Mickey Spillane - The Deep

I said, “Nice place.”

“I like it.”

“That figures. You go it alone?”

“Most of the time.”

“Well, you never were the one to waste money on a broad.”

His shrug had a degree of contempt in it. “I still don’t. They’re free for me now like they used to be for you.”

“Good for you, kid,” I told him. His eyes flicked to mine a second, watched me with disgust, then softened to their normal ice quality and he waved to a chair and sat down himself.

“You didn’t come to talk girls, did you?” Tate asked me.

I shook my head. “Murder.”

“So?”

“Have you been working close to the fuzz?”

“The police are happy to get anything I give them. They reciprocate in kind. Whatever’s known about Bennett’s death, I know.”

“Don’t feel so big. I have an ear at the big door myself. What I hear is that the cops think Bennett was killed where he lay... inside his apartment. Now, is this the latest or is this a blind?”

Automatically, his fingers plucked a pencil from his pocket and he reached for a lined yellow pad on the table in front of him. “What are you thinking of, Deep?” He was the inquisitive reporter suddenly.

“You give me one answer and I’ll give you another.” His face had a shrewd expression and he nodded. “That’s the only way they see it. Why?”

“Because that’s not the way it happened.”

“Go on.”

“That small-caliber bullet didn’t kill Bennett right away. He saw who hit him, got up and started after him. He lasted long enough to get to the alley between Glover’s and Constantino’s. You know where?”

“Sure, that’s not far from Hymie’s delicatessen, only now it’s not Glover’s and Constantino’s. It’s Mort’s Dry Cleaning and Alverez the grocer.”

“So okay, you know where I mean.”

He made some marks on the paper. “It’s an interesting thought.”

“It sure is. It means the killer realized Bennett followed him and carried him all the way back to his apartment.”

Tate shook his head. “That would be stupid. What difference would it make to the killer if he wasn’t caught?”

“That, friend, is a catch question. I don’t know.”

“Then how do you know about the other bit.”

“Because a girl put me on to something. You know Tally Lee?”

Tate nodded, waiting.

“She said she wanted to spit on my corpse like she did on Bennett’s. It was a peculiar thought because she should never have had that opportunity to spit on Bennett. But she said it and she meant it. She wasn’t kidding. Then an admirer of mine turned up with a souvenir... Bennett’s watch. When he lay there dead a guy riffled his poke, lifted the watch and sold it. The kid who got it figured he was doing me a big one by bringing it around.”

Roscoe Tate was excited now. His fingers wrote, although his eyes never left my face. His mouth was animated, seeming to mouth every word as I said it. When I finished he said, “Damn, you know what this means?”

“Sure. One of the night people could have been there to see who carried Bennett back. They’re funny people, those. They live close to the shadows and see everything that goes on in every damn hole in the neighborhood. No matter where you go there’s always one of them around. Eyes all over the place. You know, they used to scare me back in the old days. No matter what time it was I could always imagine someone peering out through dirty curtains or someone curled up in a pile of garbage watching what I was doing. Man, I kicked through more trash piles and knocked over ash cans looking for night people than I have hairs on my head. I found them, too. When I did me and Bennett kicked the crap out of them so bad they never remembered a thing or even wanted to. After a while with us they wouldn’t watch. They’d just take off.”

“You carry a mad a long time, Deep.” He was grinning at me. The little jerk was happy to see me get worked up inside and I knew why.

I let my fists uncurl and grinned back at him. That much would make him sore and it was good enough for me.

He said, “Suppose I call this in,” and reached for the phone.

I waved at him and he hesitated. “Knock it off. This’ll keep a little while. The fuzz have their own stoolies. I’d like to stay a step ahead.”

“Then why give me this?”

“Because you have you own sources, kid. They’re not mine, but they’re important. I’ll trade you information as it comes. You keep me hot with whatever you get from your end or the fuzz.”

He smiled and nodded. “It sounds good, Deep. Stick your neck out all you want. I’ll be real glad to help you get yourself killed. Even to putting the stops on a good yarn.”

“You and Irish Helen ought to get together. You have mutual interests.”

For a moment he was quiet, then, “Don’t do anything to hurt her, Deep. You’ve always loused up everything and if you louse up her I’ll do anything I can to hose you.”

“Anything?”

“That’s right.”

I grunted and got up. “That’s what she said too. Fine friends I got.”

He didn’t say anything. He sat there and watched me go out. But at least we had a trader pact and I knew Tate would come across. You couldn’t ask for much more than that.

Bimmy’s White Rose Tavern was a nothing joint that catered almost solely to neighborhood traffic. It had a local reputation for having great pig’s knuckles and a good minor brand beer, and it was a rare time when trouble ever started along its bar. Bimmy saw to that. His three hundred pounds was a lot of meat to come up against. Bimmy wanted it quiet. It paid off that way. His back room was Benny Mattick’s office and the long green that came his way depended on just how quiet he kept it.

I left Cat outside and Augie and I went in to the bar. We served ourselves at the glass knuckle barrel and when I threw a buck on the counter Bimmy came down to make change.

I said, “Benny in back?”

“Who?” His little eyes reached out for me.

“You play it cute, Bimmy, and you’ll get this knuckle rammed down your throat.”

His finger slipped open the catch at the end of the bar and he raised the section and squeezed through. He still smiled the way he used to, his mouth pulling down at the comers, the scar under his chin widening with the grin.

Then he recognized Augie. Then me. The smile stayed fixed, but he didn’t move in at all. I said, “Be nice, Bimmy, and maybe I won’t shoot up anybody in your joint. Especially maybe not you. Oke?”

He nodded.

“I asked you something.”

“He’s back there.” I looked at him and waited, then his eyes shifted toward the closed doors at the end and he said, “Dixie and Lenny Sobel and some uptown gents are there too.”

“Thanks.”

We walked back and Augie played his part right and opened the door for me. He opened it fast and all the way so I was able to cover the room quickly with one look and spot the only two boys who were in any kind of a position to make a play. The pitch hit them too suddenly and they didn’t move and it was all mine. I stepped inside and Augie closed the door gently, leaning against it as if he had all the time in the world.

Dixie lay on the couch, his mouth and jaw strangely out of shape. His eyes saw me, but he didn’t move. Benny’s mouth was still swollen, hatred twisting it into a painful grimace. Behind Lenny Sobel Harold and Al stayed close together, only this time Al kept one hand in his pocket. The other three who turned around were uptown all right. Uptown and on the fashionable side where the doorman saluted and pedigree was stamped on the doorbell nameplates.

I said, “Everybody’s hurting around here today.”

“Be smart, Deep,” Benny told me. “What d’ya want?”