Benton & Carson

By Charles E. Morgan, III

Whatever happened to Brains Benton and Jimmy Carson? As young adults they had grown up and gone their separate ways. But they couldn't stay apart forever could they? This book is a collection of short stories that chronicles their adventures as they once again reunite and reform The Benton and Carson International Detective Agency. Only this time they're in the suburbs of Washington D.C.
NOTE: Some of these stories deal with adult themes and may not be appropriate for younger readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387704613

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Benton & Carson

Benton & Carson

A Collection of Brains Benton Adult Short Stories

By

Charles E. Morgan III

Based on characters created by

Charles Spain Verral. (1904-1990)

These stories deal with adult themes and situations. They may not be suitable or appropriate for younger readers.

Copyright © 2017 by Charles E. Morgan, III

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

A Note from the Author

Life can change when you least expect it. At least that’s my experience.

It was the spring of 1969 when I grabbed a book that my sister Kim had bought at the Keene Mill Elementary School Book Fair.

That little bit of larceny. I’ll never forget it.

It was late afternoon and the sunset cast an orange swath across the carpet of the upstairs hallway. The Zombies’ song, Time of the Season, was playing on my transistor radio.

I opened the book. It was The Case of the Missing Message, by Charles Spain Verral.

And boom! Just like that my life changed!

I was immediately hooked on the adventures of Brains Benton and Jimmy Carson. I spent my allowance on the five remaining books in the series.

In 1971, I had walking pneumonia. Being laid up, I couldn’t play. So in my imagination I played with my friends and started to write a Brains Benton Mystery. Of course, I never finished it. What thirteen year-old ever does?

Through the years, I continued to read the series over and over, even to my girlfriends

After college, still searching for a career, I took an aptitude test. It was a very in-depth test and it told me that I would make a good private investigator.

I guess the stories had affected the way I thought.

Anyway, in 1987 I took classes and became licensed P. I. in the state of Virginia.

In 1988, while shadowing a subject, I met my wife, Caroline.

Who’d a thought that would’ve happened?

Out of that, our family grew to include three children, Charlie, Brittany, and Jimmy.

During the 1980’s I started wondering what had happened to Brains and Jimmy. I started writing about them as adults. The first story I wrote as a script for a TV show. But my agent couldn’t sell it.

That didn’t deter me. I continued to write. The result is this collection of short stories that you have in your hand.

Of course, it helped that I could incorporate some of my real life private investigator experiences into the stories.

And oh yes, that story I started in 1971? I did ultimately finish it - thirty-five years later. It became the first book in my series of Brains Benton Mysteries for kids, The Case of the Carrier Pigeon.

So, as I said, change can happen at any time and when you least expect it. All you have to do is embrace it!

Charles E. Morgan, III

11/7/17

THE CASE OF THE MISSING FRIEND

Copyright © 2009

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Adapted from a script by

Charles E. Morgan III

Copyright ©1984

Assume the Position!

Chapter 1

The sun shone brightly on that fall day causing the landscape in front of me to sparkle. It was as if the sun had a newfound curiosity. As if it had added a little extra radiance to its light to look down and see how the old earth was doing. Whatever the reason, it was a great day to be driving. I’d been on the road for a few days already and this was the last day of my trip. I was looking forward to going back to my old hometown of Crestwood, and seeing Mom and Dad for the first time in years.

The last time I’d seen them, I’d been struck by how old they were getting. They had gray hair, wrinkles, and age was starting to show in their faces. It’s funny, but when I picture them in my mind, they’re younger. Maybe I’m denying my growing older, but I tend to picture my father when he was about my current age. We look similar too. I’m 37, six feet tall, with a medium but muscular build. I have chestnut brown hair, and brown eyes. About the only difference between my dad and me, besides our age, was the mustache that, until recently, I’d sported.

I like to drive, but without someone to talk to, it can become a bit monotonous. Audio cassette tapes of old time radio shows lay scattered on the floor of my car. I’d already listened to all of them twice since I’d left Los Angeles. I’d become pretty bored with listening to the radio and my tapes. That left me with only one thing to do. And that one thing was to think.

As I sped down the highway, I remembered something an old friend of mine, Barclay Brains Benton, had once said. It had been so long since I’d seen him that his once familiar voice was losing its identifiable sound inside my head. However, I could still remember verbatim what Brains had said.

