The Abu Wahab Caper Page 4

  …if destiny is such a funny thing how come I ain’t never heard nobody laughing?…

  Monroe D. Underwood

  I sat in Wallace’s Tavern.

  I ordered a bottle of Old Washensachs.

  I lit a smashed Camel and watched the neon sign flicker blue in the window.

  I listened to the drone of Old Dad Underwood and Shorty Connors discussing whatever it was they were discussing.

  I ran an audit on my life.

  I was the ring-tailed silver-lined double-decked triple-crowned brass-bound chrome-trimmed champion of all the bust-outs in history.

  I had blown five straight cases and ten straight calls to jury duty.

  I had given up being a private detective to become a bartender.

  I had given up bartending to become a private detective.

  I had made a career of slugging wrong guys and sleeping with wrong broads and here I was all strung out on an assignment to ride herd on a maverick horseplayer who was more than likely in dutch with a bunch of wild-eyed Arabs over some ridiculous old can opener called the sword of Abu Wahab.

  I had a green Olds 98 with sixty-six thousand on the speedometer.

  I had seven grand in the Jefferson Park Bank and seven hundred in my pocket.

  I had a three-cell flashlight and genuine U.S. Air Force sunglasses and a notebook and half a dozen ballpoint pens and office space in the third booth of Wallace’s Tavern and a few friends and an enemy or two.

  Not much.

  Until you added Betsy.

  Betsy made me rich and I knew it.

  Old Dad Underwood was saying my wife went to one of them garage sales and come back with some book called Harmony in the Home.

  Shorty Connors said did she read it?

  Old Dad Underwood said what good would it do?

  He said she can’t sing a lick.

  I finished my beer and went out to the Olds.

  I drove home.

  Slowly.

  In a light rain.

  13

  …Arabs is people what spends most of their time selling oil and declaring war on Israel…of these activities selling oil has proved to be the most profitable…

  Monroe D. Underwood

  Betsy said this afternoon there was a car parked in front of our building.

  I said that’s nothing.

  I said tonight there are twenty cars parked in front of our building.

  I said I had to leave the Olds down by the vegetable market.

  Betsy said there was an Arab sitting in the car.

  She said I could see his burnoose.

  I said well Arab or no Arab these sexual exhibitionists have got to go.

  I said your best bet is to ignore them.

  Betsy said Chance a burnoose is a one-piece hooded cloak.

  I said oh.

  Betsy said Arabs wear them.

  I said I see.

  14

  …a supermarket is where you go in and save nine dollars on groceries and come out and find a ten-thousand-dollar car demolished…

  Monroe D. Underwood

  I started for Hogan’s Oasis at nine the next morning.

  Two blocks south of Augusta Boulevard a black car swung in behind me.

  It stayed with me to the Madison Street traffic light.

  I turned on my right directional.

  The black car’s right directional went on.

  I switched to my left directional.

  The black car’s left directional went on.

  I drove a half mile and went around the block.

  The black car was right on my rear bumper.

  I pulled into a supermarket parking lot.

  The black car rolled up next to the Olds.

  A big guy got out.

  He was wearing a burnoose.

  The Desert Sands organization wasn’t wasting any time.

  I piled out of the Olds.

  The guy in the burnoose came around the front of his black car.

  I met him there.

  I hit him alongside the head with a roundhouse right.

  He sat down very hard.

  The hood of his burnoose flew back.

  It was the guy with the jury papers.

  15

  …oncet I knowed a feller what fertilized his carrots with tiger manure…when he dug ’em up they had black stripes…

  Monroe D. Underwood

  Bet-A-Bunch dropped his satchel and we leaned on the Erin Park rail.

  The sun was hot on our backs.

  The sky was azure and there was a slight breeze from the west.

  It was a nice day for being alive.

  Now all I needed was an excuse.

  The handicapping machine’s choice in the feature race was a bay mare by the name of Gypsy Guitar.

  She was held in rather high esteem by the bettors.

  I said you’ll be lucky if she pays eight dollars.

  Bet-A-Bunch said well eight dollars is eight dollars.

  He put five hundred on Gypsy Guitar’s nose.

  They got off without incident.

  The odds-on favorite was a big tangle-footed sorrel named Wilmer.

  Wilmer busted right out to set the pace and he had six lengths on the field before they turned a half mile.

  In the stretch turn Gypsy Guitar came out of the pack.

  She made a determined run at the leader but he had too much daylight.

  It was obvious that Wilmer would take it all if he didn’t fall down.

  Which he did.

  At the sixteenth-pole Wilmer hit the deck like a carload of carrots.

  Gypsy Guitar went under the wire a galloping winner at seven-forty.

  Bet-A-Bunch grabbed his satchel and collected eighteen hundred and fifty bucks.

  We hoisted a pair of beers and headed for Quick Cash Kelly’s place.

  Bet-A-Bunch said by God I may have found the road to recovery.

  I said watch out for detours.

  16

  …it pays to make mistakes…the only feller what never made one got crucified…

  Monroe D. Underwood

  The odor of hamburger and onions nearly brought me to my knees.

