The way you approach a wounded rhinoceros.
He lowered his voice to a confidential level.
He said Shorty just what do you figure on doing with that goddam old cornet?
Shorty Connors smiled mysteriously.
He said now that ain’t a very smart question.
He said what do people usually do with goddam old cornets?
Wallace said well in Wallace’s tavern they usually get them shoved up their rear ends.
He said particularly if they blow them.
Shorty Connors said please stand back.
He said I am about to rip off a few rousing choruses of “Tie Me to Your Goddam Apron Strings Again.”
He said plus “The Goddam Rose of Tralee.”
He said also “The Flight of the Goddam Bumblebee.”
Wallace nodded.
He put his hands on his hips.
He said leave us not rush blindly forward all barriers disregarding.
He said I am about to make you the best offer you ever got in your whole life.
He said if you will not cut loose on that goddam fish horn I will not put you in some intensive-care ward for about seventeen years.
Wallace bought a round to prove his good intentions.
Shorty Connors winked at me.
He said I ain’t bought a drink since back last October.
He said all I need is this here good old cornet.
I said you play that thing?
Shorty Connors frowned.
He said I kind of doubt it.
He said I ain’t never tried.
Old Dad Underwood came in.
He looked at the cornet.
He said oncet I knowed a feller what had two of them there contraptions spliced to one mouthpiece.
He said this here feller played “Roses of Picardy” with one hand and “When My Baby Smiles at Me” with the other.
Wallace uttered a naughty word.
Old Dad Underwood said oh my God it was just plumb beautiful.
He said it touched these here old heartstrings.
He said it brung tears to these old eyes.
Wallace snorted.
He said you ain’t never seen no such goddam goddam thing.
He said ain’t nobody ever had that much wind.
He said except probably you.
He said you got enough wind to inflate a couple dozen dirigibles.
Old Dad Underwood said speaking of dirigibles I seen the Akron and the Macon and the Los Angeles and the Shenandoah and the Von Hitlerburg.
He said they was all out at the Mahoning County Fair back in Ohio oncet.
He said they was doing these here stunts.
He said loop-the-loops and barrel rolls and tailspins and them there things.
He said they was just carrying on something fierce.
He said I was ever so impressed.
Wallace looked at me.
He said my goddam reward got to be in heaven.
He said me and Job and all them guys.
Shorty Connors beat me out of a cigarette.
He said by the way I hear tell you are looking for a man named Vostek or something.
I said yeah.
Shorty Connors said a few weeks back we took in a roomer with a name like that.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck begin to stand up.
Shorty Connors said Melvin Yostev.
I said could it be Nivlek Ysteb?
Shorty Connors said well yes.
He said it could also be Hernando Morales.
He said but it’s Melvin Yostev.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck begin to go limp.
Shorty Connors said of course I ain’t about to take no oaths on nothing.
He said I can’t hardly even read this guy’s handwriting.
He said why I remember when the army had me down as O’Connell.
He said I had to reenlist six times to get it changed.
He said we worked out a compromise.
He said they made it Connerly.
He said come to think of it Melvin Yostev sounds a whole lot like Nivlek Ysteb.
He said not exactly but goddam near almost.
I said what sort of character is this roomer?
Shorty Connors said he is a strange little bastard but he don’t bother nobody.
He said he claims to be a painter but he don’t never paint nothing.
He said he just stays in his room all day.
He said only time he ever goes out is around midnight.
He said he don’t hardly ever get back until like three in the morning.
I could feel the hair on the back of my neck begin to stand up.
I said do you know where he comes from?
Shorty Connors said he told me Cleveland but he talks better English than that.
47
…oncet I knowed a feller what had seven sons…named all of them Horatio…soon as they growed up they lynched him…
Monroe D. Underwood
Shorty Connors lived at 3008 Palmer Avenue.
I found that out by looking for Deuteronomy Connors in the telephone book.
That’s Shorty’s first name.
Deuteronomy.
Shorty hardly ever uses it.
48
…chess is a game what is kind of like checkers only you play it sort of different…
Monroe D. Underwood
I parked a few doors east of 3008 Palmer Avenue at ten forty-five that night.
I smoked cigarettes and listened to Alte Kameraden on my tape player.
I watched the front door like a hawk.
A scrawny guy came out a few minutes before midnight.
He headed east.
When he had gone a half-block I got out and followed.
He walked over to California Avenue.
He went into a little tavern under the elevated line.
He nodded to the bartender.
He bought a schooner of beer.
He sat at a table in a corner.
