The Deep by Mickey Spillane Page A

special. She was still pretty sick. I gave her another capsule the doctor left and sat with her a while.” She paused and squeezed her hands. “Deep ...”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œShe was scared. Even when she was asleep she was scared. She tried to scream in her sleep and couldn’t.”
    â€œGo on.”
    â€œShe said your name. She said Bennett’s name too, but yours was the first.”
    â€œRepeat it.”
    â€œIt ... wasn’t coherent.”
    â€œJust tell me. Let me fill in the blank spaces.”
    â€œIt was ... about how she could fix everything. She kept saying she’d tell somebody and he’d do it, or he’d know what to do. Then she’d try to scream. She’d say your name, then Bennett’s.”
    I studied it a minute, then shook my head. “It doesn’t add yet.”
    â€œDeep ... did she die ... because of you?”
    I covered her hands with my own, feeling my face go tight at the question. “I don’t think so.”
    â€œDon’t lie, Deep.”
    â€œI’d never lie to you, kitten.”
    â€œDid she then?”
    â€œI don’t think so. Not directly, anyway. Somehow I think she would have gotten it whether I was here or not.”
    â€œWhat will we do, Deep?”
    â€œLike I said, call the cops.”
    â€œWhat will happen to you then?”
    â€œI’m not scared of any cops, kid. You should know that.”
    â€œThen call them.”
    â€œSure, kitten,” I said. Her eyes were hard again, patiently waiting to see what would happen. I helped her up, took her out past what had been Tally into the kitchen, holding her so she couldn’t see what was on the bed, then went to the phone.
    The desk said a car would be right along and not to touch anything. I said sure and hung up the receiver. I went back to the bedroom and found the check I had pinned to Tally’s pillow on the dresser. I tore it up and flushed the pieces down the toilet. It was something she couldn’t use any more now.
    Then I slid the .38 off my belt, shoved it down under a pile of slop in the garbage pail, hauled the dumbwaiter up, stuck the pail on it and sent it down again. Then I went into the living room with Irish and waited.
    Â 
    Sergeant Ken Hurd had been an uptown kid himself. His face had been chopped up long ago by knuckles and clubs and there was no way at all to tell what he was thinking. His eyes were a cold light blue totally devoid of expression, but somehow, behind it all, you could sense the terrible hate he had. There were only two kinds of people to him, those who broke the law and those who enforced it. The good didn’t matter. Usually they were just stumbling blocks to catching the other kind. And those were the ones he hated with a fine, thriving hate.
    He had a big rep, this one. You talked soft and walked quiet when he was there. When he asked you answered or he was likely to smile a little bit and that was the worst part because there was something implied in the smile that meant bleeding trouble then or later and he really didn’t care which.
    They let Hurd work where he wanted and he picked the hardest end of town. He liked The Street because he ran an operation without complaints because if you complained it would be worse for you the second time around. Ken Hurd was a deadly cop.
    And now he was watching me.
    He let me talk, took it all down, watched me some more with an air of patience as if he were waiting for something, then let Helen give her story. Just as she finished Mr. Sullivan came in with Augie and Cat and the worms started crawling around inside me.
    Sullivan said, “Here they are, Sergeant.”
    Cat took one look at the body on the bed and sucked in his breath with a whistle. Hurd said, “Know her?” and Cat nodded.
    â€œTalk up,” Hurd said softly.
    For a second Cat went as cold as he was, then shrugged and said, “Tally Lee. Good kid. I knew her all