I said what’s the spread?
Wallace said if you go with McStrangle you got to give thirteen points.
54
…the world’s most welcome words, I think,
Are simply these…“Lets have a drink.”…
Monroe D. Underwood
Betsy came in about midnight.
She motioned to Wallace.
Wallace blushed.
He came over to us.
Betsy said thanks for the call.
She said I thought you should know that your diagnosis was amazingly accurate.
She said he’s drunk.
Wallace said well he’s been working on it since eight this morning.
I said less us all stann an sing “Gol Bess America.”
I said later I will favor this assemblage with a recital of “Farber Bitchy.”
Wallace said well at least there ain’t been no close-order drill yet.
Betsy said cool it Wallace.
I said wut thoo free hore!
Wallace said sorry Betsy.
I said rye the blight mank farsh!
Betsy said me too.
I said hattery balt!
Wallace said oh merciful Christ.
I said halt you bassers!
Betsy said ain’t it the truth?
I said you sumbisshes bare halt!
Betsy said Chance I’m going to take you home.
I said fum sucking army.
Betsy said come on honey let’s go.
I said I can’t go.
I said I gonno goddam suitcase.
Betsy said your suitcase is at home.
She said a sweet little old lady delivered it an hour ago.
She said it seems you left it at the bus station.
I said thass was nice of her.
Betsy said yes wasn’t it?
She said I simply can’t imagine how she got our address because there’s never been a tag on your suitcase.
I said battery attenchut!
Betsy said she was such an interesting old lady and I believe she said her name was Dodd.
I said forward harch!
Betsy said she was very old but she wore lilac perfume and Autumn Rose lipstick.
I said in cadence count!
Betsy said I watched her leave and she was driving a silver-gray Porsche.
I said hut two three four!
Betsy said hardly the vehicle for a woman so old.
Betsy said just as she was getting into her car a big man came by and snatched her purse.
I groaned.
I said oh that poor bastard.
Betsy said what was that?
I said why that dirty bastard.
Betsy said the old lady caught him in three strides.
She said she punched him out.
Betsy whistled.
She said what footwork.
Betsy said what a right uppercut.
She said absolutely remarkable for a woman of her years.
I said hut two three four!
Betsy peered at me.
She said Chance suddenly your diction seems greatly improved.
I said thut foo hee trore!
I said ass in preview!
Betsy said Chance stop it.
I said time for juss one more lil ole drink here.
Betsy gave me a pat on the cheek.
She said huh-uh sweetheart.
She said you aren’t going to wiggle off the hook this time.
She said we’re going to discuss that sweet little old lady in the morning.
She said at great length.
I didn’t say anything.
Betsy helped me to my feet.
She pushed me toward the door.
She said forward harch!
She said hut two three four!
Of all the great wonders God gave us to see
The greatest by far you will surely agree
Is the mystical magical alibi tree…
Its succulent fruit tumbles sweet to the tooth
A tonic for age and a blessing for youth
It renders the eater immune to the truth…
And rogue becomes saint as by Holy Decree
And wrong becomes right with God’s firm guarantee
In the shade of the wonderful alibi tree…
Here in hypocrisy man may abide
Here he self-justifies…here he may hide
From the sins he has sinned and the lies he has lied…
Oh Lord take the lion the lamb and the flea
Level the mountain and dry up the sea
But spare if You will Lord the alibi tree…
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 Stranger City Caper
A quick and easy buck sounds good to Private Investigator Chance Purdue. But the paycheck seems to be a bit harder to earn when the job entails more than just looking into the a minor league baseball team in southern Illinois. His new client, the gangster Cool Lips Chericola, is definitely leaving out details. Enter Brandy Alexander, whose unexpected appearance in Stranger City, Illinois complicates things. Then throw in the Bobby Crackers’ Blitzkrieg for Christ religious crusade, and you’ve got a super-charged powderkeg of a caper, with Chance holding both the match and the barrel.
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...
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 hi
s 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?
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The Radish River Caper Page 9
