The Deep

by Mickey Spillane

  He said, “You got it?”

  I didn’t pull out the card they all carried now. I waited until he’d had a good look at me then peeled my sleeve back so he could see the old K.O. scars engraved on the back of my wrist by a knifeblade.

  His face changed then. It was something that always happened to the new ones. That K.O. was prewar and wide enough to stay livid and each period was made with a lit cigarette butt.

  I walked to the end of the seats and slid down beside the little guy and said, “Hello, Cat.”

  The double take was for real. “Jeez ... Deep! When did ... ”

  “What’s up?”

  “Jeez, Deep ...”

  “I asked you something, Cat.”

  “We’re reorganizing, Dep. Jeez, Benny thought ...”

  “When did he take over?”

  Cat swallowed hard, the spit having trouble going down. “Right when Bennett got it. Jeez, Deep. The club’s big. You can’t let things get shook.”

  I waved him quiet. From the stand Benny-from-Brooklyn was getting all wound up. He was nominating himself for king and from the look on his face it was all over but the shouting.

  The Knights were big. They had loot. They were the protectors of the precinct. They were a political power that had need of a fine hand at the wheel and Benny was the man.

  I looked around to see how the others were taking it, and it was still just like the old days. They didn’t like it but they weren’t looking for a showdown, either. They all had that bland, drawn expression that mirrored nothing, accepting what came for the time being, at least.

  When Benny turned on his smile I knew the talking was about over. Next they’d take a standing, unanimous vote and go up to the bar for a beer. The others anticipated it too and shuffled in their seats.

  Benny said, “Now ... if there are no further questions?”

  I got up and let the seat slam back. “I got something, Benny.” Beside me Cat coughed nervously and tried to slouch down farther.

  All those heads swiveled, frowned against the glare of the lights, squinted at this off-beat note. The murmuring started at the corners and swept inward like a gentle wave. Nobody wanted to be the first to call. At this stage of the game only the kings were on the board.

  Benny had let it go too long. It got away from him and he knew it. He tried to stop it, but Dixie nudged him to silence and he said, “Who is that down there?”

  I said, “Look hard and you’ll know.”

  Then somebody said it from the far side. That one word and all the heads swiveled back fast. They got together in small bunches, passing it on, then Benny got it too. His face grew flushed and Dixie stood there like a stick with a kill-look plastered across his mouth.

  When it was real quiet I said, “In case any of you new slobs aren’t familiar with the rules I’m going to tell you. Nobody’s reorganizing anything around here. I’m taking over. Just like that.”

  Benny held onto the mike for support. “You watch it, Deep. You’re not coming back here ...”

  “Come here, Benny.”

  You could hear the quiet.

  I said it again. “Come here, Benny. Take ten giant steps and three baby ones.”

  Up on the little rostrum Benny took his giant step first. Then one more. Then down the stairs. Then he stopped.

  “Right here, Benny. One more baby step.”

  The red was gone and his face had a pasty look. He was all tongue, trying to keep his lips wet down. He walked up in front of me and stood there. So nobody could miss it I did it real slow. I smashed him one across the chops with my open hand and sent him spinning into the wall with his eyes gone all misty.

  Then I said, “Dixie ...” and the squeal on the door gasped and beside me Cat edged down a seat.

  Dixie didn’t take baby steps. He came in the crabwise walk of his with a flat, deadly grin that meant he had a new hole in his arm tonight. He was flying so high he forgot there were still a few who weren’t scared to death of the shiv he loved so well. I let him get close enough to kiss me off with his eyes, took the blade out of his fingers so fast he never knew I had it until I raked him hard over the ribs where the blood could make a mess for everybody to see. When I hit him his teeth powdered and he fell against Benny-from-Brooklyn and lay there sucking air.

  I grinned at all the eyes. “Now you know the rules. This isn’t exactly a democracy. It’s more like a dictatorship and I’m the cheese. We hand it from one to another the way we like and when you think you’re big enough to take over, then try. Just try. Be sure you’re big enough, that’s all.”