I took a seat at the bar.
I ordered a double Jack Daniels.
I studied the scrawny guy.
He looked like a cross between a chicken-killing weasel and a weasel-killing chicken.
He kept glancing toward the door like he was expecting somebody.
He was.
In a few minutes a big shaggy-haired guy came in.
He wore thick mad-scientist glasses and he carried an attaché case.
He sat at the table with the scrawny guy.
He took a pint of Comrade Terrorist vodka from his coat pocket.
He drank half of it in one gulp.
He opened the attaché case and took out a chess set.
By closing time they had played seven games.
The scrawny guy destroyed the big shaggy-haired guy seven times.
He launched his attack from a king’s knight’s gambit.
He was a slashing and merciless surgeon at the chessboard.
When they were finished the scrawny guy took a small piece of paper from his wallet.
He handed it to the big shaggy-haired guy.
He said maybe this one bit too difficult for you.
The big shaggy-haired guy glanced at it.
He laughed a cruel raspy laugh.
He slipped the paper into his pocket.
He took his chess set and went out.
I finished my severalth double Jack Daniels and followed the scrawny guy.
He walked directly back to 3008 Palmer Avenue.
He walked a lot more directly back to 3008 Palmer Avenue than I did.
I couldn’t find my car.
I finally found the damn thing.
It was right where I had left it.
It wouldn’t start.
I cussed it out.
It still wouldn’t start.
The battery was dead.
I went looking for a phone.
I found a telephone booth up on Fullerton Avenue.
I called Betsy.
Betsy said where the hell are you?
I said I am in a telephone booth.
Betsy said I understand that.
She said but where the hell is the telephone booth?
I said on Fullerton Avenue.
Betsy said Chance Fullerton Avenue is ten miles long.
I said I am across the street from a Shell gas station.
Betsy said what does it say on the Shell gas station sign?
I said it says Shell.
Betsy said oh Jesus.
I said there is another sign.
Betsy said well thank the good Lord.
She said what does it say?
I said it says tuneups.
I said it also says brakes.
Betsy swore.
She said how did you get there?
I said I walked.
Betsy said where the hell is your automobile?
I said at 3008 Palmer Avenue.
I said it won’t start.
I said the battery is dead.
I said I left the goddam lights on.
I said come and get me.
Betsy said you are smashed.
I said well sweetheart it all comes under the heading of another night’s work for the gool ole Unitensnates of America Gol Bess her.
I sang “Gol Bess America.”
Betsy said keep singing and I’ll find you.
I was still singing when Betsy got there.
Betsy rolled a window down.
She said hang up the phone and come out of that booth.
I couldn’t find the door.
Betsy got out and opened it for me.
I said that goddam thing is a death trap.
I said a man could starve to death in there.
Betsy said I have cables in the trunk.
She said do you want a jump?
I said you are certainly a very pragmasticated broad.
Betsy said I am talking about getting your car started you drunken ass.
I said why do we not just proclasnitate until tomorrow?
I said nobody is going to steal it.
I said it won’t start.
I said the battery is dead.
Betsy said I’ll bet you left the lights on.
On the way home I sang “You’re a Gran Ole Frag.”
I have an excellent voice for patriotic numbers.
I told Betsy this.
I didn’t mince words.
I said Betsy I have an excellnet voice for paritomic munders.
Betsy didn’t say anything.
49
…oncet I knowed a feller what woke up without a hangover…called an ambulance…thought he was dying…
Monroe D. Underwood
Betsy got me up about ten.
On the kitchen table she had a hot buttered cinnamon roll and ice-cold orange juice and scalding black coffee and the Chicago Sun-Times.
During my third cup of coffee Betsy said Chance I hope you aren’t doing anything dangerous.
I shrugged.
I said my God so the hell do I.
I was staring at the Chicago Sun-Times headline.
An FBI agent had been found stabbed to death in Grant Park.
I remembered the big shaggy-haired guy’s cruel raspy laugh.
50
…why sure there is conservative writers…who the hell you think wrote them there Dead Sea Scrolls?…
Monroe D. Underwood
I trailed the scrawny guy again that night.
Same time.
Same route.
Same tavern.
Same big shaggy-haired guy.
More chess.
Another piece of paper.
Another cruel raspy laugh.
The next morning the Chicago Sun-Times reported that a conservative writer had been run over by a moving van.
This came as a very great shock to me.
I hadn’t known that there were any conservative writers.