Generally, people will think the best of themselves; conversely, people will usually think the worst of others.

The test of time had born out the truth of his words. I’d just gotten fired from my job as a disc jockey from a Los Angeles radio station. I’d done the afternoon drive slot. The station’s general manager had believed a rumor that I’d been sleeping with the receptionist, a past conquest of his. He let me go, citing something about my ratings, a virtuous thing for a man to do who’d tried to go to bed with half the station’s news staff - the female half.

It wasn’t that thought though that was on my mind. Getting sacked in the radio business was the nature of the beast. After sixteen years in the industry, I was used to it. What obsessed me on my drive home was the fact that Brains, my best friend in the whole world when I was a kid, had seemingly vanished off the face of the earth. We’d gone through school together, and even played on the same high school baseball team. But what had really made us tight, tight as a tourniquet, was the fact that we’d started a detective agency together. We’d called it the Benton and Carson International Detective Agency.

Now, you read that last part right. We were honest to goodness kid private investigators. And to tell you the truth, the reason that we were so successful was because of Brains. I think that a lot of people wanted to play detective when they were younger. But what made the difference with us was that, like his nickname implied, Brains was so stinking smart. With him, it was like having a staff full of adults on the case. Working side by side with Brains was one of the best things that had ever happened to me.

Life though, tends to pull people apart and we were no exception. Brains had gone to off college at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, while I’d attended Crestwood College. When I graduated, I’d started working in radio. On the other hand, Brains continued to further his education by getting a graduate degree and then a doctorate in physics. After that, I’d seen him only once in the last twelve years. That is, at least I think I’d seen him.

It was in the summer of 1976 and I was on the last few days of my vacation. I’d spent my time touring with my then girlfriend Erika Peterson. She was a rock singer who was just on the threshold of superstardom. Erika was a rare talent. She was a singer and composer, who could tear apart a guitar, as well as make a piano sing. All of this was wrapped up in a beautiful package of long flowing blonde hair, vibrant crystal blue eyes, lush full lips, and a figure that even Einstein would admire. Erika was the love of my life. So much so that I allowed my unrequited feelings for her to mess up any possible future relationships. To this day, I still have a room in my heart reserved for her. But that’s another story.

We were in Washington D.C. and Erika had just worked as an act in the all-day Fourth of July concert celebrating the nation’s bicentennial. The Fourth of July in Washington was always a big deal. But this year, it was something really special. You might remember all those Bicentennial Minutes that were played on TV leading up to our country’s 200th birthday. Instead of commercials, some sponsor would pay for a spot with some talking head telling about an historical event or person.

The Fourth had been a long day. Erika had performed great during the midafternoon, but she’d wilted in a sweltering mix of heat and humidity on the National Mall. Being the professional that she was, though, she’d left it all on stage. By the time she was done, she was exhausted. Nevertheless, we stuck around and listened to the Beach Boys. Then we watched the breathtaking fireworks display over the Washington Monument later that evening.

Afterward, trying to get back to the hotel took several hours. It was like D.C. had been carpeted with wall-to-wall people. Erika and I were lucky in that we at least got to make the return trip to the hotel in a limousine. I’d never been in one before and I thought it was pretty neat.

The next day, Erika dropped me off at Dulles International Airport. Unfortunately, I had to be back in Los Angeles to work the next day. After we’d said our good-byes, I found myself standing in line to board my plane. I was trying to figure out if I was really looking forward to going back to work or not when I noticed a group of men hustling through the terminal. In the middle of the group I saw a man with glasses and flaming red hair, the likes of which would set off the bells for a four-alarm fire. Immediately, a sense of recognition washed over me. The man was tall; however, even in a three-piece suit, I could tell he was skinny. An excitement surged through me when the man shot me a quick look with those piercing blue eyes. Even though it had been years, I’d recognize my former partner anywhere. I knew it was Brains Benton!

I quickly jumped out of line just as the guy behind me was about to gripe about the fact that I was holding up things up. I broke into a jog.

Brains! I shouted.

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, two of the men from Brains’ group turned around and headed straight toward me. Both wore sunglasses and were dressed in dark suits. You know, your basic Secret Service getup, right out of Central Casting.

The next thing I knew, one was on either side of me. They each grabbed an arm, and ran me up to the nearest wall. Then they threw me against it.

