Mickey Spillane - The Deep

What were the odds? Augie was gone, Cat was gone. Nobody else knew where I was or what I had in mind. This time the mistake was mine for going it solo and it could be the last one I’d make. These were strictly pros now. They did only one thing. They were assigned to kill, that was all they knew and nothing could talk them out of it. They’d shoot as soon as talk and have a hot lunch after they dropped you in the river somewhere. They didn’t think, they didn’t want to think, and to them it was just one more job and one more dollar.

Lenny turned and smiled placidly. He was happy. I said, “Hurt, Lenny?”

He raised his eyebrows. “The way you’re perched on the seat. Thought maybe your ass hurt,” I said.

Tony snickered again.

Lenny said, “You’re going to be fun, Deep.”

“Think about it a little bit.”

He didn’t catch my meaning and his smile came off.

I said, “You’re too old for the rough stuff, man.”

“Not with you. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”

“Then you should know better.”

Flatly, Tony cut in with, “You think he’s got an angle? He ain’t the kind not to cover hisself.”

“I think our boy forgot himself this time,” Lenny answered.

“You better be sure.”

Lenny nodded. “I’m sure. I’ve known him a long, long time.”

“He’s been away a long time too.”

“They never change, Tony. You should know that as well as I do. Isn’t that right, Deep?”

I shrugged.

Tony’s head swiveled on his shoulders like that of a praying mantis. He regarded me silently for a long time, then turned and said to Lenny, “If I was you I’d knock this guy off right now.”

“You’re not me, Tony.”

“So you’ll be wishin’ you did. Something tells me.”

“I’m telling you to shut up.”

Tony grunted something and was still. The one on the other side had taken it all in without batting an eyelash.

We turned off the West Side Highway at the bridge and angled back across town. In ten minutes we stopped in front of a closed restaurant a block away from Yankee Stadium and Tony nudged me with the gun. “Out,” he said.

The other one went first, his gun out of sight, but ready. Tony came behind me, the muzzle of his gun steering me toward the door beside the restaurant.

Lenny opened the door and said, “After you.”

There weren’t going to be many more chances after this one.

But Tony anticipated me by a full half second and the sound of his rod slamming against the side of my head was like that of a board being broken in half.

I could see my feet and they seemed miles away. They were together primly, the toes matching. The feet swam up closer and I saw why they were so neatly arranged. They had been tied like that. I had the sensation I was going to fall forward on my face and slowly I knew why I didn’t. My hands were tied behind the chair I sat on with just enough slack to let me hang away from it.

Lenny’s voice, sounding very fuzzy, said, “He’s coming out of it.”

Somebody else said, “Good. Hold that ammonia under his nose again.”

Harsh, acrid fumes caught in my throat and I choked, my eyes flooding with tears. I pulled back away from the smell and shook my head. The little gray man sitting in front of me smiled. “Welcome,” he said.

I blinked, trying to see him, and when my eyes cleared recognized his face. They called him Mr. Holiday and spoke softly in front of him. He represented the syndicate interest in New York but unless you knew it for sure you’d think he was simply somebody’s father. The others sitting comfortably around the room had equal, but different interests. Some of them had been at the meeting the night I walked in the K.O. Club. Now they were watching me in a detached, yet curious way. I was part of the obstacles of their business and had to be handled just so.

“You are all right?” Mr. Holiday asked me.

My head pounded and rather than talk I nodded once.

“Good. You know why you are here?”

This time I said no.

He made a face. “It really doesn’t matter. However, you know what we want.”

There wasn’t any sense playing games. “Bennett’s stuff.”

“Exactly.”

I raised my head and forced a grin. “You can’t get it from me. I haven’t got it.”

Holiday made a quick gesture with his pudgy hands. “That we shall be sure of.” He waved a finger over his shoulder. “Maxie... please.”

Maxie was a big fat guy with forearms like barrels. He walked up thoroughly enjoying what he had to do, looked at me clinically a moment, then whipped the back of his hand across my face. It came too fast to duck and before I could set myself the other one came at me from the other side. With open hands he almost tore my head off and when he stopped my mouth was full of blood from where my teeth were driven into my cheeks and my eyes began to puff out around the cheekbones.

Mr. Holiday said, “You can hear me, Deep?”

I bobbed my head.

“They tell me all about you. They tell me you are very tough. Too, they tell me how you used to make people talk, you and your friend Bennett. You know, naturally what will come next. You will talk or die very, very slowly.

Somehow I grated out, “I know the routine. It won’t do you any good.”

Lenny Sobel said, “He’s lying.”

“So? How do you know?”

“Because I remember how the two of them were. I know how they thought. Bennett left everything to this guy.”

“Wouldn’t he have produced it by now if he had?”

“Listen,” Sobel insisted, “you can’t tell what angle this one’ll play. With Bennett it was cut and dried, but you can’t tell with him. They’re both nuts. He knows where it is all right! Squeeze it out of him... he’ll talk.”

“Perhaps you have something to say, Deep?” Holiday said in such a kindly way it was hard to believe what he actually was.

“Hell, if you’re going to scratch me off, then do it.”

“We aren’t in a hurry. We have time, but you haven’t. It might be easier if you talked to us.”

Big Maxie said, “More, Mr. Holiday?”

Holiday held his hand up. “In a minute, perhaps. Maxie here is overly anxious. You should see what he can do with a cigar. Or old-fashioned stick matches. There are certain variations of the hotfoot... ah, well, that will come later.”

“It won’t... do any good,” I said. I managed to rock back and suck air deep into my lungs. I couldn’t feel my hands any more; the rope had bitten in too far and cut off the circulation.

“Obstinacy can be painful, Deep. It will be easier to talk.”

I shook my head to clear it but it only pounded harder. “Clue me,” I said.

Holiday smiled. “So, we begin. We shall start with the death of your friend. Who killed him?”

Gradually I brought my head up. “You did?”

“Certainly not us. That would be an unnecessary risk to run. Although Bennett was a nuisance factor to the organization over-all, he was better to pay off than aggravate. No, Deep, it was none of us. But maybe you have an idea.”

“I had Hugh Peddle in mind.”

Holiday nodded and smiled again. “Now there is a good thought. Friend Peddle has been growing in stature. He has been making large demands on the organization. He too was in Bennett’s hand. Had he been able to operate freely he could have been even more important, but Bennett held him back. Besides, Peddle is unscrupulous. I’m quite aware of what he would do if Bennett’s information were available to him. In fact, do you know what he tried to do to you?”

“Morrie Reeves and Lew James. He hired them to knock me off.”

“Right again. Luckily, he contracted for two men we could exert influence over and were able to hold them off a short while. We couldn’t take a chance on having that treasure of Bennett’s lie dormant somewhere to fall into the wrong hands. We had to know where it was. You know, we even warned Hugh, but he wouldn’t take our advice.