“Trueman Bradley is an endearing, plucky, and determined protagonist who has readers cheering for him throughout the book. Though he wants to be a famous crime-solving detective like his comic heroes Slam Bradley and Dick Tracy, Trueman, and his Aspergers, teaches readers that sometimes the bravest things we are required to do in life are those that we take for granted—being able to cross the street, and make true friends.”
—Shana Nichols, Director of the ASPIRE Centre for Learning and Development and author of Girls Growing Up on the Autism Spectrum
“A brilliant but unconventional detective is a perfect way to illustrate the strengths and weaknesses of an Aspie… Trueman is intriguing and that will make readers hungry for more.”
—Kathy Hoopmann, author of the Asperger Adventures Series
”Trueman Bradley is a quirky, charming novel… From the opening lines I was gently gripped… First and foremost Trueman Bradley entertains and enchants but a secondary benefit is that he educates the reader about Aspergers and shows it as an asset. I look forward to many more Trueman Bradley stories.”
—Anna Van Der Post, research psychologist and author of Children and Teenagers with Aspergers
“The writing style is very simple, straightforward language—in keeping with the thought processes of the protagonist—but the plot twists are complex and interesting, and fit together well.”
—Erika Hammerschmidt, autism advocate and author of Born on the Wrong Planet
Trueman Bradley
Aspie Detective
Alexei Maxim Russell
Jessica Kingsley Publishers
London and Philadelphia
First published in 2012
by Jessica Kingsley Publishers
116 Pentonville Road
London N1 9JB, UK
and
400 Market Street, Suite 400
Philadelphia, PA 19106, USA
www.jkp.com
Copyright © Alexei Maxim Russell 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form (including photocopying or storing it in any medium by electronic means and whether or not transiently or incidentally to some other use of this publication) without the written permission of the copyright owner except in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 or under the terms of a licence issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency Ltd, Saffron House, 6–10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS. Applications for the copyright owner’s written permission to reproduce any part of this publication should be addressed to the publisher.
Warning: The doing of an unauthorized act in relation to a copyright work may result in both a civil claim for damages and criminal prosecution.
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Russell, Alexei Maxim.
Trueman Bradley, aspie detective / Alexei Maxim Russell.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-84905-262-7 (alk. paper)
1. Asperger’s syndrome--Fiction. 2. Private investigators--New York
(State)--New York--Fiction. I. Title.
PR9199.4.R857T78 2012
813’.6--dc23
2011025727
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 84905 262 7
eISBN 978 0 85700 547 2
Converted to eBook by EasyEPUB
Contents
Cover
1 Slam Bradley is Back in New York City
2 New York Hospitality
3 The Crime-Fighting Equation
4 The Professional Detective’s Convention
5 Magic Jerks
6 Out-Smarting Eddie
7 The Trueman Bradley Detective Agency
8 There are Seventy-One Public Telephones in Manhattan
9 Hickson Warehouse
10 The Mystery of the Zeroes
11 A True Man Exposes Truth
12 La Guardia Airport
13 The Court Case
14 One More Big Surprise
15 The Surprise Revealer
16 Two Ends of a Perfect Circle
1
Slam Bradley is Back in New York City
I’ve always hated the sound of cars honking. In my new office on Reade Street, the traffic was loud and hurt my ears. I began to wonder if I had made a mistake by moving to New York City. It was much noisier here than I had expected.
Someone knocked at the door of my room and I opened it. A short, round man in a mover’s uniform was standing there.
“You 201 Reade Street?” he asked.
“Am I what?” I asked. “No, I’m Trueman Bradley.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about, here,” he said. “Mr. Trueman Bradley at 201 Reade Street, it says. I’m the guy what moved your furniture, right? I got the bill here. Now, we’ll take off 10 percent if you pay cash, see? So, how about it?”
The mover was wearing a blue uniform with yellow stripes down the sides. He was unshaven. He had a lot of small burns on his trousers. I recognized the burns as the kind made by cigarette ashes. He smelled like smoke, and I could recognize the smell as being from Chesterfield brand cigarettes. The grease on the front of his shirt was recognizable as the kind of stains caused by French fries. I had read medical books and had learned to recognize the signs of many medical problems. I could recognize all the symptoms that would indicate he suffered from the medical problem known as “high blood pressure.”
I could see all these details about him, but I had no idea what he was saying to me. He spoke with a New York City accent. He was obviously speaking English, but his accent made it difficult to interpret. He wore a name tag that read “Ernie.”
“Ernie?” I asked. “I don’t understand your question.”
“You serious?” asked Ernie. “It’s pretty straightforward, pal. I just asked if you want to shell out now or do credit.”
“Shell out?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean the green stuff!” said Ernie. “You got any?”
“I don’t have any green shells,” I said.