Hey! What gives? I exclaimed spinning to face them.

Freeze, buddy, commanded the bigger of the two. We’re federal officers. He reached into his coat and flashed me a badge. You’re not going anywhere.

I don’t know if it was because I thought I’d just seen Brains, but I flashed back to my childhood.

Creeps!

The butterflies in my stomach took off.

The other guy pulled out a walkie-talkie from alongside his hip and said, Security, pick up near gate, ah, nine.

Then the big guy grabbed me and threw me back at the wall.

Assume the position! he barked.

I felt like I was in some bad TV show. Nonetheless, I did as I was told. What choice did I have?

One began to frisk me while the other told the gathering crowd to move along.

What’s going on? I managed to get out. I was just trying to see a friend.

This was freaking me out.

Save it, came the reply.

When they were through searching me I tried to talk to them again.

Look, there’s been some type of mistake or something. I’ve got to catch a flight.

To add to the validity of my statement, I pulled out my ticket and showed it to them.

The agent with the radio took my ticket and baggage check. After looking at it for a few seconds he clicked on his radio and talked.

Security, I need you to take luggage for one James Carson off flight number...

He proceeded to give out my flight and baggage numbers. I’d tried to be patient, but now I was starting to get angry. The big agent must have sensed it because he gave me a look that made me think twice about doing anything. In a matter of moments, airport security had escorted me to a room for interrogation.

I was left in the room alone for a few minutes. Sitting there I didn’t know if I should be angry, or exactly how I should be feeling. I knew one thing though, I was stunned. I’d never been in serious trouble with the law before.

Suddenly, the door swung open and one of the agents came in. It was the guy with the radio.

My name is Whitson, he said, and you are?

Jimmy, ah, James Carson, came my eloquent reply.

Can you prove that? was the response.

Sure, I said as I stood up and pulled my wallet out of my back pocket. I handed him my driver’s license and a credit card.

Here, I said.

He examined them. Then he looked at me and said, I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Carson. We appreciate your cooperation, and your silence.

Wait a minute, I started. What’s this all about?

I suggest you board your plane now. We’ve delayed the flight as long as we’re going to. I’ll have your luggage placed back on.

With that he opened the door and motioned for me to leave.

Maybe it was a lack of determination. Maybe it was the sense of relief from being released. Or maybe it was just that I wanted to make my flight and get out of Dodge. But I left Agent Whitson and his little room. I then hightailed it to my seat on the plane.

Now, seven years and some odd months later, because he didn’t react to me, I really don’t know if it was Brains or not. I also still don’t have a clue about what exactly the whole thing was about.

Home

Chapter 2

I pulled in front of 43 Maple Street, my parent’s home. It was a distinguished two story white clapboard house that was built in the early 1900s. Mom and Dad must have had some type of radar, because they immediately came out to greet me. A little while later, I found myself talking and laughing with them while eating my favorite supper in the whole world, a roast beef dinner.

Boy, moms are great!

The talk centered on catching up. I told them about things in Los Angeles, and they told me about what was happening with them. It turned out that Dad had just a few years left before he would retire from the Mid-State Gas Company. I think Mom wanted him to retire early, but Dad really enjoyed his job as an accountant too much. I’d a feeling he would go kicking and screaming when it was time for him to hang up his balance sheets.

So, dear, do you have any jobs lined up? my mother asked me.

I’ve got some résumés and air checks out, but nothing concrete yet, I replied between mouthfuls. I’m just a little tired of it all. Tired of having jobs come and go, tired of moving around. I guess I’m really not in any hurry to find a new job. I think I’ll just take it easy for a while. You know, figure out what I want to do when I grow up.

I said that last part with a grin.

You can stay here as long as you’d like, my dad stated.

Thanks, Dad, but my apartment still has a couple months left on its lease. I’ll have to head back to California in a week or so. After all, you know what they say about houseguests. They’re a lot like fish…They both begin to smell after a few days.

Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like, my mom started, with a twinkle in her eye. After all, your father and I both like the smell of fish.

Parents, they are a nice thing to have. We laughed, and I changed the subject.

Hey, have either of you heard anything about Brains? Like where he’s living, or what he’s doing? Anything?

There was an uncomfortable silence as my parents looked at each other. Finally, Dad spoke. No, we haven’t heard anything about Brains. His mom, though, died the day before yesterday. They say it was suicide. The funeral is tomorrow. I would imagine Brains will be there.

