Mickey Spillane - The Deep

At the first landing we went through a poolroom, a well stocked bar and a library. The police hadn’t bothered to conceal the obvious fact that they had gone through the place. All the signs were there. Nothing had been missed and whatever they were looking for hadn’t been found or never had been there at all. Even the pool table had been moved to search the sections under the feet.

It was on the third floor that Bennett had lived. And died. It was here that the stamp of his own personality was evident. The decorators had had a different thought in mind in the beginning, but it was a thought Bennett couldn’t live with. The touch of the tenement was here, not that it was introduced, but that it had never left. The garish plush furniture in tasteless maroon was Bennett’s choice. The two imitation ebony lamp bases had an erotic motif and nearly every piece of furniture had an autographed nude photograph, suitably framed, decorating it. The bar was overly mahagonied and overly chromed. The combination TV and record player was outsized and scarred at the edge from carelessly laid cigarettes. I studied it from every angle, a strange feeling of familiarity touching me. I shrugged it off and walked across to the desk.

Beside it part of a body outline in chalk marred the polished flooring. I said flatly for no reason, “The police found him here.”

Augie sensed something. “He died there.”

“Not here,” I told him. “They just found him here.”

He frowned at me, then his eyes went to the dark brown stains that matted the rug and the mess by the door and the bloodied handprint on the wall.

I took the copy of the police report from my pocket, went over it carefully, then handed it to Augie. “They think he got it inside here. He thrashed around while he was dying and messed the place up. Their opinion is that a guest was responsible.”

He never took his eyes from the sheet. “Nobody could get that close to him. Besides, any entertaining he did never took place up here.”

“You’ve been here, Augie. You aren’t new to this room.”

He still didn’t look up. “Twice when Mr. Bennett had an illness he needed legal work done. I was the liaison agent between him and Mr. Batten. He had a gun beside him all the while.” He finished the report and handed it back.

“Bennett died in an alley up the street,” I said. I filled in the details except for saying who Pedro was and watched him while he thought it over.

It didn’t make sense to him, either.

I said, “Augie... why did they want him dead?”

“They...”

I cut him off with, “Not who, Augie. Why. Why did Bennett die?”

“He was pretty big, Mr. Deep.”

“I know.”

“The big guy is always the target.”

“Why, Augie?”

“I can only guess,” he said.

“So guess.”

His hands folded together again. “Talk has it the syndicate is growing.”

“Bennett was in.”

“Mr. Bennett was a scared man. The syndicate seemed to find it... impossible to deal with scared men.”

“You’re reaching for it but you’re not hitting it, kid.”

He teetered on his toes again and stared down the empty expanse of the room. “Suppose I give you my opinion in an illustration. Mr. Bennett was one, who instead of controlling the team with a slight touch of the reins, preferred, instead, to jerk them whichever way he wanted to go.” He stared at me steadily a moment, then added, “It’s only an opinion, of course.”

“Of course. But there’s only one thing wrong and you know it as well as I do. This was no syndicate kill. Their method never varies. The outside boy who never sees the payee, the big blast and so-long. They’re not going to pop him off with a .22 and they’re not going to hit anybody in the neck from two feet away. You know how many professional kills are still unsolved locally?”

“I know of a few.”

“This isn’t one.”

“It could be,” he said quietly.

“This was eyewash? A red herring?” I shook my head. “No dice, friend.”

“The word has been out a long time.”

He was feeling again. I said, “They could be getting smarter. I hate to give them that kind of credit, but it could happen. A nice sloppy job with some gimmicks thrown in could really mess things up for the cops. The only hitch is that the cops don’t know Bennett didn’t die here.”

“In time they could find out,” he said.

“But who’s that smart, Augie? Who wanted Bennett dead that badly?”

Augie smiled again, his eyes glinting. “Why, Mr. Deep, everybody wanted Mr. Bennett dead.”

“Enough to buy a kill and leave a possible chink in the armor?”

“I think so.”

“Or was it that somebody hated him that hard?”

“It could be that too.” He smiled again. “Nobody in the driver’s seat is ever liked.”

I nodded and made a tour of the room again. I went into the bedroom for a cursory look around, then into the bathroom and back to the kitchen. The place had been searched. Thoroughly. The police shook the place down the first time, but somebody else had done it too. I called Augie in and pointed to the scratch marks on the floor where the refrigerator had been moved out and back.

“What do you make of it, Augie?”

“The cops didn’t do it.”

“No... they wouldn’t go that far.”

“What would fit under or behind a refrigerator?”

The thought was plain. Augie shrugged and frowned. “A kilo or two of H could make it, but Mr. Bennett wouldn’t keep it around.”

“He was in the business, wasn’t he?”

“Only secondhand, I understand. He did business with those who were in the business.”

I said, “There are two other possibilities. Jewels or cash.”

The frown deepened between his eyes and he shook his head again. “No jewels. He never fooled with that market. Neither was it cash. We handled all Mr. Bennett’s accounts and he declared everything to keep out of the Treasury boys’ hands. He was investigated every year but was absolutely clear. No, it wasn’t cash. He never did a cash business. Within the statute of limitations he was clean, clean.”

“So I’m missing a bet.”

His eyes sought mine. “Evidently.”

“Don’t be smug, Augie. It’ll come.”

We went back to the living room and just stood there, looking. Finally I said, “Why is this place so familiar, Augie? There’s something here I can’t quite latch onto.”

“Can’t you tell?” he said. “Can’t you remember back?”

“I’m trying.”

Then I got it. The plush, the maroon, the incongruity of everything. “It’s like the old cellar club, isn’t it. Make this stuff old and worn, toss some dirt around and use candles instead of lights and you got the old K.O. clubroom.”

“That’s right.”

“A real sentimental slob,” I muttered.

“No... just no class.”

There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice. Augie had come a long way and he knew just where he was headed, but now his opinions were showing the influence of his attitude. He was big and he was hard, but he wasn’t kill-toughened and this one little thing kept him a step behind the leader. So far.

“I’ll be staying here from now on, Augie. Make sure everything is in order. You know, phone, groceries. And get somebody in to clean up.”

“It’s been taken care of already, Mr. Deep.”

Before I could answer him the phone rang and I lifted it from the cradle. I said, “Yeah?”

And Cat’s clipped voice on the other end said breathlessly, “Deep? Good. Look, I just spotted two boys I knew from Philly. Lew James and Morrie Reeves. They hire out and they come expensive. They checked in at the Westhampton under the names of Charles and George Wagner and after they went to their room I slipped the doll at the PBX a bill to listen in to their calls and the only one they made went to a public phone and the guy on the other end brought you into it. Said you were in Bennett’s place.”