Free Shoot the Piano Player by David Goodis Page B

and Feather kept hitting the horn. Morris was cursing the pedestrians. In front of the Buick there was a very old car without chains. It also lacked a windshield wiper. It was traveling at approximately fifteen miles per hour.
"Give him the horn," Morris said. "Give him the horn again."
"He can't hear it," Feather said.
"Give him the goddam horn. Keep blowing it."
Feather pressed the chromed rim, and the horn blasted and kept blasting. In the car ahead the driver turned and scowled and Feather went on blowing the horn.
"Try to pass him," Morris said.
"I can't," Feather muttered. "The street ain't wide enough."
"Try it now. There's no cars coming now."
Feather steered the Buick toward the left and then out a little more. He started to cut past the old car and then a bread truck came riding in for what looked to be a head-on collision.
Feather pulled hard at the wheel and got back just in time.
"You shoulda kept on," Morris said. "You had enough room."
Feather didn't say anything.
A group of middle-aged women crossed the street between the Buick and the car in front of it. They seemed utterly oblivious to the existence of the Buick. Feather slammed his foot against the brake pedal.
"What're you stopping for?" Morris yelled. "They wanna get hit, then hit them!"
"That's right," the waitress said. "Smash into them. Grind them to a pulp."
The women passed and the Buick started forward. Then a flock of children darted through and the Buick was stopped again.
Morris opened the window at his side and leaned out and shouted, "What the hell's wrong with you?"
"Drop dead," one of the children said. It was a girl about seven years old.
"I'll break your little neck for you," Morris shouted at her.
"That's all right," the child sang back. "Just stay off my blue suede shoes."
The other children began singing the rock-and-roll tune, "Blue Suede Shoes," twanging on imaginary guitars and imitating various dynamic performers. Morris closed the window, gritting, "Goddam juvenile delinquents."
"Yes, it's quite a problem," the waitress said.
"You shut up," Morris told her.
She turned to Eddie. "The trouble is, there ain't enough playgrounds. We oughtta have more playgrounds. That would get them off the street'
"Yes," Eddie said. "The people ought to do something. It's a very serious problem."
She turned her head and looked back at Morris. "What do you think about it? You got an opinion?"
Morris wasn't listening. He had the window open again and he was leaning out, concentrating on the oncoming traffic. He called to Feather, "It's clear now. Go ahead--"
Feather started to turn the wheel. Then he changed his mind and pulled back in behind the car in front. A moment later a taxicab came whizzing from the other direction. It made a yellow blur as it sped past.
"You coulda made it," Morris complained. "You had plenty of time--"
Feather didn't say anything.
"You gotta cut through while you got the chance," Morris said. "Now if I had that wheel--"
"You want the wheel?" Feather asked.
"All I said was--"
"I'll give you the wheel," Feather said. "I'll wrap it around your neck."
"Don't get excited," Morris said.
"Just leave me alone and let me drive. Is that all right?"
"Sure." Morris shrugged. "You're the driver. You know how to drive."
"Then keep quiet." Feather faced the windshield again. "If there's one thing I can do, it's handle a car. There ain't nobody can tell me about that. I can make a car do anything--"
"Except get through traffic," Morris remarked.
Again Feather's head turned. His eyes were dull-cold, aiming at the tall, thin man. "What are you doing? You trying to irritate me?"
"No," Morris said. "I'm only making talk."
Feather went on looking at him. "I don't need that talk. You give that talk to someone else. You tell someone else how to drive."
Morris pointed to the windshield. "Keep your eyes on the traffic--"
"You just won't let up, will you?" Feather shifted slightly in his seat, to get a fuller look at the man in the rear of the car. "Now