My mouth fell open. I was shocked. I couldn’t believe Mrs. Benton would kill herself. She was always such an upbeat person. This was tragic!

Brains had now lost both of his parents in unexpected ways. Since he was an only child, that meant he’d no family at all, unless of course he’d managed to get married. But I figured I would have known about that.

The earlier loss of Brains’ father was a very tragic incident. His father was a professor and had taught ancient history at Crestwood College for many years. As I remember it now, Mrs. Benton had also worked at the college teaching art. Anyway, one night about twenty years ago, Professor Benton was driving home from a seminar in Middlebury. A drunk driver hit him head-on on old Toll House Road. Professor Benton was killed instantly. The driver, of course, walked away from the accident with hardly a scratch.

The accident had outraged Brains. He couldn’t understand why people drank. The very idea of thinking that you can drive while under the influence was inconceivable to him. As a result of the incident, Brains vowed to never touch the drug alcohol. I agreed it could be a weakness, and I didn’t want or need it. Consequently, we are the only pure teetotalers I’d ever known. I guess you could say we have virgin mouths.

I excused myself from the table before Mom could serve the apple pie she’d baked for desert. I’d lost my appetite. I quickly searched around, and located the previous day’s issue of the Crestwood Daily Ledger in a pile in the living room. I went upstairs to my old room to read the article about Mrs. Benton’s death.

The paper said she’d killed herself with a handgun she’d purchased nine days earlier. She’d also left a typed suicide note.

I honestly had a tough time believing that she’d done it. I knew that people and circumstances change, but she’d always possessed a remarkably resilient spirit. I guess we can never truly know another person.

I thought maybe Brains was home, so I went to the telephone and dialed a number that I was surprised I remembered.

The phone rang, and I recognized the voice of the Benton’s housekeeper, Mrs. Ray. She’d been with the Benton’s for as long as I could remember. She’d never really liked the freedom the Bentons had given Brains when he was growing up. Deep down, I suspected that she’d always resented him.

Mrs. Ray, this is Jimmy Carson. Is Brains – err – I mean Barclay there, by chance?

Barclay hasn’t been here in over ten years! she snapped with the force of a door slamming. If he’d, Mrs. Benton might be alive today! He neglected his mother and she’d cancer! I think that’s what pushed her over the edge!

Yes, ma’am, I said, trying to ignore her venomous tone. Do you know where I can reach him?

No, I don’t know where you can reach him, Mrs. Ray shrilled, mimicking me. If I knew that, I would have dragged him home a long time ago!

Yes, Mrs. Ray, I replied, biting my lip. I wanted to say something to defend my friend. But I reminded myself that she must be hurting, too. I’ll see you at the service tomorrow.

I hung up the phone. I didn’t like her blaming Brains for his mother’s suicide one bit. But where was he? Heck, for all I knew, he might be dead.

The service was held at the cemetery the next day. There was a large crowd of people there. The glorious autumn day sharply contrasted with the mood of the gathering. Many of the people there were former and current students of Mrs. Benton’s. Brains was not seated with the immediate family. I kept searching the faces in the crowd for him. But he was nowhere to be found.

The service itself was beautiful and touching. The slight chill in the air seemed appropriate. The only thing I didn’t like was the photographer who kept taking pictures. One or two? Fine. But I thought the way he kept taking pictures was pretty morbid. I think that a person’s burial should be private. Not something to be plastered all over a small town newspaper.

I was disappointed that Brains was not there. As my parents and I headed for the car, we ran into Mrs. Ray. She’d aged a lot. She was now just this little old, hatchet-faced, gray-haired woman. I tried to think of something appropriate to say to her, but she spoke first.

That ungrateful child didn’t even come to his own mother’s funeral!

Maybe he didn’t know, I countered.

She just said, Hump! and walked away.

I spent the rest of the day trying to locate Brains. I used pretense, a fancy word Brains said they used in the private detective business. It meant pretending to be something that you weren’t to get information. Basically, it was lying. I called credit card bureaus pretending to run a credit check on Brains. I’d hoped to get an address or some type of lead. However, the exercise in pretense failed. Either Brains didn’t use credit cards, or he was dead.

I tried to convince myself that Brains was a cash only type of guy.

