The Deep

by Mickey Spillane

  He put a hand on my chest, the motion almost a friendly gesture to any stranger watching ... unless he saw the stiffness in the fingers and noticed how the night stick stopped twirling.

  “The trouble’s getting bigger, boy.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s only going to end one way.”

  “I know, Mr. Sullivan. It has to end only one way.”

  “Always the smart one,” he said.

  I nodded. “I have to be.”

  His eyes were like glass. “The talk is getting bigger and stronger. I don’t like it.”

  “What do you figure on doing about it, old-timer?”

  “It’s my beat, boy. My beat. I’ve been here a long time. I’ve seen all the big ones, all the tough ones come and go. One day they’re here, the next day they’re lying sprawled in the gutter. A couple of them I put there myself.”

  “You’re over retirement age, aren’t you, Mr. Sullivan?”

  The red crept into his face slowly and his hand came away from my chest. “Don’t ask for it, Deep.”

  “Sure, Mr. Sullivan,” I said with a laugh. “I’ll do like you say.”

  I walked around him and all the while I could feel his eyes poking holes through my back. They were two holes, very close together, smaller going in than coming out, the way a pair of steel-jacketed slugs makes them. I shook off the feeling and walked on up to Grogan’s market, opened the door into pitch darkness, my hand going to my pocket for a book of matches.

  I tore one out, struck it and held it up. But I was looking in the wrong direction. Whoever had cuddled in the doorway smashed something down across the back of my head and when I hit the floor with my face there wasn’t any feeling left at all.

  Chapter Eight

  Unconsciousness was only a partial thing. All feeling was gone, but there was still the knowledge of what had happened. There were still sounds from outside, vehicle sounds and people sounds. There was knowledge that my mouth was open and the incredible sour dirt taste of floor filth was on my tongue. There were things stumbling over me, then the door opened and closed, smashing into my head in the motion. But at least it turned my mouth to one side.

  Sensation flooded back on a tidal wave of pain. It ran up my legs and back, then centered in my neck at the base of the skull. I got to my knees, spat, and when I could, wiped my mouth with my sleeve. I spat again, stood up and felt the sticky wetness oozing down through my hair. It took a full minute of standing propped against the wall before I felt like moving and when I did my foot nudged the makeshift sap and it rolled across the floor. By the light of a match I could still see some of my hair stuck to the tacky side of the soda bottle and all I could think of was how lucky I had it when the thing didn’t break and slice me open like a peeled banana.

  When I walked outside the street traffic was normal and there wasn’t anybody at all who seemed to have special eyes for the doorway. There was an old man looking in Grogan’s window and I tapped him on the arm.

  “You see anybody come out of here, mister?”

  He turned, looked at me, then past me to the doorway. His shrug was a universal gesture of the neighborhood. “I see nobody.”

  I grunted, rubbed my hand across my head and let him see the blood on my fingers. “I just got cold cocked.”

  His mouth tightened into a grimace and he said harshly, “Them damn kids. Damn kids, all of them. All the time they do that. Stay in the vestibule with the light out and hit you when you come in. Every night I hear. You shouldn’t go in without light being on. They killed old Julian Chaser like that. For thirty cents they got.” He spat disgustedly and walked away, his advice given and his contempt of humanity more firm than ever.

  Then I swore under my breath, reached for my pocket and felt the wallet still there and the rod in the belt rig. I swore again as I slammed the door open and ran up the stairs, stumbling over the junk piled around the landings.

  The door was open, the inside dark. I felt for the light, snapped it on and stood there waiting, the gun heavy in my fist. I sidled across the room, groped for the light in the bedroom and pulled it. I was careless as hell and if another gun was there waiting for me I was going to be all the way dead.

  But there wasn’t any other gun. There was only Tally Lee lying there with her head smashed in, the blood on her face not yet coagulated. She wasn’t sprawled in the attitude of death; she lay in the relaxed position of sleep and she was lucky. She never knew what hit her.

