The Deep Read Online Free PDF Page B

had a metal plaque stamped Lee but I didn’t bother to push it. The way the stairs squealed and grated in those old tenements nobody came or went unannounced.
    The second floor landing had two doors, but only the back one had a light behind it. I stepped over the cardboard cartons leading to it, skirted the row of bottles and gave the door a rap. There was movement inside, but no one answered. I hit it again and heard heels tap on the floor. A barrel bolt grated and the door swung open.
    Some things you can’t get ready for. You can’t get ready to meet a crazy beautiful dame in a cold-water flat. Not one almost as big as you are who’s made all firm and round so you can feel the warmth that comes from her like perfume. You never can get ready for eyes that seem to taste you rather than see you, or black hair so alive the roll of it is a sensuous thing that makes you aware of buried compulsions.
    I said, “Hi, sugar,” and looked back at her.
    There was an uptilting to her brows, a professional wariness. “Yes?”
    â€œI’m looking for Tally Lee.”
    She shook her head lightly, making her hair swirl. “I’m sorry, but she can’t see anyone. No one at all.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œTally has been sick. Now if you don’t mind ...”
    I shoved the door open and walked in. “I mind,” I said. When I closed it I walked toward the front into the bedroom where the single night light turned a pale yellow glow on everything and looked at Tally lying there on an old four-poster, her hair a harsh pink around an almost bloodless face. There was a deadness about her, the covers barely moving as she breathed.
    I said, “What happened?”
    â€œSleeping pills.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œSomething scared her.”
    â€œShe all right now?”
    â€œFor now, maybe.” She sucked her breath in hard. “So get out, man.”
    â€œWhen I’m ready.” I kept looking down at Tally.
    â€œNow, man,” she said. “Otherwise you can get hurt.”
    From behind she could see me shake my head. “I can’t get hurt,” I told her.
    â€œDon’t fool yourself, man. Maybe you don’t know who I am.”
    I waited a long moment before I said, “I know who, kid.”
    Either she didn’t hear me or didn’t care. “Lenny Sobel is my ... friend. He doesn’t like guys like you. I can tell him.”
    I turned around and tilted her head up with a finger under her chin. “Then tell him from me he’s a slob. Tell him I have a chubby little slug I’d like to blow up his tail and if he gets in my way I’d be really happy to show him how it works. Anytime. Anywhere.”
    She batted my hand away with her eyes spitting at me. “Who’ll I say is calling, man? Who wants to get killed that fast?”
    I grinned and watched those full lips pull away from a lovely row of teeth in an almost animal snarl. “Can’t you remember good?” I asked her. “I pulled a rape artist off your back once and creamed a pair of the Bello mob who tried to shag you in a cab. I took a hell of a shellacking from a five-and-ten manager who thought I lifted his junk when it was you. Remember now?”
    She tried to press back into the curtains, her breath caught in her throat. She was all eyes, looking at me carefully, trying hard to ease the rigidity that was on her like a sudden freeze.
    â€œDeep ...”
    â€œYeah. Your memory doesn’t go back very far, Irish. Hardly at all.”
    She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “Deep ...”
    â€œYou can still say it nice, kitten.”
    It came back to her in small pieces; the street, the gang, the kid stuff in school. The roof where we leaned against a warm chimney and two children walked through the virginity of love with a first kiss.
    Then she remembered it all, and other things too, until it showed in the hardness of her