  When I looked around all the little pig eyes tightened in false smiles. Some turned away, some approved, some hated. But most were scared.

  “Some things have changed the last few years,” I told them. “I see new faces. Important people. I know why you’re here and why you’re connected. I’m hoping that none of you try anything spectacular because this kind of business is my kind of business. The organization will continue to move as it did under Bennett until I go over all the affairs. Now... any questions?”

  A hand waved from the far side. “Deep ...” “Who is it?”

  “Charlie Bizz.”

  “Go ahead, Bizz.”

  “You in for keeps, Deep?”

  “All the way. If there are any other studs feeling hot to make it then you can choose up sides.”

  “Roger, Deep. Good to see you, kid.”

  I nodded in his direction. “Augie’s picking up all the papers. Don’t give him trouble. I want a roster of members and all the goodies that Bennett kept. Anybody holds out and there’ll be trouble. Just like the old days.”

  The face that had been watching me without any expression at all grew a sneer. It belonged to a man whose physical strength was disguised by a layer of fat, but was visible in his eyes and the hatchet slash of his mouth. The sneer was cool, deliberately aimed and calculated.

  I said, “Councilman ... you don’t look convinced.”

  Hugh Peddle who held the old Dutch district appraised me with a veiled look, never losing the sneer. His voice was soft, not like the sneer at all. “I’m just curious..., Mr. Deep.”

  “Are you?” I watched him carefully to catch any change in expression. “Beside you sits a Mr. Coppola. At the moment I understand he’s a guiding force behind the incumbent party in City Hall. Do you know him well?”

  “Quite well, Mr. Deep.”

  “You stout men are usually addicted to Turkish baths. Have you ever noticed the scars on his belly?”

  “Often.”

  “Has he ever told you how he got them?”

  “Never.”

  When I grinned his sneer twitched at one end and got hard to hold. “Ask him then,” I said.

  From three or four spots came grunts of acknowledgment and I knew some of the old crowd were still around.

  The party wasn’t quite over yet. There was still something left undone. I leaned on the back of one of the seats and looked out over the bunch. “Whoever killed Bennett better start running,” I said. “I’m going to get him, and that’s the end of his life.”

  Benny-from-Brooklyn and Dixie were standing now, their minds not fully accepting what had happened. Their faces went back twenty-five years, remembering the disgusting things that had happened below in the cellar and knowing that they were happening again.

  I liked it that way.

  Little Cat was watching me with that expression that got him his name. I waved to him. “You, Cat. Let’s go.”

  He squirmed out with a happy laugh and waited. Like everybody else. They were all waiting too. I said, “You’ll be hearing from me. Just sit tight.”

  The squeal opened the door with a respectful nod aid we went downstairs to where Augie was. The big guy looked at a speaker high on the wall and muttered, “Intercom.”

  “Then you know you’re with me?”

  “All the way, Mr. Deep. I know exactly what to do.”

  Cat opened the door and w
e stood outside on the street in the clean rain. He coughed into his hand and pounded his chest. When he could speak he said, “What’s with me, Deep?”

  “Like always, Cat. Up the walls and over the fences for you. In where no one else can go. The eyes, the ears.”

  “I ain’t the same Cat any more, Deep.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Lungs. T.B. But not so soon to kick it as you.”

  “Think so?”

  “They’ll get you, Deep. They don’t want nobody as bad as they want you. They got big things doing for the squad. You’ll only louse it. Couldn’t you tell that?”

  “I could feel it.” I grinned at him, “Nobody was speaking up.”

  “You got the bull on ’em too quick. They ain’t used to the old tactics. They’re going grand these days. Big thinking. They don’t do them cellar jobs no more. Man, you want to freeze them fat slobs ... then bring up the old days down behind the furnace. Me, hell ... it scares me too. I couldn’t take that crap now.”

  “Neither can they, laddie. They like to smear it on, but that’s all. Things have changed.”

