You know him?"
Eddie shrugged. "Sort of."
"Who is he?"
Another shrug. "I'll take him outside. Let him get some air-"
Plyne's thick fingers closed on Eddie's sleeve. "1 asked you something. Who is he?"
"You hear the man?" It was Turley again, coming out of the brain-battered fog. "The man says he wantsa know. I think he's got a point there."
"Then you tell me," Plyne said to Turley. He stepped closer, peering into the glazed eyes. "Maybe you don't need an ambulance, after all. Maybe you ain't really hurt that bad. Can you tell me who you are?"
"Brother."
"Whose brother?"
"His." Turley pointed to Eddie.
"I didn't know he had a brother." Plyne said.
"Well, that's the way it goes." Turley spoke to all the nearby tables. "You learn something new every day."
"I'm willing to learn," Plyne said. And then, as though Eddie wasn't there, "He never talks about himself. There's a lota things about him I don't know."
"You don't?" Turley had the grin again. "How long has he worked here?"
"Three years."
"That's a long time," Turley said. "You sure oughtta have him down pat by now.
"Nobody's got him down pat. Only thing we know for sure, he plays the piano."
"You pay him wages?"
"Sure we pay him wages."
"To do what?"
"Play the piano."
"And what else?"
"Just that," Plyne said. "We pay him to play the piano, that's all."
"You mean you don't pay him wages to talk about himself?"
Plyne tightened his lips. He didn't reply.
Turley moved in closer. "You want it all for free, don't you? But the thing is, you can't get it for free. You wanna learn about a person, it costs you. And the more you learn, the more it costs. Like digging a well, the deeper you go, the more expenses you got. And sometimes it's a helluva lot more than you can afford."
"What you getting at?" Plyne was frowning now. He turned his head to look at the piano man. He saw the carefree smile and it bothered him, it caused his frown to darken. There was only a moment of that, and then he looked again at Turley. He got rid of the frown and said, "All right, never mind. This talk means nothing. It's jabber, and you're punchy, and I got other things to do. I can't stay here wasting time with you."
The bouncer walked away. The audience at the bar and the tables went back to drinking. Turley and Eddie were seated now, Eddie facing the keyboard, hitting a few chords and starting a tune. It was a placid, soft-sweet tune and the dreamy sounds brought a dreamy smile to Turley's lips. "That's nice," Turley whispered. "That's really nice."
The music went on and Turley nodded slowly, unaware that he was nodding. As his head came up, and started to go down again, he saw the front door open.
Two men came in.