  I knew what hit her, though. I had tasted of it downstairs earlier.

  For a few seconds I just stood there and took in the details. There was only one out of place and that was the throw rug kicked to one side almost violently when there hadn’t been but one violent act in the room.

  One other detail was there and it was a couple of minutes before it made sense. When it did the throw rug made sense too and the back of my head began to pound again and I wanted to shoot somebody so bad I could taste it.

  Beautiful Irish Helen’s coat was hung on a rack in a corner of the room.

  I called to her quietly but there was no answer. I called again and parted the drapes that separated the living room from the others. The street light coming in the uncurtained windows outlined the few pieces of furniture. I saw a floor lamp to one side, found the switch and turned it.

  Every motion I made was instinctive. My mind was a numb thing that wanted to see or know nothing, shocked with the knowledge that Helen, who lay there sprawled half off the couch with a thin line of blood running down her cheek, was dead too.

  My fingers found a pulse, then my mind came back alive again and I lifted her to the couch. The crazy mad inside me made my hands shake and pulled my body so tight that every movement was almost awkward.

  There was a lump under her hair and the skin was broken, but it was no more than that. I wet a towel, wiped her face and waited until a soft moan moved her mouth.

  “Helen ... Helen.”

  She moved her head and her eyes squinted with agony. I held the towel against her and stroked her face until she opened her eyes. They were blank at first, then puzzled. I said, “What happened, honey?”

  Memory of it returned slowly. I could see it come back, reaching for an answer. “Deep?”

  I squeezed her face gently. “You’re okay, baby?”

  Plaintively she said, “Deep?”

  “Easy, sugar. It’s me.”

  Then it hit her all at once and her eyes were great big things alive with terror and before she could scream I put my hand over her mouth and held her head close to me.

  When it passed I looked down at her. “What happened?”

  Her tongue wet her lips. “The door ... I answered the door. I thought it was ... you.” Her eyes were wide, staring at me.

  “It wasn’t me, baby.”

  “When I took the lock off ... it flew open. I fell down ... and then something ...” she sucked in a breath jerkily, “... Deep, what happened?”

  “You got slammed on the head, kid.”

  “But who ...”

  “I don’t know. He got me too.”

  “Deep ...” She reached up and touched my face. “What happened to ... Tally?”

  “She’s dead, Helen.”

  “No!” She bit into her lower lip to hold back a cry, her eyes filling up. Then she could hold it no longer and let it all come out of her in huge, gasping sobs that racked her whole body and I held her tightly until it passed.

  I wiped her face again and sat her upright, and when I knew she was thinking clearly again I said, “Now, listen, kid. Can you remember anything about him at all?”

  She shook her head. “Only ... what I told you.”

  “You didn’t see his face? How was he dressed?”

  “No. It happened ... too fast.”

  “Did he talk?”

  “No. I... don’t know. No, he didn’t say anything.” She frowned at me and glanced around the room. “Did you ... bring me here?”

  “Not me.
He did,” I told her. “He wanted Tally. He dragged you in here and killed Tally.”

  A shudder ran through her body and she stiffened under my hands. “But why, Deep ... why?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll find out though.”

  “What will we do?” Her voice caught in her throat.

  “Call in the blues, kid. There’s nothing else to do.”

  “But Tally ...”

  “She was important to somebody. Now she’s dead. Look, are you all right? Can I ask you things?”

  “I’m ... all right.”

  “Good. Now don’t make any mistakes. We haven’t much time. Tell me what happened since you got back here.”

  She licked at her lips and brushed her hair back from her face. Even though she was sitting on the ragged edge of hysteria she managed to stay on top of it all the way. She let the tautness ease out of her body, then she clasped her hands in her lap and stared at the floor, thinking back.

  “The doctor was here then. He said she was all right and gave her something. A ... sedative, I think. Mrs. Gleason from next door ... that’s the one who stayed with her ... went back as long as I was here. I fed her when she woke up and ...”

  “She say anything?”