“Are you stupid?” asked Ernie. “I mean this stuff!”
Ernie pulled out a ten dollar bill and waved it in front of my face. He leaned closer and his strong smell of cigarettes made me dizzy. He had suddenly become aggressive and I didn’t understand why. I started to feel tension in my stomach.
“I don’t understand you!” I said. “I need to go!”
I closed the door to my room and locked it. Listening at the door, I could hear Ernie yelling. My heart beat fast as I listened to his aggressive words. They were incredibly ugly to me and made my head hurt. I fell down to the floor and covered my ears. I started doing math equations in my head.
“What on earth are you doing, Trueman?”
I was so affected by this confrontation with Ernie that I forgot that Mrs. Levi, my landlady, was visiting me. She was looking at me as if I was insane.
“I’m doing math,” I said, getting up.
“Doing math, are you?” she said. “Well, of course you are. My question is, how come you’re doing math on the floor?”
“I do math because it’s comforting to me,” I said.
“Oh?” she asked. “So you like math then? That’s alright, dear. There’s nothing in our lease about not doing math, but do you have to do it on the floor? You’ve got a perfectly good chair in here! Why use the floor?”
I patted the dust off my knees. I could feel my face burning with embarrassment. I remembered my childhood habit of falling to the floor when I got nervous or over-excited, but I hadn’t done this for
a long time. Usually, I could resist the urge to fall and would try my best to act as if nothing was wrong. Although my breath became rapid and I’d start to feel dizzy, I was always able to maintain my dignity. But this encounter with Ernie was so unexpected I had not been allowed any time to prepare myself for it. I was ashamed to think that Mrs. Levi had seen me falling down, like a frightened child.
“I don’t usually fall to the floor like that…” I said, trying to hide my embarrassment. “It was just because, this time, I didn’t have time to find a chair. I was surprised because a mover came to my door and yelled at me for no reason.”
“Oh? You mean Ernie?” she asked.
“Yes, Ernie,” I said.
“Well, I’m surprised at that!” she said. “Ernie’s a nice guy! What did he say to you, dear? What was he yelling about?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “He wanted to know about green shells, and when I said I didn’t have any, he became angry.”
“Green shells?” she asked. “Strange thing for a guy like Ernie to be talking about. I didn’t even know he liked shells! But never mind, dear, are you planning to tidy up a bit?”
“Yes. I’m going to unpack,” I said.
“Okay, dear,” she said. “Well, maybe I should get out of your hair, then. I really should be getting home for lunch.”
I touched my hair.
“My hair?” I asked. “What are you going to do to my hair?”
“No, I didn’t mean that, dear!” she said. “Bless you! It’s just an expression! ‘Out of your hair’ means I’ll go off and leave you alone. Don’t tell me you never heard it before?”
“Oh, I see,” I said. “Of course I heard of it before. I just didn’t immediately realize you were using an expression. I don’t understand why you need to talk about my hair if you are actually talking about leaving me alone. Next time, can you please just tell me that you are going to leave me alone? I prefer for you to speak with me using clear language, Mrs. Levi. Expressions and idiom are confusing to me sometimes.”
“Oh, so this is some kind of symptom?” she asked. “Part of your condition, am I right? What’s it called again, dear?”
“Asperger’s Syndrome.”
“Asperger’s, right,” she said. “So you’re not joking, then, are you? I’m so sorry to hear you’ve got this condition, dear.”
She looked at me with pity in her eyes, as if I was cursed. I felt as if she thought I was somehow abnormal, and I was embarrassed. She began speaking to me as if I was a child.
“Well, are you sure you can manage unpacking by yourself?” she asked. “I’ll give you a hand. Oh, I’m sorry! I just used another expression, didn’t I? I didn’t mean I’d actually give you one of my hands, you understand? What I meant is, I’ll help you unpack some of these things.”
She opened a box and pulled out a book.
“Is this a ‘Slam Bradley’ comic book?” she asked. “Slam Bradley, the tough and cunning private detective! It’s a classic. Why, I haven’t seen one of these in years!”
I ran to grab the book from her hands.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked. “I was just helping you organize your stuff, dear! Why so grabby?”
I examined the comic, to be sure she hadn’t damaged it.
“These are organized by issue number,” I said. “You might disarrange them out of order. These are my most important possessions. I can’t do my job without them.”
I hugged the comic to my chest, lovingly, as if it were my child. For the second time, she looked at me like I was insane.
“Oh?” she asked. “What are you, a comic book dealer?”
“No, I’m a detective,” I said. “Like Slam Bradley.”
“You’re joking!” she said. “You? You don’t even know what ‘out of your hair’ means, and you’re saying you solve crimes? You’re pulling my leg! Criminals would eat you alive, dear!”