  Quick Cash Kelly’s expression was smug.

  He said I am aware that my handicapping machine is never mistaken but it is not yet developed to the point where it can predict mutuels.

  He said was your harvest bountiful?

  Bet-A-Bunch said tell me how the machine could possibly know that the horse with the race in the sack would bust his ass in the last sixteenth.

  Quick Cash Kelly smirked.

  He said a detailed explanation would require days.

  He said the intricate processes employed by its innumerable circuits are far beyond the realm of your comprehension.

  Bet-A-Bunch said well be that as it may I will have another helping of the same for twenty dollars.

  Quick Cash Kelly smiled foxily.

  He said make it a hundred.

  Bet-A-Bunch frowned but we trailed Quick Cash Kelly into the kitchen where Opportunity O’Flynn was gloomily gargling a hamburger.

  Opportunity O’Flynn said good buddy you better make it fast.

  He said if you know what I mean.

  Quick Cash Kelly said believe me I know what you mean.

  He stepped toward the handicapping machine.

  There was a thunderous pounding on the apartment door.

  Quick Cash Kelly threw a horrified glance at Opportunity O’Flynn who was quietly choking on his hamburger.

  There was a splintering crash.

  Catastrophe O’Cassidy stalked into the kitchen.

  He carried a sledgehammer.

  Quick Cash Kelly’s brown eyes bulged until his glasses flew across the room.

  Opportunity O’Flynn’s face was gray and he made the sign of the cross repeatedly.

  Catastrophe O’Cassidy said gentlemen I believe an explanation is in order.

  Quick Cash Kelly said Wilmer fell d
own.

  He said Wilmer had the heat in his pocket and he fell down.

  Opportunity O’Flynn said fell down.

  Catastrophe O’Cassidy smiled understandingly.

  He said boys I know Wilmer fell down.

  He said I was looking right at Wilmer when he fell down.

  He said but before I run you through this handicapping machine like sausage I want to know how I happened to get the number of a horse that is unable to stand up.

  Quick Cash Kelly’s voice was small and distant.

  He said it was just a little old mistake.

  Opportunity O’Flynn said mistake.

  Quick Cash Kelly said even a machine can make a little old mistake.

  He said even this machine.

  Opportunity O’Flynn said machine.

  Catastrophe O’Cassidy said well I am here to fix this machine so it will make no more little old mistakes.

  He gave Quick Cash Kelly’s handicapping machine a very stiff shot with the sledgehammer.

  From within the packing case came a dismal croaking sound.

  Short Stuff Shaughnessy emerged.

  His eyes were the size of manhole covers.

  His stubby legs churned like short-stroke pistons.

  He streaked around Catastrophe O’Cassidy and was gone.

  Catastrophe O’Cassidy made a grab for Quick Cash Kelly.

  Quick Cash Kelly feinted in seventeen different directions and broke into the clear.

  He was three lengths off Opportunity O’Flynn’s early pace but he closed with a rush and they hit the top of the stairs in a dead heat.

  There was a rumbling sound of considerable duration followed by a prolonged jingle of breaking glass on the ground floor.

  We heard Quick Cash Kelly holler run.

  Opportunity O’Flynn roared spare me the lengthy sermons and get out of my fleeping way.

  Catastrophe O’Cassidy plucked Quick Cash Kelly’s two-dollar gallon of red wine from a shelf.

  He drained it without a pause.

  He smacked his lips and said a shrewd business.

  Bet-A-Bunch said rather.

  Catastrophe O’Cassidy said today I lost my shirt on Wilmer but I still managed to have a stroke of good fortune.

  He said I met the trainer for Roxiana Farms who put me onto a very good thing for tomorrow.

  He said his fee was quite modest.

  Bet-A-Bunch said how do you know he was really the trainer for Roxiana Farms?

  Catastrophe O’Cassidy said why because he was carrying a stopwatch and binoculars and a condition book and everything.

  Bet-A-Bunch said if you went busted on Wilmer today what will you use for money tomorrow?

  Catastrophe O’Cassidy extended a giant palm to Bet-A-Bunch.

  He said fifty.

  17

  …I ain’t never seen a tight blouse what didn’t have a couple interesting points…

  Monroe D. Underwood

  I sat in Wallace’s Tavern smoking a crooked Camel and listening to the jukebox play Alte Kameraden.

  Wallace said are you coming to my Independence Day party?

  I said when is it?

  Wallace said probly the Fourth of July.

  Old Dad Underwood said turn the television on.

  Wallace said I just turned the damn thing off.

  He said there wasn’t nothing to look at except them giggling Channel 7 newscasters.

  He said I clocked them fruitcakes the other night.

  He said in a half hour I got fifteen minutes of commercials and two minutes of news and thirteen minutes of giggling.

  I said I wonder how come it takes twenty people all night to give us the news.

  I said Lowell Thomas used to handle it alone in fifteen minutes.

  Wallace said yeah but Lowell Thomas didn’t giggle.

  Old Dad Underwood said Lowell Thomas didn’t have nothing to giggle about.