Crestwood is a fairly small town. At the last census there were approximately 24,000 people living there. It’s a pretty conservative town, too, a good place to raise a family. At night the town just shuts down. Everyone’s loves, hates, and indifferences are put on hold until the morning. In the middle of the night, under a starry sky, there truly is peace.

I, however, was no longer a small town boy. I was from the city. I couldn’t put things off. I spent that night walking the streets of Crestwood. I wondered what had happened to Brains. I blamed myself for getting so wrapped up in my own life that I’d allowed my best friend to fall by the wayside and fade into my memory.

By the time I woke up the next day, it was past noon. I sort of felt guilty that I’d slept in so late. Not because of me, but because of my parents. They’d never approved of my sleeping the day away. However, my folks just acted like they were glad to see me when I finally did get up.

I’d decided that I needed to go over to the Benton’s to see if I could find any clues. I knew it would be strange, doing something that I hadn’t done in a long time. It was sort of like a time warp thing.

Mrs. Ray had hated it when Brains and I were younger and had worked as private detectives. After yesterday, I was pretty sure that time had not mellowed her position any. She wouldn’t like me snooping around, not one bit! I wasn’t looking forward to going over there. But what else could I do?

I went out to my car. As I got into it, I noticed a piece of paper on my car seat. I bent over and picked it up. The sun was shining over my shoulder as I unfolded the paper. It read:

The armadillo is hungry!

I stood there staring at the message. I was in shock! I couldn’t believe my eyes. Brains was alive!

Behind the Looking Glass

Chapter 3

The armadillo is hungry! That funny sentence was a coded message from Brains! It meant that he wanted me to report to the lab, immediately!

My tires squealed like a getaway car in a bad movie as I took off for the Benton’s house.

I guess I should explain something right here. During Brains’ and my heyday as private investigators, we’d solved some cases that the police just couldn’t. It wasn’t that the police were inept. It was, as I mentioned before, that Brains was exceptionally sharp.

When we worked a case, we tried to conduct ourselves in a professional manner. Brains decided that we should use code names and coded messages so that we could communicate with each other in secret. My code name was Operative Three, his was Operative X. In case you were wondering, there was no Operative Two.

I couldn’t help smiling to myself thinking about it. Sometimes the look on people’s faces when they heard Brains and me talking was priceless! They had figured that they were overhearing a couple of real life secret agents, only to find out it was a just couple of kids!

The lab I was heading to was located on the second story of the Benton’s garage. The garage itself had been built back in the old horse-and-buggy days. Besides the main entryway, Brains had rigged up a secret entrance. He made it that way so that no one else but the two of us could ever get into our headquarters. I guess every kid wants a secret place, a place that only he and his friends can go. We were lucky that Brains’ parents had allowed us to have such a place.

I parked my car on Franklin Avenue. It was a street that ran north-south, and intersected Chestnut Drive, the street that the Bentons lived on. I jogged down the alleyway that ran behind the backyards of the houses on Chestnut to the south and Channing Street to the north. When I got to the back of the Benton’s garage, I pushed my way between some overgrown bushes. They’d gotten a lot bigger since the last time I’d been there. Once through, I was facing the north side of the garage.

I used to get a real thrill out of it when I came here as a kid. Now, almost twenty years later, the hair on the back of my neck still tingled. I quickly counted up four boards from the bottom. Then I counted three nails in. I held my breath, and I pushed the nail.

Nothing happened!

I pushed the nail again. Still nothing. I pushed it one more time, but to no avail. Did I have the wrong board? Was I pushing the wrong nail? I took a big breath and tried to calm myself. Deep down I knew that I was doing it right. Nonetheless I pushed a bunch of different nails. When nothing happened, I dejectedly went back out into the alley.

"The armadillo is hungry," I thought. That means come to the lab immediately. No, wait. I snapped my fingers. That’s, "The kangaroos have escaped!" Armadillo, that means as soon as it’s dark! You idiot!

I looked up at the sun-filled sky and uttered the only word I could, Fool!

I drove back home. I had nothing to do, so I decided to help my folks out around the house. I raked the leaves in my parents’ front yard and bagged them. When I was through with that chore, I started to trim the hedges. My mind, of course, wasn’t really on what I was doing, it was on Brains. Where had he been? Why the secret rendezvous? I guess I was also a little bit