Free The Deep by Mickey Spillane Page A

“You’d be dying, chump,” and when the guy turned around he looked down the barrels of a shotgun and went dead white. Hugh Peddle touched them both, turned and walked out. The elevator whined again and I watched them climb into a car on the street below.
    When Cat lowered the hammers of the shotgun and propped it in a corner I said, “Who tipped you?”
    â€œThe stakeout across the street.”
    â€œWhat’d you do, fly in like Peter Pan?”
    He laughed like a little kid. “You forgetting the old Cat, Deep? Up the fire escape and in the window. Like fog. Remember that poem?”
    â€œAbout the fog coming in on little cat feet?”
    â€œYeah. Well, that’s me. And you better be the same, you feel like staying alive.”
    â€œThe imports?”
    â€œThem is right. I made a coupla calls and got a confirm on the target. It’s you. Five G’s apiece across the board.”
    â€œI come expensive.”
    â€œYou don’t know how much. They also got another five G’s to split between them from another source to hold up the play for a few days.”
    â€œScrewy,” I said.
    â€œYeah.” He craned his neck to look at me squarely. “You ain’t shook, Deep?”
    â€œNah,” I waved my thumb at the couch. “Let’s sack it out a while.”
    â€œSure, Deep. Mind if I have a drink first?”
    â€œHelp yourself.”
    He walked over, opened one end of a cabinet and brought out a bottle. One drink started him coughing until he almost collapsed, then he straightened up and wiped his eyes. I said, “You know your way around here, Cat?”
    â€œNatch. Ben used me for a mailman. He never used the phone when he wanted orders passed around. Why?”
    â€œNo reason. Let’s hit it.”
    He rolled on the couch and I headed in to the bedroom. As I got to the door Cat asked, “Suppose those guys drew and I wasn’t there, Deep?”
    â€œI would have popped them between the horns, buddy.”
    â€œYou think?”
    â€œThey wouldn’t be the first ones I popped,” I said softly.

Chapter Seven
    At seven fifteen Cat came in and shook me awake. He lit a butt, sucked in a drag and stood there coughing his lungs out for a couple of minutes. He tried it again, but it wasn’t any better so he squashed it out.
    I said, “You have long, Cat?”
    His shoulders hunched in a bony shrug. “I died a long time ago, Deep.”
    â€œGet off it.”
    â€œNo kidding.” He squinted down at me. “My time was up two months back. It’s all gravy now.”
    â€œNo chance for a cure?”
    Cat shook his head. “Maybe last year, but what the hell? What difference does it make? You know, I ain’t even got a bucket to kick. If I had, some crumb would swipe it anyway.” He grinned at me and coughed into his handkerchief again. “This world isn’t worth while living for or dying over,” he said. “Everybody’s money hungry and trying to kill each other off like crazy. The lucky ones get it early and it’s over with. The rest have to sweat it until something catches up with ’em. Me ... maybe I’ll be one of the lucky ones.”
    I sat up in bed and stretched until my shoulders cracked. I climbed out, looked at Cat and shook my head. “So be a fatalist. Drop dead.”
    He laughed and it started him hacking again. When he stopped he rolled his handkerchief into a ball and left the room. I heard the toilet flush, then he came back. “You know, Deep ... the only sorry part is that I’m starting to have fun again. Like the old days, remember?”
    My face started to tighten up. “Were they really fun, Cat?”
    â€œI don’t know. I never knew anything different. Sometimes I wondered. The old man whaling the crap out of me, never enough to eat, hardly a week without getting your head almost knocked in. We had our kicks,