  Cat laughed back. “Like I said, I’m with you. It won’t be for long, but while it lasts I’m with you.”

  “You not scared of dying?”

  “Man, man, I’m just scared of living. It’s killing me.” He grinned again and we took off down the street.

  Chapter Four

  The cop on the beat had been old when I first knew him. Below the sweatband of his cap the gray was an insigna that meant more than approaching retirement. It meant a guy tough enough to stay around that long, one who knew all the ropes and all the rules, good or bad. In a way there was a determined finality in his stride, always that singular purpose of going ahead, never back. The hand that had swung a night stick for thirty years had lost none of its rhythm. The baton moved like a live thing on the end of the thong, its purpose immediate and deadly, a symbol no one could mistake.

  He stopped in front of me and said, “I heard you came back, Deep.”

  “You know the grapevine, Mr. Sullivan. Travels fast.”

  “I also heard there’s been trouble already.”

  “Not really.”

  His finger came up and traced a heart-shaped design a little to the left of center on my chest. “That’s a vulnerable spot. Just a few grams of lead there and you’re done, boy.”

  “You’re talking like the old days, Mr. Sullivan.”

  “You’re making like the old days, Deep.” The wrinkles around his eyes seemed to freeze up. “Until now it’s been quiet. Nobody’s been shot up.”

  “Except Bennett.”

  “He wasn’t worth much. Not more shooting. Nothing’s worth that much.”

  “You’ve grown pretty philosophical since you whaled the crap out of me with a pair of handcuffs twenty-five years ago.”

  He nodded, remembering. “It didn’t do much good, did it?”

  “Some, Mr. Sullivan, some. I know the damage a guy can do swinging a set of cuffs. It won’t happen again.”

  “Don’t be too sure.” His eyes went tight again. “You’re in a big bind now, kid. Real big. You can start making the most of your days. There won’t be many more.”

  I gave him a short laugh and looked at the hand that danced the night stick. His face went red and drawn and he said, “Still the wise guy. How many have you shot up, Deep?”

  “Five,” I said. “Five and two probables.”

  “Don’t make trouble on my beat.”

  I shoved my hands down in my pockets and shrugged, “I’ll try to oblige, old-timer. But if it happens, be careful. I have a sort of peculiar affection for you.”

  When I walked away I could feel all the little eyes that had watched follow me and knew the ears that had heard would pass things on. Maybe it had been a long time since trouble had touched the neighborhood, but those days were long gone now.

  In twenty-five years the only thing that had changed in Brogan’s market was the merchandise. The sidewalk was piled high with crated vegetables, obscuring the windows, and inside Brogan was still his same busy self in a tomato-stained apron and straw kady.

  Beside the store front a narrow door led into a stairwell leading to the upper four floors, an almost opaque ascent where the bannister was a necessary guide. The second floor bell had a metal plaque stamped Lee but I didn’t bother to push it. The way the stairs squealed and grated in those old tenements nobody came or went unannounced.

  The second floor landing had two doors, but only the back one had a light behind it. I stepped over the cardboard cartons leading to it, skirted the row of bottles and gave the door a rap. There was movement inside, but no one answered. I hit it again and heard heels tap on the floor. A barrel bolt grated and the door swung open.

  Some things you can’t get ready for. You can’t get ready to meet a crazy beautiful dame in a cold-water flat. Not one almost as big as you are who’s made all firm and round so you can feel the warmth that comes from her like perfume. You never can get ready for eyes that seem to taste you rather than see you, or black hair so alive the roll of it is a sensuous thing that makes you aware of buried compulsions.

  I said, “Hi, sugar,” and looked back at her.

  There was an uptilting to her brows, a professional wariness. “Yes?”

  “I’m looking for Tally Lee.”

  She shook her head lightly, making her hair swirl. “I’m sorry, but she can’t see anyone. No one at all.”

  “Why not?”

  “Tally has been sick. Now if you don’t mind ...”