  He said Lowell Thomas run for president six times and never even come close.

  Wallace said that was Norman Thomas.

  Old Dad Underwood said well what’s the difference?

  He said they was both from Ohio.

  Wallace said as soon as I can sell this joint I will move across the street and open a hotdog stand.

  Old Dad Underwood said there’s already a hotdog stand across the street.

  Wallace said I mean with onions.

  Old Dad Underwood said they got onions across the street.

  Wallace said they ain’t got Bermuda onions.

  Old Dad Underwood said a onion is a onion is a onion.

  Wallace said not in Bermuda.

  I finished my beer and picked up my change.

  Wallace said Chance that little freckle-faced dame just parked in your office.

  Spice Dugan wore a white blouse that promised to give way in the front and baby-blue shorts that promised to give way in the back.

  I joined her in the third booth.

  I said good evening.

  Spice said good evening my ass.

  She said they just towed my car in again.

  She said I’m spending the night in my girlfriend’s apartment on Kedzie Avenue.

  She said come over for a nightcap.

  She said there’s a related factor that demands prompt action.

  18

  …oncet I knowed a feller what moved from Seattle to Cleveland…moved right back to Seattle…must of had wanderlust or something…

  Monroe D. Underwood

  The apartment was in a white brick building at the southwest corner of Kedzie and Palmer.

  Its draperies were blue velvet and its carpeting was twenty-dollars-a-yard gold shag.

  A silkily quiet air-conditioning unit swayed the blue drapes and a huge stereo combination filled the place with a lush string version of “Stars Fell on Alabama.”

  The lights were dim.

  I flopped into a chair and watched Spice come from the kitchen with a quart of Old Washensachs.

  I said I got to be getting home pretty quick.

  Spice filled my glass and handed it to me.

  I said where’s your girlfriend?

  Spice said in Seattle I think.

  On her way into the bedroom she said didn’t I tell you she’s in Seattle I think?

  I said I believe you neglected to mention that she’s in Seattle you think.

  From the bedroom Spice said oh darn.

  She said just what did I tell you?

  I said you told me that there’s a related factor that demands prompt action.

  Spice said oh yes.

  She came out of the bedroom.

  She was stripped to the skin.

  She knelt in front of me on the gold shag rug.

  She put her hands on my knees.

  She looked up with expectant bright gray eyes.

  Her Saturn rocket nipples were hypnotic.

  She said meet the related factor that demands prompt action.

  I didn’t say anything.

  Spice said can you drive me to Villa Park tomorrow morning?

  She squeezed my knees.

  She said please.

  I shrugged.

  I said why certainly.

  I said it’s probably only fifty miles out of my way.

  19

  …there ain’t no truth in the report that half of the Friendly Finance managers is vampires…they is all vampires…

  Monroe D. Underwood

  I drove from Villa Park to Hogan’s Oasis.

  I called Betsy.

  I said Betsy?

  Betsy said you were expecting maybe the abominable vampire she-wolf of the Himalayas?

  I shrugged.

  I said I never heard of her.

  Betsy said you’ll hear of her the next time you stay out all night.

  I said aw Betsy you aren’t mad about that are you?

  Betsy said well let’s just say that I’m not exactly rolling on the floor in paroxysms of boundless delight.


  I said sweetheart I just happened to encounter a related factor that demanded prompt action.

  Betsy said the case is becoming rather involved for one that began as nothing more than watching this man Dugan blow his money.

  I said yeah well we may be seeing just the tip of the iceberg.

  Betsy said sweetheart you haven’t been staying out all night with an iceberg.

  She said come off of that secret agent malarkey and be home for dinner tonight.

  She hung up on me.

  I shrugged.

  20

  …excommunication is easily remedied…just pay your telephone bill…

  Monroe D. Underwood

  Bet-A-Bunch Dugan came into Hogan’s Oasis at eleven o’clock.

  Oratory Rory McCrory came in at eleven-oh-five.

  Oratory Rory was a dark stocky curly headed man who rarely used one word when fifty would do.

  Under normal circumstances it was time to go to bed before Oratory Rory finished saying good-morning.

  Oratory Rory had been inducted into the army three days after Pearl Harbor.

  Two induction center clerks had gone stark staring mad.

  Another had been forced to reenlist.

  Twice.

  The induction interview had been completed during the Korean Emergency.

  Oratory Rory was discharged with three hash marks and no uniform.

  A month later he had raced from late mass at St Patrick’s Church to inform the fire department that the bingo cards had caught fire in the vestry.

  Three city blocks were going up in flames before he completed his mission.

  This got Oratory Rory chewed out by Father Sullivan and punched in the nose by Bishop McAllister and excommunicated by Cardinal O’Hara.

  Oratory Rory was quick to engage Hogan in conversation.

  Hogan went into the back room and came out with a rocking chair.

  Bet-A-Bunch said if Rory ever gets through talking let’s give him a lift to the track.

  He said I think he’s hot.

  He said he’s packing a roll the size of an ostrich egg.

  21

  …seizing bulls by the balls is a field of endeavor what ain’t never particularly appealed to me…