Free Seaweed on the Street by Stanley Evans Page B

might be money in it.”
    â€œA reward?”
    â€œCould be.”
    â€œI hope you’re not trouble. Ray is coming to the end of the road and it’s been a bumpy ride. Time hasn’t treated him well. He’s got this arthritis that acts up so he can’t play much anymore. Even at his peak, Ray was never exactly a household name.”
    â€œJust a working musician.”
    â€œThat’s right, a working stiff like the rest of us. What did you say your name was?”
    â€œSilas Seaweed.” I looked into her eyes. “If I’m gonna make a proposal later, I’ll need to know your name.”
    â€œBarbara Scarborough. Awful, right? Kids at school used to call me Barb Scarb, made me sound like an automobile part.”
    â€œEver think of changing it?”
    â€œI did, twice. One of my husbands was called Yastremkowich.”
    â€œLucky his name wasn’t Dwyer,” I said.
    She grinned. “Barb Dwyer? That’s nearly as cute as Silas Seaweed.”
    It was my turn to grin. I said, “There’s a hundred R. Smiths in the book. You know Ray’s number?”
    Barb shook her head and moved away to take another order.
    I liked her already. Liked her easy wit and the way she didn’t get mad when the hard hat told her to get her ass moving. And I loved the way she’d put her head to one side when she was being droll about the company umbrella. I liked her because she cared enough to worry about a tired old musician.
    Barb uncapped a Miller Lite. A man sat next to me and she placed the beer on the counter in front of him. Without a word the man picked up the bottle and held it admiringly for a moment. Barb and I watched him empty the bottle without taking it away from his lips for air. The drinker was a skinny dude of about 35, dressed in a red-and-white striped shirt and white pants, with a straw boater and white loafers. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.
    â€œMan, I needed that,” drawled the newcomer, smacking his lips. He looked at the menu in front of me and said, “Stranger, my name’s Hugh Baines. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t warn you about the food here.”
    â€œShut up, Hugh,” Barb laughed. “The food’s great and you know it.”
    â€œThey’ve got a Delta Blues sauce here that’s really something. I use it to remove paint from my boat,” said Baines. “But if you like it hot … ”
    Barb lifted her eyes in sardonic prayer and smiled. “Hugh’s a musician. Plays piano with the Seattle Stompers.”
    â€œI don’t play the piano here, no sir,” Baines said, picking up his second beer. “I beat the hell out of it. I murder it with my foot on the loud pedal all night long. People in this place like their tunes loud . They’re hoping that one night I’m gonna pound the 88s so hard the frame will collapse and ivory keys will fly across the room.” He grinned at me. “You a music lover, or do you like Dixieland?”
    â€œI think ‘Gimme a Pig’s Foot and a Bottle of Beer’ is the greatest song ever written.”
    â€œMe too. Let me buy you a drink?”
    â€œRum and coke,” I said.
    â€œGive the gentleman his heart’s desire,” said Baines.
    Smiling, Barb reached for the rum bottle.
    â€œMy name’s Silas Seaweed. Thanks for the drink. I’m looking forward to hearing you play.”
    We shook hands and Baines stood up, holding his beer. “Glad to meet you, Silas, but I’ve gotta circulate, keep everybody smiling. You sticking around for when the dancing starts?”
    â€œSure. See if I can borrow an umbrella, join in the fun.”
    Baines ambled away and sat with a foursome. The place was filling up.
    â€œNice guy,” I said.
    Barb nodded. “He’s part owner of this place. When he isn’t playing piano he’s an aerospace engineer with