Chapter Fourteen

After the Ball Was Over

“You look rotten,” Lester Gannett said when I leaned against the bar of the Mozambique.

There wasn’t much of a crowd, maybe fifteen, twenty people, and Evelyn the chanteuse was not holding them in the palm of her gloved hand with her version of “Lili Marlene.”

“It’s been a long few days,” I said.

“Make that a lifetime,” said a fat woman on the stool next to me.

“I thought you were never gonna come back here,” Lester said. “We had an agreement.”

“I’ll make it quick,” I said.

“You still look rotten. You need a shave and a bath.”

“He’s not the only one,” the fat woman said.

Evelyn belted and Lou rippled the keys behind her.

“I’ve been dancing with Betty Grable and Rita Hayworth,” I explained.

“Right,” said Lester. “And I’ve got Gene Tierney waitin’ for me upstairs. Toby, make it fast and get the hell out of here.”

Sidney the cockatoo let out a shriek, upstaging Evelyn. Then Sidney said, “Phooey on the Fuhrer.”

“Amen to that,” said the fat lady, holding up her glass.

I made my way to a booth and sat in the shadows till the set was over. There was a round of applause to which Evelyn and her pink boa responded with a bow. There was no second round. When she had left the stage and Lou had announced that he would be back in a few minutes to play favorites, I got up and followed him.

Going across the platform of the Mozambique was not like playing the Wiltern.

As soon as I got through the door, I could hear Evelyn shouting, “You were off. You were off half a goddamn beat the whole set. Where’s your mind, you old fart. This is my career here.”

I found them in Lou’s dressing room/home. He was sitting at his mirror. She was still going.

“I gotta take hold here,” she said, lowering her voice a little but not much. “I’m down to playin’ toilets like this with a piano player who … oh, shit. Forget it.”

She turned, saw me, pushed past, and slammed the door.

“Lady’s upset,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Lady can’t carry a tune,” Lou answered. “When she talks the song through, she is somewhere between terrible and dreck. When she sings, she can drive a musician to suicide.”

“I heard that,” Evelyn said, bursting back into the room.

“Listening at the door,” Lou said, looking at me. “No privacy. No respect.”

“I’m gonna have your ass.”

“Good,” said Lou. “No one’s wanted it for thirty years.”

“I’m gonna get you canned,” Evelyn said, advancing on Lou, who stood up.

“Leave,” he said softly. “This is what I have left of a home. I don’t want the shrill and untalented intruding.”

“I’ll …” she started.

Lou took her arm in his thin hand and turned her around toward the door. She tried to pull loose but couldn’t do it. Lou opened the door. Evelyn began to cry.

“This is not fair,” she sobbed.

“What you need is another line of work,” said Lou, ushering her out and closing the door behind her.

“You’ve got strong hands,” I said.

Lou looked at his hands.

“I play piano. Seventy years I play piano. Of course I’ve got strong hands.” He turned his chair and sat to face me. “So,” he said. “First you give me financial security and now you come to me with bad news, right?”

“Right,” I said.

“You know?” he answered.

“I know,” I answered.

“Tell me, so I know we’re talking about the same thing,” he said.

“You killed Luna Martin.”

“We’re talking about the same thing.”

“You were in the hall,” I said. “She couldn’t have gone more than a few feet when she died. You had to see who did it. They had to do it while you were standing there.”

“How did I do it, Philo Vance? I didn’t have a knife.”

“Piano wire,” I said. “There was a bad note on the piano. You were working on it, went out, probably to get a new wire from a piano somewhere else in the hotel. Who knows. You met Luna in the hall. You killed her. You took the wire and put it in your pocket. She staggered in, pointed to the piano, and dropped dead. Unfortunately for Shelly Minck, he was standing between Luna and the piano when she pointed.”

Lou smiled, shook his head, and touched his mustache. He looked a lot older than eighty.

“You know how I got away with it?” he asked. “I’m an old man. Nobody pays attention to an old man. Nobody would even consider that an old man could kill a big young woman. I was invisible. The police barely talked to me. I was just a crotchety old fart who was losing his memory.”

“Why, Lou?”

“Nothing fancy,” Lou said with a sigh, looking around his small room. “She insulted me, ridiculed me, like Evelyn, only worse. You heard her. She was even worse in the hall, and she caught me at a bad time. My liver’s going. My heart is bad. All I’ve got is my memories and a bagful of old songs. She said I had ruined her lesson, called me an old sack of shit, said I should have died long ago. I told her I had played for Nora Bayes, Sophie Tucker, played with the best in Orleans, the best, colored and white both. She laughed and turned her back. I had the wire.”

Lou shrugged again.

“I guess this means I won’t be meeting the mysterious Mrs. Platt.”

“Plaut,” I said.

“You think they’ve got pianos in prison?” he asked. “Hell, I’m gonna die soon anyway. I’d die faster without a piano, you know what I’m saying?”

“I know, Lou,” I said getting up. “I’ll get back to you.”

“Life is a surprise,” he said.

“I’ve noticed,” I said.

An hour later I was on my way up the steps inside Mrs. Plaut’s boardinghouse. It was two in the morning and my shoes were off. I made it to my room. There was no one there but Dash, who was sitting on the ledge of the open window, looking up at the moon. He turned to look at me for an instant and then turned back to the moon.

I got undressed and made myself a bowl of Wheaties with milk. I did the same for Dash, who tore himself away from the nightlife to join me at the table.

When we were finished, I scratched Dash’s head for a minute or two and then turned out the lights and got down on my mattress. Moonlight lit the room gently, and Dash curled up next to me, purring.

I was asleep before I could review the day and worry about tomorrow.