The shurff nodded.
He said sure was.
He looked up.
Sheepishly.
He said but there wasn’t nobody up there but that animal.
I said what was the tune?
The shurff said it was “America the Beautiful.”
51
…trying harder don’t never make it harder…
Monroe D. Underwood
Darkness had enveloped Stranger City.
The great butter-yellow moon wallowed through a sea of ragged clouds.
Brandy’s Porsche moved silkily away from the hotel.
Brandy said will you come work with me?
I shrugged.
I said give me a chance to recover from this ordeal.
Brandy said ordeal?
I said well you know.
I said the baseball team and everything.
We turned beyond the ball park and Darby’s Jump Off loomed blackly on our left.
Brandy eased the Porsche to a stop and looked.
She said next time we’re here I want you to make love to me up there.
I said okay next time.
Brandy said shhhhhhhh.
She said Purdue listen.
She said what did you hear?
I said I heard you saying shhhhhhhh.
I said with eight h’s.
Brandy said try harder.
I tried harder.
Down from Darby’s Jump Off and across the chasm of ten thousand yesterdays drifted the silvery notes of a faraway horn.
They rode the balmy night breeze from Stranger City to eternity.
“America the Beautiful.”
Brandy said oh Purdue I think that’s wonderful.
She said what do you think?
I stroked the back of my neck where the hair stood straight up.
I said I think we better get back to Chicago.
52
…oncet I knowed a man what put fifty piranhas in his bathtub…then his mother-in-law used the shower in the basement and spoilt everything…
Monroe D. Underwood
I was parked on the couch with a 1936 Eagles magazine.
I was reading “Where Did All These Fokkers Come From?” by Arch Blockhouse.
I took a slug of my Old Washensachs beer.
I said it’s good to be home.
Betsy said sweetheart it’s wonderful to have you back.
She glanced at the enormous empty cardboard carton in the corner of our living room.
She said that was awfully nice of Tillie Zilch.
She said I think.
She said but what are we going to do with five thousand two hundred and thirty-one baseballs?
I shrugged.
Betsy said well we’re certainly going to have to get them out of the bathtub.
She picked up a copy of the Chicago Globe and curled herself into our big blue chair.
She said I tried to call you in Stranger City.
She said a woman kept answering.
I shrugged.
I said probably the maid.
Betsy said at four in the morning?
I said anything can happen in Stranger City.
Betsy said the voice seemed vaguely familiar.
She said sort of soft and husky-sweet.
I said well Betsy I wouldn’t dwell on it.
I said the maid’s voice was sort of soft and husky-sweet as I recall.
I said she was a very old woman by the way.
Betsy said uh-huh.
I said what night did you call?
Betsy said Monday.
I said well that was when the clubhouse blew up.
I said in all the confusion they probably rang the wrong room.
Betsy said ten times?
I shrugged.
Betsy began to read her newspaper.
She giggled.
Then she laughed heartily.
She said oh my God.
She said Chance I’m reading about Stranger City.
She said the writing is represented as being some dumbbell’s report to a mobster who owns a baseball team down there.
She said it’s called “Dear Cool Lips.”
She said now who could ever be called Cool Lips?
I shrugged.
Betsy said of course such crazy things could never happen and no one could possibly be this stupid.
She chuckled.
She said why there isn’t even any punctuation.
I said well Betsy punctuation ain’t exactly one of the Ten Commandments you know.
Betsy said just imagine catchers with wooden legs and firehouses burning down and dogs being sent out to relieve pitchers.
She said you simply have to read this.
I said who wrote it?
Betsy said let’s see.
She said a woman named Gilda Fitzhugh.
She said it says here that she won a Lucas Award with it.
I said what’s a Lucas Award?
Betsy said whatever it is it’s worth five thousand dollars.
53
…I got a uncle what lives in Upper Maroovia…he went on a visit and found out there was no way to get back…
Monroe D. Underwood
Wallace was saying I am going to sell this house of horrors and move to the wilds of Upper Maroovia where I will hunt bxfpsts.
I said Wallace you better stay the hell out of Upper Maroovia.
Wallace said why?
He said bxfpsts ain’t dangerous.
I said no but Sister Lucy Halfbright is.
Old Dad Underwood said I ain’t never seen none of them creatures.
Wallace said they all looks the same.
He said they is delicious pan-fried.
Old Dad Underwood said well to each his own but I ain’t about to eat nothing I can’t pronounce.
I lit a frazzled Camel and listened to the jukebox play Alte Kameraden.
Wallace bought me a beer.
He said how did it go in Stranger City?
I shrugged.
I said how much time you got?
Wallace glanced over my shoulder.
He said Chance that guy is back.
Cool Lips Chericola came in.