I couldn’t understand her expressions, but I could recognize the ridicule in her voice. She was implying I couldn’t succeed as a detective, just because I have Asperger’s. Since I left home I’d had to deal with a lot of this kind of prejudice and it made me so angry, my cheeks would turn red.
“Who ever gave you the idea you could be a detective?” she asked. “Do you even know how much hard work that involves?”
“I’m not a child!” I said. “Please don’t treat me like one. My granddad was a retired policeman and he taught me a lot about detective work. I have a very exceptional memory and I haven’t forgotten anything he taught me. I’d like you to talk to me respectfully in the future, and don’t yell at me.”
She was quiet for a minute.
“Alright, dear,” she said. “Whatever you say. It’s not like I meant anything bad by it, you know! I was just concerned for you, that’s all. I mean, you’re not like the rest of us, are you? I don’t want someone taking advantage of your… your condition.”
“Taking what?” I asked.
“Oh, I used another one of those expressions!” she said. “I never even know when I’m using them, half the time. What I meant is, I don’t want someone out there to victimize you, because they think you’re weaker than them.”
“Why would I be weaker?” I asked.
“Because of your problem!” she said. “Asperger’s!”
“Asperger’s is not a problem,” I said. “It just means I think in a different way from you. It doesn’t mean I can’t be like Slam Bradley. I’ll become a great detective and you’ll see that it’s not a problem. This has been my dream, since I was a child and first saw Granddad’s comic book collection.”
“Oh, is that where you got these from?” she asked. “I thought you were a little young to be a Slam Bradley fan. So, that’s what this is all about? You’re trying to be like that comic book detective, Slam Bradley?”
“Yes,” I said. “After my granddad died, I got an inheritance of 5.2 million dollars.”
“You’ve got 5.2 million bucks?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Before he died, my granddad told me to spend the 5.2 million dollars on whatever I’ve always dreamed of doing. So, I used some of it to move here to New York City to become a detective like Slam because that was my life-long dream. I’m sure you know, Slam Bradley was in New York City for most of his comic adventures. Although his adventures began in Cleveland. At first, I wasn’t sure if I should go to Cleveland first and then come here. But then I decided to just come here immediately because my favorite comic books were the ones that happened in New York City. And my grandfather once told me that New York City is a lot more interesting than Cleveland.”
“Well, he’s got that right!” she said. “But you’re not from here, then? Where are you from, dear? Originally, I mean.”
“Heartville, Illinois,” I said.
“Heartville?” she asked. “I never heard of it.”
“It’s just a small country town,” I said.
“And you’ve never been to New York City before?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I’ve lived all my life in Heartville. In fact, I spent most of my life at my granddad’s country house. He schooled me from home and I lived with him until his recent death. The only time I left home was to visit his workplace.”
Mrs. Levi sighed.
“Look, I don’t want to offend you,” she said. “But really, I’ve just got to say something here. This isn’t Heartville, dear! You understand? This is New York City and those are dangerous streets out there! There’s more crime than even the professional detectives can deal with, so what chance have you got? If you’ll take my advice, you’ll pack up and go back home. Play your detective games in Heartville, where it’s safer!”
“No, I can’t,” I said. “Slam didn’t live in Heartville.”
“Listen!” she said. “What’s it matter where Slam lived? The point is not to get yourself clobbered! You say you’ve hardly left your granddad’s side your whole life? Hardly left home or that dinky little town o
f yours? Why, you’ve been living a sheltered life out there! Too sheltered! You can’t make it in the big city! You have no idea how different it is. And I can’t just stand idly by and watch you put yourself in harm’s way. You’re a nice kid and I want to stop you before you get yourself hurt. Detectives have to be really tough! A country kid can’t do it! Especially with your… condition.”
She referred to my “condition” as if it were some horrible disease. I knew that she was referring to my Asperger’s and, once again, her prejudice made my cheeks turn red from anger.
“I mean, what are you gonna do?” she continued. “Seriously, if you can’t even understand expressions, how are you going to figure out mysteries and solve crimes? I mean, you just can’t!”
“Yes, I can!” I said. “Just because I don’t immediately understand some expressions doesn’t mean I don’t understand a lot of other things. I may be weak in a few areas like idioms but I’m strong in other subjects, like details, memory and seeing patterns. In fact, I’m better at these things than you or anyone else I know. I can notice details and memorize them better than you can!”
“Is that so?” she asked. “You don’t know what ‘out of your hair’ means and yet you’re telling me you’re Sherlock Holmes?”
She shook her head. I could recognize what that meant. She was doubting me; she didn’t believe me and didn’t think I was telling the truth. It may have even meant that she thought I was stupid and incapable of being a detective. This thought made me angry. I was determined to prove my powers to her.
I examined her face and clothing and tried to memorize every detail. I was born with such a mind for detail that I can concentrate on something or somebody for a few seconds, and remember every little detail of it for months.