The Deep Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  SPILLANE IS HERE...

  “Tell them straight, chum. I’m in. I’m on top. If I yell jump they ask how high and if I say spit they ask how much. Anybody goes after my skin gets gunned down fast and if there’s any doubt about who makes the try I’ll rack up a couple of big fish just for samples. Meantime I’m finding out who bumped Bennett. It’s not going to be a hard job and it Won’t even be a long one. But it sure will be fun when I find him. Or her. I’d kind of like it to be you, Lenny. I haven’t shot you for a long time, have I?”

  AND THE CRITICS CHEER:

  “As bang-bang as you’d ever want.”

  —The Associated Press

  If you are a Spillane fan you win enjoy this one more than anything done before. It is fast moving, easy reading, and has the greatest shocker of an ending—typical of Spillane—of them all.”

  —Albuquerque Tribune

  This one’s for Maury Riganto

  in Norfolk, Virginia

  COPYRIGHT, ©, 1961 BY MICKEY SPILLANE

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast. For information address E. P. Dutton & Company, Inc., 2 Park Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

  Published as a SIGNET BOOK

  By Arrangement with E. P. Dutton & Company, Inc.

  SIGNET TRADEMARK REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  HECHO EN WINNIPEG, CANADA

  eISBN : 978-1-101-17451-7

  SIGNET, SIGNET CLASSIC, MENTOR, PLUME, MERIDIAN AND NAL

  BOOKS are published by New American Library,

  1633 Broadway, New York, New York 10019

  FIRST SIGNET PRINTING, JANUARY, 1962

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Chapter One

  Long before I got there I heard the word. It seeped through the nighttime of New York, the tone of it muffled by the rain, yet strong enough to reach away out from its source to the far places of the city. It came to me in a gin mill called Hardy’s just off Columbus Avenue from a half-bagged bim who had had the place to herself for too long.

  She grinned crookedly when I walked in, throwing a half-sympathetic wink at my raincoat and then to the night outside. When I got my coat off she swirled the remains of her drink in her glass, threw it down and patted the seat next to her.

  There’s no sense arguing with that type. They move in anyway and it was easier sitting and buying than trying to shuck her off and it was too wet to go back into the night again. But, for an accidental partner, she was all right. Big, but they’re better big. Harlow hair, bright white, yet soft and fluid like poured milk. And they’re usually better blonde, too.

  When she grinned again and fingered her empty glass I sat down and waved the bartender over to set us both up with the same.

  She hoisted the glass in a toast. “Thanks, big guy.” She finished it off in one throw and sipped at the chaser with a smile of satisfaction. “Want to talk?” she asked me.

  I shook my head.

  “Now don’t tell me you’re feeling sad for that Bennett bum too.”

  The bartender tapped her arm. “You better knock it off, Tally.”

  “So what do I care about the bum? From a little hood he gets to be a big hood. All the way from a juvenile delinquent up. Look, Jocko-boy, that creep shook me like he shook everybody else and even if they did give the bum a five-grand funeral he’s still a bum.”

  “Tally, damn it, you shut up ...”

  “Nuts. Nuts to you, Jocko-boy. Everybody else feels the same way. Every damn body is glad the creep is dead. Most are happy because he shook ’em and the rest are glad because now maybe they have a chance to drive the machine a while.”

  “I told you ...”

  “Okay, Jocko-boy, okay. Quit worrying. Who’s listening? Only this guy here. You haven’t got the joint bugged, have you?” She let out a giggle and reached for the chaser again. “So big Bennett is dead and all the little Bennett boys are crying. It’s funny as hell.”

  This time she looked over at me and her eyes were beginning to film up. “Friend, do you know why they were really crying?”

  “Tell me.”

  “First I want a drink.”

  Jocko-boy said, “She don’t get ...”

  “Give her a drink.”

  He looked at me and his mouth got stiff. Then he reached for the bottle and poured one out. The bim grinned, winked and tossed it off.

  “Now tell me,” I said.

  “Sure. I’ll tell you. All the little stiffs and all the big stiffs from here to Brooklyn are bawling because they want Bennett’s machine. Every mob in town is ready to rumble to grab it. The bucko-boys are loaded for bear and if you don’t wear some kind of a badge you’re liable to get shot for being an innocent bystander.”

  “That’s not why they’re crying.”

  “Easy man, I’m telling.” She finished the chaser and nodded for another. “Trouble is,” she said, “they’re crying because they’re scared to death of Deep.”

  I looked at her over my glass.

  “You don’t know who Deep is, huh?”

  “Tally ...”

  This time I was the one who said, “Shut up, Jocko-boy.”

  She winked at me real elaborately. “Attaboy. Like I said, this Deep is a guy. He’s a big man someplace. He’s a bigger creep than was even Bennett, and mister, that’s saying somethin’. Bennett and this Deep was like this, see?” She held up her hand with her fingers crossed.

  “Who’s on top?” I asked.

  “Deep.” She felt for her glass again. “Hear tell Deep was worse than Bennett ever was. Mean as hell. Carried a gun when he was a little kid. Only delinquent on the block with a real rod.” She giggled again. “Tough boy, and now he’s coming back.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sure, man. Him and Bennett were ... something. Blood brothers, I guess. You know delinquents.”