He was followed closely by Fat Ears Bonnoroni.
Fat Ears sat at the bar and Chericola took a seat in the third booth.
He lit a cigar and leaned back.
I picked up my beer and sat across from him.
Chericola slid a pair of one-thousand-dollar bills across the table.
He whipped out an envelope and opened it.
He said hey kid amma now reada you fromma you Stranger City report.
He cleared his throat.
He said inna valley of forever atta foota greena mountain olda clubhouse gone forever where the windsa moan with sorrow anna tree tops rustla softly inna shade and inna shadow witha dusta Stranger City velvet dusta Stranger City lay eternal onna lilacs inna sunlight anna moonlight witha dew drop anna tear drop listna to the barrela organ make sweet music inna valley inna valley of forever.
He said that’s only firsta sentence.
Chericola leaned across the table and put his hand on my arm.
He squinted at me.
He said hey kid whattsa that mean?
I shrugged.
I said it means Moose Edwards blew it.
Chericola silenced me with a wave of his hand.
He said is sounda justa like “Hiawatha.”
He said you know “Hiawatha”?
I shrugged.
I said not personally.
Chericola said hey kid is this Hiawatha who getta me kicked outta school.
An affectionate teardrop shone in Chericola’s eye.
A tear from the mossy well of memory.
He brushed it away.
He said damn cigar smoke.
He said is reada “Hiawatha” inna matha class and inna gymma class.
He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his n
ose.
His voice quavered.
He said bya shoresa Gitchagoomba bya shina blue sea water stooda wiggawam Nakoma anna grandson Hiawatha.
He said hey kid you notta dumb as you look.
He said thissa beautifula stuff.
He said hey kid amma senda you bonus.
He said sixxa grand.
I didn’t say anything.
Chericola dried his reptilian eyes.
His pockmarked face grew hard.
He said hey kid you read thatta Deara Coola Lipsa stuff inna paper?
I said no but I heard about it.
Chericola said hey kid broad whattsa write that gonna end up inna trunka Pontiac.
I shrugged.
I said I doubt if she’ll fit.
54
…when I stop to remember
The good friends I’ve had
My very worst enemies
Don’t seem quite so bad…
Monroe D. Underwood
I was halfway home when I thought of cigarettes.
I reached into a pocket of my coat.
Nothing.
I tried the other.
No cigarettes but I found a cassette.
I didn’t recognize it as one of mine.
I stopped in front of a drugstore and bought a pack of Camels.
When I came out I lit one and popped the cassette into the player.
The barrel organ tune cavorted through the Olds.
Stranger City came back to me.
Its lilacs.
Its clear starry nights.
Its great butter-yellow moon.
Its out-of-tune piano.
Its bright dew-spangled mornings.
Its sun-warmed park bench.
Its hill and its grotesque monument and its thousand outraged birds.
Its silence.
Its dust.
The merry-melancholy tune bounced along and a voice came from the speakers.
A soft husky-sweet voice.
Brandy Alexander said Purdue I’ll be seeing you.
I shrugged.
I turned the tape player off.
I started the Olds and drove west.
I couldn’t think of a single reason to doubt her.
…I thought I saw a dragon up in my apple tree…I never mess with dragons and they don’t mess with me…
Monroe D. Underwood
More from Ross H. Spencer
The Chance Purdue Series
The Dada Caper
Chance Purdue may be better at a lot of things than he is at detecting, but he’s the only man for the job when the FBI comes looking for someone to take on the Soviet-inspired DADA conspiracy.
Plus, he needs a paycheck. Chance gets off to a rough start as he’s led a merry chase through Chicago’s underbelly and drawn into a case of deception that can only be solved with the help of a mysterious femme fatale who’s as beautiful as she is cunning.
The Reggis Arms Caper
Try as he may, Chance Purdue can’t seem to escape the world of private investigation. The now tavern owner returns to action to protect Princess Sonia of Kaleski, who claims to be the wife of an old Army buddy. Convinced he’ll get to the bottom of things at his Army battalion’s reunion, Chance indulges in the entertainment while leaving the more serious detective work to his new colleague, the scintillating Brandy Alexander. For Chance, the case provides more fun than intrigue, and yet its solution is a surprise for everyone involved.
The Abu Wahab Caper
What happens when Chicago detective Chance Purdue is hired to protect a gambler with a target on his head? For starters, all hell breaks loose…
“Bet-a-Bunch” Dugan is being hunted by International DADA (Destroy America, Destroy America) conspirators, a terrorist organization out for control of the world’s oil market. Dugan needs more than a little luck to walk away unscathed. He needs a Chance, and though he knows that half of Purdue’s reputation is that of a guy you are aching to punch, the other half is that he’s a dogged, if occasionally doomed, investigator.
