Black Mask (Vol. 7, No. 5 — April 1950), British Edition

“Nonsense,” I told her. “You can ride with me. If you don’t mind a jalopy with a broken spring. I’ll go tell Harry we’re leaving, while you’re getting your coats on.”

I turned away before she could refuse. I went over to the bar and said something about a headache and I had to go. I’d see Harry on the lake tomorrow. I told him that the Marlows were going to check out too, were going to ride with me. He let out a roar like a buffalo.

“That’s a hell of a thing, Matty,” he said. His yellowish brown eyes showed flecks of temper. His mouth pulled into a thin, ugly line. “Running out on us just when the party’s gettin’ good. What’s the matter, you too good for us or something?”

“It’s not that, Harry,” I said. “It’s just—”

“Nuts!” he cut me off. “Well, you don’t have to drag Will Marlow and his gal with you. I’ll see that they’re taken care of. We got to have some more of that piano of Will’s. He’s staying.”

Willis Marlow and Lee joined us, then. They’d heard what Harry Wenzel had said. I looked at Willis Marlow. He drew his small, plump figure up with dignity. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wenzel. We said we’re leaving and we are. You can’t bully us around like... like—”

Lee Marlow put a hand on her father’s arm and stopped him. “Please, Pops,” she said. “Maybe we’ll stay a little longer. Play another couple of songs for Mr. Wenzel, anyhow.” There was fear in her voice. She hadn’t gotten over the scene of violence that she’d witnessed a couple of minutes ago. She was afraid of Harry Wenzel’s deep bullying voice and his temper.

But Harry Wenzel looked at the stooped little old piano player with raised brows and an amused, surprised look. “Of course,” he boomed. “Don’t be silly. Stick around, kid and play us some more tunes. The evening’s young. Here.” He reached to the bar and brought a brimming shot glass over from it. He held it toward Marlow.

The old man stared glassily at the whiskey and licked his dry lips. He hesitated. Harry Wenzel said, “Go ahead, Will. There’s plenty more where that came from. We’ll all join you. We’ll all have another round.”

That did it. Old Willis Marlow took the drink and gulped it and smacked his lips. He turned to his daughter. “Perhaps for just a little longer,” he said, apologetically, not looking at her.

“All right, Pops,” she said. She looked at me. “Thanks, anyhow, Matty. Are you going to stay?”

There was something in her voice that seemed to be asking me to do that. Maybe I imagined it. Anyhow, I stayed. Finally, everybody gathered around the piano and Will Marlow thumped out all the old fashioned standby songs in a rollicking imitation of an old time player piano and everybody pitched in and sang. For awhile it was fun.

Lee Marlow stood next to me and she had a clear, strong contralto. She pretended not to notice when Harry Wenzel kept bringing drinks to the piano for her old man but she didn’t like it. When he got the hiccoughs and broke out into song, himself, in a cracked voice, she turned and looked at me as if to say, well, it was too late now; he was over the hill and there was nothing more she could do.

The community sing finally broke up and Irma Wenzel began to look a little green around the gills and said she was going to turn in. She left the barroom and went upstairs. Eric Fabian started to leave, too, but Harry Wenzel stopped him. He went behind the bar and came out with a pack of cards.

“It’s too damned early to hit the sack. Anybody here feel like a little poker?”

Willis Marlow ended his piano playing on a thumping discord and stood up, swaying slightly. Between hiccoughs, he managed: “There’s nothing I’d like better than a little gentlemanly game.”

Lee bit at her lip and tried to catch her father’s eye, but he studiously avoided her gaze. Harry Wenzel put his arm around Marlow’s shoulder, “Okay, we got a good start. How about it, Eric — Pete — Matty?”

Reluctantly, Eric Fabian and Pete Saterlee agreed to sit in. I said, “I’ll try a couple of hands, Harry, but if the going gets too rich for my blood, I’m dropping out.”

Marry Wenzel went over to a table, snapped on a wall lamp and ripped off a checkered table cloth. As I started to join him and the others, someone touched my arm, lightly. I turned toward Lee Marlow. Her hazel eyes were intent and pleading on mine. She said, “Could I ask you a favor? I don’t want to hang around and kibitz — the only female. I’m going to go upstairs and go to bed. Would you keep an eye on Pops? Sometimes, when he’s drinking, he doesn’t use very good judgement. If he gets to losing too heavily, maybe you could cajole him into calling it quits?”

I took her hand and squeezed it hard, “I’ll try,” I said. “I’ll do what I can.”