  “Nothing ... special. She was still pretty sick. I gave her another capsule the doctor left and sat with her a while.” She paused and squeezed her hands. “Deep ...”

  “Yeah?”

  “She was scared. Even when she was asleep she was scared. She tried to scream in her sleep and couldn’t.”

  “Go on.”

  “She said your name. She said Bennett’s name too, but yours was the first.”

  “Repeat it.”

  “It ... wasn’t coherent.”

  “Just tell me. Let me fill in the blank spaces.”

  “It was ... about how she could fix everything. She kept saying she’d tell somebody and he’d do it, or he’d know what to do. Then she’d try to scream. She’d say your name, then Bennett’s.”

  I studied it a minute, then shook my head. “It doesn’t add yet.”

  “Deep ... did she die ... because of you?”

  I covered her hands with my own, feeling my face go tight at the question. “I don’t think so.”

  “Don’t lie, Deep.”

  “I’d never lie to you, kitten.”

  “Did she then?”

  “I don’t think so. Not directly, anyway. Somehow I think she would have gotten it whether I was here or not.”

  “What will we do, Deep?”

  “Like I said, call the cops.”

  “What will happen to you then?”

  “I’m not scared of any cops, kid. You should know that.”

  “Then call them.”

  “Sure, kitten,” I said. Her eyes were hard again, patiently waiting to see what would happen. I helped her up, took her out past what had been Tally into the kitchen, holding her so she couldn’t see what was on the bed, then went to the phone.

  The desk said a car would be right along and not to touch anything. I said sure and hung up the receiver. I went back to the bedroom and found the check I had pinned to Tally’s pillow on the dresser. I tore it up and flushed the pieces down the toilet. It was something she couldn’t use any more now.

  Then I slid the .38 off my belt, shoved it down under a pile of slop in the garbage pail, hauled the dumbwaiter up, stuck the pail on it and sent it down again. Then I went into the living room with Irish and waited.

  Sergeant Ken Hurd had been an uptown kid himself. His face had been chopped up long ago by knuckles and clubs and there was no way at all to tell what he was thinking. His eyes were a cold light blue totally devoid of expression, but somehow, behind it all, you could sense the terrible hate he had. There were only two kinds of people to him, those who broke the law and those who enforced it. The good didn’t matter. Usually they were just stumbling blocks to catching the other kind. And those were the ones he hated with a fine, thriving hate.

  He had a big rep, this one. You talked soft and walked quiet when he was there. When he asked you answered or he was likely to smile a little bit and that was the worst part because there was something implied in the smile that meant bleeding trouble then or later and he really didn’t care which.

  They let Hurd work where he wanted and he picked the hardest end of town. He liked The Street because he ran an operation without complaints because if you complained it would be worse for you the second time around. Ken Hurd was a deadly cop.

  And now he was watching me.

  He let me talk, took it all down, watched me some more with an air of patience as if he were waiting for something, then let Helen give her story. Just as she finished Mr. Sullivan came in with Augie and Cat and the worms started crawling around inside me.

  Sullivan said, “Here they are, Sergeant.”

  Cat took one look at the body on the bed and sucked in his breath with a whistle. Hurd said, “Know her?” and Cat nodded.

  “Talk up,” Hurd said softly.

  For a second Cat went as cold as he was, then shrugged and said, “Tally Lee. Good kid. I knew her all my life. What happened?”

  Augie volunteered the same information himself, then stood there waiting.

  On the other side of the bed the Medical Examiner finished his examination, snapped his bag shut and flipped the sheet up over the body.

  Hurd said, “What does it look like?”

  “No more than an hour ago. That soda bottle’s the weapon, all right. Well make it positive later, of course, but there’s no doubt about it as far as I’m concerned.” He nodded toward me then, “If it got him as well, and we’ll know by the hair comparison tests, you’ll have a time hanging it on him.”

  “You’re sure he was out?” Hurd asked him.

  In a typical manner the doctor fingered the welt on my head as he went by. “He was out, all right. Of course, in a case like this you can always try for a self-inflicted bruise.”