51
…to err is human…oncet I had a parrot what kept saying that…
Monroe D. Underwood
The next night the scrawny guy didn’t go into the little tavern under the elevated line.
He ducked into an alley a few doors south of the tavern.
It was a very dark alley.
I hummed a bit of Alte Kameraden.
I followed him in.
He vanished around a corner of a building.
When I made the turn he was waiting for me.
He was pointing an accusing finger in my direction.
He said this is man who all the time following me every night.
Two shadowy figures came at me out of the darkness.
I didn’t hesitate.
I hit the first shadowy figure right between the eyes.
I stepped over him.
I hit the second shadowy figure right between the eyes.
I stepped over him.
I looked for the scrawny guy.
I wanted to hit him right between the eyes.
The scrawny guy wasn’t there.
He was out on California Avenue.
He was hollering help police and any number of ridiculous things.
52
…it is nice to get together with the old gang now and then…even if the old gang don’t appreciate it…
Monroe D. Underwood
At the Shakespeare police station Kellis J. Ammson did not look a great deal like Kellis J. Ammson.
He bore a closer resemblance to a raccoon.
This was because he had two black eyes.
Kellis J. Ammson was on his knees before the grizzled old desk sergeant.
His arms were outstretched.
His eyes were rolled heavenward.
The grizzled old desk sergeant looked up from his crossword puzzle.
He said you sing just one note of “Mammy” and I will lock your ass up.
Kellis J. Ammson said is there no flaming balm in Gilead?
The grizzled old desk sergeant said I am unable to say but there is a Super-Kola machine in the hall.
He said you got to have exact change.
Kellis J. Ammson said oh surely flaming justice will triumph tonight.
The grizzled old desk sergeant said well that will be simply super because the Cubs lost this afternoon.
He said the Sox got rained out.
He said they always get rained out in Oakland.
I said I thought I was going to be liquidated.
Gino Scarletti was sitting on a bench.
His walrus moustache was tousled.
He had two black eyes.
He said mother marrone.
The scrawny guy said I am got to hire private detectives because this is man who all the time following me every night.
I said what was on those little pieces of paper?
The scrawny guy said chess problems dumbbell.
I said up your king’s knight’s gambit.
The grizzled old desk sergeant sighed.
He stood up.
He pointed to the door.
Very majestically.
Like Caesar at the Forum or someplace.
He said that will be all.
He said out.
He said everybody out.
He said I got a whole lot better ways to spend my time.
He said I got seniority.
He said I got connections.
He said I got a brother-in-law shook hands with Mayor Daley.
He said I don’t got to put up with this kind of crap.
He said out goddammit.
We filed out.
The scrawny guy walked behind me.
He tugged at my sleeve.
He said hey you playing chess?
I shrugged.
I said well not exactly.
The scrawny guy said okay but I buying you beer anyway.
We walked up to the little tavern under the elevated line.
We
had a few beers.
He wasn’t a bad sort.
He was a painter.
His name was Melvin Yostev.
He was from Cleveland.
53
…the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley…feller what said that got a cigar named after him…might of done even better if he could of spoke English…
Monroe D. Underwood
Betsy was going down to Mama Rosa’s grocery store the next morning.
She said why don’t you come along?
I said before I would go shopping with a woman I would climb Mount Everest.
I said in the nude.
I said in January.
I said blindfolded.
I said at midnight.
I said carrying a grand piano.
I said besides I got other plans.
When Betsy left I called Candi Yakozi.
I said do you know anybody named Ysteb?
Candi said is it terribly important?
I said damn right.
Candi said would you believe that I know just oodles of Ystebs?
She said come right over.
I said are any of them named Nivlek?
Candi said is that important too?
I said very.
Candi said oh my goodness gracious what an astounding coincidence.
She said as a matter of fact almost all of them are named Nivlek.
She said hurry over and you’ll get steak and eggs.
She said steak and eggs isn’t all you’re going to get.
I took a shower and dressed.
I met Betsy at the bottom of the stairs.
She was carrying a bulging shopping bag.
She said where are you going?
I said I am going out for steak and eggs.
Betsy said go back upstairs.
She said I just bought steak and eggs.
She said steak and eggs isn’t all you’re going to get.
54
…oncet I knowed a feller what smuggled a ham into a synagogue…only man what ever got circumised twenty-two times…
Monroe D. Underwood
I had three cups of black coffee while Betsy fried the steak.
Betsy said did you hear the telephone this morning?
I said no who was it?
Betsy winked at me.
She said Kellis J. Ammson.
I said how did he get this number?
The Dada Caper Page 7