The Dada Caper
A Chance Purdue Novel
Ross H. Spencer
Copyright
Diversion Books
A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.
443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008
New York, NY 10016
www.DiversionBooks.com
Copyright © 1978 by Ross H. Spencer
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information, email [email protected]
First Diversion Books edition March 2015
ISBN: 978-1-62681-650-3
Also by Ross H. Spencer
Kirby’s Last Circus
Death Wore Gloves
The Chance Purdue Series
The Reggis Arms Caper
The Stranger City Caper
The Abu Wahab Caper
The Radish River Caper
The Lacey Lockington Series
The Fifth Script
The Devereaux File
The Fedorovich File
This book is dedicated to Viola Manak who contributed 1 excellent typing job, 22,876 magnificent exhortations, 51,017 ominous frowns, 78,949 blood-curdling threats and more than 3,000,000 tears. These were important but it was her laughter that helped most. She laughed my way through it.
…Oncet I knowed a feller what said he could never find no excuse for stupidity…he better keep looking…I think he needs one…
Monroe D. Underwood
1
…just about everybody makes mistakes…damn near made one oncet myself…
Monroe D. Underwood
Kellis J. Ammson of the Ammson Private Detective Agency stared at me with bulging gray eyes.
They were incredulous eyes underlined by dark half-moons.
They were the eyes of a man who has just spent a night in a haunted house.
Kellis J. Ammson said oh dear great flaming sweet and merciful eternal flaming Lord Savior Jesus flaming Christ Al-flaming-mighty.
I didn’t say anything.
I don’t know much about that kind of stuff.
If there were any doubts that Kellis J. Ammson was very unhappy he dispelled them then and there.
Kellis J. Ammson said I am very flaming unhappy.
I shrugged.
I said well.
Kellis J. Ammson held a shaking silver lighter to an imported aromatic bamboo-tipped cigarette.
He said Chance there are a couple flaming things you ought to know.
I shrugged.
I said shoot.
Kellis J. Ammson laughed.
Bitterly.
He said I’ve considered that.
I held a paper match to a badly bent Camel.
I watched a sparrow come roaring in to a full-flaps landing on the window ledge.
I studied the baby-blue nylon carpeting.
I waited.
Kellis J. Ammson surged forward in his four-hundred-dollar black genuine-leather swivel chair.
He looked like an enormous beetle out of a Japanese science-fiction movie.
He slammed his big hands flat on the top of his sixteen-hundred-dollar hand-carved Philippine mahogany desk.
The three-carat diamond on his left hand sparkled coldly.
So did the two-carat diamond on his right hand.
Kellis J. Ammson had a very big thing for diamonds.
He spoke softly.
With a great throbbing intensity.
He said Chance when you are working on a flaming divorce case the very first flaming thing you should never do is grab the flaming house detective and go busting into a flaming hotel room and take pictures of Mr. Kenneth Williams making love to his flaming wife.
He said you see Chance what you are supposed to do is take pictures of Mr. Kenneth Williams making love to somebody else’s flaming wife.
He said oh flaming Heavenly Father.
Fervently.
I shrugged.
I am very good at shrugging.
I can just shrug up a storm.
I said look Mr. Ammson.
I said Williams met this chick in the hotel lounge.
I said he got her looped.
I said he took her upstairs.
I said it looked just like the old routine.
I said how was I to know she was Mrs. Williams?
I said my God I didn’t know Mrs. Williams from a side of beef.
Kellis J. Ammson rolled his tortured gray eyes upward.
He frightened me when he did that.
I always expected him to speak in tongues.
He said if you had taken the flaming time to call in yesterday afternoon you would have learned that Mrs. Williams pulled us off the flaming case yesterday flaming morning.
He said they were about to be flaming reconciled.
I said boy you ain’t kidding.
I said how flaming reconciled can you get?
I said you should have seen it.
I said that house dick nearly blew his flaming mind.
Kellis J. Ammson threw up his hands.
He shuddered.
He said I wonder how flaming much they’ll sue for.
I shrugged.
It was one of my very best shrugs.
I really got my shoulders into it.
I said well gee whiz what’s all the excitement about?
I said I forgot to load the goddam camera anyway.
Kellis J. Ammson pursed his lips.
Judiciously.
He nodded.
Sagaciously.
He said I see.
Understandingly.
