Mickey Spillane - The Deep

And that was as far as he got. The internal hemorrhage killed him right there.

That was where the night people came in. Was Tally coming home from a drunk when she saw him? He must have been close to the mouth of the alley to be that easily seen from the street. I could see Tally in my mind, watch her take in the dead man with one grand look of pleasure, spit on him and walk away knowing that now the fun would begin.

Then Pedro... he robbed the body and got off the scene.

But because of these two the picture had changed.

Where was the killer all this time?

Why didn’t he run? Could it be that he was seen in the area by Tally or at least thought he had been seen? He shouldn’t have killed her; Tally would never have spoken against him. Or maybe that the body was almost lying in the killer’s back yard and its very presence would mean an unnecessary danger if anybody put two and two together. A zip gun meant a kid gang. The Scorps?

So the killer carried Bennett back. Bennett was no lightweight, but even a panicky old lady can do remarkable things. He got him back through the rear, took him up the fire escape, dumped him in his own living room and left.

A cute detail had fooled the police. Bennett had bled a lot when he was first hit and messed the room up just right. Who would have thought that he had gone out and been returned to the same spot again?

A zip gun. A kid’s kick. A simple stupid kill and all hell cuts loose.

Lenny broke a bottle outside. He cursed too loudly to be sober and stumbled into the living room. My head was turned so I could see him through the doorway and when he stopped, cursed again and walked into the darkened bedroom I thought it was over.

“That stinking Knight Owl Club. That whole bunch of stinking jerks!” He took another pull of his drink and yanked the door shut after him.

It was funny, in a way. Just a cellar club from years ago, but the repercussions never ended. They just could-n’ t get it out of their heads. The K.O.’s dominated their lives, everyone who was touched by it.

Nostalgia? Sentimentality? Environment?

It was like I told Helen... it was all tied up with the club.

And then the sudden truth came at me like a bomb that grew and grew in size as you watched it and the whole thing burst open in a wild sheet of flame that left you too stunned to do more than gasp.

It was all there. It fell right in place. I had pieces and Helen had pieces and Batten had pieces and Roscoe had pieces and Lenny had pieces and Holiday had pieces and now it was one big whole and it could be too late at any moment to pull the cork.

On the bed the guy’s breathing was deep and regular. I tried the ropes, being as quiet as I could. I let my hands hang lifelessly so that no muscular activity would swell them, then began the slow process of stretching and loosening my bonds.

Twice, the man on the bed turned, saying something in his half-sleep, then drifted off again. Each time I waited until I was sure he wouldn’t hear the small noises I made, then went back to work on the ropes.

One hand came loose, taking skin with it and I unwound the length of rope from my other and freed my feet. When it was done I lay there until I knew I was all right again, then got up quietly and did what I had to do to the guy on the bed.

He was no trouble at all.

He lay there unconscious, a gag in his mouth, breathing heavily through his nose while I tied him hands-to-feet with a single strand of rope that he wasn’t about to loosen. As I finished I heard the phone ring and Lenny move to answer it. He said, “Yeah... yeah. I got it,” then tapped the receiver bar down, held it and dialed a number. When it answered he said, “Dave? How many you got there? Yeah, six will do it. Holiday call? Okay, then you know you take orders from me this trip. No stay there. I want in on this so don’t move without me. Stay in the neighborhood and when I drive up you can move in. Hit Peddle and take the girl alive. We’ll do the whole thing inside there where nobody will hear a thing. No, you’ll know me. I’ll drive the red and white panel truck that belongs to the restaurant. When you see it, start moving in. Just you wait until I get there, understand?” He grunted and slammed the phone back, then let out a little laugh, swirled the ice in his drink, finished it and set the glass down. I heard him walk toward the door. I got behind it. He still had my gun.

The liquor and the light had blurred his sense and his eyes. He must have thought it was me on the bed and supposed the other guy was in a chair asleep. He stood in the doorway chuckling.

“You’ve had it, Deep. You know why I let you live this long? Because I wanted to let you know what happened to Helen. You know where Peddle took her? To the old K.O. building. You know why? Because she knows that someplace in there is the stuff and Peddle is going to make her come across with it. Only Peddle won’t live long enough to use it and neither will the broad.”

He had my gun in his hand now and thumbed the hammer back.

I wanted to tell him before I moved that Helen didn’t know anything. She took Peddle there because he had already squeezed something out of her. She remembered the last thing I had said... that it was all tied up in that damn K.O. Club.

She had a small choice... if I had said it then I had meant it. There was a remote possibility that I might show up there in time.

Time.

The gun went off into the ceiling when Lenny’s broken trigger finger pulled against it, then his shoulder joint dislodged and the scream he started choked off into a total faint and there was no trouble at all in doing the same thing to him I did to the one on the bed. I immobilized him with the other strand of rope, picked up my gun, reloaded the one chamber and stuck it in the holster.

Feet sounded in the corridor outside and the door swung open. When Tony saw me crouched in the doorway with the .38 leveled right at his nose he shrugged resignedly and said, “I told Holiday he shoulda bumped ya.”

“Drop your piece, Tony. Carefully.”

He didn’t argue. His gun hit the floor, he kicked it aside without being asked and stood there. “You bump the others?” When I didn’t answer he added sourly, “Well, I guess that’s that. Do it like quick, huh?”

“They’re inside,” I said.

Tony grinned. “Thanks, pal,” he said. It was one pro talking to another. He turned around and waited and when I hit him, folded up neatly. I used his belt and some of the TV antenna wire to keep him put.

The truck was behind the building where it had been backed in from the street. The keys were in it and it started easily. I checked the time on my watch and knew it could be a fast run if I caught the lights most of the way. At that hour traffic was at its lowest ebb and speed could be had, not with the throttle pedal, but by staying in time with the stop lights where neither cops nor cross-town cabs were likely to nail you.

I let the clutch out and eased down the narrow drive-way, the headlights like twin fingers leading the way. I switched them to dim. It started to rain and I fumbled for the wipers until I found them and they swept methodically in front of my face.

Time? How much of it was left?

I turned down The Street.

The Street.

That’s what we always called it. We still did.

In the middle of The Street was The Club.

For so many, like a womb. The mother. They came from it, they went back to it. I remembered the key word that had evaded me even though it had been spoken so often by so many people.

Sentimental.

I drove slowly so those watching would see the truck. I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were there.

How often I live in the shadows myself, I thought. How many times in all those years I have buried myself in the night shrouds of a building, waiting, fingering the butt of a gun to make sure it was ready. In the early days I used to want to vomit but couldn’t, so spat out cotton wads and sweated, but that was when the gun was new in my hand and still had that cop’s imprint on it.