The Radish River Caper Read online

  The Radish River 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 © 1981 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: 978-1-62681-654-1

  Also by Ross H. Spencer

  Kirby’s Last Circus

  Death Wore Gloves

  The Chance Purdue Series

  The Dada Caper

  The Reggis Arms Caper

  The Abu Wahab Caper

  The Stranger City Caper

  The Lacey Lockington Series

  The Fifth Script

  The Devereaux File

  The Fedorovich File

  This book is dedicated to Robert L. Fish. If I could write like Robert L. Fish I wouldn’t be writing like Ross H. Spencer.

  Jesus had Judas…

  Caesar had Brutus…

  Dangerous men you’ll agree…

  Second-rate enemies…

  I don’t fear such as these…

  The feller what scares me is me…

  Monroe D. Underwood

  1

  …as I figger it Methuselah could of had over three hunnert thousand hangovers…

  Monroe D. Underwood

  I sat on the steps of the Brownleaf Avenue Public Library and fired up a crooked Camel.

  Out on Brownleaf the big trucks went by belching noise and plumes of black diesel smoke.

  In a hurry to go and in a hurry to get back.

  Like mice in little wire wheels.

  Progress.

  As good a name as any.

  They have to call it something.

  An elderly lady came out of the library.

  She wore a long black dress and high-topped shoes.

  Her snowy hair was a bright white beacon in the September morning sunlight.

  I glanced at my watch.

  Ten-thirty.

  Hepzibah Dodd was right on the money.

  She passed within three feet of me.

  She carried a polka-dot umbrella and a copy of An Inquiry Into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations.

  By Adam Smith.

  Leave it to a guy named Smith to come up with a title like that.

  Anybody else would have called the damn thing “$.”

  I watched Hepzibah Dodd hobble across Brownleaf Avenue.

  She entered the Fall Out Inn at the corners of Brownleaf and Amsterdam.

  I got up and followed.

  She was parked in a booth near a wall telephone.

  She was browsing through An Inquiry Into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations.

  By Adam Smith.

  I sat at the bar and kept tabs on her reflection in the backbar mirror.

  A waitress brought her a martini.

  I ordered a bottle of Old Washensachs and nursed it along until I saw the old gal go to work on her olive.

  Then I walked to a rickety telephone booth in the rear.

  I took out my notebook and dialed the number Mrs. Jonesberry had given me.

  The phone rang twice.

  A familiar high-pitched nasal voice said hi there whoever.

  I said Mrs. Jonesberry this is Chance Purdue reporting in.

  Mrs. Jonesberry said Chance who?

  I said Purdue.

  I said like the university.

  I said Purdue with the Big Ten.

  Mrs. Jonesberry said young man I think you’re bragging.

  I said Mrs. Jonesberry you hired me last night on the telephone.

  Mrs. Jonesberry said oh of course.

  She said the private detective.

  She said have you picked up the trail of Hepzibah Dodd?

  I said nothing to it.

  I said she was in the library just like you figured.

  I said now she’s in a tavern at Brownleaf and Amsterdam.

  Mrs. Jonesberry said what’s she doing?

  I said she’s eating an olive and reading An Inquiry Into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations.

  I said by Adam Smith.

  I peered through the murky window of the telephone booth.

  I said scratch that.

  I said now she’s on the phone.

  I chuckled.

  I said probably getting a bet down.

  Mrs. Jonesberry whistled.

  She said Purdue you’re a clever devil.

  I said so what do I do now?

  Mrs. Jonesberry said wait until she gets off the phone and ask her for a match.

  She said approach her just as you would approach a young and beautiful woman.

  I said whoa.

  I said Mrs. Jonesberry what’s this all about?

  I said I don’t want to end up in bed with Methuselah’s great-grandmother.

  Mrs. Jonesberry’s high-pitched nasal voice took on a raspy edge.

  She said Purdue when I phoned for your services I didn’t ask questions did I?

  I said no ma’am.

  Mrs. Jonesberry said you’re going to get paid aren’t you?

  I shrugged.

  I said okay Mrs. Jonesberry.

  Mrs. Jonesberry said that’s much better.

  She said Hepzibah Dodd is a very hot old number.

  She said she’ll probably invite you right up to her apartment.

  I said but my God she got fifty years on Grandma Moses.

  Mrs. Jonesberry said Grandma Moses is dead.

  I said I stand on my statement.

  Mrs. Jonesberry said Purdue that’s twice goddammit.

  I said sorry Mrs. Jonesberry.

  Mrs. Jonesberry said you are to accompany Hepzibah Dodd with no discussion whatsoever.