I said hey that Mrs. Williams sure looks like a swinger.
Kellis J. Ammson sighed.
Martyredly.
He said you know Chance I’ve been itching to get back into flaming harness.
He said this flaming desk is no place for a flaming old war-horse like me.
He said I like to be out where it’s all happening.
He said I’m going to team up with Gino Scarletti and hit the flaming bricks again.
I said I don’t know Gino Scarletti.
Kellis J. Ammson said Gino is a flaming good man.
He said very flaming tough.
He crushed his cigarette into a white ceramic ashtray not much bigger than a turkey platter.
He drummed the desk top with impatient fingertips.
He said mmmmmmmmm.
Melodiously.
He said I think there was some other flaming thing.
He shuffled through some papers.
He said oh yes.
He handed me a check.
He said you’re fired.
The sparrow on the window ledge took off into a strong crosswind.
2
…oncet I knowed three fellers went in business for theyselves…didn’t do too good…one got a heart attack…one committed suicide…other one got married…
Monroe D. Underwood
Chance Purdue.
That is my name.
Private detective.
That was my occupation.
I handle anything.
That was my slogan.
Room 506 Braddock Building.
That was my address.
One-year lease.
Three hundred a month.
That was my mistake.
3
…only knowed one true blonde in my life…she was bald-headed…
Monroe D. Underwood
Betsy w
ould breeze into the office about eleven in the morning.
Almost every day.
Betsy worked nights usually.
She would sit in the client’s chair.
After she had dusted it.
With wild swooping motions.
So I would know that she knew nobody had sat in it.
Betsy would lean back and cross her long legs.
Betsy wore very short skirts.
And black underclothing.
Most of the time.
She would say how goes it Philo?
I would shrug.
I would say oh just great.
Betsy would say how good is just great?
I would say well right now I am running down a few missing space capsules for NASA.
Betsy would toss her head.
Her blonde hair would shimmer.
Her pale blue eyes would twinkle.
She would say horsecrap.
Then she would say I’ll take you to lunch.
I would say okay.
4
…big difference between a call girl and a whore is a call girl goes to bed with anybody and a whore goes to bed with everybody…
Monroe D. Underwood
We would go to Donelli’s.
Betsy wasn’t much on Italian food but she was crazy about red and white checked tablecloths.
Betsy would have a salad and an order of rye toast and a brandy ice.
I would have a steak sandwich and a green chartreuse and three black coffees.
Betsy would say how are you ever going to handle three hundred a month office rent?
I would shrug.
Just a run-of-the-mill shrug.
I would say look I don’t know everything.
Betsy would say it would be much easier if you moved in with me.
I would shake my head emphatically.
I would say no way.
Betsy would frown.
She would say why not?
I would say because you’re a whore.
Betsy would say dammit Chance can’t you ever say call girl?
I would shrug.
Betsy would say you told me it wasn’t important.
I would say it isn’t.
I would say it’s that goddam telephone that’s important.
I would say that goddam telephone would put me in the cracker shop.
Betsy would say should I have it disconnected?
I would say not until I get a client.
We would go on that way.
5
…hardly a day goes by a man don’t get some sort of opportunity…that’s allus been my trouble…
Monroe D. Underwood
When I had been in business a couple of weeks a pudgy woman came in.
She got right down to brass tacks.
She wanted me to guard her Afghan hound for three days.
So it wouldn’t get pregnant.
She said Lollipop is very receptive on the eleventh and twelfth and thirteenth days.
I said I never heard of a dog that could read a calendar.
The pudgy woman threw her hands to her mouth.
She tittered.
She said oh gracious no.
She said I am not speaking of days of the month.
She said I refer to days of the heat period.
The pudgy woman said it comes twice a year.
I said well that may be true where Afghan hounds are concerned.
I said but it doesn’t apply to Airedales.
I said I had an Airedale once.
I said that sonofagun was in heat all the time.
I said boy he sure was horny.
The pudgy woman said I was thinking of females.
I said so was my Airedale.
I sent her over to the Ammson Private Detective Agency.
I said Ammson specializes in cases of this type.
6
…I been so busy counting opportunities I ain’t had time to use any…
Monroe D. Underwood
The next morning a tall skinny guy came in.
He had wild eyes.
He was smoking a goofy-looking pipe.
He told me he was a detective.
