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the piano player noticed a man on the balcony level. the man had become suspicious. he moved too much when he was supposed to, too little when he wasn't. he looked relaxed, his limbs certainly seemed so, but his back was too straight. his neck would jerk for no reason, very slightly. the piano player noticed the man on the balcony level. he wasn't paid to play at Mercy's just because he was so good at the fingering and really knew his way around the keys.

the piano player's eyes moved toward the back of the room, searching their way past crystal chandeliers and glinting wine glasses. his employer sat back there in the darkness, his ankle on his knee under pink flourescent letters. his employer didn't own Mercy's, but he owned the man who did. he owned a lot. the piano player's eyes searched for his employer's, found them, looked to the man on the balcony, and then went back to his employer's. employer nodded. either he'd already seen the man and had plans or he'd planned that the man should be there. the piano player's fingers flung like piano string hammers as he gave the song a more bouncy shift.

wind and air swept through the Hall. from bug-sized cracks under windows and from doors opened and coats swished off and umbrellas shaken. it was cool and fresh. the bottoms of white tablecloths swung just above the floor. and people walked by, talked and laughed and sneezed and smoked. clattering and clangling and food and the piano singing itself right into the background. the piano player took charge of the mood. sometimes he felt like he owned it. but he'd never make that claim. he lifted his head and stopped to no applause. everyone changed but didn't notice it and the piano player walked back towards the darkness.

the piano player's eyes looked for his employer's table. he was also owned by that man, but in a different way than most others. the piano player owed him justice. he owed it to justice to be employed by the man right now. this is how he was owned and this was why he didn't call him master. he had to agree to and be paid for things that needed done, but mentally he was restricted to being there. the piano player longed for home. he'd have to live without it for now.

the piano player looked to his employer. two men had come up behind the man and the shorter one whispered in his ear. employer stood up and went out the private backdoor with the two men. the piano player quickly turned and casually leaned against the bar. noticing him, the bartender came over drying a glass and addressed him. 'what's up, sam?' apparently they'd been told his name was sam. the piano player recognized every person that worked at the Mercy's but didn't know any of them. he certainly had never told any of them his name. and his name was certainly never sam. 'a drink?' 'no. just wanted to lean against the bar here. sam.' the bartender looked at him sharply. what he saw in the piano player's face must have reassured him. he assumed his previous role of 'bartender' and shot the piano man his finger. 'alright, bud.' the bartender went off to attend a new group of middle-aged women with thick make-up and devious skirts.

the piano player's turned his back and propped his elbows on the bar behind him. his eyes went towards the door his employer had exited through. suddenly, the night's events rushed through his head and the whole Hall and everyone in it moved to the left a bit, over and over and over in a loop. he bent his head and clutched it in his right hand and reached his left hand towards his chest and clutched his - a hand touched his back. he jumped. so did the bartender. no one had ever seen the piano player without his composure. 'are you alright bud?' he regained his composure. people always seemed to have that affect on him. 'to play that last song takes more than all of my focus. afterwards i'm sometimes left in a daze.' this was all somewhat true and was much of the reason why the bartender immediately, instinctively believed him. he actually felt priveledged to be indulged by the piano player and asked him again if he could get him a drink. the piano player thought to himself for a moment. his eyes found the bartender's. 'maybe in a minute, sam.' 'ok.' the bartender smiled. 'hey,' he reached out with his voice for the piano player who had begun to walk away, 'my name's jake.' for the second time the piano player lost his composure. but no one noticed. not even jake who'd turned back to the women at the bar. that was how it usually happened. nobody usually noticed.

the piano player walked past the table his employer had been sitting at and turned towards the Hall and looked towards the balcony. the man was gone. the piano player reached his left hand towards his chest and opened the back door with his right. he slipped outside and then again right up against the outside wall. one bright light shone off to his left but it was mostly darkness settling in on the country club type environment. small carved pine trees and flowing vines. tiny garden lights ran along wet mulch. the piano player's eyes shot off to his right. a light had flashed. he listened but there was no noticable sound. he sidestepped along the side of the building staying in the darkness. he ducked under the light of a window and then stood again, now at the corner. now he heard a voice. his left hand reached towards his chest and he clutched his gun down through his tuxedo. the piano player snuck a slight slope down through the wet grass and leaned up his back against a tree. he craned his neck and searched for the voice that came through the clean, refreshed air.