Mickey Spillane - The Deep

“How’d you know it was an outside phone?”

“Hell, I could hear all the racket. Sounded like a subway booth.”

“Could you spot the voice?”

“Jeez, Deep, I couldn’t. Look, you better blow, man. Them cats are hot for your skin. These boys got a wild rep, you know?”

“So have I, Cat.”

For a few seconds he was quiet. “You want me to stick with them? If you want I could pull something that could make these cats scat like crazy.”

“Let them go. They won’t be in too much of a hurry. They’ll make themselves nice and comfortable first.”

“Well, what should I do? Man, you’re being set up!”

“So come on over and have a drink. We’ll talk about it later.”

His voice was a tired whistle and he hung up. When I put the phone back I told Augie to round up a couple of the old crowd to stake out the place and then beat it on home.

He made the calls there, picked up his hat and waved so-long. I waved back and watched him get into his car from the front window, then I turned the TV on, sat on the floor and waited for Cat.

Twenty minutes later the chimes went off, I pushed the buzzer to open the downstairs door and listened to the hum of the elevator climbing up.

There was a single sharp rap on the door and I yelled to come in, then looked around. But it wasn’t Cat. It was Councilman Hugh Peddle and his two friends were well dressed hoods who went along under the title of “advisors.”

Rather than get up from the floor I waved to the chairs and said, “Sit down, laddies, sit down. You’ll have to excuse the informality. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

Hughie’s eyes sneered back at me. “It’ll only be a short visit, Deep.”

“Oh?” I could feel a nasty grin pulling at my mouth. “How’d you find me?”

“You left a wide path, Deep. You were leaving yourself open to being found, but don’t think you’re being clever.”

“You came to tell me this, huh?”

“Not exactly.”

“So?”

“How much will you take to leave town?”

I inched back slowly and leaned against the sofa. “I’ll collect a million or so by sticking around, pal.”

“Only if you meet the terms of Bennett’s will.”

“You mean to sell out now?”

“Not at all. Let Batten have what there is. Keeping it and managing it is nothing but a headache. You take a cash settlement and leave. The sum will be quite substantial.”

“Leave to where?”

“Wherever you came from. Wherever you want to go. Just leave.”

“Who’s got that kind of dough?” I asked.

“Never mind. It’s there and there’s no catch to it. The money can be deposited for you, handed over in cash... any way you prefer. No rough stuff afterwards. You get to keep the money.”

“That’s a real nice deal, Hughie.”

“Well?”

“I like it here.”

The smaller of the two hoods smiled gently, as if he felt sorry for me. His mouth never moved when he spoke. “If you want, Mr. Peddle, we can push this bird a little. It’s not hard to make them reasonable.”

I said, “Tell him, Hughie boy.”

The Councilman got all red in the face and I could see his beefy shoulders hunch under the coat. He made an impatient motion with his hand and turned back to me again. “What about an outright sale then. The price will be above anything you can make in a lifetime and you can keep Bennett’s junk too.”

I timed it so he wouldn’t know I was reaching. “What’s there to sell, Hughie boy?”

He didn’t trust himself to speak. There was rage in his face but fear in his eyes and before the wild anger of the moment could make him point the finger I looked at the two hoods and said, “Either one of you even twitches and I’ll pop one right between your horns.”

A tic pulled at the mouth of the taller one, like he was trying to keep from laughing. “You can’t be that fast,” he said. He kept watching my hands where the thumbs hooked into my belt. He was wondering how long it would take to make a cross-draw to a shoulder holster.

I said, “I know how you can find out.”

The red left Hughie’s face and he said, “Stop it, Moe. He’s got the rod on his belt.”

The hood sucked in his breath at the mistake he almost made and let his face go blank. Then the small one chuckled. “From the floor he’d be your only hit, friend. What do you think I’d be doing?”

Behind him Cat said softly, “You’d be dying, chump,” and when the guy turned around he looked down the barrels of a shotgun and went dead white. Hugh Peddle touched them both, turned and walked out. The elevator whined again and I watched them climb into a car on the street below.

When Cat lowered the hammers of the shotgun and propped it in a corner I said, “Who tipped you?”

“The stakeout across the street.”

“What’d you do, fly in like Peter Pan?”

He laughed like a little kid. “You forgetting the old Cat, Deep? Up the fire escape and in the window. Like fog. Remember that poem?”

“About the fog coming in on little cat feet?”

“Yeah. Well, that’s me. And you better be the same, you feel like staying alive.”

“The imports?”

“Them is right. I made a coupla calls and got a confirm on the target. It’s you. Five G’s apiece across the board.”

“I come expensive.”

“You don’t know how much. They also got another five G’s to split between them from another source to hold up the play for a few days.”

“Screwy,” I said.

“Yeah.” He craned his neck to look at me squarely. “You ain’t shook, Deep?”

“Nah,” I waved my thumb at the couch. “Let’s sack it out a while.”

“Sure, Deep. Mind if I have a drink first?”

“Help yourself.”

He walked over, opened one end of a cabinet and brought out a bottle. One drink started him coughing until he almost collapsed, then he straightened up and wiped his eyes. I said, “You know your way around here, Cat?”

“Natch. Ben used me for a mailman. He never used the phone when he wanted orders passed around. Why?”

“No reason. Let’s hit it.”

He rolled on the couch and I headed in to the bedroom. As I got to the door Cat asked, “Suppose those guys drew and I wasn’t there, Deep?”

“I would have popped them between the horns, buddy.”

“You think?”

“They wouldn’t be the first ones I popped,” I said softly.

At seven fifteen Cat came in and shook me awake. He lit a butt, sucked in a drag and stood there coughing his lungs out for a couple of minutes. He tried it again, but it wasn’t any better so he squashed it out.

I said, “You have long, Cat?”

His shoulders hunched in a bony shrug. “I died a long time ago, Deep.”

“Get off it.”

“No kidding.” He squinted down at me. “My time was up two months back. It’s all gravy now.”

“No chance for a cure?”

Cat shook his head. “Maybe last year, but what the hell? What difference does it make? You know, I ain’t even got a bucket to kick. If I had, some crumb would swipe it anyway.” He grinned at me and coughed into his handkerchief again. “This world isn’t worth while living for or dying over,” he said. “Everybody’s money hungry and trying to kill each other off like crazy. The lucky ones get it early and it’s over with. The rest have to sweat it until something catches up with ’em. Me... maybe I’ll be one of the lucky ones.”

I sat up in bed and stretched until my shoulders cracked. I climbed out, looked at Cat and shook my head. “So be a fatalist. Drop dead.”

He laughed and it started him hacking again. When he stopped he rolled his handkerchief into a ball and left the room. I heard the toilet flush, then he came back. “You know, Deep... the only sorry part is that I’m starting to have fun again. Like the old days, remember?”