Dead Street by Mickey Spillane

Author:Mickey Spillane [Spillane, Mickey]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Mystery
ISBN: 9780857686442
Publisher: Titan
Published: 2011-02-28T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Davy Ross met me at the airport in an unmarked squad car. When I sat back against the seat and buckled up the safety belt, I had that “old times” feeling again.

Davy said, “I know you’re not carrying, so I brought you a Glock to wear. They’re getting to be standard weapons these days.”

I popped open the dashboard compartment and took out the automatic. It was a good gun, but I missed ... .45. I opened my belt a notch and bedded it down against my stomach and felt like I was on patrol again.

I told him thanks and he asked me where I wanted to go. He didn’t seem at all surprised when I told him to go by our old street again. “Most of it’s gone, pal.”

“So I’ll see the rest. Any vandalism so far?”

“Just some kids breaking windows. Hell, they’re going to be smashed up anyway. A couple of vagrants flopped in one house. They have about two weeks occupancy before the wrecking crews get to that building.”

“Why so slow?”

“Politics, Jack. Contractors fighting the city, some former occupants still putting up roadblocks, trying to get more money from the local government.”

“Think they will?”

“They’re still trying,” he said. “You know that place where Bucky Mohler lived?”

“Sure.”

“Know who built it?”

Davy loved stupid little surprises. “Tell me,” I said.

He turned his head. “Big Zappo Padrone, that’s who.”

Talk about ancient history. “The booze king of Manhattan?”

“The same. Ran a dozen whorehouses, and twenty-three speakeasies in operation, and even before the big crime families got started was the bank for the hoods. Big hoods, that is. Early mob stuff.”

“Where do you get all this information, pardner?”

“I read a lot.”

“Cops read?”

“Sure. When they’re not shooting bad guys.”

We turned in the old street at the open end. The station house was gone except for the old brick foundation. Looking toward the other end was like staring in an old fighter’s mouth full of broken teeth and a few good ones. Charlie Wing’s place was gone, but old Bessie O’Brian’s house was still up, and down a ways the restored tenement Bucky Mohler had lived in was intact. Not even the panes were broken in the windows.

“Who’s keeping it up, Davy?”

“One of those old city laws. The place was deeded to some big charitable organization. Padrone had a thing about helping down-and-outers.”

“Anybody in there now?”

“Hell, even the bums won’t go near the place. It’s supposed to have some sort of a curse on it.”

“Great,” I said. “I heard fancy apartments were going in.”

“Yeah. And guess who’s behind it?”

Another stupid little surprise, I supposed. “Tell me.”

“A Saudi investment group.”

“Only seems fair.”

“Yeah?”

“They took down two buildings, didn’t they? Ought to put up a few.”

Davy just looked at me.

Right behind us a city Yellow Cab pulled up in front of old Bessie O’Brian’s building and a middle-aged woman and old Bessie got out. Davy and I both yelled a big hello and Bessie waved back with a happy yell. “Damn me if it ain’t old Shooter! What you doing here, Captain Jack?”

“Saying so long to a friendly old street, Bessie.

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