  I shrugged.

  I said well that’s probably for the best.

  I said there’s nothing we could discuss anyway.

  I said the Civil War is over.

  I said the North won.

  Mrs. Jonesberry sighed.

  She said I’ll be in contact with you very soon.

  She said any questions?

  I said you better believe it.

  I said how do I get out of Hepzibah Dodd’s apartment?

  Mrs. Jonesberry hung up.

  I shrugged.

  Well what the hell.

  Seventy-five bucks was seventy-five bucks.

  I came out of the telephone booth as Hepzibah Dodd left the wall phone and tottered back to her seat.

  I shoved a bent Camel into my mouth and sauntered slowly in her direction.

  She was watching me out of the corner of her eye.

  She put a hand to her white hair.

  I said hi toots you got a match?

  Hepzibah Dodd smiled a faded smile.

  She picked up her copy of An Inquiry Into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations.

  By Adam Smith.

  She stood and grabbed my arm.

  She had a grip like a brand-new bear trap.

  Her voice was quavery.

  She said of course big boy.

  She said in my apartment.

  2

  …sex is here to stay…where else
could it be so important?…

  Monroe D. Underwood

  Hepzibah Dodd steered me out of the tavern.

  We rounded the corner.

  I helped her up a flight of stairs.

  Her apartment was directly above the Fall Out Inn.

  It was spacious and quiet and luxuriously furnished.

  She put down her copy of An Inquiry Into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations.

  By Adam Smith.

  She said I’ll be right with you.

  She pushed me into an overstuffed chair.

  She said make yourself comfortable stud.

  She winked at me.

  She whistled.

  I managed a ghastly smile.

  I watched her go into a bedroom and close the door.

  Ten-to-one she’d come out in something sheer.

  I tried not to think about it.

  I thought about it anyway.

  I shuddered.

  Not me by God.

  This was above and beyond the call of duty and I already had one Bronze Star.

  I started to leave.

  I heard the bedroom door swing open behind me.

  Too late my God too late.

  A soft husky-sweet voice said Purdue will you come back here and sit down goddammit?

  I turned.

  Brandy Alexander was wearing a brown robe.

  There would be absolutely nothing under it but Brandy Alexander.

  If I knew Brandy Alexander.

  I knew Brandy Alexander very well.

  She stood in the bedroom doorway running a comb through her thick dark wavy hair.

  She said Jesus Christ Purdue how I hate disguises.

  Her liquid brown eyes danced and she smiled her wonderfully warm smile.

  I sat down.

  Brandy said hi there.

  I said hi Brandy.

  Brandy said how like a winter hath my absence been from thee.

  She said Shakespeare.

  I shrugged.

  I said roses are red violets are blue.

  I said Everybody.

  I said except maybe Adam Smith.

  I said where the hell is Hepzibah Dodd?

  Brandy’s voice became quavery.

  She said I’m Hepzibah Dodd.

  She shifted her voice an octave upward into a nasal gear.

  She said I’m also Mrs. Jonesberry.

  She threw back her lovely head and laughed musically.

  I said uh-huh.

  I looked at the floor.

  I said &@#$%¢*!

  Brandy said aw Purdue it was a necessary test.

  She said don’t take it to heart.

  I said who’s taking it to heart?

  I said where’s my seventy-five bucks?

  Brandy sat on the arm of my chair.

  She leaned over.

  Her face was very close to mine.

  Her lilac perfume nearly blew my clutch.

  Her voice was lush brown velvet.

  She said Purdue you’re going to get your seventy-five dollars.

  She said but baby you’re going to earn every dime of it.

  Her robe had come open.

  There was absolutely nothing under it but Brandy Alexander.

  She kissed me with warm soft red lips.

  She said do you know what that means?

  I shrugged.

  I said it means you’re going to postpone reading An Inquiry Into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations.

  I said by Adam Smith.

  3

  …love is the only four-letter word which nobody knows what it means…

  Monroe D. Underwood

  I arrived at my office at dusk.

  My office was the third booth at Wallace’s Tavern.

  It still is.

  Wallace brought me a bottle of Old Washensachs.

  He said are you as bushed as you look?

  I said I’m too bushed to discuss it.

  I sat there nipping at my beer and thinking about Brandy Alexander.

  There was just no telling when she would pop up.

  Or where.

  I’d met her the previous December.

  Then she had slipped out of my life for six months.

  She had made a pair of memorable appearances in June and that had been it until now.

  And already she was gone again.

  Brandy owned Confidential Investigations downtown.

  She was a crackerjack operative with a wealth of CIA training.