No matter where Purdue’s leads take him, though, he always seems to be one step behind DADA. As a hapless Chance watches DADA’s deadly scheme move forward, a siren named Brandy Alexander enters the picture and things finally fall into place, or so Chance hopes...
The Radish River Caper
Private Investigator Chance Purdue and Brandy Alexander work in tandem on a case that finds them traveling to the Illinois town of Radish River. The CIA continues to need help putting a stop to the DADA (Destroy America, Destroy America) Conspiracy, a terrorist organization whose latest plot is completely under wraps, except that it promises immense destruction. Things prove difficult for Chance and Brandy as they do what they can to remain focused on the task at hand. But it’s hard when distractions from football-playing gorillas, chariot races, copious booze—and especially each other—weave in and out of their lives and keep this case on the back burner.
Death Wore Gloves
When Sister Rosetta’s niece goes missing, the nun (whose favorite poison is anything bottle-bound and boozy) hires shifty P.I. Tut Willow to find dear Gladys. But as Tut pulls back the curtain on Gladys’ checkered past, he also finds that someone doesn’t want her found, and soon bodies begin to pile up. Is Sister Rosetta, lured by a twisted sense of family loyalty, behind the deaths of those out to harm her niece, or are Tut and Gladys just pawns in a much darker game?
Full of laugh-out-loud comedy and the darkest of intrigue, the author of DEATH WORE GLOVES draws together femme fatales, a not-so-saintly nun, and a gumshoe willing to do anything to help an old flame.
Kirby's Last Circus
When the CIA chooses Birch Kirby, a mediocre detective with a personal life even less thrilling than his professional one, no one is more surprised by the selection than Birch himself. But the Agency needs someone for a secret mission, and Birch may be just the clown for the job. Going undercover as a circus performer, he travels to Grizzly Gulch to investigate the source of daily, un-decodeable secret messages that are being transmitted to the KGB. Birch interacts with wildly colorful characters while stumbling through performances as well as his assignment. With the clock ticking, Birch must hurry to take a right step toward bringing the curtain down on this very important case.
The Lacey Lockington Series
The Fifth Script
Detective Lacey Lockington always gets the job done, but making the omelets of solved cases usually involves breaking a lot of eggs. So when Lacey gets suspended after tabloid columnist Stella Starbright names him as a “kill-crazy cop,” he has to find new work as a private investigator. It’s a step down, for sure, and one of his first cases is an unlikely one: former “Stella Starbrights” are turning up dead on the streets of Chicago, and the current one, the reputation ruiner herself, turns to an unlikely source for protection.
Going against his gut, Lacey agrees to keep tabs on Stella to keep her from sharing the grisly fate of her former namesakes. In the midst of all the madness, Lacey hunts the real killer, someone looking to silence gossip columnists for good. But can Lacey crack the case before another victim makes a different section of the newspapers?
Sex…violence…booze! This deadly mix will keep you on the edge of your seat in Ross Spencer’s jaded-but-jaunty tale about a hardened cop with nothing but his reputation to lose.
The Devereax File
Former cop, now private investigator, Lacey Lockington gets lured into a case of something less smooth than his usual tipple: the death of his old drinking buddy and ex-CIA agent Rufe Devereaux. No sooner does he start his investigation than he finds himself chased by the Mafia, hunted by the CIA, stalked by a politician-turned-evangelist out to kill him and “helped” by the sultry Natasha, a KGB agent who always knows more than she lets on. Sucked into the dangerous world of international espionage, Lacey knows he is in way over his head. What started as a search for the truth behind his friend’s death turns into a whirlwind tour that leads
Lacey from the gritty bars of Chicago to Miami’s cocaine-filled underbelly and culminates in an explosive ending that must be read to be believed!
The Fedorovich File
The Cold War heats up when trouble comes knocking on the door of ex-cop turned Private Eye Lacey Lockington. Lacey is hot on the trail of Alexi Fedorovich after the high-ranking general publishes a controversial exposé detailing that Glasnost/Perestroika is a hoax. Federovich goes into hiding in the last place he suspects someone will look for him—somewhere in Youngstown, Ohio.
For someone who’s pretty much seen and done it all, Lacey’s unnerved when he starts dealing with Russian spies, Federal Agents, a man who doesn’t want to be found, and an increasing body count of all his leads. Will Lacey, along with former KGB agent and live-in lover Natasha, get to the bottom of it all before Fedorovich finds himself on the wrong end of a firing squad?
Connect with Diversion Books
Connect with us for information on new titles and authors from Diversion Books, free excerpts, special promotions, contests, and more:
@DiversionBooks
www.Facebook.com/DiversionBooks
Diversion Books eNewsletter
The Stranger City Caper Page 11
