The Deep
- Автор: Спиллейн Микки
- Год: 1961
- Язык: английский
- Год: E. P. Dutton & Company
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Deep». Краткое содержание книги:
Deep was back in town after a twenty-five year exile — to inherit an empire and avenge a death. He and Bennett had made the inheritance pact when they were kids — blood brothers in crime. They had known then that even New York was too small for them both to share, and so they had tossed a coin to determine who would stay and who would build his organization in another town. Deep had lost and gone.
But now Bennett has lost — been murdered in his own home — and Deep is ready to prove lie is strong enough to take over. Deep wants Bennett’s killer; the others want Bennett’s job. And all too many of them — including the beautiful Irish — want Deep dead.
The Deep is the mastermind in one of the most exciting stories Spillane has ever written — a breathtaking tale of violence in action.
“You’re over retirement age, aren’t you, Mr. Sullivan?”
The red crept into his face slowly and his hand came away from my chest. “Don’t ask for it, Deep.”
“Sure, Mr. Sullivan,” I said with a laugh. “I’ll do like you say.”
I walked around him and all the while I could feel his eyes poking holes through my back. They were two holes, very close together, smaller going in than coming out, the way a pair of steel-jacketed slugs makes them. I shook off the feeling and walked on up to Grogan’s market, opened the door into pitch darkness, my hand going to my pocket for a book of matches.
I tore one out, struck it and held it up. But I was looking in the wrong direction. Whoever had cuddled in the doorway smashed something down across the back of my head and when I hit the floor with my face there wasn’t any feeling left at all.
Chapter Eight
Unconsciousness was only a partial thing. All feeling was gone, but there was still the knowledge of what had happened. There were still sounds from outside, vehicle sounds and people sounds. There was knowledge that my mouth was open and the incredible sour dirt taste of floor filth was on my tongue. There were things stumbling over me, then the door opened and closed, smashing into my head in the motion. But at least it turned my mouth to one side.
Sensation flooded back on a tidal wave of pain. It ran up my legs and back, then centered in my neck at the base of the skull. I got to my knees, spat, and when I could, wiped my mouth with my sleeve. I spat again, stood up and felt the sticky wetness oozing down through my hair. It took a full minute of standing propped against the wall before I felt like moving and when I did my foot nudged the makeshift sap and it rolled across the floor. By the light of a match I could still see some of my hair stuck to the tacky side of the soda bottle and all I could think of was how lucky I had it when the thing didn’t break and slice me open like a peeled banana.
When I walked outside the street traffic was normal and there wasn’t anybody at all who seemed to have special eyes for the doorway. There was an old man looking in Grogan’s window and I tapped him on the arm.
“You see anybody come out of here, mister?”
He turned, looked at me, then past me to the doorway. His shrug was a universal gesture of the neighborhood. “I see nobody.”
I grunted, rubbed my hand across my head and let him see the blood on my fingers. “I just got cold cocked.”
His mouth tightened into a grimace and he said harshly, “Them damn kids. Damn kids, all of them. All the time they do that. Stay in the vestibule with the light out and hit you when you come in. Every night I hear. You shouldn’t go in without light being on. They killed old Julian Chaser like that. For thirty cents they got.” He spat disgustedly and walked away, his advice given and his contempt of humanity more firm than ever.
Then I swore under my breath, reached for my pocket and felt the wallet still there and the rod in the belt rig. I swore again as I slammed the door open and ran up the stairs, stumbling over the junk piled around the landings.
The door was open, the inside dark. I felt for the light, snapped it on and stood there waiting, the gun heavy in my fist. I sidled across the room, groped for the light in the bedroom and pulled it. I was careless as hell and if another gun was there waiting for me I was going to be all the way dead.
But there wasn’t any other gun. There was only Tally Lee lying there with her head smashed in, the blood on her face not yet coagulated. She wasn’t sprawled in the attitude of death; she lay in the relaxed position of sleep and she was lucky. She never knew what hit her.
I knew what hit her, though. I had tasted of it downstairs earlier.
For a few seconds I just stood there and took in the details. There was only one out of place and that was the throw rug kicked to one side almost violently when there hadn’t been but one violent act in the room.
One other detail was there and it was a couple of minutes before it made sense. When it did the throw rug made sense too and the back of my head began to pound again and I wanted to shoot somebody so bad I could taste it.
Beautiful Irish Helen’s coat was hung on a rack in a corner of the room.
I called to her quietly but there was no answer. I called again and parted the drapes that separated the living room from the others. The street light coming in the uncurtained windows outlined the few pieces of furniture. I saw a floor lamp to one side, found the switch and turned it.
Every motion I made was instinctive. My mind was a numb thing that wanted to see or know nothing, shocked with the knowledge that Helen, who lay there sprawled half off the couch with a thin line of blood running down her cheek, was dead too.
My fingers found a pulse, then my mind came back alive again and I lifted her to the couch. The crazy mad inside me made my hands shake and pulled my body so tight that every movement was almost awkward.
There was a lump under her hair and the skin was broken, but it was no more than that. I wet a towel, wiped her face and waited until a soft moan moved her mouth.
“Helen... Helen.”
She moved her head and her eyes squinted with agony. I held the towel against her and stroked her face until she opened her eyes. They were blank at first, then puzzled. I said, “What happened, honey?”
Memory of it returned slowly. I could see it come back, reaching for an answer. “Deep?”
I squeezed her face gently. “You’re okay, baby?”
Plaintively she said, “Deep?”
“Easy, sugar. It’s me.”
Then it hit her all at once and her eyes were great big things alive with terror and before she could scream I put my hand over her mouth and held her head close to me.
When it passed I looked down at her. “What happened?”
Her tongue wet her lips. “The door... I answered the door. I thought it was... you.” Her eyes were wide, staring at me.
“It wasn’t me, baby.”
“When I took the lock off... it flew open. I fell down... and then something...” she sucked in a breath jerkily, “...Deep, what happened?”
“You got slammed on the head, kid.”
“But who...”
“I don’t know. He got me too.”
“Deep...” She reached up and touched my face. “What happened to... Tally?”
“She’s dead, Helen.”
“No!” She bit into her lower lip to hold back a cry, her eyes filling up. Then she could hold it no longer and let it all come out of her in huge, gasping sobs that racked her whole body and I held her tightly until it passed.
I wiped her face again and sat her upright, and when I knew she was thinking clearly again I said, “Now, listen, kid. Can you remember anything about him at all?”
She shook her head. “Only... what I told you.”
“You didn’t see his face? How was he dressed?”
“No. It happened... too fast.”
“Did he talk?”
“No. I... don’t know. No, he didn’t say anything.” She frowned at me and glanced around the room. “Did you... bring me here?”
“Not me. He did,” I told her. “He wanted Tally. He dragged you in here and killed Tally.”
A shudder ran through her body and she stiffened under my hands. “But why, Deep... why?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll find out though.”
“What will we do?” Her voice caught in her throat.
“Call in the blues, kid. There’s nothing else to do.”
“But Tally...”
“She was important to somebody. Now she’s dead. Look, are you all right? Can I ask you things?”
“I’m... all right.”