Part 49 (1/2)

And _suddenly_ it was all fine again. The sound was there, only a lot richer than it had ever been.

Davey's piano was throttled up and spitting out sadness again, throwing that iron frame around all of us.

Keeping us level.

Parnelli tapped me and I went cold. I looked at Davey--he was gone; out of it-- and I looked into the audience, and the chick was gone too. I mean she wasn't there. And Max was picking those strings, eyes squinched, happy as a pig in September.

We swung into ”Deep Sh.o.r.es” and I think--I'm not sure, but I think--that's when it all got clear to me. After six years.

I played it out, though. Then I started for Davey, but Max stopped me.

”Better leave the kid alone,” he whispered. ”He's had a rough one.”

”What do you mean?”

”The chick was n.g., Deek.”

”I don't believe it.”

”She was n.g. I knew it right along, but I didn't want to say anything. But--listen, I've been around. She would have counted the kid out.”

”What'd you do?” I asked.

”I proved it,” he said. His voice was dripping with sympathy. ”Chicks are all the same, Deek.

Hard lesson to learn.” He shrugged his shoulders. ”So leave the kid alone. He'll tell you all about it--with his hands. You've just been bothered with those dreams of yours. Why don't you drop by tonight and--”

”What'd you do, Max?”

”I laid her, Deek. And it was easy.”

I jerked my shoulder away and started up the stairs, but the box was empty. Davey was gone.

”Where does the doll hang out?” I said.

Max gave with the hands. ”Forget it, will you? It's all over now. The kid was _grateful_ to me!”

”At 45 Gardens Road,” a voice said. ”Apartment Five.” It was Parnelli.

”You want some, too, Deek?” Max asked. He laughed: it was the nastiest sound I'd ever heard.”Coo,” Parnelli said. ”The cold touch of the master.”

I studied the man I'd loved for six years. He said, ”She doesn't deny it,” and I thought, this is the ax between the eyes for Davey. He'll never get up now. Never.

I grabbed Max's arm. He smiled. ”I know how you like the kid,” he said, ”and believe me, I do, too. But it's better he found out now than later, isn't it? Don't you see--I had to do it, for his sake.”

Some of the crowd was inching up to get a hear. I didn't care. ”Dailey,” I said, ”listen good. I got an idea in me. If it turns out right, if it turns out that idea is right, I'm going to come back here and kill you.

Dig?”

He was big, but I had wings. I shoved him out of the way, hard, ran outside and grabbed a taxi.

I sat in the back, praying to G.o.d she was home, wis.h.i.+ng I had a horn to blow-- _something!_ I skipped the elevator, took the stairs by threes.

I knocked on Apartment Five. No answer. I felt the ice on my hide and pounded again.

The chick opened up. Her eyes were red. ”h.e.l.lo, Deacon.”

I kicked the door shut and stood there, trying to find the right words. Everything seemed urgent.

Everything was right now. ”I want the truth,” I said. ”I'm talking about the truth. If you lie, I'll know it.” I took a breath. ”Did you sleep with Max Dailey?”

She nodded yes. I grabbed her, swung her around. ”The truth, G.o.ddammit!” My voice surprised me: it was a man talking. I dug my fingers hard into her skin. ”Think about Davey. Put him in your mind.

Then tell me that you and Max slept together, tell me that you took off all your clothes and let Max Dailey lay you! Tell me that!”

She tried to get away; then she started to cry. ”I didn't,” she said, and I let go. ”I didn't . . .”

”You love the kid?”

”Yes.”

”Want to marry him?”

”Yes. But you don't understand. Mr. Dailey--”

”I'll understand in a hurry. There isn't any time now.”

I let the tears bubble up good and hot.

”Come on.”

She hesitated a beat, but there wasn't any fooling around and she knew it. She got a coat on and we got back into the taxi.

Neither of us said a word the whole trip to Birdland.

By now it was closing time; the joint was empty, dark. Some slow blues were rolling out from the stand.

First guy I saw was Parnelli. He was blowing his trombone. The rest of the boys-- all but two--were there, jamming.

Parnelli quit and came over. He was shaking good now.

”Where's Davey?” I asked.

He looked at me, then at Lorraine.

”Where is he?”

”You're too late,” Parnelli said. ”It looks like the Big M pushed a mite too far, Just a mite.”

Lorraine started to tremble, I could feel her arm; and somebody was slicing into my guts. The blues were still rolling ”Deep Sh.o.r.es.” The kid's tune.