  “Not altogether,” I said. “They’ve changed lately.”

  “Ah, they’re all alike. They’re still bums. Bennett was always a bum and so’s this Deep. They ran everything in shares when they were kids and took a crazy blood vow or something to revenge the other one if ever something happened. Boy, they were something then. They had the whole section organized and you know something? That was when Lenny Sobel was up top and he was careful not to get funny with those little kids. They could pull some pretty rough stuff.”

  “You have a big line on those boys, honey.”

  Her face flattened out. The eyes that had been filmy before suddenly cleared and for a second there was a bite in them. “That lousy Bennett got my sister on horse and she wound up a suicide at sixteen. I never forgot that. I was nine then. The pig. The stinking pig!”

  She looked back to me again, the film shadowing her eyes. “This Deep. They say he was even worse. He pulled out a long time ago to let Bennett run that end. He said he was going to find something new to take over.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sure yeah, what else? He had the makings. Someplace he started creaming the suckers and someplace he’s the biggie. Now he’ll be b
ack.” Her mouth twisted in a sneer and she laughed sourly. “In a way it’s good.”

  “Why?”

  “The boys won’t rumble until they find out how big Deep really is.”

  “It makes a difference, huh?”

  She looked at me and I was grinning.

  “Sure, you jerk. If he’s big they bump him, then rumble. Otherwise they rumble and get him sometime in between if he gets annoying.”

  “Why wait?”

  Her mouth twisted up again. “No one knows how big Deep really is. Suppose he comes in with a mob?”

  “That’s not really the deal, sugar.”

  This time she smiled a little. “Smart boy. You’re right. What they’re scared to death of most is that they don’t know what he looks like yet... and he just might be real kill-crazy. You know the kind?”

  “I know the kind.”

  “So he blows in and does like he promised to do ... knock off anybody one by one who touched his old buddy—Bennett. You know?”

  I said, “I get the general idea.”

  “And maybe he can do it. Nobody knows. He’s a... what’s that stupid word... an ...”

  “Enigma,” I told her.

  “Smart bastard,” she said. Then she glanced up at Jocko-boy at the end of the bar and laughed drunkenly. “Look at him. Face in a paper. He don’t even want to hear about it. The laddies outside hear that I’ve been running off at the mouth to a stranger and they tell it to Jocko-boy the hard way. That right, Jocko-boy?”

  He wouldn’t look up from his paper.

  “Now let all the delinquent idiots rumble. Let them all kill their damn selves. I’m glad as hell Bennett got it and I’ll be glad when all the rest get it and no matter who comes first I’ll still be laughing and when I can look at that creep Deep spread out on the sidewalk I’ll spit on him like I did Bennett.”

  “Gal,” I said, “that’s hard talk.”

  “Don’t call me ‘gal,’ damn it. That’s what Bennett called me. Don’t you or anybody ever call me that.”

  “I’ll call you that, gal.”

  “Who do you think you are! Just because ...”

  “Deep,” I said. “Call me Deep.”

  Jocko-boy kept staring at the paper, but he wasn’t reading it. There was a strained white look about his face and his tongue flicked across his lips a couple of times.

  I finished the drink, put it down and looked at the bim. The cords in her neck were standing out tightly. “What’s your last name, Tally?”

  Her voice was a whisper. “Lee.”

  “Live close by?”

  “On ... hundred-third.”

  I waited.

  “Over Brogan’s market. Look... about what I said ...”

  “That’s okay, Tally.”

  Now her whole lower jaw was quivering. “I ... I run off at the mouth sometimes, you know?”

  “Sure, I know.”

  “What I said ...” she swallowed hard and bit into her lip.

  “About being a delinquent? A creep? Better off bumped? You telling me you didn’t mean those things, Tally?”

  Then suddenly the fear was gone. The hardness and defiance came back and she said, “I said it. I meant it.”

  At the end of the bar Jocko-boy glanced back, startled.

  I grinned at her real big. “That’s the way, kid. If you say it, then mean it.”

  Her eyes went all funny looking. She studied my face for three deep breaths, then having decided, she reached for her glass and drained off what was left in the bottom. When she put it back on the bar she turned and stared up at me with tight, cold eyes and whispered hoarsely, “You’re not Deep. You’re too damn polite to be Deep. He would have splashed me by now. Deep never liked to be called names and he hated dames who talked too much like I just did.” She took another breath, her eyes widening. “I can make up for having a big mouth, feller. I can pass the word that a phony’s loose looking for trouble.”

  I nodded. “You do that. That would make everything real interesting then.”

  “Be glad to, big guy.” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Hell, man, if you were Deep you’d be packing a rod under your hand day and night just looking for somebody to shoot up. Old Deep the cannon-boy they used to call him. Too stinking tough to even bother hiding it. Carried the old rod where everybody could see it.” Her eyes ran over me disgustedly. “You’re Deep? Nuts.”