  “Thanks,” I told him.

  “No trouble,” he smiled.

  The plain-clothes man who had been given the bottle came in frowning, the bottle impaled on a wooden dowel rod. He was shaking his head and said, “No prints at all. Everything’s messed up. It’s possible there may be something under the blood stains, but we’ll have to let the lab finish with that first.”

  “Okay,” Hurd told him. “Pack it in.” Then he turned to Mr. Sullivan and said, “What about these two?”

  “They were in The Pelican bar. Lew Bucks said they had been there for three hours and Grady the waiter backed him up.”

  Without changing expression Augie said, “We can go then?”

  Hurd’s snaky eyes touched his, moved to Cat, then took in Helen and me. “You’ll go. All of you can go.” We knew what he meant, but to be sure he threw in, “with me.”

  “What for?” I asked him.

  His smile was all for me now. “For fun, Deep. I got news of a little rumble down the block. Nobody seemed to have been hurt, but there were blood stains in the back room of Bimmy’s Tavern and some slugs stuck in the wall. It seems like you three had been seen going in there just before it all happened.”

  “Oh?”

  “So I think it’d all be nice if we went over to the Green House where we can make an issue out of it.”

  Cat went a little white around the mouth and his eyes narrowed. I knew what he was thinking, shook my head when he glanced at me with a look that said let it ride. Augie caught the exchange and said nothing.

  They called the precinct station the “Green House.” The name had come down from a generation ago and still stuck, but it was only this one precinct that had the name. It meant there was something special about this place and there was. To those on the street outside it was like the Bastille was to some and the Tower of London to others. It was a tough house in a tough place and things went on inside there that weren’t pretty to think about and even worse to be a part of. Somebody once said they broke more murder cases o
ut of that building than any six others like it in the city and you knew they weren’t wrong.

  At eight-thirty I was in the Green House again after a long time and when I looked around all I could think of was that the fixtures had been changed a little but the smell was still the same. It stank of cigars, wet clothes and man-sweat held fast in an atmosphere gray with cigarette smoke.

  Outside in the reception room they left Helen, Cat and Augie to sit and think and wait. Cat was sweating, dragging hard on a smoke. Augie was his impeccable self, seemingly unworried, but nevertheless concerned. It was Helen who had acted strangely. She was one bundle of fury well contained and if the slobs had any sense they would have cut her out of it in a hurry. Any fuzz with time in grade should have been able to spot an innocent bystander without too much trouble and to throw one like Helen in with a rat pack was plain asking for it. So hell, let Hurd get his tail eaten out later. He should know.

  But Hurd wasn’t the kind to care. He and the other three stood around watching me and I knew what the pitch was. I’d go out soft and somebody else would break without trouble.

  I said, “You going to book me in?”

  “In time maybe.” Hurd took off his jacket and folded it, then laid it across the back of a chair. He was a big guy, all right, heavy across the shoulders and in the arms. The meanness stood out in the cords of his neck and danced in his eyes. The others just watched, hoping I’d try to break out. It was a pretty old story.

  “You’re being stupid,” I said.

  “Okay, clown, tell me how.” He loosened his tie and cuffs and smiled at me.

  “I’m not booked in,” I said. “You have no statement going for you. On top, I’m clean.”

  “Someplace you’re not so clean. Someplace you got to be on the books, Deep. That’s what I’d like to know. Where? Where did you come from, Deep?”

  “Drop dead,” I said.

  He caught me with one big meathook and launched me off my chair onto the floor and when I shook the tears out of my eyes I stood up, set the chair back and sat down.

  “What do you think about that, Deep?”

  This time I smiled. I shouldn’t have felt like that, but I was getting that crawly feeling again like I was going to explode and like with him, when I smiled, it showed. It was big and plain and real and I said, “Do it one more time, Hurd, and all of you will have to go on me, but buddy, you’ll go hard. If I don’t make it here there will be another time and another place. Keep your hands off.”