Free Shoot the Piano Player by David Goodis Page A

Especially in South Jersey. I've been to South Jersey loads of times. To Cape May. To Wildwood. All down through there."
"No watermelons?"
"Not a one," Morris said.
"I guess you were driving at night," Feather told him.
"Could be," Morris said. And then, timing it, "Or maybe these farms are far off the road."
"Now, that's an angle." Feather took a quick look at Eddie, then purred, "Some of these farms are way back there in the woods. These watermelon patches, I mean. They're sorta hidden back there--"
"All right, all right." the waitress broke in. She turned to Eddie. "What are they talking about?"
"It's nothing." Eddie said.
"You wish it was nothing," Morris said.
She turned to Feather. "What is it?"
"His folks," Feather said. Again he looked at Eddie. "Go on, tell her. YQu might as well tell her."
"Tell her what?" Eddie spoke softly. "What's there to tell?"
"There's plenty," Morris said. "That is, if you're in on it." He moved the gun forward just a little, doing it gently, so that the barrel barely touched Eddie's shoulder. "You in on it?"
"Hey, for Christ's sake--" Eddie pulled his shoulder away.
"What's happening there?" Feather asked.
"He's afraid of the rod," Morris said.
"Sure he's afraid. So am I. Put that thing away. We hit a bump it might go off."
"I want him to know--"
"He knows. They both know. They don't have to feel it to know it's there."
"All right." Morris sounded grumpy. "All right, all right."
The waitress was looking at Feather, then at Eddie, then at Feather again. She said, "Well, if he can't tell me, maybe you can--"
"About his folks?" Feather smiled. "Sure, I got some facts. There's the mother and the father and the two brothers. There's this Turley and the other one, his name is Clifton. That right, Eddie?"
Eddie shrugged. "If you say so."
"You know what I think?" Morris said slowly. "I think he's in on it."
"In on what?" the waitress snapped. "At least you could give me some idea--"
"You'll get the idea," Feather told her. "You'll get it when we reach that house."
"What house?"
"In South Jersey," Feather said. "In them woods where it used to be a watermelon patch but the-weeds closed in and now it ain't a farm any more. It's just an old wooden house with a lot of weeds around it. And then the woods. There's no other houses around for miles--"
"No roads, either," Morris put in.
"Not cement roads, anyway," Feather said. "Just wagon paths that take you deep in them woods. So all you see is trees and more trees. And finally, there it is, the house. Just that one house far away from everything. It's what I'd call a gloomy layout." He looked at Eddie. "We got no time for fooling around. You know the route, so what you do is, you give the directions."
"How come?" the waitress asked. "Why do you need directions? You pictured that house like you've been there."
"I've never been there," Feather said. He went on looking at Eddie. "I was told about it, that's all. But they left out something. Forgot to tell me how to get there."
"He'll tell you," Morris said.
"Sure he'll tell me. What else can he do?"
Morris nudged Eddie's shoulder. "Give."
"Not yet," Feather said. "Wait'll we cross the bridge into Jersey. Then he'll tell us what roads to take."
"Maybe he don't know," the waitress said.
"You kidding?" Feather flipped it at her. "He was born and raised in that house. For him it's just a trip to the country, to visit the folks."
"Like coming home for Thanksgiving," Morris said. Again he touched Eddie's shoulder. This time it was a friendly pat. "After all, there's no place like home."
"Except it ain't a home," Feather said softly. "It's a hide-out."

7
Now they were on Front Street, headed south toward the Delaware River Bridge. They were coming into heavy traffic, and south of Lehigh Avenue the street was jammed. In addition to cars and trucks, there was a slowmoving swarm of Saturday afternoon shoppers, some of them jaywalkers who kept their heads down against the wind and the snow. The Buick moved very slowly