  I reached in my pocket for a half buck and spun it out on the bar. When I looked back at Tally her eyes were gone all wide and jumpy with fear and she couldn’t take them off the spot at my side where she had seen the .38 in the speed rig.

  I said, “Don’t forget to tell ’em, Tally,” and walked outside.

  Chapter Two

  Wilson Batten had his office in the new building that had replaced the old Greenwood Hotel. The modern façade was a white smear in the darkness, the rain glistening coldly on the marbleized surface, an incongruous structure like a false tail on a dog.

  A band of lighted windows girdled the second floor so I crossed over and pushed in through the full-length glass doors. On the wall beside the self-service elevator was a building directory listing all the occupants. Only the second floor was in all caps. It read, “WILSON BATTEN, ATTORNEY.”

  Very simple. But this was a world where simplicity was a necessity. It was an asset in other worlds, too, where simplicity was really concealed arrogance.

  I grinned, skipped the elevator and went up the stairs. In the foyer two girls were belting themselves into raincoats before a strip of mirror. One had a mouthful of bobby pins, so she nudged the other to take care of me.

  “We’re just closing,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  “You waiting for one of the girls?”

  I took my hat off and shook the rain out. “I hadn’t thought of it. Should I?”

  The impudent smile looked me up and down. “You wouldn’t wait long, I don’t think.”

  “I never have.”

  “No,” she said, “I don’t suppose so.” The smile drifted away when I didn’t move and she added, “You wanted something?”

  “Wilse.”

  “Who?”

  “Wilse. The Boss. Batten.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Not now. You can’t ...”

  “Now,” I said.

  “Listen ... mister ...”

  “Now,” I repeated.

  Behind me the voice was soft, but had a bigness to it that was a quiet threat.

  “Some difficulty, Thelma?”

  “He wants to see Mr. Wilson.”

  “I see. I’m afraid it’s much too late at the moment ...”

  I turned around slowly and looked at him. He hadn’t changed much. Always the terribly efficient laddie who could make himself indispensable, but never enough genius to quite reach the top. One thing about Augie, though. He always was on the side of a winner. He could always tell them.

  His eyes frowned, not his face. Something worked in his mind, like a mental yeast, but he couldn’t finger it. For a second his shoulders tightened, then relaxed because that wasn’t the answer, either. He was still the same Augie. He could still tell. He said, “You’ll see Mr. Batten then.”

  When I agreed with a nod the two girls watched with amazement.

  “Your name, please.”

  “Don’t you remember, Augie?” My grin stretched a little. “Deep. Tell Wilse it’s Deep.”

  Under his chin the cords of his neck strained against the collar. He remembered all at once, his brain settling into a new pattern of now and later, then he shrugged his huge shoulders under the tailored jacket and smiled. His voice had a pleasant rumble, an intonation of efficiency waiting to be utilized.

  “I should have,” he said. “But you’ve changed, Deep.”

  “We all change.”

  He stared at me hard. “You’re bigger, somehow.”

  “Bigger,” I repeated. “Good word.”

  The office I walked into was all mahogan
y and Gauguin. They hit you both at once and made you minimize the man behind the desk. He looked up, starched and creased, his hair thin across his head, but still dark. It’s funny how few balding guys ever turned gray.

  I said, “Hello, Wilse,” and he pretended to recognize my voice.

  “Deep.” He stood up and extended his hand. “Good to see you, boy. Good to see you.”

  My grin ignored his hand. “I bet. I bet you’re just overjoyed, Wilse.”

  His face was a professional mask but I knew what was happening to him. I pulled a chair up with my foot and sat down, dropping my hat on the floor. Augie reached for it and I said, “Leave it there.” He stopped, threw a fast glance at Batten and stepped back.

  “Old Wilse,” I said, “the thief of Harlem ...”

  “See here, Deep!”

  “Shut up when I’m talking, Wilse.” I smiled and his eyes searched it for meaning. “You came a long way from the walk-up off Broadway. From old Batty Batten to Mr. Wilson Batten, Attorney. Pretty good for a thief, but not much different from a lot of success stories I know.”

  I shoved out of the chair and walked the perimeter of the room, studying each Gauguin in turn. Half were originals. The other half pretty expensive copies. “You did okay, feller.”

  “Deep ...”

  When I turned around and grinned Batten stopped with his mouth open. I said, “Batten, you’re a thief. You’re a scheming shyster who made good. You fenced stolen property once, you bought anything I could steal, you covered the boys pushing the happy stuff and were a good contact between certain parties and certain crooked cops.”

  “Several times I took you off the hook, Deep.”

  “You sure did, and you sure got your pound of flesh.” I walked over closer and looked down at him. “I was a lot younger then.”

  “You were a punk,” he challenged softly.

  “But a good one. A tough one.” I sat on the edge of the desk. “Remember Lenny Sobel? Remember the night the king and his court came to take you apart for a double cross and Bennett and I paid you off for all the favors? We put the big guys under a couple of guns and spit on them when they wilted. Sobel sent them back for us the next night and we sent him three shot-up hoods. Then I shot Sobel just for fun. Right in the behind. Remember that, Wilse?”