I cursed steadily for many long minutes.
“That’s just what I said,” he remarked, “only I said it louder and faster.”
“You couldn’t take a chance on telling that to the cops and letting them try to get on the trail after the kid’s O.K.?”
“Hell, no. If I pay off to these characters, I do it straight. I can’t take a chance on the kid. There’s not enough dough in the world to mean that much to me.”
“Anything I can do?”
“I guess not, Bud. Just beat on that piano the way you’ve been doing, and we’ll jam enough customers in here to make the thousand look like a fly bite. You’re doing great, kid. But even if...” His voice trailed off and he snapped the butt out onto the gravel.
“But even if what?”
“I’m afraid that if we make more dough, they’ll ask for more dough. I can’t help but feel that they’ve got somebody planted on me. The guy on the phone knew a lot about the business. Too much.”
“How many new guys do you have?”
“Maybe fourteen in the last two months.”
“You’ve been watching them?”
“They all look O.K. to me. I can’t figure out which one it could be. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the guy on the phone was guessing.”
“I could help look.”
“You could stay out of it. I hired you to give me piano music, not protection from a protection mob.” He climbed out of the car and slammed the door. I heard his footsteps crunching on the gravel as he headed back for the joint. I sat and had another cigarette and did some thinking. A few couples came out and climbed into their cars — but they didn’t drive away. The music rolled out across the green lawn and the stars seemed low and bright. It was a good night, but the taste for it had sort of left me. I wanted to help the Howler.
He paid off on the first. I stood with him and watched Sue trudge up the road in her blue dress, the big envelope in her hand. The sun was hot. She went over the hill and out of sight on the other side. We both wanted to run after her but we didn’t dare. In the next twenty minutes I saw the Howler age five years. His face was white and his eyes were strained. He kept snapping cigarettes into his mouth and dragging twice on them before flipping them away.
I grabbed his arm when I saw something coming back over the hill. Sue came into sight and the color came back into his face. We shook hands solemnly. When she was twenty feet away, he dropped on one knee in the dust and she ran into his arms, giggling. He held her roughly and slapped her where you slap children with either affection or correction.
He held her at arm’s length and said: “Now tell Dad what happened.”
“A black car stopped and a man stuck out his hand and said, ‘Got that envelope for me. Sue?’ and I gave it to him and they drove away.”
“How about his voice?”
“He kind of whispered.”
“What kind of a car was it?”
“I don’t know but I think it was an old one. Black, too.”
“Did you look at the license like Dad told you?”
“Sure, but it had dirt all over it. I couldn’t read any numbers.”
“Could you recognize him if you saw him again?”
“Golly, no! He held a handkerchief up to his nose like he was going to blow it, but he didn’t.”
We stood and looked helplessly down into her bland little face. She looked hurt, as though she had failed the Howler somehow. He patted her on the head and told her she had done O.K., so she went skipping off to her mother in the bungalow the Howler had built down over the crest of the hill from the Quin Pines. I had met Mrs. Browne, a tall blonde with steady eyes, but I didn’t see her often, as the Howler has the excellent rule of keeping his wife away from the joint. More joint owners should try it. I wondered how she was reacting to the ugly choice of having to use Sue as a courier for a shakedown mob.
Even though I wanted to do something — anything — to help the Howler, I couldn’t think of a starting place. For the next few weeks he walked around looking as gay as a wreath on the door. And still the customers flocked in. Nothing will ever beat the old formula of good food, good liquor, good music and no clip games. Whenever I asked him how things were going he would shrug and look grim.
It must have been the day before the second payoff day that I burst into the Howler’s office without doing any knocking. I had dreamed up the hot idea of getting hold of a midget and dressing it in clothes like Sue wears and sending it down to the highway with a cannon and a chip on its shoulder. I was chewing over the idea and I didn’t knock.
The Howler looked up from behind his big desk and he wasn’t happy to see me. A man I had seen around the place sat in the visitor’s chair. He was a tall slim blond gent with a steel gray gabardine suit, white buck shoes, a hand-painted tie and a languid manner. He was real pretty with his sun tan.
I said, “Excuse me, Howler. I should have knocked,” and I turned to go back out.
“Wait a minute, Bud. You probably are going to have to look for a job soon, so you might as well know the score. Meet my lawyer, John Winch. John, this is Bud Morse, my piano player and good friend.”
Winch jumped up and grabbed my hand. I liked his warm smile and tight handshake. “I’m glad to meet you, Bud. I’ve enjoyed your work a lot. I like your Lady Be Good best, I think.”
I like the way I play that one too.
I perched on the windowsill and the Howler said: “It looks like we’re at the end of the line. John can’t think of a thing we can do, Bud. The mob, whoever they are, want two grand a month. I can’t swing it. I told them I would have to go out of business and the guy on the phone said that was O.K. with him. I’ve gone over the books with John and we can’t see any way out of it. I’m going to sell out and get out of here.”
Winch looked steadily at me and said: “And the trouble with that is that he’ll only get the value of the land, building and fixtures. You can’t sell these places on the basis of a capitalization of the earning rate. It just isn’t done.”
I felt sorry for the Howler. His big red face sagged down over his collar. His eyes were as empty as yesterday’s box lunch.
“Damn it, why don’t you fight a while?”
He spread his hands. “Nothing to fight with, Bud. Nothing to go on.”
“This doesn’t sound like you, boy. Besides, give me another couple of days to poke around. I got a lead.”
They both leaned forward. New life came back into the Howler’s face. “What is it? Come on, give!”
I opened my mouth to tell him and then decided against it. It was too vague — it would sound silly. Once when I was in college I worked in a shoe store and I learned about shoes. I know good ones when I see them. Even though the Howler had told me just to play the piano, I had done some poking around among the new employees. I noticed that a fellow named Jake Thomason, the new dishwasher, was wearing a pair of beautiful shoes. Looked like a hand-made last. Narrow and well stitched. For a guy making eighteen bucks a week plus two meals a day, they didn’t look right. It made me wonder and I had been keeping an eye on him. But you can’t tell a guy not to sell out because his dishwasher wears good shoes.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I got to keep it to myself until I develop it a little more.” They nagged at me for a while but I kept my mouth shut.
Finally the Howler said: “O.K., John. Forget the sale for a while. I’ll pay off the two grand tomorrow and take a chance on Bud.” Winch shrugged and I left before the Howler could change his mind.