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

"Could be." Eddie gave a very slight shrug. "I might have done it without thinking, I mean sort of unconsciouslike. I'm really not sure--"
"Not much you ain't." Plyne showed a thick wet smile that widened gradually. "You handled that stunt like you'd planned it on paper. The timing was perfect."
Eddie blinked several times. He told himself to stop it. He said to himself, Something is happening here and you better check it before it goes further.
But there was no way to check it. The bouncer was saying, "First time I ever saw you pull that kind of caper. In all the years you been here, you never butted in, not once. No matter what the issue was, no matter who was in it. So how come you butted in tonight?"
Another slight shrug, and the words coming softly, "I might have figured he could use some help, like I said, I'm not really sure. Or, on the other hand, you see someone in a jam, you remind yourself he's a close relative--I don't know, it's something along those lines."
Plyne's face twisted in a sort of disgusted grimace, as though he knew there was no use digging any deeper. He turned and started away from the piano.
Then something stopped him and caused him to turn and come back. He leaned against the side of the piano. For some moments he said nothing, just listened to the music, his brow creased slightly in a moderately thoughtful frown. Then, quite casually, he moved his heavy hand, brushing Eddie's fingers away from the keyboard.
Eddie looked up, waiting.
"Gimme some more on this transaction." the bouncer said.
"Like what?"
"Them two men you stalled with the beer cases. What's the wire on them?"
"I don't know," Eddie said.
"You don't know why they were chasing him?"
"Ain't got the least idea."
"Come on, come on."
"I can't tell you, Wally. I just don't know."
"You expect me to buy that?"
Eddie shrugged and didn't reply.
"All right," Plyne said. "We'll try it from another angle. This brother of yours. What's his line?"
"Don't know that either. Ain't seen him for years. Last I knew, he was working on Dock Street."
"Doing what?"
"Longshoreman."
"You don't know what he's doing now?"
"If I knew, I'd tell you."
"Yeah, sure." Plyne was folding his thick arms high on his chest. "Spifi," he said. "Come on, spffl'
Eddie smiled amiably at the bouncer. "What's all this courtroom action?" And then, the smile widening, "You going to law school, Wally? You practicing on me?"
"It ain't like that," Plyne said. He was stumped for a moment. "It's just that I wanna be sure, that's all. I mean-- well, the thing of it is, I'm general manager here. Whatever happens in the Hut, I'm sorta responsible. You know that."
Eddie nodded, his eyebrows up. "That's a point."
"You're damn right it is," the bouncer pressed his advantage. "I gotta make sure this place keeps its license. It's a legitimate place of business. If I got anything to say, it's gonna stay legitimate."
"You're absolutely right," Eddie said.
"I'm glad you know it." Plyne's eyes were narrowed again. "Another thing you'd better know, I got more brains than you think. Can't play no music or write poems or anything like that, but sure as hell I can add up a score. Like with this brother of yours and them two engineers who wanted him for more than just a friendly chat."
"That adds," Eddie said.
"It adds perfect," Plyne approved his own arithmetic. "And I'll add it some more. I'll give it to you right down the line. He mighta been a longshoreman then, but it's a cinch he's switched jobs. He's lookin' for a higher income now. Whatever work he's doing, there's heavy cash involved--"
Eddie was puzzled. He was saying to himself, The dumber you play it, the better.
"Them two engineers," the bouncer was saying, "they weren't no small-timers. I gandered the way they were dressed. Them overcoats were hand-stitched; I know that custom quality when I see it. So we take it from there, we do it with arrows--"
"With what?"
"With arrows," Plyne said, his finger tracing an arrowline on the side of the piano. "From them to your brother. From your brother to you."
"Me?" Eddie laughed lightly. "You're not adding it now. You're stretching it."
"But not too far," Plyne said. "Because it's more than just possible. Because there ain't nothing wrong with my peepers. I seen your brother sitting here and giving you that sales talk. It's like he wants you in on the deal, whatever it is--"
Eddie was laughing again.
"What's funny?" Plyne asked.
Eddie went on laughing. It wasn't loud laughter, but it was real. He was trying to hold it back and he couldn't.
"Is it me?" Plyne spoke very quietly. "You laughing at me?"
"At myself," Eddie managed to say through the laughter. "I got a gilt-framed picture of the setup. The big deal, with me the key man, that final arrow pointing at me. You must be kidding, Wally. Just take a look and see for yourself. Look at the key man."
Plyne looked, seeing the thirty-a-week musician who sat there at the battered piano, the soft-eyed, soft-mouthed nobody whose ambitions and goals aimed at exactly zero, who'd been working here three years without asking or even hinting for a raise. Who never grumbled when the tips were stingy, or griped about anything, for that matter, not even when ordered to help with the chairs and tables at closing time, to sweep the floor, to take out the trash.
Plyne's eyes focused on him and took him in. Three years, and aside from the music he made, his presence at the Hut meant nothing. It was almost as though he wasn't there and the piano was playing all by itself. Regardless of the action at the tables or the bar, the piano man was out of it, not even an observer. He had his back turned and his eyes on the keyboard, content to draw his pauper's wages and wear pauper's rags. A gutless wonder, Plyne decided, fascinated with this living example of absolute neutrality. Even the smile was something neutral. It was never aimed at a woman. It was aimed very far out there beyond all tangible targets, really far out there beyond the leftfield bleachers. So where does that take it? Plyne asked himself. And of course there was no answer, not even the slightest clue.
But even so, he made a final effort. He squinted hard at the piano man, and said, "Tell me one thing. Where'd you come from?"
"I was born," Eddie said.
The bouncer thought it over for some moments. Then, "Thanks for the tipoff. I had it figured you came from a cloud."
Eddie laughed softly. Plyne was walking away, going toward the bar. At the bar the dark-haired waitress was arranging shot glasses on a tray. Plyne approached her, hesitated, then came in close and said something to her. She didn't reply. She didn't even look at him. She picked up the tray and headed for one of the tables. Plyne stood motionless, staring at her, his mouth tight, his teeth biting hard at the inside of his lip.