  She still handled certain CIA assignments.

  She had saved Betsy’s life in December.

  She had saved mine in June.

  She was fire and ice and she was brilliant.

  She had the tawny body of a cougar.

  She had the grace and reflexes to go with it.

  And the claws.

  She was dynamite in or out of bed and she was undoubtedly the most beautiful brunette on the face of Planet Earth.

  She was the only thoroughly practical female I’d ever met.

  She didn’t believe that people should own people but she saw no evil in occasional short-term loans.

  She was in love with me.

  She admitted it frankly.

  She had never asked if I loved her.

  I had never told her that I did because I didn’t know how Brandy looked at love.

  I had never told her that I didn’t because I knew how I saw it.

  I would explain this.

  But I’m married.

  4

  …suicide ain’t nothing but a shortcut to where you would of probly wound up anyway…

  Monroe D. Underwood

  It was pushing midnight.

  Wallace came over with another bottle of Old Washensachs.

  My tenth.

  Or fifteenth.

  Give or take a few.

  Wallace said you got anything going just now?

  I shrugged.

  I said I was on a case earlier today.

  I said I blew it.

  I said my client was very satisfied.

  Wallace gave me a look and went away.

  I lit a busted Camel and listened to Old Dad Underwood and Shorty Connors discuss bowling.

  Old Dad Underwood said lift is of the utmost importance in bowling.

  He said you got to raise your bowling arm very high so you look like the Statue of Liberty.

  He said of course you must be careful not to raise your other arm in the same fashion on account of people will think you are being held up and they will call the police.

  Shorty Connors said it is unwise to raise your bowling arm very high until you have rolled several balls.

  Old Dad Underwood said I never roll several balls.

  He said I just roll the same ball several times.

  Shorty Connors said if you raise your bowling arm very high before you have rolled several balls you are likely to wind up with a rupture.

  Old Dad Underwood said for your information a rupture is no longer referred to as a rupture.

  He said a rupture is now referred to as a hernia.

  Shorty Connors said well no matter how you refer to a rupture you can bowl a whole mess of games for what it costs to get a hernia fixed.

  A big red-faced guy came in.

  He glanced at the sign above the third booth.

  He walked over to me.

  He said I’m looking for Chance Purdue.

  I gritted my teeth.

  I said there’s more to it than that.

  I said you are also standing on his toe.

  I said try to get off as soon as possible.

  I said it hurts like hell.

  The big red-faced guy got off.

  He grinned apologetically.

  He said sorry.

  I said two minds with but a single thought.

  I grabbed my foot.

  The big red-faced guy sat down.

  I unlaced my shoe.

  I said Jesus Christ y
ou’re heavy.

  The big red-faced guy said I’m Suicide Lewisite.

  I took off my shoe.

  I caressed my toe.

  I said there there baby.

  Suicide Lewisite said I’m head coach of the Radish River Possumcats.

  I put my shoe back on.

  I said I think you missed your calling.

  I said you should be smashing grapes in some winery.

  I said preferably in Upper Maroovia.

  Suicide Lewisite said we’re a minor league football team.

  He said we blew our opener to Rhubarb Ridge 52-0 and we lost the next one to Sassafras Valley 51-0.

  I said well cheer up.

  I said already you’re showing improvement.

  Suicide Lewisite said may God be with us when we play Cranberry Creek Saturday night.

  I said I didn’t know God was interested in football.

  Suicide Lewisite said oh he just got to be.

  He said how else do you explain eighty thousand perfectly normal people coming out in a blizzard and paying ten dollars a copy to get double pneumonia while watching a game none of them understands which is played by a herd of overgrown numbskulls pursuing a ball that won’t even bounce straight?

  I said I suppose I’m expected to ask how come they call you Suicide.

  Suicide Lewisite said oh it ain’t compulsory or nothing like that.

  He said but almost everybody does.

  I shrugged.

  I said okay how come they call you Suicide?

  Suicide Lewisite said because suicide is a time-honored tradition in the Lewisite family.

  He said the only Lewisite that didn’t commit suicide was my grandfather.

  He said my grandfather got killed by a truck when he was five years old.

  I said wait a minute.

  Suicide Lewisite nodded and threw up his hands.

  He said Purdue all I know is what they told me.

  He said I’m the last of the Lewisites and last night I opened all the gas jets in the house.

  He said this morning I learned that the gas company had terminated my service two weeks ago.

  He said I’m inclined to believe that this may explain the recent soggy condition of my French toast.

  I said that’s not all.

  I said it may have had an adverse effect on your coffee.

  5