He asked for a job.
I said what’s your name?
He said Sherlock Holmes.
I said I would have bet on it.
He said Purdue between us we can lay Professor Moriarty by the heels.
I said is that rascal up to his old tricks?
He said baby you better believe it.
I sent him over to the Ammson Private Detective Agency.
I said Ammson is always looking for good men.
I heard later that Ammson hired him.
As my replacement.
7
…friend of mine got an opportunity to drive a nitroglycerine truck to Alaska…they named a new canyon after him…
Monroe D. Underwood
At the end of the week a woman came puffing into my office.
She had the demeanor of a Union Pacific four-six-two steam locomotive.
She had the body to go with it.
And the voice.
She slammed her purse onto my desk.
She crashed into the client’s chair.
She said my name is Edna Willock.
I said you got a clear board Edna.
Edna Willock said I want you to follow my husband.
I said is he on the wrong track?
She said he sure is.
She said he tells me lies.
I said maybe we can derail him.
She said he shouldn’t tell me lies.
She said he’s the preacher at Holy Trinity Gospel Joshua and Saint James.
I said I know an engineer on the Chicago Milwaukee Saint Paul and Pacific.
She said he simply got to quit lying.
She said he tells me he is going to see the Cubs play ball tomorrow.
I said how do you know he isn’t?
Edna Willock banged seventy-five dollars down on my desk top.
She said the Cubs are in New York.
She leaned back and shoved her cowcatcher jaw in my direction.
She said that’s how I know.
I said I’ll tail him like a caboose.
Edna Willock said you seem to have trains on your mind.
She chugged out of my office.
8
…when you get right down to it just about any old opportunity beats hell out of no opportunity at all…
Monroe D. Underwood
The next morning was clear and bright blue.
It would have been a great day for a ball game.
I parked up the block from Edna Willock’s house at eleven o’clock.
At eleven-thirty a guy pulled out of her driveway.
He was driving a ’75 brown Lincoln Continental with a busted taillight.
Four blocks south he turned west on Irving Park Road.
Wrigley Field was to the east.
So was New York.
Right away I knew he didn’t have baseball on his mind.
At four-thirty I broke contact.
I headed for Wallace’s tavern.
Wallace sat on a stool behind the bar.
He was glowering at Old Dad Underwood.
Wallace waddled to the tap and drew a beer for me.
He said I am going to sell this joint and move to Utah where I will grow carrots.
Old Dad Underwood said oncet I knowed a feller what made a fortune growing carrots.
He said this feller growed carrots twelve feet long.
He said it took three men to carry one.
He said they sliced them up with band saws.
He said they was a bitch to get out of the ground.
He said I think they was hybrids or something.
I said I don’t believe they grow a lot of carrots in Utah.
Wallace smiled slyly.
He said so there you are.
He said already I don�
��t got no competition.
He said a man got to be on the alert for chances like this.
During my second beer I called Edna Willock.
I said kiddo you better sit down.
I said your old man is sure some kind of operator.
I said he made ten stops.
I said a couple of them took only fifteen minutes.
I said what’s more he is still at it.
I said he ought to be in the Olympics.
I said if he keeps this up he won’t be alive when the Cubs get back.
I said does that ring your bell?
Edna Willock whistled.
She said what kind of car is he driving?
I said a ’75 brown Lincoln Continental.
I said with a busted taillight.
Edna Willock wheezed like a Union Pacific four-six-two steam locomotive.
She said I want my money back.
She said you have been following our insurance man.
9
…dogs is man’s best friend…man ain’t nobody’s…
Monroe D. Underwood
I drove over to Betsy’s apartment on Kelvin Avenue.
When I got out of my car a big hairy dog broke loose from a woman down the street.
He came bounding up to me.
He was drooling.
He locked his front legs around me.
I struggled.
I said down boy.
When the woman got there she was breathing hard and swearing softly.
She said now you stop that Bonzo you naughty thing.
She pulled Bonzo away from me.
She said I am very sorry sir.
I said forget it.
I said it’s been that kind of day.
She shook a finger at Bonzo.
She said what will this gentleman ever think of you?
I said I think he is an Airedale.
She said you must know a lot about dogs.
I said I know a lot about Airedales.
The lady smiled sweetly.
She had perfect white teeth.
She said my name is Mary Bright.
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