  I shoved the door open and walked in. “I mind,” I said. When I closed it I walked toward the front into the bedroom where the single night light turned a pale yellow glow on everything and looked at Tally lying there on an old four-poster, her hair a harsh pink around an almost bloodless face. There was a deadness about her, the covers barely moving as she breathed.

  I said, “What happened?”

  “Sleeping pills.”

  “Why?”

  “Something scared her.”

  “She all right now?”

  “For now, maybe.” She sucked her breath in hard. “So get out, man.”

  “When I’m ready.” I kept looking down at Tally.

  “Now, man,” she said. “Otherwise you can get hurt.”

  From behind she could see me shake my head. “I can’t get hurt,” I told her.

  “Don’t fool yourself, man. Maybe you don’t know who I am.”

  I waited a long moment before I said, “I know who, kid.”

  Either she didn’t hear me or didn’t care. “Lenny Sobel is my ... friend. He doesn’t like guys like you. I can tell him.”

  I turned around and tilted her head up with a finger under her chin. “Then tell him from me he’s a slob. Tell him I have a chubby little slug I’d like to blow up his tail and if he gets in my way I’d be really happy to show him how it works. Anytime. Anywhere.”

  She batted my hand away with her eyes spitting at me. “Who’ll I say is calling, man? Who wants to get killed that fast?”

  I grinned and watched those full lips pull away from a lovely row of teeth in an almost animal snarl. “Can’t you remember good?” I asked her. “I pulled a rape artist off your back once and creamed a pair of the Bello mob who tried to shag you in a cab. I took a hell of a shellacking from a five-and-ten manager who thought I lifted his junk when it was you. Remember now?”

  She tried to press back into the curtains, her breath caught in her throat. She was all eyes, looking at me carefully, trying hard to ease the rigidity that was on her like a sudden freeze.

  “Deep ...”

  “Yeah. Your memory doesn’t go back very far, Irish. Hardly at all.”

  She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “Deep ...”

  “You can still say it nice, kitten.”

  It came back to her in small pieces; the street, the gang, the kid stuff in school. The roof where we leaned against a warm chimne
y and two children walked through the virginity of love with a first kiss.

  Then she remembered it all, and other things too, until it showed in the hardness of her face. “You were better off out of mind, Deep.”

  “That seems to be the general opinion all over.” I grinned, let my eyes search her completely, then: “You’re a good-looking dame, Irish, though that isn’t much of a change. You always were.”

  “I know.”

  “You should. It’s pretty obvious.” I knew when I had quit smiling. I said, “You got it working for you too, haven’t you? Lenny is up there these days.”

  Her hand was a streak aiming for my face but it wasn’t fast enough. I caught it, threw it down and held her tight against me. “Don’t try that again, kid. Nobody touches me without getting bounced and I’d hate for it to be you. Don’t figure that punk Lenny and me to be in the same class and if you want to put yourself on his level then be damn nice to me. Damn nice, understand? I’ll belt you cockeyed as fast as look at you if you ever get funny with me again.”

  There was a breathless quality in her when she said, “You’re off it, Deep. You’re dead and buried already.”

  I nodded. “So I’ve heard, only I won’t be the first there, and therein lies the rub.”

  Her eyes arched up at me.

  “Everybody hates to get killed,” I said. “Nobody quite wants to be hero enough to go first.”

  I let her go and she drew back, rubbing her wrist. “You stink, Deep.” She said it quietly, disgust plain in her voice.

  “What happened to Tally?”

  “I don’t know. She called me earlier and was slightly hysterical. I figured she was drinking and told her to go to bed. When I came by she was in a chair, out like a light with half a bottle of shoo-fly gone.”

  “You called a doctor?”

  “Naturally. He was here all morning.”

  “Nothing serious?”

  “Not physically.”

  “Why did she call you, Irish? You’re an uptown broad. You haven’t smelled this neighborhood since you were twelve. You’re as out of place here as a hat on a horse.”

  “You stink, Deep.”

  “Now you’re talking neighborhood again. Talk uptown and answer me, damn it.”